“Der Rosenkavalier” and “Turandot” Great Performances at the MET

“Der Rosenkavalier” and “Turandot”
Great Performances at the MET
Lincoln Center/PBS Telecasts, New York, NY

Lincoln Center and PBS are repeating some of their popular telecasts from the MET, giving audiences a chance to retrieve what they missed or to revisit what they enjoyed. On July 29, the opera was “Der Rosenkavalier” by Richard Strauss and his renowned librettist, Hugo von Hoffmansthal, taped at the January 9, 2010 performance. Through its earthy humor and touching love story, this beloved masterpiece never fails to elicit laughter and tears, and with a stellar cast and Edo de Waart replacing James Levine in the pit, it exerted its usual irresistible magic spell. 

“Der Rosenkavalier” is too well known to require any introduction or explanation, so let us focus on the performance. The orchestra, an essential, integral element in all Strauss operas, sounded absolutely wonderful, both in the many solo passages and as a whole: rich yet transparent, ironically pompous, yet with a graceful Viennese lilt. The singing, too, was beyond praise: Renée Fleming and Susan Graham returned to their signature roles as the Marschallin and Octavian; Christine Schäfer soared easily into Sophie’s ecstatic heights, her voice as silvery as her Rose; Kristinn Sigmundsson displayed a booming, sonorous bass, and an almost authentic Viennese accent. Thomas Allen was a solid Faninal, Eric Cutler, in his all-too-brief appearance, sounded radiant as the Italian tenor.

The sets and costumes had the beauty and elegance of a period painting; the final scene was the usual chaos, saved by the Waltzes in the orchestra. The least satisfying aspect of the production was the acting, with exaggeration rampant everywhere, even in the small roles (Sophie’s Duenna ran around the stage frantically flapping her arms). Fleming, though essentially warm and dignified, perhaps overshot in trying to bring out the Marschallin’s swiftly-changing moods by going from girlish flirtatiousness with the Baron to inexplicable anger when dismissing Octavian. The “trouser” role of Octavian poses a double challenge: a woman pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl. Graham had fun, but would have been more persuasive without the overacting. (Television’s facial close-ups are cruel: even she could not successfully pretend to be 17- years-old.) The temptation to exaggerate is greatest for the Baron, but Sigmundsson, a huge man who towered over everybody, turned him into an insufferable, overbearing lecher.

Schäfer seemed the only one who acted with unaffected dignity, true to her character’s artlessness and naïveté. Just how effective natural simplicity can be was illustrated in the first encounter between Octavian and Sophie. Standing perfectly still, they expressed their wonder at the magical experience of first love only through their voices. The scene was an unspoiled oasis of subtle interaction, genuine inwardness and calm.

On June 24th, PBS repeated its telecast of Puccini’s “Turandot,” taped at the November 7, 2009, performance conducted by Andris Nelsons. This was a surprising choice for a replay: the opera is hardly among the public’s favorites, nor among Puccini’s best works. He left it unfinished, but that is not its only, or even its primary, weakness. The music is repetitious and uninspired, and its pseudo-Chinese idiom sounds inauthentic and artificial; moreover, the leading soprano and tenor parts are virtually unsingable: Turandot makes her entrance with a very long, excruciatingly difficult, stratospheric scene; Calaf sings two of the most brutally demanding arias in the repertoire. Very few singers are equal to these roles, and in this performance, too, there were unmistakable signs of struggle. Maria Guleghina’s voice had a very wide wobble, and both she and Marcello Giordani had only one dynamic: fortissimo. The real stars were Marina Poplavskaya as a sweet-voiced, touching Liu, and Samuel Ramey as a dignified, pitiable Timur. The famously spectacular Franco Zefferelli production still upstages the music with its massive scenery, gorgeous costumes and surging crowd-scenes. Sometimes it seemed as if the entire population of the Forbidden City of Beijing had gathered on the stage.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mostly Mozart Festival

Mostly Mozart Festival
Opening Night Gala Program
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
July 28, 2010

Stephanie Blythe, mezzo-soprano with Louis Langrée - Photo Credit Richard Termine

This is the Mostly Mozart Festival’s 44th season – an impressive display of longevity and resilience. It has weathered many internal and external changes that affected its programming strategy, and this year’s programs reflect some of them: they range from All-Mozart to Mostly Mozart, Some Mozart, A Little Mozart, and No Mozart At All.

