Julie Boulianne, mezzo-soprano in Review

Julie Boulianne, mezzo-soprano in Review
Metropolitan Opera, New York, NY
March 2 and 3, 2011
Follow up to review of October 28, 2003

Julie-Boulianne; Photo Credit: Dennis Kwan

One of the rewards of being a music critic is having the opportunity to anticipate the success of a young performer. Seven and a half years ago, my review of Julie Boulianne’s New York debut recital began: “It took just one or two phrases to realize that mezzo-soprano Julie Boulianne, Joy in Singing’s 2003 Award Winner, is a great talent – a beautiful voice, a strong technique, a compelling stage presence.” And in the last paragraph I stated: “Her performance of the aria from ‘Les Huguenots’ leads one to anticipate success on the opera stage.” Recently I had the pleasure of hearing Ms. Boulianne on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera, singing small but attention-grabbing roles in performances of Glucks “Iphigénie en Tauride” (March 2nd) and Gounod’s “Roméo et Juliette” (March 3rd.) And “success on the opera stage” it was!

In “Iphigénie en Tauride” Ms. Boulianne performed the role of the goddess Diana. As any deus ex machina should, she made her entrance rapidly dropping from the fly space above the stage while suspended by a wire. (I wonder how it must have felt beginning her Met debut on February 12th in such a manner.) In 2003 I heard her in the intimate confines of Merkin Concert Hall. But how would she fare on the vast stage of the Metropolitan Opera House? I am happy to report that her rich voice filled the hall (I was sitting in the balcony) and she commanded the stage just as the goddess she was portraying should.

When singing the pants role of Stephano in “Roméo et Juliette,” she had the stage to herself at the beginning of Act III. No longer as a goddess, but this time a young man, she sang her aria with impetuous abandon and was most convincing in the sword fight which followed.

These two fine performances give us a taste of what Ms. Boulianne is capable of. To again quote from my October 28, 2003 review: “This listener would relish the chance to hear her Cherubino.”

 Harry Saltzman for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

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“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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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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2009 CONCERT SEASON

If there is a general complaint about manyof today’s performers, it is that they reverse the ancient dictum “Nothing to excess” by doingeverything to excess. Tempi keep getting faster, dynamics louder and softer, contrasts more vio­lent; brass and percussion dominate the orches­tral texture and ruin the balance. Nevertheless, there was much to enjoy and admire in this sea­son’s concerts, which honored the anniversaries of Mendelssohn’s birth and Haydn’s death, and also prominently featured Mahler and Brahms; here are some highlights and celebrations.

The year’s biggest news was the passing ofthe baton from Lorin Maazel to Alan Gilbert at the New York Philharmonic. Amid a flurry off are well concerts, Maazel conducted one of his favorite works: Britten’s War Requiem. Despite the excellent performance, the impact of the music seemed to have diminished over the years, but the poetry and the aching memories of the work’s creation are still deeply affecting.

For his tenure’s grand finale, Maazel led amemorable performance of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony. Its monumental length had coher­ence, its massive score remarkable transparency; there was time to savor the lyrical moments and echoes of other works. It was a triumphant farewell, rewarded by an outpouring of respectand appreciation.

The Philharmonic’s Opening Gala included the Premiere of “EXPO,” commissioned from Magnus Lindberg, the Orchestra’s Resident Composer, and an elusive, impressionist cycle of love ­songs by Messiaen, which the wonderful soprano Renée Fleming had learned for the occasion. It was the most ambitious Gala pro­gram ever devised, and immediately demonstrat­ed the adventurousness of Gilbert’s ideas and his ability to carry them out.

The Philadelphia Orchestra under Christoph Eschenbach gave Mahler’s SeventhSymphony a splendid performance, distin­guished by its combination of sweep and atten­tion to detail, its unusual clarity, and especiallits meticulous balance between sections and within the orchestral texture.