Mozart is featured in its opening and closing concerts: the latter will be All-Mozart and the former began and ended with Mozart, the Overture to La Clemenza di Tito and the “Haffner” Symphony, K.385. In between came Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor Op. 21, played by Emanuel Ax, and arias from Handel’s Giulio Cesare and Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, sung by mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe. Louis Langrée, the Festival’s Music Director, conducted the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra. 

Most of the Orchestra’s musicians have been with the Festival for many seasons, but do not play together regularly all year; they must recapture and refine their ensemble every summer. Also, this is a chamber group rather than a symphony orchestra, so it lacks the power needed for some of the symphonic literature. For this program, however, it was just right, and it was immediately clear that it is in fine shape, able and eager to carry out its Maestro’s wishes. Langrée is an elegant conductor, though his arm-gestures make him look as if he were going to fly off at any moment, an impression accentuated by the full-sleeved shirts he wears. His style tends toward extremes of dynamics and tempo: the pianos are almost inaudible, the fortes are eruptions that shake the rafters. He likes to hear lots of winds and percussion, putting the strings at a serious disadvantage. The opening of the Overture, for example, was explosive rather than majestic. In the Symphony, the tempi were so fast that the music lost all charm and expressiveness; even the slow movement was very brisk, and the Finale raced past in a blur. 

 

Pianist Emanuel Ax with the conductor Louis Langrée - Photo Credit Richard Termine

In the Concerto, Langrée succeeded so well in keeping the orchestra from covering the soloist that, at times, the piano part seemed to float in mid-air without harmonic or rhythmic support. Ax’s playing, however, was superb. His tone was invariably beautiful, the legato sang, the chords were powerful but mellow; the runs were as clear and even as chains of pearls. His liberties—spontaneous and perfectly balanced—made the music flow as naturally as words spoken in a native idiom. The tumultuous ovation was rewarded with a brief Chopin encore. 

Stephanie Blythe’s voice is formidable: it can cut through and float above an orchestra, reaching the farthest corners of an auditorium. Its quality is unique, resembling dark amber in the low register, bright amber up high; by varying her vibrato, she commands an amazing range of intensity, color and nuance. The arias she sang were taken from two of her signature roles. Cesar’s prayer was devoutly thankful and supplicating; Orpheus’ lament was perhaps not heart-broken enough, but spun out a seamless melody. The famous opening aria from Handel’s Serse (better known as Handel’s “Largo”) as an encore was beautiful. 

This was a most promising start to New York’s favorite summer festival.  Welcome back, Mostly Mozart!

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

“Hamlet” by Ambroise Thomas-Metropolitan Opera

“Hamlet” by Ambroise Thomas
Metropolitan Opera
Lincoln Center, New York City

Hamlet- Marlis Petersen and Simon Keenlyside- Photo Credit Brent Ness

If an opera has lain dormant for 100 years, only a great performance can awaken it. Ambroise Thomas’ “Hamlet,” premiered in Paris in 1868, was last performed at the MET in 1897; it was revived this season in a new production by Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser, created for the superb English baritone Simon Keenlyside in the title role. Taped at the March 27 performance, it was telecast on July 15 as one of Lincoln Center’s truly “Great Performances at the MET.”

Though rarely remembered today, Thomas (1811-1896) was a prolific composer so highly esteemed during his lifetime that he was made Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, and Director of the Paris Conservatoire. Of his 13 operas, “Mignon”(1866), based on Goethe’s novel “Wilhelm Meister,” and “Hamlet,” both with librettos by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré, were most successful; to celebrate Mignon’s 100th performance, Thomas received the Grand Cross.

Choosing librettos from the world’s greatest literature is risky: the words tend to eclipse the music, and the originals have to be “adapted” out of recognition. In the case of “Hamlet,” first of all, forget Shakespeare – not an easy task. The story is drastically truncated; the situations are simplified and perverted, the characters’ actions and interactions largely changed. Polonius reveals his complicity in the dead King’s murder; Hamlet and Ophelia are engaged; the opera ends with Hamlet and Laertes fighting at Ophelia’s grave; both die after Hamlet stabs the King.

The production is an amalgam of starkness and overkill. The stage is bare, with moveable walls at irregular angles; at first, there isn’t a chair in sight, so the singers have to stand, or sit, crouch, and lie on the floor. The acting, initially fairly dignified, grows increasingly excessive. Gertrude, crazed by guilt and terror, behaves more like Lady Macbeth than Denmark’s Queen. An inordinate amount of red liquids are spilled on stage: Ophelia gets covered in blood as she kills herself by stabbing her breast and slitting her arms; Hamlet jumps on a table, pours jugs of red wine all over himself, then rolls to the floor with a frightening thud. One hopes the intermission will be long enough for him to take a shower and change his clothes. He not only “chews the scenery,” but actually digs holes in it with his dagger.

Adding real-life drama, soprano Natalie Dessay withdrew from the production for health reasons at the last minute. She was replaced by Marlis Petersen, who, though scheduled to sing Ophelia later, flew in from Europe the day before the premiere and gave a sensational performance on a single rehearsal. The singing was altogether spectacular. David Pittsinger was a sonorous Ghost (he reappeared several times); James Morris, after a wobbly vocal start, projected Claudius’ guilt- and fear-ridden bravado with grim authority. Jennifer Lamore made Gertrude hysterical but sang with purity and passionate intensity; in his debut, Toby Spence was a youthfully fiery, bright-voiced Laertes. Petersen brought the house down in what must be opera’s ultimate mad- and-death-scene, tossing off stratospheric coloratura acrobatics while staggering around the stage. But the evening was really Keenlyside’s triumph. In a vocally and visually riveting performance, he used every nuance of his dark, ravishingly beautiful voice, every shading of his somberly handsome, expressive face, and every gesture of his lithe, tightly wound body to bring the enigmatic, brooding hero’s ever-changing moods, feelings and states of mind to vibrant life, giving him more range and depth than either the libretto or the music.

Ah yes, the music. The beginning is very promising: a somber Prelude heralds the gloomy events on stage, using mostly low instruments, and featuring a long, arresting horn solo. Later, equally dark orchestral interludes put the spotlight on the trombones. What the music lacks is a melodic and harmonic profile. There are numerous arias, even one beginning with “To be or not to be,” but they do not define the characters or remain in the memory.

Major credit for giving shape to the individual scenes and the whole work must go to the conductor, Louis Langrée, known to New York audiences mostly as the maestro of the Mostly Mozart Festival. Equally at home in this totally different musical world, his mastery of the score and consummate baton-technique inspired confidence and security in the singers and orchestra, and his sensitive support and firm leadership contributed greatly to making this once famous opera seem worthy of being rescued from obscurity.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Songs by Les Six

Songs by Les Six
Helen Gabrielsen, soprano; Marcia Eckert, piano 
Lang Recital Hall, New York, NY
July 18, 2010

Marcia Eckert

After World War I, an informal group of young French composers banded together to write a new kind of music that would be leaner, more astringent and less sensuous than what was being composed at the time. Several were good friends, having been students at the Paris Conservatoire; six of them shared a concert in 1920 and eventually became famous as les six.

Some of les six’s songs were performed by soprano Helen Gabrielsen and pianist Marcia Eckert at Hunter College’s intimate Lang Recital Hall. Long-time friends and collaborators, their mutual musical interests include a special affinity for French music of the 20th and 21st centuries. The program offered a heady mix of musical and literary styles, from descriptive, nostalgic and passionate to sardonic and humorous. The songs required the singer to act as both narrator and participant, while the piano evoked the pictorial and emotional background with effects ranging from delicate tinkling to crashing chords.

Helen Gabrielsen

The titles of Francis Poulenc’s “Airs” – Romantic, Pastoral, Serious and Lively – (texts by Jean Moréas) spoke for themselves. Two songs by Arthur Honegger (texts by Apollinaire and Claudel) celebrated nature and love. Six songs by Germaine Tallieferre (texts, some anonymous, from the 15th to 18th centuries), were the most substantial and immediately affecting. Humor, both ingenuous and ironic, was provided by Darius Milhaud (texts by Jean Cocteau); Georges Auric’s “Alphabet,” (texts by Raymond Radiguet), and Louis Durey’s “Le Bestiaire” (poet not named).