Mostly Mozart paid homage to Mendelssohn with his “Italian” Symphony, played very fast under Yannick Nézet ­Séguin; the Violin Concerto, played brilliantly by the golden ­toned Joshua Bell under Music Director Louis Langré, and the first Piano Trio with the fine Trio con Brio. Haydn was honored with symphonies, piano concertos, and the rarelheard Sinfonia Concertante, played splendidl by concertmistress Krista Bennion ­Feeney, cel­list Ilya Finkelsteyn, oboist Randall Ellis, and bassoonist Marc Goldberg. Brahms’ Variationson a Theme by Haydn were also featured, pre­ceded by an impressive performance by Jon Manasse and Jon Nakamatsu of Brahms’ first Clarinet Sonata, and followed by his Fourth  Symphony. Langré closed the Festival with a lovely performance of Haydn’s “Creation,” sunin English, probably for greater accessibility. The “Creation” and “The Seasons were sung in German by the Monteverdi Choir withthe period instrument group Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique under John Eliot Gardiner. The performances were clear, brisk and enthusiastic, but suffered from all the excesses mentioned above; indeed, the pace was so hectic that Gardiner never even paused between movements, and the balance so lop­sided that the strings and the crucial harmoniesin the inner voices were almost obliterated. All four Brahms symphonies were presentedby the Berlin Philharmonic under Simon Rattle, paired with four works by Schoenberg. The combination was supposedly justified by the series’ opening work, Schoenberg’s misguided, blown­up orchestration of Brahms’ first Piano Quartet ­a transcription some chamber musi­cians dislike. The rest of the programs, however,made up for it. Schoenberg’s mono­drama, “Erwartung” (Expectation) was riveting, with soprano Evelyn Herlitzius as a woman who stumbles through a dark forest searching for her faithless lover, only to find his corpse. Reality ornightmare? No one knows. The orchestra was terrific; the soloists were wonderful, the sound was gorgeous. Rattle, deeply involved, alternated between standing still and erupting into violent action; the players, themselves physically very engaged, responded to his slightest motion. The performances were grandly conceived and exe­cuted, but intonation and attacks were often imperfect; the texture was murky, everything was so loud that the climaxes became deafening. All concerts ended with a joyful noise; the audi­ences loved it. Rattle also conducted the Philadelphia Orchestra and Chorale in Berlioz’ “Damnation of Faust.” With mezzo ­soprano Magdalena Kozena, tenor Gregory Kunde, basses Thomas Quasthoff and Eric Owens, the performance was fabulous and captured both the music’s sim­plicity and sophistication.With the New York Philharmonic under Gilbert, Frank Peter Zimmermann gave Brahms’ Violin Concerto a robust, extroverted performance, very prosaic despite many juicy slides. It was paired – again – with Schoenberg: the symphonic poem “Pelleas et Melisande,” anearly, tonal, romantic work; players and conduc­tor reveled in its luxurious, colorful orchestra­tion. The Zukerman Chamber Players, with Zukerman on viola, opened their series with adelightful, heart­warming mostly Brahms pro­gram. It featured his ingratiating first Sextet and the songs for mezzo ­soprano and viola, sung superbly by Michelle DeYoung with pianist Kevin Murphy, along with songs by Dvorak and  Strauss. The Pacifica Quartet, a young but alreadhighly acclaimed group, has taken over the Guarneri Quartet’s residency at the Metropolitan Museum. This requires self ­confi­dence and courage, but perhaps also more intro­spection than was evident at its opening pro­gram. The players’ involvement seemed physical rather than emotional; the playing was compe­tent but too fast and driven for real expressive­ness; the sound was good but unvaried; the cello was under­ balanced. Their Mozart lacked graceand repose, their Brahms depth and passion; they broke up Janácek’s “Intimate Letters” withlong pauses.The Kalichstein ­Laredo ­Robinson Trio gave both Schubert Trios a solid, expressive perform­ance; the Emerson Quartet’s Schubert was disci­plined and polished, but too extroverted; the American Quartet’s “Death and the Maiden” was brilliant, full of drama and anguished plead­ing. Violinist Christian Tetzlaff performed one of his specialties, Bach’s unaccompanied works, in one day ­a remarkable feat. He has recorded them twice, and, claiming that they tell a contin­uous story, always presents them chronological­ly. His interpretation continues to gain depth and freedom; unfortunately, the fast movements also gain speed: the performance left listeners breathless, though marveling at his technical control, his pure, beautiful tone, his clear struc­ture and counterpoint. Two great pianists performed Beethoven’s last three sonatas. Mitsuko Uchida projected dramatic intensity and expressive lyricism; András Schiff, concluding his Beethoven cycle, displayed his usual beautiful singing tone and perfect legato, and gave pristine clarity to usual­ly blurred, muddy passages. James Levine, Music Director of the Boston Symphony (and the Metropolitan Opera), had tocancel several appearances due to a back opera­tion. At Carnegie Hall’s Opening Night, he was replaced by Daniele Gatti; the program included Chopin’s second Piano Concerto with the incomparable Evgeny Kissin and the premiere of John Williams’ Harp Concerto, written forthe Orchestra’s harpist Ann Hobson Pilot. There were also other unusual offerings. Leon Kirchner’s four string quartets were played splendidly by the Orion Quartet, to whom one isdedicated. Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony, per­formed by the New York Philharmonic under Neeme Järvi with soprano Hillevi Martinpelto and baritone Thomas Hampson, was very inter­esting. Set to poems by Rabindranath Tagore, it is romantic, tonal but dissonant; the orchestra­tion is kaleidoscopic, but too heavy for the singers.

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