The performance was excellent. Helen Gabrielsen’s voice was well-suited to this repertoire: light and clear, even throughout the range with an effortless top; her intonation was impeccable. Marcia Eckert displayed a large palette of dynamics, colors and nuances; she established and underlined mood and atmosphere, and offered both firm leadership and sensitive support.

Both performers are active soloists and chamber musicians, and have appeared with various groups and partners in New York and around the country. They also teach and coach at several music schools; the presence of numerous, very attentive children—some bearing floral tributes—testified to their students’ affection.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Shanghai Symphony Orchestra
Central Park’s Great Lawn; New York
July 13, 2010
 
The Shanghai Symphony

The Shanghai Symphony Photo Credit by Chris Lee

 
 

In an outdoor concert threatened by rain, a New York Philharmonic Parks Concert featuring The Shanghai Symphony Orchestra went on as scheduled and drew thousands of New Yorkers. This important occasion marks the first time that another orchestra has shared a concert with the Philharmonic in Central Park. The Shanghai Symphony Orchestra, in an appearance that is helping to promote the World Expo in Shanghai, played the first half—(a reverse of the original plan because of the bad weather)—and played very well indeed. Certainly, the amplification has the ability to hide tonal deficiencies, but microphones cannot hide wrong notes, and there were hardly any blemishes to be found. In addition, the musicians played with immense energy under passionate conductor Long Yu.

Guang Zhao’s composition, “Ode to the Expo”, is a lovely, lush, Neo-Romantic work that served as a crowd-pleaser. The baritone Changyong Liao, singing Rossini’s “Largo al factotum della citta” from “The Barber of Seville”, was absolutely marvelous, and soprano Ying Huang was very appealing in “La ci darem la mano” from “Don Giovanni”. The Chinese piano soloist, Lang Lang–now a household name–transformed Gershwin’s famous “Rhapsody in Blue” into something rather foreign; I could hardly recognize the piece due to extreme exaggerations of tempo and dynamics. All in all, however, this New York Philharmonic venture—adding another orchestra to a concert—is a great idea and should be continued as much as possible. The large audience sprawled across the Great Lawn seemed excited; they even voted (via texting) for Lang Lang to play a Chinese piece as an encore.

The second half brought the New York Philharmonic to the stage, and one could instantly recognize the difference in the wind and brass brilliance and solidity of sound. There was more strength and tonal refinement in the strings as well. The guest conductor, Andrey Boreyko, conducted Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin” Polonaise with vigor, and the orchestra played with authority and finesse. Bernstein’s “West Side Story Dances” was another matter, however; because the Philharmonic knew the piece so much better than Maestro Boreyko (he seemed like he had never conducted it), he often stayed out of the way. That is good stylistically (the feel of the work came across authentically), but bad for ensemble because the orchestra needed technical clarity from Boreyko’s beat in tricky spots and didn’t get it. As a result, the orchestra was sometimes imprecise. Ravel’s “Bolero” suffered from early amplification issues such as microphone interference with squeaky high frequencies and warped dynamics. Eventually the problems subsided, but the orchestra lost its focus and went on automatic pilot—despite some fantastic solo playing. Because there were two orchestras and several soloists, there were many logistical issues to deal with. Ultimately, the Philharmonic and another guest orchestra could learn to maneuver through the obstacles. This type of concert is expensive and difficult, but a very worthwhile endeavor because—as many of us know—it has the power to bring people together.

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by Anthony Aibel  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Christine Brewer, soprano; Jane Henschel, mezzo-soprano; Anthony Dean Griffey, tenor; Eric Owens, bass-baritone; New York Choral Artists: Joseph Flummerfelt, director
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
June 26, 2010

 

Alan Gilbert

Alan Gilbert

Alan Gilbert’s first season as the New York Philharmonic’s Music Director ended as adventurously as it had begun, with a premiere commissioned for the occasion. Both were written by Magnus Lindberg, the Orchestra’s newly-installed Composer-in-Residence; the first was titled EXPO!, the second Al largo. The composer provides the best description of his own music: “Only the extreme is interesting. Striving for a balanced totality is now an impossibility….” In Al largo—(meaning “offshore”)—a big orchestra with a huge percussion section produces a great, joyful noise with many brass fanfares and a multitude of instrumental colors, but without any discernible form or structure.

The main work on the program was well suited to demonstrate Gilbert’s ambitious, wide-ranging plans for his orchestra, and to celebrate the successful close of his first season: Beethoven’s Missa solemnis, Op. 123, one of the greatest, most formidable works in the literature.

The Missa has a singular history. Begun in 1819, it was intended, in Beethoven’s words, “to contribute to the glorification of the day” when his friend and patron, Archduke Rudolph of Austria, was invested as Archbishop of Olmütz. However, the Missa was far from ready to be performed at the ceremony a year later; indeed, Beethoven wrestled with it longer than with any other composition. Not until 1823 did he consider it finished, having in the meantime written his last three piano sonatas, and worked on the “Diabelli” Variations and the Ninth Symphony.

This unusually long period of gestation and contemplation could not but affect the nature of the work. Alan Gilbert thinks that what makes it so difficult to understand and perform is, at least in part, the dichotomy between its sacred and secular elements. But one might also say that it is the music itself that baffles and overwhelms both listeners and performers. It shows Beethoven at his emotionally most profound, his spiritually most sublime, and his intellectually and technically most intractable. Everything is driven to excess: the extreme changes of mood and expression; the constant shifts of meter, tempo, and dynamics; the abrupt swings from lyricism to drama, and from humble pleading to heaven-storming ecstasy. If Beethoven had any weaknesses, they lay in his vocal writing and his counterpoint, and the Missa naturally abounds in both. As in the Ninth Symphony, chorus and soloists are driven into the stratosphere for unsustainably long stretches; the fugues – and there are many – are so complex that they seem to get tangled up like coils of barbed wire. At times, even Gilbert’s usually unfailing sense of balance and textural clarity was defeated by the dense, overloaded score.  No wonder the work is heard so rarely.

The Philharmonic’s performance must have been one of the best in recent memory. Orchestra and chorus, meticulously prepared, were precise, secure, and emotionally involved; among the vocal soloists, the soprano was outstanding; the rest were good, though not well matched: the bass and alto were too subdued, the tenor was too heroic. Concertmaster Glenn Dicterow played his big solo in the Benedictus brilliantly, but his tone was too unremittingly intense.

The concert’s real hero was Alan Gilbert. His beat, as always, was clear and decisive; his transitions and tempo changes were admirably smooth and organic; his mastery of this immensely complex score, from the smallest detail to its monumental over-all structure, was prodigious; he led his enormous forces with the natural authority born of a thorough knowledge and deeply felt love of the music.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Håkan Hardenberger, trumpet
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
June 19, 2010

Hakan Hardenberger

Håkan Hardenberger

For the Philharmonic’s penultimate program, Alan Gilbert chose Mozart, Wagner, and the New York premiere of Aerial (1998-99) by HK Gruber.

Mozart’s “Little” G minor Symphony was crisp, precise, and finely etched. The fast movements were moderately paced but lively, the Andante sang, yet the overall impression was cool and reserved; the drama and the emotional intensity seemed underplayed, the contrasts muted.

Heinz Karl Gruber, born in 1943 in Austria, studied various instruments and composition at the Vienna Music Academy after having been a member of the Vienna Choir Boys for four years. New Yorkers heard him some years ago at the “Berlin Lights Festival,” when he performed cabaret songs by Kurt Weill and Hanns Eisler as “chansonniere.” A prolific composer of vocal and instrumental music in many genres and contemporary styles, he wrote Aerial on commission from the BBC for the London Promenade Concerts. It is the first of three works composed for Hakan Hardenberger, the Philharmonic’s soloist at this concert. A spectacular trumpet player, he switched between muted and unmuted trumpet, piccolo trumpet and cow’s horn with dizzying frequency, producing an amazing variety of sounds, and easily competing with a large orchestra, which, after a hazy beginning, gradually built up to a jazzy, uninhibited dance. The music is supposed to evoke a vision of a barren earth-landscape seen from outer space, an imaginative but literally and figuratively “far-out” notion.

Both Wagner‘s personal and creative life were marked by controversy and turbulence, so it may be worth noting that both works on this program – the Siegfried Idyll and the Prelude and Liebestod from “Tristan und Isolde” – were inspired by significant – and notorious – relationships. The Idyll was written in 1870 as a birthday present for his wife Cosima, and also to celebrate their wedding shortly before (following a seven-year liaison while both had other spouses), and the birth of their youngest child, Siegfried, in 1869 (they had three children before they married and none afterwards.)

Wagner wrote his opera “Tristan und Isolde” in 1858-59 while living in exile in Switzerland with his first wife. In dire financial straits, they were supported by Otto Wesendonk, a wealthy admirer; Wagner repaid his generosity by engaging in a passionate relationship with his wife, Mathilde, remembered today mainly for having written the texts of the so-called “Wesendonk Songs,” five steamy poems which Wagner set to properly lush music as an “exercise” for Tristan.

The Idyll was premiered by 15 musicians at the Wagners’ house as a birthday serenade; using mostly single winds and no percussion, it is his only lightly scored composition. (The Philharmonic’s performance was almost too intimate and so subdued that some parts were barely audible.) The Tristan excerpts, in contrast, with a full complement of brass and percussion, are among his most luxurious works. The Liebestod is also one of his most famous soprano arias; Wagner made an orchestral version so that it could be performed in concert. He succeeded in recreating its melodic richness, harmonic elusiveness and textural density, but some lovers of the opera still find it hard to accept Isolde’s death without Isolde.

One of Alan Gilbert’s most admirable strengths is his ability to create transparency and to bring out important voices without seeming to suppress the rest. This showed most impressively in the “Tristan” excerpts. Gilbert preserved the lush sonority and sensuousness, the kaleidoscopic color, the undulating texture, but the lines were so carefully balanced that every melodic strand and every harmonic twist stood out.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Live from the MET: Simone Boccanegra

Live from the MET : “Simone Boccanegra”
James Levine, conductor
Placido Domingo, baritone, as Simone Boccanegra 
Adrianne Pieczonka, soprano, as Amelia
Marcello Giordani, tenor, as Gabriele Adorno  
James Morris, bass-baritone, as Jacopo Fiesco
Metropolitan Opera, New York, NY
PBS Telecast
June 20, 2010

Placido Domingo - Photo Credit Brent Ness -

All New York’s music lovers, especially those with difficulties getting around, owe a debt of gratitude to Channel 13 for its “Live from Lincoln Center” series: these telecasts are the closest they can get to the concerts and operas they love. The latest “Live from the MET” telecast, taped in February and broadcast on June 20th, presented the new production of Verdi’s “Simone Boccanegra” with Placido Domingo making his debut as a baritone in the title role. Audience expectations ran high, though Domingo has often mentioned that his vocal roots are in the middle register and blossomed into the upper one later. Indeed his voice has always had a remarkably warm, baritonal quality, and, since voices tend to darken with age, he is perhaps merely encouraging a natural vocal development. Nevertheless, after a lifetime as one of the world’s most beloved tenors, taking such a drastic step requires extraordinary courage, and its stunning success makes it an extraordinary achievement.   

Domingo’s decision to undertake his first foray into new territory in this vocally and emotionally challenging, complex role was daring but understandable. As Boccanegra, he has moved from portraying an impulsive, young, romantic tenor (like Gabriele Adorno in “Boccanegra”) to a historical character of his own age and maturity. The real Boccanegra was a famous pirate who was twice elected Doge of Genoa; in the opera, he grows from a frustrated lover determined to prove himself a worthy suitor, to an enlightened statesman determined to bring peace and justice to his people.  

Adrianne Pieczonka, Placido Domingo and Marcello Giordani - Photo Credit Brent Ness

Verdi wrote “Boccanegra” in 1857; it was a failure: audiences found Piave’s libretto confusing, and the long recitatives boring. In 1881, Verdi revised it, like many of his operas; with a lot of new music and a new text by Boito, it was a resounding success, though the libretto still had weaknesses: the characters’ actions and reactions remained baffling and unbelievable, and events predating the drama were sketched so cursorily that audiences cannot possibly grasp them. 

  

The opera takes place in 14th-century Genoa against a background of convoluted political and personal conflicts that generate misunderstandings, belated revelations and eventual tragedy. But Verdi was less interested in affairs of state than affairs of the heart, and dramatized the characters’ relationships with wonderful duets – not only between soprano and tenor in the obligatory love-duets, but also between basses and baritones in confrontations and reconciliations.  

 This is a dark opera, dramatically, visually and musically. After an orchestral prelude, played primarily by the lowest strings and winds, the curtain rises on two basses hatching a plot at night. Fiesco, the leading bass, enters, lamenting his daughter’s death. Then Boccanegra, her lover and the father of their illegitimate child, appears; Fiesco hates him, and, in a passionate duet, rebuffs his plea to resolve their enmity. Fast forward 25 years. Boccanegra discovers his long-lost daughter, Amelia; they rejoice, but he inexplicably insists on keeping their relationship secret; soon after, he learns that she loves Adorno, his political enemy. The central scene is set in the Council Chamber. The Doge is trying to persuade the fractious nobles and plebeians to make peace with each other and with Venice; when a riot breaks out in the street, he quells it by sheer force of personality. Meanwhile, Paolo, a vengeful courtier, pours poison into Boccanegra’s water-jug, initiating what must be one of the longest operatic death-scenes: after staggering around (and frequently falling) while singing incredibly difficult music, Boccanegra finally makes peace with Fiesco in another great duet.  

The production, conducted by James Levine, is most impressive—visually and musically: the scenery is simple and evocative, the orchestra is splendid as usual, though sometimes too subdued when accompanying the singers; the cast is strong. Verdi did not make things easy for the singers: several start off with a big, demanding aria, requiring some warming up. Adrianne Pieczonka is a beautiful but vocally uneven Amelia; James Morris, in excellent voice, is a majestic Fiesco, Stefan Gaertner a baleful Paolo. Marcello Giordani’s Adorno is heroic in more ways than one: it must take courage to share the stage with the singer who owned your role, yet he seemed inspired rather than intimidated. But it was Domingo who, in the best sense, dominated the stage. He inhabited his part completely, radiating a natural authority that seemed to make everyone more confident and secure. Though his top notes are understandably superior to his low ones, his voice is as focused, expressive and intense as ever. Rarely has there been a more triumphant debut.  

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Long Island Philharmonic

David Stewart Wiley, conductor
Joseph Kalichstein, piano
Tilles Center for the Performing Arts, New York
June 19, 2010
Long Island Philharmonic

Long Island Philharmonic

The Long Island Philharmonic has had four Music Directors since its founding in 1979, but none of them has been as effective at communicating intimate, nuanced music with the audience as David Stewart Wiley. Its Music Director for almost ten years, Mr. Wiley enjoys speaking to the audience before many of the pieces the orchestra performs, and those in attendance clearly enjoy it, benefitting from musical examples that accompany that talk because they get a preview—much like a movie trailer—and know what details to listen for. And the Long Island audience needs this added familiarity more than in a major city, where a Mozart symphony isn’t exactly a foreign affair.

Before the performance of Mozart’s Symphony No. 39, Wiley interestingly noted that the first movement may be the first time the waltz (opposed to the Minuet) was incorporated into a symphony. He also rightly mentions the countryside, folk aspect to the symphony as a whole. And that inspires an analogy: Mozart brings the countryside to the symphony, and the Long Island Philharmonic brings the symphony to the countryside, enriching the musical experiences of thousands of Long Islanders, who do not have to leave the suburbs in order to hear great music—or great music-making. Perhaps—quite fittingly—the suburbs of Long Island are the perfect place to hear intimate music.

The performance of the 39th Symphony was indeed given a polished, sparkling and elegant account. The sound of the orchestra is in terrific shape, with special mention going to the solo clarinet and the French Horns for handling difficult moments with effortlessness and beauty. In Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto, excellent pianist Joseph Kalichstein, who often modestly collaborated like he was one of many solo instruments within the orchestra rather than the main soloist, nonetheless gave the kind of briskly-paced performances—in the outer movements—that didn’t always mesh with the ensemble behind him. Still, it was impressively played on both technical and musical fronts, with the slow movement the undeniable highlight, as its darkly solemn and sublime moments were performed with tremendous conviction.

In Bartok’s Romanian Dances, which opened the program, the clarinet solos were playfully and endearingly shaped. The Piccolo solo was played with great sensitivity, creating the character of a wandering, lost soul. Wiley set the mood before each dance and achieved deeply committed performances from the players. The first violin section played with unity of movement—often using their bows fully, from the lower part of the bow (the ‘frog’) to the very tip, which can be a rarity for orchestras.

The intimate musical repertory the Long Island Philharmonic explores is sorely needed, as many orchestras concentrate on the more ostentatiously grand symphonic music and stay away from the more delicate gems. Yet Long Island audiences appreciate the nuances of this delightful music because David Stewart Wiley allows his audiences to savor it all—during the performance, but also before it.

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by Anthony Aibel  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

The Ansonia Trio

The Ansonia Trio
Angelia Cho, violin
Laura Metcalf,  cello
Andrea Lam, piano
Bechstein Artist Series at Bechstein Piano, New York, NY
June 11, 2010

 

Ansonia Trio

Ansonia Trio

A relative newcomer to the chamber music scene, the Ansonia Trio was formed in 2009, and won the Grand Prize of the Daniel Rutenberg Chamber Music Competition the same year. The Trio made its New York debut at the New York House Concert series, has performed in various venues in and around New York, and participated in the Prussia Cove Festival in England.

Violinist Agelia Cho received her Bachelor of Music degree at the Curtis institute under the late Jascha Brodsky and Ida Kavafian, and her Master’s degree at the New England Conservatory of Music under Donald Weilerstein. She has won wide recognition as soloist, recitalist and chamber musician.

Cellist Laura Metcalf received her Master of Music degree at the Manes College of Music, studying with Timothy Eddy, and, upon graduation, was honored with the James E. Hughes award for excellence in performance. In addition to being active as soloist and teacher, she is a member of various chamber groups, such as the Tarab Cello Ensemble, a group of eight cellists with whom she has performed and recorded. She is assistant principal of the Chamber Orchestra of New York.

Australian pianist Andrea Lam studied with Boris Berman at the Yale School of Music, where she won the Woolsey Hall Competition, and with Arkady Aronov at the Manhattan School of Music, where she won the Roy M. Rubinstein Award. She was a semi-finalist in the 2009 Van Cliburn Competition, and has performed and recorded concertos with Australian orchestras and chamber music with the Takacs Quartet. She was featured at the 1999 and 2000 Sidney Festivals, playing for audiences of 180,000.

The Ansonia players say their goal is to “present programs that engage and inspire modern audiences.” The June 11 concert – their final one of this season – featured two romantic repertory favorites, Mendelssohn’s D-minor Trio Op. 49, and Brahms’ C-major Trio Op. 87, and two of Piazzolla’s “Four Seasons of Buenos Aires.”

The Trio is clearly a fine, very promising group; only a year after its formation, the strings’ intonation is excellent, the players’ phrasing, dynamics and expression are unanimous, their ensemble and rapport – complete with approving looks and smiles – are close; they obviously enjoy their companionship and collaboration.

 
Technically, they were more than equal to the music’s demands, negotiating Mendelssohn’s brilliant writing with easy facility; indeed, the Scherzo, though not too fast for their fleet fingers, was too fast for human ears. They projected the work’s ardent romanticism without excess or sentimentality, capturing the dark, ominous tension of its corner movements and the calm serenity of the second. The Brahms was carefully paced, austere but expressive; the first movement’s tempo changes were smooth and organic. They made Piazzolla’s idiom sound as natural as their native language.

 
The concert’s only flaw was the balance. The intimate Bechstein auditorium is just right for chamber music, but the piano, a vintage concert grand, is much too big and loud for the space and the music. When kept wide open, even the most careful, well-intentioned pianist cannot help sometimes overpowering the strings. The late great cellist and teacher Felix Salmon, exhorting the string players in his student groups, used to say: “Just look at its size!”

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY