Cecilia Bartoli
"DREAMS & FABLES" Italian arias
by Gluck. Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin. Texts and translations.
Decca 467 248-2Gluck's operas, his Italian ones in particular, have not yet had the consistent modern revivals that Handel's have enjoyed. With any luck, this disc by Cecilia Bartoli -- a glimpse of a wealth of exquisite music that offers heaven-sent opportunities for singing actors -- will be the first step on the road to staged productions.
The texts of all six operas represented here are by Pietro Metastasio, whose librettos inspired literally hundreds of opera settings (sometimes as many as forty of a single work). Of particular interest here are consecutive arias for Sesto and Vitellia that comprise the Act II finale of Gluck's version of La Clemenza di Tito. This is the moment just after Sesto has surrendered his sword to Publio. His address to Vitellia, "Se mai senti spirarti sul volto," has a rarefied, cleansed beauty, expressive wide leaps and a gorgeous oboe solo. In its day it was one of Gluck's most famous arias, and he reworked it for Iphigénie en Tauride ("O malheureuse Iphigénie"). It's the sort of piece that can become static in performance, but here Bartoli and the conductorless Berlin players keep the line unbroken, and the piece emerges timeless.
This is followed by Vitellia's "Tremo fra' dubbi miei" (with its Handelian trumpets, it makes a good curtain-raiser and is aptly heard first on this recording), in which Bartoli offers one of her finest recorded performances. Here, using her customary close identification with the text, volleys of coloratura and a cadenza that is a true climax, she not only manages the aria technically but builds a deeply characterized performance. Mozart and Mazzolà set this section as a trio for Vitellia, Sesto and Publio, the type of invention that sent opera off in a new direction for a century. But Gluck's earlier setting bears comparison -- no small praise. The two composers also came head to head in "Misera, dove son," and here Gluck's music shows that Mozart's Don Giovanni did not spring fully formed out of thin air.
It's a measure of just how fine these performances are that the listener is so often aware of Gluck's inventions. "Quel chiaro rio" (text from La Corona) is a piece of true compositional bravura, with both the A and B sections of the da capo structure containing two highly contrasted ideas. By the time of the final return to the original material, we're as dazzled by the composer's virtuosity as by the singer's.
Listeners who love "Che farò senza Euridice" will especially enjoy "Di questa cetra in seno" from Il Darnaso Confuso, with its charming pizzicato strings. Bartoli is enticing without becoming precious, yet she manages to fine down her voice for the last section. Similarly, "Ciascun segua il suo stile" from La Semiramide Riconosciuta is at once proud and playful. The da capo repeat here is of special interest. Some recent Handel recordings (William Christie's Alcina is one) have been criticized for their treatment of da capo material as not so much ornamentation but wholesale rewriting of the vocal lines. But Bartoli offers what seems a real solution, with the original contours somehow still clear beneath the figuration.
Those who have had concerns about some aspects of Bartoli's singing should be heartened by this disc. Coloratura is fully voiced, not aspirated. Notes above the staff are comfortable. She is sounding more and more like a soprano, and several selections here take her above high C. If on occasion variety of expression verges on the overdone, as in the recitative to Antigono's "Berenice, che fai?" (familiar in Haydn's setting), doubts are always immediately swept away by the genuine commitment to what she does. This is singing on the highest level of musical and dramatic values, and Bartoli must be given her due. Her Vivaldi album, another striking rediscovery of a whole repertoire, has never strayed far from my CD player. Her insertion of "Al desio di chi t'adora" into the Met's Nozze di Figaro was a reminder of what opera is all about. She might well have been asked to give us a selection of Andrew Lloyd Webber favorites instead of this revelatory release. She is irresistible.
WILLIAM R. BRAUN
PHOTO: JOHANNES IFKOVITS
OPERA AND ORATORIO
BOLCOM: A View from the Bridge
Malfitano, Rambaldi; Josephson, Turay, Nolen, McCrory; Lyric Opera of Chicago Orchestra and Chorus, Davies. Text. New World 80588-2
With the possible exception of John Harbison's Met-commissioned The Great Gatsby, no new opera has received a more highly publicized send-off in recent seasons than William Bolcom's A View from the Bridge. The 1999 Lyric Opera of Chicago premiere was preceded by widespread media attention, including an extended series in The New York Times by Bruce Weber, which documented the creation of the opera from its composition through rehearsals and up to opening night.
Adapted from Arthur Miller's 1955 drama by longtime Bolcom collaborator Arnold Weinstein (with an assist from the playwright), the opera tells the tale of Eddie Carbone, a rough yet good-hearted Brooklyn longshoreman, who takes in two illegal Sicilian immigrant brothers, cousins of his wife, Beatrice. When Eddie's niece Catherine falls in love with the younger brother, Rodolpho, Eddie's unwillingness to confront his own conflicted sexual feelings toward the seventeen-year-old girl leads to increasingly erratic behavior. Eddie betrays the two brothers to the immigration authorities and recklessly provokes Rodolpho's older brother, Marco, who murders him.
This recording is taken from the opera's first run of performances in Chicago. The composer's eclectic, largely tonal style ranges from jazz-tinged rhythms to a syncopated melody that accompanies the Sicilian cousins' entrance to a brief doo-wop, '50s-style chorus for the longshoremen, which opens Act II. As in the play, the song "Paper Doll" makes a brief appearance, sung in soaring verismo fashion by Rodolpho. That secondary character, played by tenor Gregory Turay, has the most interesting music in the opera, including an impulsive item about his desire to buy a motorcycle, complete with clarion top C. More substantial is Rodolpho's aria, "I love the beauty of the view at home." This love song to New York is a stunner, with the most evocative and perfectly blended words and music of the entire score. It is rendered with sensitivity and honeyed tone by Turay, whose performance on opening night nearly stopped the show.
The problem with A View from the Bridge is that there's nothing else in the opera remotely on the same inspired level as Rodolpho's aria. Marco (Mark McCrory) sings a dark-hued aria, "A ship called hunger," with new lyrics by Miller, which conveys that character's economic desperation and motivation in revenging his brother's dishonor, and elsewhere the composer's jagged lines neatly reflect the flat vowels and Brooklyn vernacular of the characters. Yet while Bolcom's music skillfully undergirds the action of Miller's play, it rarely illuminates it in an individual or effective way. The Miller drama survives, but the Bolcom opera remains oddly barren musically. The text is sometimes overset by the composer's literal approach: when Eddie cautions Catherine that she's "walking wavy," the orchestra's immediate sinuous sashay dilutes the memorable line and spoils the joke. Much of the score reverts to gray accompanimental figures, deftly underlining the words yet not providing any real interest on its own. The Act II scene and duet between Catherine and Rodolpho is lyrically flat, with by-the-numbers figurations. Alfieri, the lawyer (Timothy Nolen), acts as a kind of leader of the neighborhood Greek (actually Italian) chorus; their condemnation and frequent choral interjections to Eddie remain heavy-handed.
And the main characters are not given much of anything worthwhile to sing. The character of Eddie Carbone is a fascinating tragic figure, here brought brilliantly to life by Kim Josephson. The baritone inhabits Eddie completely: his scenes with Beatrice, the equally fine Catherine Malfitano, crackle with theatrical intensity; his final words, "My Bea," are sung with lovely, soft mezza voce head tone. Yet the role cries out for an extended scene in which the character can rage against the destruction he has caused. The opera is scheduled to be performed at the Met in a few seasons; Bolcom has indicated that some revisions will beef up the role of Eddie musically, perhaps with just such a Grimes-like addition. The others in the strong cast fulfill their varied assignments superbly, and Dennis Russell Davies conducts with the greatest sympathy and commitment, eliciting warmly responsive playing and singing from the Lyric Opera Orchestra and Chorus.
LAWRENCE A. JOHNSON
EYERLY: The House of the Seven Gables
Smith, Rushton; Schaffner, Aquilino, Johnson; Manhattan School of Music Opera Theater and Orchestra, Gilbert.Text. Albany Records TROY 447 (2)
Scott Eyerly's opera adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables had its New York premiere last December as part of Manhattan School of Music's ambitious Opera Theater program and is now available as a two-disc set from Albany Records. From the evidence here, Eyerly seems to have been quite successful in translating Hawthorne's subtle, moody, narrative-heavy novel to the stage. Hawthorne's book treats one of the author's favorite moral themes -- that the wrongdoing of one generation lives into the successive ones. The house of the title is built on land that Colonel Pyncheon, the family founder, wrested from a certain Matthew Maule by accusing Maule of witchcraft during the Salem witch trials. Maule's dying curse -- "God will give you blood to drink!" -- accurately foretold the Colonel's choking death, which has re-enacted itself through subsequent generations of the Pyncheon family. The last death, thirty years ago, resulted in the conviction and imprisonment of Clifford Pyncheon for the murder of his uncle. As the story opens, Clifford has just been released. By the end, we learn that he is innocent; it was his idle, reckless cousin Jaffrey who triggered the uncle's death -- an apparently hereditary type of seizure -- and planted evidence to frame Clifford as the murderer. The book (and the opera) climaxes with Jaffrey's own choking death as the latest victim of the Maule curse.
Eyerly, who wrote his own libretto, departs considerably from the book. Many details have been changed or added, with a thoughtful eye toward clear narrative and maximum drama. One pivotal scene in the opera, a confrontation between Clifford and Jaffrey (now the respected and formidable Judge Pyncheon), is entirely Eyerly's creation. This highly dramatic encounter, in which Clifford forces Jaffrey to recount the details of his treachery from thirty years before, is arguably a more exciting revelation of this life-shattering familial evil than Hawthorne's.
Eyerly tells the story predominantly through sung dialogue (mostly of his own devising), although the set pieces are well-placed and melodically memorable. The musical language is tonally-based and anchored in tradition -- appropriate for the setting and the characters -- but inventive and varied enough so that long stretches of conversation sustain aural interest.
As Phoebe Pyncheon, soprano Kelly Smith is a perfect embodiment of the young, recently-arrived country cousin who brings sweetness and light to the dank, decaying atmosphere of the cursed house. Her highly attractive, unfailingly intelligible delivery is a model of vocal naturalism. Christianne Rushton as Hepzibah, Clifford's aging, homely sister, is strong and convincing, with the rigidity one expects from a woman who has endured so much solitude. James Schaffner's pitiable Clifford reacts touchingly and with blossoming vocalism to the glimpses of beauty that penetrate his tormented existence. Holgrave, the boarder who is chronicling the Pyncheon family history (and who, in a fascinating twist, turns out to be a Maule descendent), is sung with ardent lyricism by Bert Johnson, who only sporadically lets operatic mannerisms interfere with his diction. Baritone Dominic Aquilino conveys both the power and the menace of Jaffrey -- his outward righteousness and his interior villainy -- through purely vocal means. The Manhattan School of Music Opera Orchestra sounds more like a student orchestra here than I've noticed in other recordings (inevitably there is personnel turnover each year), but conductor David Gilbert handles the organically evolving score with confident fluidity. This recording is a fine achievement -- an auspicious debut for Eyerly as an opera composer, an impressive document of the excellence of the Manhattan School's Opera Studio, and another feather in the cap for producer John Ostendorf and Albany Records.
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
ROSSINI: Otello
Ratiani, Ciofi, Vivian; Edwards, Bonfatti, Kang; Bratislava Chamber Choir, Orchestra Internazionale d'Italia, Arrivabeni. Text and translation. Dynamic CDS 369/1-3 (3) (Qualiton, dist.)
In the nineteenth century, Rossini's Otello was performed nearly as often as his Barbiere di Siviglia, but nowadays it is so rarely given that people will even drive out to Westchester to hear this monumental work. It is a casting nightmare, requiring three star-quality tenors for the roles created in 1816 by the great Andrea Nozzari (Otello), the much-celebrated Giovanni David (Rodrigo) and Neapolitan favorite Giuseppe Ciccimarra (Iago), in addition to three comprimario tenors in the roles of Lucio, the Doge and the Act III gondolier. One alternative to finding six tenors, adopted by conductor Paolo Arrivabeni at the Martina Franca Festival in 2000 and recorded live for Dynamic, is to present a version based on 1831 performances in Paris, in which Maria Malibran sang the role of Otello en travesti. Never mind that Le Figaro called her performance "ridiculous" and Chopin claimed she was "not very good" in the role; Giuditta Pasta had portrayed the Moor two years earlier in London, and Malibran went her one better, alternating in the roles of Otello and Desdemona and accompanying herself on the harp for the willow song.
Role-swapping, aria-stealing and inserting signature tunes from other works was common practice throughout the nineteenth century, and it is fitting that modern-day performances are gradually beginning to reflect this important aspect of historical presentation. On the down side, one fascinating element lost in this "Malibran version" is the opportunity to hear and compare the tenors in various combinations. In Act I, the villain, Iago, draws Rodrigo into a duet of alliance (here Iago is appropriately brighter and snarlier than the warm and amorous Rodrigo), and in the next act Otello and Iago go at each other, until finally Rodrigo and Otello have a full-out duet/duel, replete with staggering coloratura, rangy leaps, vocal swordplay and competing high Ds. When all three roles are sung by tenors, these different combinations instigate vocal and theatrical competition of the highest order. With a treble-voiced Otello, the effect is quite different, and not so thrilling. One can imagine the immensely dramatic Malibran, a renowned Desdemona, eyeing enviously the title role and making the most of its heroic declamation, virtuosity and histrionic possibilities. Here, Irine Ratiani is initially impressive and incisive, managing Otello's high tessitura consistently well, at times even electrifyingly, but the voice soon turns shrill and abrasive; not entirely at home in the bel canto style, she barrels through coloratura passages with neither finesse nor control.
On the other hand, Patrizia Ciofi, as Desdemona, exhibits consistent vocal beauty and real mastery of the style, impressively handling the lyricism, florid writing and emotional range. The harmonically daring Act I duet with Barbara Vivian's Emilia is one of the performance's high points. "L'error d'un infelice," the lead-off phrase in the finale of Act II, is warm and limpid, and the Act III willow song and prayer are delivered movingly, without the detachment one often hears in this scene.
Because the libretto is based on other sources, Shakespeare-lovers will be disconcerted by the diminished stature of Iago: denied an aria, the singer must make the most of his two duet appearances. Gregory Bonfatti is vocally distinctive and dramatically excellent, especially in the Act II duet with Otello; in deliciously snide whispers, he shadows and perverts every phrase of the hero he despises. This contrasts nicely with Simon Edwards's Rodrigo (another role often grabbed by women), whose big Act II plea to Desdemona, "Ah, come mai non senti," is sung with full-voiced acrobatics.
In addition to Rossini's original (and groundbreaking) tragic finale, the inclusion here of the happy ending required by the Roman censors in an 1820 revival provides yet another historical document. (In the alternative ending, Desdemona convinces Otello of the misunderstanding, in music lifted from Rossini's own Armida and Ricciardo e Zoraide, and all ends well.) Though the recording contains both finales, the program booklet does not make entirely clear how to line up the different versions. The live recording is sonically fine, in spite of the usual clanking and stage thumping, and Arrivabeni generates plenty of excitement from the pit. The applause throughout seems flimsy considering the vitality of the performance.
JUDITH MALAFRONTE
BOESMANS: Wintermärchen
Chilcott, Kallisch; Rolfe Johnson, Zednik, Duesing, Dane, Selig; Aka Moon, Orchestre Symphonique et Choeurs de la Monnaie, Pappano. Text and translations. Deutsche Grammophon 469 559-2 (2)
Deutsche Grammophon continues its laudable 20/21 series with Wintermärchen, an adaptation, in German, of Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale, with music by Philippe Boesmans and libretto by Luc Bondy and Marie-Louise Bischofberger. The Winter's Tale is considered one of Shakespeare's "problem plays," as it toys with conventions of comedy, tragedy, plot and time. In the first part, Leontes, King of Sicilia, wrongfully accuses his queen, Hermione, of adultery with his best friend, Polixenes. This miscalculation results in the loss of his wife, the death of his son and the exile of his newborn daughter. The more pastoral second part takes place sixteen years later in Polixenes's kingdom of Bohemia, where his estranged son, Florizel, has fallen in love with Leontes's grown daughter, Perdita. The libretto has been nicely streamlined and reduced from five acts to four, with the greatest textual and musical departures in the Bohemian scenes. We lose Autolycus, who drives the action in this portion of the play, and the Bohemian clowns become a band of pickpockets, led by Florizel. Perdita is mute and played by a dancer. In order to establish the emotional and experiential distance between Florizel and his father, the pickpocket scenes are sung in English, and both Boesmans and the orchestra take a break, allowing much of the music to be improvised by the fusion band Aka Moon. This proves an effective musical gambit, and Boesmans's flexibility paves the way for a smooth segue into this hip, edgy, modern vision of rebellious youth.
Although the libretto simplifies Shakespeare's variety of mood and style, Boesmans's eclectic, post-modernist palette gives the opera the same effect on the musical level. He ranges stylistically from a deconstructed Straussian lyricism in the opening scenes, to the violent expressionism of Leontes's rage, to the Monteverdian exhortations of the courtiers, to a spare minimalism for Florizel's aria, which, with its strange, stuttering vocal line for rock tenor, also has overtones of Jesus Christ Superstar. However, when emotions are writ large, the music turns melodramatic, becoming more filmic and accompanimental than active and organic. Often the orchestra reacts before a character does, thus telegraphing the emotional response and boxing the singer into a predetermined reaction, with no opportunity for exploring subtext. One interesting exception is the relationship between Hermione and Polixenes, which Boesmans makes rather ambiguous. When they repeat in blissful duet the word "ewiglich" (eternal), referring, allegedly, to the bonds of childhood friendship, the sweet harmonic unity of their voices seems to suggest other bonds as well.
The singers all perform with great confidence and strong dramatic intent. Dale Duesing is a forceful, menacing Leontes who manages to find quieter moments of torment amid his relentlessly angry and angular outbursts. Susan Chilcott uses her limber soprano to reveal both Hermione's jeune-fille playfulness with Polixenes and the earthy, maternal groundedness in her wrenching courtroom pleas. As her loyal lady-in-waiting Paulina, mezzo-soprano Cornelia Kallisch's strong chest tones and authoritative delivery make her a convincing moral adversary for Leontes. Anthony Rolfe Johnson uses his ringing, expressive tenor to honorable effect as Polixenes, although Boesmans has set several key phrases below normal tenor range. The vibrant tenor Heinz Zednik is a strong, insistent presence as Time, who introduces the Bohemian scenes, as in the play, but who alternately narrates and participates in the action throughout the opera in the guise of an accordion-playing tramp named Green. Franz-Josef Selig lends his magisterial bass to the roles of Camillo and the Oracle. Conductor Antonio Pappano is an excellent guide through this fascinating, challenging, colorfully orchestrated score; he and the superb Orchestre Symphonique de la Monnaie provide a firm anchor for the singers. This is a live recording of the world premiere, which took place in December 1999, at the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels.
JOANNE SYDNEY LESSNER
TRAETTA: Antigona
Bayo, Panzarella, Polverelli; Allemano, Ragon; Chur de Chambre Accentus, Équilbey; Les Talens Lyriques, Rousset.Text and translations. Decca 460 204-2
Even as tragedies go, Sophocles's Antigone is notably cruel, climaxing with the heroine's suicide after her uncle has condemned her to be buried alive. The play examines the conflicting claims of the family and the state, whose values are called into question by Antigone, a young woman fiercely devoted to her clan and scandalously autonomous ("a law unto herself"). Strange, then, to encounter in the opera Antigona by Tommaso Traetta (1727-79) a version of the story ending with blundered suicide attempts, a last-minute reprieve and songs in praise of love's sweetness. Librettist Marco Coltellini's "happy" ending spares the life of Sophocles's defiant maiden, who is instead handed off to a husband by her contrite and magnanimous uncle. An enlightened resolution or reactionary twaddle? Listeners will decide for themselves.
Implausible though it may be, Antigona's ending does yield some of Traetta's most handsome music: the sober, intricate chaconne with which the festivities come to an end, as well as the ensemble writing in the finale, in which the voices of Antigona, Creonte (her uncle) and Emone (her fiancé) weave and soar in melodies of chaste, majestic beauty. A contemporary of Gluck, Traetta was a cosmopolitan fellow: he was born near Bari, received most of his training in Naples (with Niccolò Jommelli, among others) and was eventually summoned to such high-profile locales as Venice, London, Vienna and St. Petersburg. He composed Antigona in 1772, while in the service of Catherine the Great, who no doubt took pleasure in the opera's flattering depiction of authoritarian rulers.
María Bayo's gleaming tones suggest both Antigona's youth and her piety, and the soprano's patrician diction and unfailingly graceful phrasing well befit a princess. Still, there is a sweetness to her singing that ill suits the severe, uncompromising princess, and one wonders what Cecilia Bartoli or Anna Caterina Antonacci might make of this role. With her softer, more velvety timbre, Anna Maria Panzarella as Ismene makes an effective foil to the truculent Antigona, and Laura Polverelli is a plummy-voiced, endearingly butch Emone. To Carlo Vincenzo Allemano falls the thankless role of the pompous, long-winded Creonte. His is not an especially glamorous instrument, but he is a scrupulous musician, delivering both recitatives and florid passages incisively. Gilles Ragon is agreeable as Adrasto. The Chur de Chambre Accentus performs elegantly, as does Les Talens Lyriques (on period instruments) under Christophe Rousset, with the wind playing especially suave. Recorded sound is a touch shallow; liner notes by Giovanna Ferrara are uncommonly informative.
M. LIGNANA ROSENBERG
GLUCK: Iphigénie en Tauride
Delunsch, Cousin; Keenlyside, Beuron, Naouri; Les Musiciens du Louvre, Minkowski. DG Archiv 471 133-2 (2)
Fans of Gluck's operas have enjoyed a recent feast of stage performances and recordings of Iphigénie en Tauride, and this latest example, under the brilliant direction of Marc Minkowski, might just be the crème de la crème, even with its one serious shortcoming, Mireille Delunsch's rather placid Iphigénie.
Comparing the opening pages of the opera as played here with the other available period-instrument Iphigénie, with Martin Pearlman's Boston Baroque (Telarc), immediately shows the differences between their approaches. Gluck marks the instrumental calm before the storm "Gracieux, un peu lent," and Pearlman's tempo emphasizes the "gracious" side; it's pleasant music to accompany a group of silk-clad aristocrats from a Fragonard painting as they gambol around well-manicured gardens. Minkowski's opening is much slower -- an utterly serene, Eden-like stillness, abruptly broken by the beginning of a storm in the distance. As played by Boston Baroque, the storm is a rather genteel disturbance, as if it knew this was, after all, part of an evening's civilized entertainment. Minkowski's is a force of nature -- with Gluck's orchestral timbres and dynamic markings superbly realized and crystal clear. The racing sixteenth-notes are not just cleanly played, they pulsate with energy and shimmer with instrumental color. At its height, the storm seems to leap from the stereo's speakers, and when Iphigénie enters with her cry, "Grands dieux! soyez-nous secourables," it's magnificently gripping drama.
Unfortunately, once past Iphigénie's opening scene, Delunsch settles into a pretty but rather monochromatic performance. She brings some life to the recitatives, but her arias have little of the marvelous nuance and varied emotion that so infuse Christine Goerke's performance on Telarc, or that Susan Graham brings to three of Iphigénie's arias on her recent CD of Mozart and Gluck arias (Erato 85768). It is a surprising lapse in Minkowski's recording, given the superb passion, coupled with beautiful singing, from the rest of his cast -- especially Simon Keenlyside as Oreste.
Though Oreste has only one line in Act I, Keenlyside seems to create a three-dimensional character instantly with just those nine words. His artistry goes far beyond the intrinsically beautiful voice, or the fact that the voice is the perfect weight and color for the role -- elegant without ever being effete, aristocratic yet brimming with masculinity. Keenlyside uses all that to bring Oreste to life, to make listeners truly feel the character's emotions. Keenlyside simply is Oreste; the music is not a screen between listeners and performer, it is a bridge that unites them in the same intimate moment. If Yann Beuron (Pylade) and Laurent Naouri (Thoas) are not on that same exalted level, their performances are thoroughly enjoyable, solid contributions to the superb whole.
PAUL THOMASON
MONTEVERDI: L'Incoronazione di Poppea
Laurens, Galli, Banditelli, Fernandez, Borges, Fedi, Lanza; Oliver, Schofrin,
Garcia, Oro, Cecchetti, Jaroussky, Zanasi, Vargetto, Caccamo, Ferrari; Ensemble Elyma, Garrido. Text and translations. K617 110/3 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)For sheer amoral fun, can any opera top Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione di Poppea? From its prologue positing the ascendancy of Eros and Fortune over Virtue ("obsolete, abhorred, unwanted") to Nero and Poppea's final duet, its luscious dissonances so suggestive of the bliss and yearning of carnal love, Poppea makes Carmen, Die Walküre, even Lulu seem in comparison like so much bourgeois hokum. To be sure, at least one school of thought maintains that the opera really was intended to exalt the constancy of Ottavia, Seneca and the other "respectable" characters, since Monteverdi's audience would have known quite well how history ultimately unfolded (with Nero allegedly kicking the pregnant Poppea to death). Still, given the heterodox leanings of librettist Busenello and his circle -- to say nothing of the seventy-five-year-old composer's miraculously vital and luxuriant score -- who can blame listeners for being taken in by Poppea's wicked delights?
Sensual joy is certainly the salient feature of this riveting new recording from K617, the latest installment in conductor Gabriel Garrido's acclaimed Monteverdi cycle. Though their efforts are undercut by the somewhat tubby recorded sound, the Ensemble Elyma under Garrido plays with extraordinary fire, the winds proud and gleaming, the continuo alive to the singers' phrasing and accents. The recording was made following a run of performances in Palermo, and indeed it captures something of the impact of the theater: when Mercurio (the excellent Philippe Jaroussky) visits Seneca, the atmosphere virtually sparkles, as if wisps of ether had trailed in the wake of the heavenly messenger. All in all, then, a most worthy addition to the catalogue -- premium-priced, but more gripping and stylishly sung than the admirable Harnoncourt (Teldec) or Gardiner (DG) sets.
As Poppea, Guillemette Laurens fairly bursts with exuberance; whether feigning modesty or entreating her lover to prolong their intimacies, her singing is no less seductive, imaginative or mannered than Busenello's verse. (In a cast notable for lucid enunciation, Laurens alone is wont to swallow -- or tack on -- a syllable or two in pursuit of expressive phrasing.) Also outstanding are Gloria Banditelli as Ottavia and Fabian Schofrin as Ottone: the former lustrous of tone, eloquently conveying the spurned empress's pride and disbelief, the latter memorable for his elegant musicianship and velvety, soft-grained timbre. Flavio Oliver (Nero) and Emanuela Galli (Drusilla) both display a flair for florid music and a tendency to turn shrill in high, loud passages. Mario Cecchetti is a suave, memorable Lucano, while Ivan Garcia (Seneca) and the remaining cast members are uniformly strong, with the smaller roles in particular most vividly characterized.
M.L.R.
HASSE: Il Cantico de' Tre Fanciulli
Bossa, Donzelli, Sandivari; Doro, Ewing; Gruppo Corale Ars Cantica, Ensemble
Musica Rara, Bosman. Notes, text and translation. Bongiovanni GB 2283/84-2 (Qualiton, dist.)Il Cantico de' Tre Fanciulli (1734), an oratorio by the prolific German composer Johann Adolf Hasse (1699-1783), is based on a well-known story from the Book of Daniel about three brothers who refuse to worship a golden idol built by King Nebuchadnezzar. The fraternal trio is sent to perish in a burning fiery furnace, but they miraculously survive the ordeal, thus convincing the king to recognize God's omnipotence. The parable offers ample opportunity for musical theatrics -- imagine what Handel could have done with it! -- but while Hasse's setting is delightfully tuneful, the result seems more a tempest in a teapot than gripping drama. Not that this performance helps much. Of the three brothers, only alto Gianluca Belfiori Doro (Misaele) adequately displays his moral outrage at the king's religious tyranny. In fact, the tyrant himself is the most fully drawn character here, sung with regal zest by bass Alan Ewing. Alas, Ewing's efforts are thwarted by the anemic-sounding orchestra of period instruments. There are some moments to savor -- most notably the brothers' brief, beautiful trio "E onor a Dio rendete," with its ecstatically intertwining melodies. It seems safe to predict, however, that this interpretation will not win many new fans for this neglected composer. The producers perversely decided to preserve for posterity the Milanese audience's tepid applause at the performance, recorded live in 1999. Koch-Schwann released a studio recording of this same work just last year, offering sweeter-sounding voices (and more comprehensive liner notes) but not a drop of dramatic intensity. A better way to make Hasse's acquaintance might be with William Christie's stylish production of Cleofide on Capriccio, or a Salve Regina bracingly performed by Barbara Bonney, Bernarda Fink and Musica Antiqua Köln on DG.
ANDREW FARACH-COLTON
CHORAL AND SONG RACHMANINOFF: The Bells/TANEYEV: John of Damascus
Mescheriakova; Larin, Chernov; Moscow State Chamber Choir, Russian National Orchestra, Pletnev. Transliterated texts and translations. DG 289 471 029-2
Though Rachmaninoff's lush, mellifluous style seems at odds with the obsessively clangorous language of Edgar Allan Poe's poem "The Bells" (even in Konstantin Balmont's more lyrical Russian adaptation/ translation), it is not difficult to understand why the composer was drawn to these verses. The poetry's rhythms sway like an Orthodox priest's censer, and the poem's emotional progression from youthful joy to funereal gloom gave Rachmaninoff the opportunity to create his own Pathétique Symphony. He once claimed The Bells was his favorite of all his works.
Mikhail Pletnev taps into the music's profound melancholy without sacrificing any of its sonic glitter or dramatic brio. In the opening movement, one can almost feel the icy breeze as the sleighs jingle by, and the quick transition into the hushed central section is absolutely magical, thanks in large part to tenor Sergei Larin's exquisite mezza voce. The second movement ("Hear the mellow wedding bells") is languorous, hypnotic and almost disconcertingly sexy. Soprano Marina Mescheriakova's voice is a joy to hear -- an instrument of complex character, offering vibrancy and warmth, steel and sinew. Baritone Vladimir Chernov affects an appropriate tone of weary anguish for the final movement, a bleak meditation on death.
But this is really Pletnev's show. He elicits impassioned and virtuosic performances from the Moscow State Chamber Choir and his own Russian National Orchestra. In this conductor's hands, the "clang, clash and roar" of Poe's alarm bells in the third movement are truly terrifying, an effect that results from careful attention to details of orchestral balance, articulation and color, rather than from histrionic arm-waving. DG's spectacularly engineered recording doesn't hurt, either.
With its muted orchestration and old-fashioned fugal writing, Taneyev's cantata John of Damascus seems somewhat dour, at least in comparison with Rachmaninoff's vivid work. Yet Taneyev's odd mixture of Russian religious chant and Germanic counterpoint is strangely affecting -- Boris meets Ein Deutsches Requiem. John is not a masterpiece, but the fervent conviction of Pletnev's performance makes it well worth hearing.
A. F.-C.
HANDEL: Gloria; Dixit Dominus
Kirkby, Martinpelto, von Otter; Royal Academy of Music Baroque Orchestra, Cummings; Stockholm Bach Choir,Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble, Öhrwall. 2001, 1986. Text and translation. BIS-CD-1235
Emma Kirkby, Charles Daniels
"HANDEL: THE OCCASIONAL SONGS" Nicholson, director/harpsichord; Miller, archlute, theorbo; Sharman, cello. Text and translation. Somm CD 226
The main attraction on this BIS disc is the world-premiere recording of a hitherto unknown Gloria by Handel, authenticated in March 2001 by Hans Joachim Marx of Hamburg. The piece was unearthed twenty years earlier in the Royal Academy of Music in London, but it was not attributed to Handel at that time. The Gloria, which has been dated to Handel's sojourn in Rome in 1707, at age twenty-two, is a virtuoso showpiece for coloratura soprano. This is no immature, forgettable work but an immediately engaging, compelling, easily programmable piece that should hold tremendous appeal for sopranos everywhere. Here it is given life by early-music specialist Emma Kirkby. Her ultra-light, pure, nimble soprano is as fresh as ever, and while singers with larger voices probably will also find the piece a satisfying performance vehicle, it would be difficult to find one who can match the instrumental accuracy of Kirkby's rapid-fire passagework in the Cum Sancto Spiritu. Her high notes could be bolder, and there are times when one wishes she weren't quite so stinting with her gentle vibrato, but there is a steadiness and command of style present in her performance that illuminate the haunting, spun-out Qui Tollis, the graceful Gratias Agimus Tibi, the tentatively touching Et in Terra Pax and the lively Laudamus Te. The Royal Academy of Music Baroque Orchestra under Laurence Cummings plays with all the expected zest and excitement of inaugural interpreters. (The Gloria's official modern stage premiere, in June 2001 at the Göttingen Handel Festival, is reviewed this month in opera news online.) The Gloria is paired with a 1986 recording of Handel's Dixit Dominus, featuring Anne Sofie von Otter, whose characteristically liquid and luminous mezzo is in fine form. Soprano Hillevi Martinpelto's sound is warm if a bit otherworldly -- pleasant on its own, but not the ideal blend for von Otter's. The choral and orchestral work is, unfortunately, somewhat robotic.
The "occasional songs" of the Somm disc are stand-alone pieces by Handel written for a variety of purposes over the course of his career. Almost all of them are recorded here for the first time. Kirkby is a delight in this repertoire -- there is so much life and enjoyment to her singing. One realizes that this is the component missing in so many early-music interpreters who have sought to emulate her. She allows the words to guide her musical choices in these immediate, charming and deceptively simple songs, and any whitening of tone remains a choice rather than the default setting it is for so many. In the "Airs français," tenor Charles Daniels is less at home than Kirkby, but the songs in his native English, such as "The Beauteous Chloe" and "Strephon's Complaint of Love," allow him to convey pleasure and meaning with an engaging and naturally buoyant sound. Kirkby and Daniels are given merry support by a sturdy team of period instrumentalists.
J.S.L.
IVES: Sets for Small Orchestra; Songs
"WHEN THE MOON" Narucki; Sylvan; Feinberg, piano; Music Projects, Bernas. English texts. Decca 289 466 841-2
This collection is a terrific idea -- it highlights the relationship between a number of Ives songs and the short instrumental pieces, collected as "Sets for Small Orchestra," that share musical material with them. As David Nicholls explains in his helpful notes, sometimes the orchestral pieces were derived from pre-existing songs, sometimes vice-versa. Although the "Sets" are presented separately from the songs in order to preserve the ordering Ives intended, it is illuminating (if perhaps a bit laborious) to program your CD player to pair off the vocal and instrumental versions of each piece and hear them back-to-back. Some of the pairings are quite similar to each other; in other cases, considerable changes were made in the adaptation process. Even when the musical content of the two versions is essentially the same, they still don't always sound like the same piece. This is because singers Susan Narucki and Sanford Sylvan, along with pianist Alan Feinberg, do such a convincing job of rendering the songs as vocal pieces, with maximum attention to the specifics of phrasing, expression and tempo that the added dimension of words requires. It's possible that these three performers never heard the instrumental versions; if not, it's all the better.
The rarely heard "Sets" are performed by the London-based ensemble Music Projects, skillfully conducted by Richard Bernas. This is winning, fresh, inventive and highly challenging music -- regardless of format -- and all the performers deserve highest accolades. The chance to observe what happens when a composer reimagines his own music affords keen insight into the essence of what makes him tick. In the case of Ives, who practically defines the word "iconoclast," it's a golden opportunity.
J.R.
RECITAL
Stephanie Blythe
"HANDEL/J.S. BACH ARIAS"
Arias from Giulio Cesare, Serse, Semele, Hercules, St. Matthew Passion,
St. John Passion, Mass in B minor.Ensemble Orchestral de Paris, Nelson.
Virgin Classics 45475Once in a blue moon, there comes a voice that, unheralded and unhyped, makes one sit up and take notice in the opera house. About five years ago, I was attending a performance of Britten's Peter Grimes at the Met with a friend from London. When the young mezzo performing the small role of Auntie began to sing, my friend and I both popped up in our seats, like two pieces of toast, and began leafing frantically through the program for the cast list. She and I both knew immediately that we were hearing an "important" voice. The Met's Auntie that night was Stephanie Blythe.
Since that time, the world at large has begun to become aware of Blythe's abundant gifts, through broadcast performances of Giulio Cesare from the Met, her richly entertaining recitals and (for lucky New Yorkers) her performance of the title role in Offenbach's La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein, for L'Opéra Français de New York, in which she both sparkled and touched the heart. Sparkling is something the mezzo does not get to do on this CD, composed largely of rather somber excerpts, but she does get to suffer lyrically and rage thunderously, and she does so with consistent richness and beauty of tone, as well as her customary unfussy directness.
Blythe's first big attention-getter at the Met was Cornelia in Giulio Cesare, which may account for a debut album comprised mainly of Handel arias. But she is a versatile performer, already having proved herself in roles as diverse as Fricka and Carmen, and one hopes that Virgin Classics will soon showcase other facets of her artistry as well. The disc opens with "Ombra mai fu" from Serse. Blythe's tone is arresting, and her imposing vocal presence is exploited at its best in recitative; her "Frondi tenere" immediately establishes person, place and emotional context with great authority. The aria itself is lovely but could have used a decoration or two to animate it. Dejanira's haunted and tormented outpourings in "Where shall I fly?" from Hercules are particularly in line with the mezzo's temperament and vocal range. Here she receives wonderfully sensitive support from John Nelson in building a scena of intensity and power. Blythe's ripeness of voice takes on point when necessary to underline text, but she is also capable of expressing vulnerability and scaling down, lending variety of delivery while never pointing up effects. In the better-known "Iris, hence away," from Semele, Blythe's betrayed Juno is again strongest in the recitative, but this is not to say that the aria isn't wonderfully delivered. While her florid singing throughout the disc is rarely heart-stopping, it is exciting enough and sometimes managed with legato, which means that there may be a touch of slurring of divisions in the interest of not cheating by aspirating, as so many lower voices do. Other times, there is a hint of aspiration, certainly forgivable and necessary, considering the whirlwind tempos taken here; trills are accomplished throughout with varying degrees of success.
For the Giulio Cesare excerpts, Blythe tackles both Cesare and Cornelia, the former's "Al lampo dell'arme" receiving a suitably fiery rendition, with what sounds like more forward placement, a more masculine tone production, as a sort of nod to castrato -- or countertenor -- domain. But in Cesare's softer-grained "Aure, deh, per pietà," there is not such a marked tonal difference from the voice she uses as Cornelia, in her lament, "Priva son d'ogni conforto." A high point in the recent, justly acclaimed, Met revivals of Cesare was the duet "Son nata a lagrimar," in which Blythe, as the widowed Cornelia, and David Daniels, as her son Sesto, sang a heartbroken farewell. As Daniels is also a Virgin Classics artist, someone had the good sense to bring him in to record the duet for this disc, and the result is nearly as magical here as it was live, minus only the startling immediacy it had in the house, as well as the equally startling absence in the Met of coughing, purses clicking, candy wrappers or cell phones for five minutes -- a tribute unto itself.
While the Handel arias beg only a little more in the way of embellishment and expressive word-coloration, particularly in the slow sections, the Bach excerpts, sung and played exquisitely, crave more individuality of approach to justify their inclusion out of the context of the complete oratorios. Each one is tastefully sung and clearly enunciated, but minus the depth of feeling that can make, for instance, "Erbarme dich, mein Gott," from the St. Matthew Passion, a wrenching experience. Blythe's voice, like that of her great American predecessor Eileen Farrell, is made for Bach, but here, the approach feels somewhat "correct" rather than involved. John Nelson and the Ensemble Orchestral de Paris provide stunning accompaniments. In the Handel particularly, there is a strong sense of collaboration, and in the Bach, although the results are not so moving, the playing is never less than exemplary.
IRA SIFF
Russell Watson
"THE VOICE" Arias and songs by Giordano, Franck, De Curtis, Verdi, Puccini et al. Various orchestras, various conductors. Texts and translations.
Decca 289 468 695-2Calling this CD "The Voice" is utter fraud. With its ocean of echo effects, kiddie choirs and synthesizers, "The Electronics" would be a more honest title, since the voice Russell Watson takes so seriously (to judge by the immense ego revealed in the liner notes) is a constricted and throaty amateur tenor, with no true legato and only the most superficial connection to the music. Nevertheless, Watson -- a newcomer whose age is anywhere from twenty-seven to thirty-four, depending on which British tabloid you consult -- has been trumpeted as a rising star by his recording company.
Folks who consider the Three Tenors excessively highbrow, or who find the repertoire of Andrea Bocelli too challenging, are sure to find something here to delight them, with material ranging from Freddie Mercury's "Barcelona" to the soccer-match anthem "Nessun dorma." For some reason, many of the selections are in Italian and, while nearly every word is mispronounced, trilled r's are sprinkled over the whole mess, adding about as much legitimacy as oregano dumped onto a can of Spaghetti-O's.
Café customers who order a double tall vanilla caramel non-fat soy half-decaf moccachino with two inches of foam are having the same relationship with coffee as Watson's fans are having with opera. The listener with a sense of humor might enjoy his hilarious attempt to execute the cadenza of "La donna è mobile," but most of this stuff, especially the pasta-commercial rendition of "Funiculì, funiculà," is just embarrassing. Even my pets were staring at me in disbelief.
J.M.
Dagmar Pecková
"DVORAK SONGS" With Gage, piano. Texts and translations. Supraphon SU 3437-2 231 (Qualiton, dist.)
Perhaps because of linguistic barriers, Dvorák's straightforward, melodious songs have missed the popularity of his purely instrumental works among non-Czech listeners. The brief In Folk Tone cycle would make a nice contrasting group in any program; the occasionally Brahmsian Love Songs are substantial and varied. The once ubiquitous "Songs My Mother Taught Me" pops up in the Gypsy Songs, whose Gypsies are more suavely garbed than Brahms's more familiar, earthier tribe. The Biblical Songs get the occasional airing in English or German translation but communicate more directly and authentically in their original Czech rhythms. (I don't mean just the linguistic inflections but the actual musical rhythms, whose chattering lilt is simplified and "flattened" to accommodate the Germanic texts.)
Czech mezzo Dagmar Pecková, who is slowly amassing a varied discography for Supraphon, is that rarity -- a well-trained singer with a unique sound. Her voice, like many Slavic ones, has a naturally dark vowel quality and a forward, rather adenoidal resonance. Pecková balances these subtle antagonisms to produce a distinctive, plangent timbre, capable of enveloping warmth as well as touching vulnerability. She can narrow her vibrato to achieve pinpoint accuracy in intonation, making Dvorák's downward chromatics sound most affecting. (A single flat phrase-ending in "In the Sweet Power of Thine Eyes" should have been redone.) Her vibrant, firmly supported soft singing creates a spellbinding hush in "My only dear one"; and she can swell and taper into and out of full voice seemingly at will for expressive purposes, allowing her really to color the composer's characteristic quick shifts between major and minor harmony. On the strength of this showing, Pecková deserves greater renown; she has a more appealing and expressive instrument than Nathalie Stutzmann and considerably greater technical polish than Vesselina Kasarova, to cite two recently touted artists.
Dvorák has a reputation for clumsy piano writing, but Irwin Gage's handsome, articulate, evenly voiced playing makes the accompaniments sound easy; he does what he can to underline the Bohemian folk element in those Gypsy Songs. And, for once in a song recital, the engineering finds just the right balance and presence for singer and piano. The booklet, unfortunately, relegates the Czech texts and English, French and German translations to separate sections, instead of lining them up.
STEPHEN FRANCIS VASTA
Teresa Berganza
"ALMA DE ESPAÑA" Songs of Granados and Guridi; Falla-Arizcuren: El Amor Brujo. Cello Octet Conjunto Ibérico, Arizcuren. Texts and translations. Ambroisie AMB 9908
In the mid-1970s, when the artistry of mezzo-soprano Teresa Berganza stood at its zenith, she recorded six of the twelve Tonadillas of Enrique Granados (1867-1916) and three of the six Canciones Castellanas of Jesús Guridi (1886-1961) on LP for DG. Now, twenty-five years later, she brings us both collections complete. This time, the piano accompaniments are replaced by a cello octet, conducted by the arranger, Elias Arizcuren.
The Tonadillas are concise songs, many of them inspired by the art and personality of the great painter Goya. One of these, "La Maja de Goya," is preceded by a spoken narrative relating how a jealous husband surprised the painter as he was completing his notorious "Naked Maja," but on discovering the beauty of the painting, the model's spouse decided to leave Goya and the alluring subject alone, presumably for the glory of art. (A likely story!) Not all the Tonadillas are of equal merit, but these songs of Spain indeed reveal the soul of the nation through miniatures ranging from hot-blooded passion to impish humor. In one of the Tonadillas (No. 8), Berganza is charmingly partnered by her daughter, Cecilia Lavilla. Harmonically somewhat more advanced, the Guridi songs offer a variety of brief vignettes dealing with love in several manifestations. Most attractive is the melancholy "No quiero tus avellanas." The serenade "Como quieres que adivine" is clearly a man's song, but no one should complain.
I will not pretend that the voice of Teresa Berganza was left untouched by those twenty-five years. It no longer soars in the high reaches, and it tends to lose focus at forte, but the warmth of tone remains in the intimate passages, and so does her art of coloring phrases and subtly inflecting lyrics. She takes the first tonadilla at a comfortable lower key, revealing lusty contralto tones not available to her in her younger years. The unusual instrumentation underlines the tragic feeling in that same tonadilla, and lends extra emphasis to the various guitar-like effects.
As for Falla's El Amor Brujo, it is true that the composer's first version was written for eight instruments only, but certainly not for eight cellos. That said, the arrangement here is ingenious and virtuosically rendered. The "Dance of Terror" is effective; elsewhere the solo cello ascends brilliantly into the violin register; the brief horn passages are easily supplanted, but the flute lines in the final sections are missed. This is an enterprising and enjoyable release, and it should be warmly welcomed by Berganza's many admirers.
GEORGE JELLINEK
HISTORICAL
Beethoven: FIDELIO
Jurinac, Stader; Peerce, Neidlinger, Ernster, Dickie, Paskuda, Neuner; Chorus and Orchestra of the Bavarian State Opera, Knappertsbusch. 1961. Text and translation. Westminster 289 471 204-2
Mozart: REQUIEM
Jurinac, West; Loeffler, Guthrie; Vienna Academy Chamber Choir, Vienna State Opera Orchestra, Scherchen. 1958. No text. Westminster 289 471 201-2
Westminster's historic Fidelio recording wasn't exactly definitive in 1961, even by the less-than-lofty standards of the time. The cast boasted few great artists closely associated with their special assignments. Essential heroism was kept in check, except in matters strictly orchestral. The anonymous voices utilized for the spoken dialogue did not invariably resemble the singers on duty. The expressive ambience seemed rather sterile, the sonic reproduction a bit flat. Still, this was a special Fidelio -- a Fidelio conducted by Hans Knappertsbusch with Sena Jurinac in the title role.
Now returning on CD, the set takes on the value of a slightly bizarre yet illuminating curio. Knappertsbusch was a great Romantic conductor, a genuine link to Hans Richter and the golden Germanic age, a musician who dealt comfortably with bigger-than-life emotions, massive dynamic contrasts and spontaneous communicative appeals. Unfortunately, he also happened to be a rugged and stubborn individualist who loved slow tempos, hated rehearsals and desperately needed the stimulation of a live audience. Studio recordings tended to bring out the worst in him.
Much of his work here is daring and gutsy, grandiose yet subtly detailed. And, yes, much of it seems deliberate, plodding, mechanical, oddly and drastically distended. It never seemed like that in the opera house. Undaunted, the orchestra and chorus of the Munich Opera perform for their erstwhile boss -- ousted first by the Nazis, then by the occupation forces -- with obvious affection.
The wondrous Sena Jurinac had recorded a sweetly limpid Marzelline with Wilhelm Furtwängler, another languid titan, eight years earlier. Here she advanced, cautiously, to the heroic duties of Leonore. Her tone remains typically radiant and pure. Her marksmanship, even in the florid perils of "Abscheulicher, wo eilst du hin," emerges reasonably accurate, her technique secure. She earns sympathy by avoiding any hint of old-fashioned Germanic bathos. Still, she seems timid, even pallid, when she should be aggressive, merely correct when she might be exultant. Essentially, hers was an intimate art, and her understatement lost focus amid Knappertsbusch's massive gestures.
The others are competent. Jan Peerce never ventured Florestan in the opera house, though he had recorded the role at the opposite tempo extreme with Toscanini. The beloved American tenor doesn't flinch from the high tessitura, but his German sounds odd, his timbre a bit threadbare. Maria Stader is a wispy, soubrettish Marzelline, all too aptly complemented by the slender Jaquino of Murray Dickie. Gustav Neidlinger, Alberich in excelsis, turns Pizarro into a snarling caricature. Deszö Ernster, a survivor of Belsen, brings pathetic focus but limited resonance to the paternal clichés of Rocco. Though solid, Frederick Guthrie's grainy bass makes little of the climactic benediction of Fernando.
Jurinac had come close to her lyrical best when she recorded the Mozart Requiem for Westminster in 1958, and the current reissue reconfirms her commitment to ensemble values. Although none of her able colleagues -- tenor Hans Loeffler and mezzo-soprano Lucretia West, plus Guthrie again -- is really in her class, she adapts her resources sensitively to each. The raison d'être for the set, however, remains the underrated conductor, Hermann Scherchen (1891-1966), a modern-music pioneer whose ecclesiastic Mozart sings with uncommon majesty. The rolling Tuba Mirum tells it all.
MARTIN BERNHEIMER
VERDI: Falstaff
Noni, Tebaldi, Canali, Elmo; Stabile, Silveri, Valletti, Nessi, Maionica, M. Caruso; La Scala, de Sabata. 1951. No libretto. Urania 22.176 (2) (Qualiton, dist.)
This Falstaff, taken from a broadcast stage performance at La Scala on May 26, 1951, is a classic. But when it appeared on LP (Cetra Opera Live LO-14), it suffered from wild pitch variation: some passages were sharp, some flat, even within a single scene. Struggling with the radio sound, which is primitive for 1951, Urania has cleaned up the sonics somewhat and got the pitch pretty well stabilized. A few parts (the endings of Acts I and II, for instance) may still be a shade high, but not by more than a quarter-tone. For all its remaining shortcomings -- murky group sound, some background hum (as in the "L'onore!" monologue), some disappearing offstage voices -- it's a historical treasure.
The leadership of Victor de Sabata is the energizing force behind it all. No one ever accused this tightly wound maestro of routine work or of being too obliging toward singers' foibles. He holds a tight rein on the precipitate, complex ensembles, yet when the opportunity arises, as in Falstaff's rueful "Mondo ladro!" ruminations of Act III, scene 1, the tempo can be warm and relaxed, leaving room for such an artist as veteran baritone Mariano Stabile (Toscanini's Falstaff at the 1936 Salzburg Festival) to expand on the human condition, or, at the start of the next scene, for a crackerjack lyric tenor such as Cesare Valletti to unfurl Fenton's romantic opening phrases.
These singers are exceptional. So are the young Renata Tebaldi as a fun-filled Alice, Paolo Silveri as an excitable Ford, Cloe Elmo as an earthy Quickly, Alda Noni as a radiant Nannetta, and all the rest. Above all, they aren't doing star turns, they're forming a living, breathing ensemble, that rarest and most wonderful of opera experiences. When such a cohesive body of credible character actors gets the words out cleanly and punctually, with spirit and zest, Verdi's valedictory opera comes together with all its qualities jelled in three dimensions.
JOHN W. FREEMAN
BIZET: Carmen
Verrett, Te Kanawa, Cahill, Pashley; Domingo, van Dam, Van Allan, Allen; Orchestra and Chorus of the Royal Opera House, Solti. French libretto only. 1973. MYTO MCD 012.242 (3) (Qualiton, dist.)
These days, we have a plethora of seriously considered updatings, arbitrary, mindless updatings and downright infuriating updatings, all in an attempt to help opera regain its vitality. In the case of Carmen, perhaps the most performed of all operas, another option appeared before the onslaught of deconstruction. That option was a return to the original form of the work, that of an opéra comique, with spoken dialogue, rather than the sung recitative by Ernest Guiraud, that had became part and parcel of the familiar grand-opera version of Carmen. The Met used some of the dialogue in its 1972 production for Marilyn Horne and James McCracken, conducted by Leonard Bernstein. A year later, at Covent Garden, Georg Solti led performances of the Oeser edition, with far more of the dialogue, and it is from a broadcast of one of these performances that Myto has drawn this release.
Opera's then-editor, Harold Rosenthal, complained (as did many of the critics) about the inaudibility of the French dialogue in the house. There were also complaints about the inability of an international cast to deliver it convincingly -- save, of course, the impeccable José van Dam. On this recording there is no difficulty in hearing the lines, and they seem well coached and suitably animated. Myto supplies a libretto that reflects the edition performed, in French only; if an English translation is necessary, the listener needs to find another comique version that supplies a translation. Solti's 1975 studio recording (Decca 414489) uses the Oeser edition and many of the same principals as this performance.
Fans of Plácido Domingo and of Shirley Verrett will find much to enjoy here. Both singers are in good form, particularly the mezzo. Verrett is quite interesting. Hers has always been an individual timbre, perhaps not beautiful in the conventional sense, but unique, and possessing an innate animal intensity that can snarl or purr. Almost at odds with this seething quality is Verrett's refinement as a musician, more apparent back in 1973, when she was in her prime, than in later outings. She begins her Carmen suggestively, the Act I arias sung lightly. In Act II, things begin to cook when José hears the bugle call, and we -- and he -- see a side of her hinted at only by her involvement in the fight in the cigarette factory. By Act III, she is all icy indifference, the card scene chilling. And in her final confrontation with José, she loses all patience and employs a voice of raw intensity. The build is very persuasive.
Domingo, here in the early phase of his career, sings beautifully throughout. The flower song is very moving, the high B-flat almost piano and definitely dolce. In the final duet, he is a broken human being, using soft singing to full effect, but not affectedly. Kiri Te Kanawa, at the dawn of major stardom, contributes her usual plush velvet tone, and a bit more. The Act III aria, which makes or breaks a Micaela, is quite successful -- expressive, phrased exquisitely, full of stunning notes. There is a puzzling premature scurrying from the climactic high B-natural, which makes a dent in an otherwise memorable rendition. Van Dam sings suavely as Escamillo and does indeed deliver the most natural spoken lines of the performance. Supporting players are quite good, including the young Thomas Allen as Moralès, Richard Van Allan as Zuniga and Teresa Cahill and Anne Pashley, particularly good as Frasquita and Mercédès.
Georg Solti, who receives the lion's share of the applause from the Covent Garden audience, is uncharacteristically laid back, in tempo and explosions of volume. This is most welcome, and the singers make the most of it. His orchestra plays superbly for him, and the Royal Opera chorus is also quite good. This sounds like a carefully prepared production, in which nothing is handled carelessly, everyone on his toes and in fine form. The sound is wonderfully clear, present and undistorted. Bonus tracks include more Domingo Carmen excerpts, from Cincinnati Summer Opera, with the rich-voiced Mignon Dunn partnering him, and Lohengrin selections from Hamburg, with Arlene Saunders as Elsa. All bonus tracks date from 1968.
I.S.
LEONCAVALLO: Pagliacci
Petrella; di Stefano, Protti, Alva, Sordello; Chorus and Orchestra of La Scala, Milan, Sanzogno. 1956. Notes, Italian text. MYTO MCD 012.244
This performance was captured on April 24, 1956, during what is considered by many to have been the modern golden age of singing at La Scala. This must have been an off night. Although the interpretations are zestful, most of the singing, except that of one cast member, borders on crudeness.
Giuseppe di Stefano made his official opera debut in 1946 and soon was in demand internationally. By 1956, however, his excessive spreading in the upper register had begun to take its toll. This seems to have been a period of transition, in which the tenor was extending his repertoire to embrace heavier roles. Perhaps because of this and his heavy performing schedule, some of the more climactic moments in this performance lack the expected ring and freedom. No one, however, could dispute his dramatic conviction. The intense personal grief of the famous "Vesti la giubba" is superbly done -- sincerely felt and magnificently communicated.
Clara Petrella was a La Scala regular during this period, especially known for her singing of the standard verismo repertoire, as well as a number of now rarely performed Ildebrando Pizzetti works. Petrella's is a generic, all-purpose interpretation of Nedda, with some use of high chest voice and generalized dramatic inflections. In the famous ballatella she sounds desperate rather than ecstatic, and a tacky cut is made in Leoncavallo's "bird calls." The success of her duet with Tonio is due not to Petrella's emphatic exclamations but to the wonderful contrasts Aldo Protti creates between his initial, suave attempt at seduction and his fury at being rebuffed. It is an impassioned Protti who, starting with a superb Prologue, offers the most impressive singing during the evening. Enzo Sordello (Silvio) sings well but often seems to verge on flatness.
Nino Sanzogno leads a taut performance that gets its point across without providing any distinguishing insight into the work. The exquisite Intermezzo passes by practically unnoticed, so perfunctory is the conducting. The chorus is solid, involved and obviously well-rehearsed.
The sound, though variable, is acceptable for the time -- one must expect a certain amount of drop-out and blemishes in much of the taping done during this period. Unless you're a die-hard di Stefano fan, there are better performances to spend your money on.
NICHOLAS E. LIMANSKY
Arturo Toscanini et al.
"INAUGURAL CONCERT OF THE RECONSTRUCTED LA SCALA, MAY 11, 1946" Excerpts from La Gazza Ladra, Guglielmo Tell, Mosè, Nabucco, I Vespri Siciliani, Manon Lescaut, Mefistofele; Verdi Te Deum. With Favero, Tebaldi, Gardino; Malipiero, Pasero, Stabile, Nessi, Forti; La Scala Chorus and Orchestra, Toscanini. Italian and Latin texts only. Arkadia 78598 (2) (Qualiton, dist.)
The return of Arturo Toscanini to reopen La Scala after World War II was a powerfully emotional and symbolic event. Two and a half years earlier, the theater had been heavily damaged by Allied bombs. Toscanini, at odds with the Mussolini government, had been in exile from his homeland since 1938. To many present at the concert here recorded, including several of the singers who had worked there with him, and the reinstated chorus master, Vittore Veneziani, Toscanini embodied the best spirit of the theater he had last headed in the late 1920s.
Even for its period, the radio sound of this broadcast is primitive and variable. At its worst, in the opening overture to Rossini's La Gazza Ladra, it is plagued by a relentless munching noise. But much of what follows is easier on the ear, and Arkadia has done its best to restore the source material. Not much can be done about the monitoring of the volume level (boosting where quiet, blasting where loud), but the pitches of the selections have been corrected. (On an earlier CD of this concert, SRO-802, and an LP edition, HRE 243, La Gazza Ladra is a whole tone too low.) Where the pitch varies somewhat during the course of a selection, as in the Mefistofele prologue (nearly half a tone sharp at "Salve Regina!"), technical interference would be too chancy, and by the end of the final hymn, pitch has gradually receded to normal.
Some of the selections, such as the Mefistofele, the Rossini overture and the Verdi Te Deum, exist in later, better-sounding Toscanini recorded performances, but all the singing here is of special interest, and the complete Act III of Manon Lescaut is unique. Contemporaneous with the NBC recording of La Bohème, it preserves Toscanini's way with Puccini, who sometimes quarreled with the conductor -- but not about his musical interpretations.
Collectors of prewar vocal recordings need no introduction to such artists as Mafalda Favero, who sings the despairing Manon here; Giovanni Malipiero, her distraught but dignified des Grieux; Mariano Stabile, Toscanini's Falstaff at Salzburg, here the resourceful if unsuccessful manipulator Lescaut. Giuseppe Nessi, who intones the Lamplighter's serenade, is one of La Scala's legendary comprimarios, the tenor in many complete opera recordings of the 1930s. Similar credentials endow bass Tancredi Pasero, here vibrant and sonorous in the Mefistofele prologue and the prayer from Rossini's Mosè. Young Renata Tebaldi, on the other hand, fresh and radiant in Anaide's lines from Mosè, is virtually making her debut on the world stage with this performance.
There's an abundance of careful detail in every corner: the phrasing of the violins in such a seemingly simple piece as the Passo a Sei ballet music from Guglielmo Tell, the expressive coronas over certain words in the "Va, pensiero" chorus from Nabucco. But the intensity and dedication of this concert are what remains in the memory. Everyone knew what the occasion meant, and everyone gave it what the venerable theater deserved.
J.W.F.
Carlo Bergonzi
"THE SUBLIME VOICE" Arias and ensembles by Puccini, Verdi, Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Ponchielli and Cilea. Decca 289 4467 023-2
Was Carlo Bergonzi's voice "sublime"? The great tenor certainly produced an appealing sound, capable of great sweetness and Italianate to the core. But Bergonzi never approached Del Monaco's power, di Stefano's "ping," Corelli's juiciness, Pavarotti's brilliance, Domingo's velvet. Where Bergonzi matches, even outshines his illustrious rivals is in the use of his instrument to create vocal statements of exemplary musicality.
Bergonzi has always been a Verdi singer, first and foremost, and there's no better example of his artistry on the present discs than "Parmi veder le lagrime" from Rigoletto. The simplicity of his presentation is astounding -- the pure, unforced tone, the crystalline diction, most of all the singing line, presented without the little bursts of rawness that afflict so much tenor singing. There's ample rubato in the form of small, expressive ritards to inflect individual phrases, but the line never becomes slack: it continues to press forward to the piece's climax. That comes in the penultimate phrase, on a high B-flat -- hit cleanly, held securely (not a moment too long) and beautifully integrated with the notes that come before and after. The aria emerges with the clarity of an aphorism: as one cohesive, uninterrupted thought. Through the subtlety and absolute rightness of his singing, Bergonzi reveals Verdi's deep musical logic. A sublime voice? Perhaps. A sublime singer? Without a doubt.
The selections on these CDs are drawn mainly from complete opera recordings of the late 1950s and early '60s, when Bergonzi was in his vocal prime. There are a few individual arias, but for the most part, Decca provides generous samplings from the original sets. We get substantial looks at Bergonzi's Duke of Mantua, Rodolfo, Pinkerton, Alfredo, Radamès and Manrico. Best of all, the discs provide an all-but-complete hearing of Ballo's Riccardo -- a great role for Bergonzi, alternately brilliant and passionate. There are also tantalizing glimpses of a stellar gallery of colleagues: Tebaldi, Nilsson, Scotto, Sutherland, Cossotto, Fischer-Dieskau and Bastianini, as well as conductors such as Serafin, Karajan, Kubelik and Solti.
There are no texts or translations -- to be expected, perhaps, when such riches are offered at a budget price. But the producers have also been ungenerous with spaces between selections, plunging from Violetta's boudoir to Trovatore's gardens with scarcely a breath: a careless detail, unworthy of the tenor's art.
FRED COHN
Recital from Suzie LeBlanc; Tchaikovsky Songs; a Frank Martin rarity; Stella and Corelli in Il Trovatore; historic Gilbert and Sullivan. OPERA AND ORATORIO
MARTIN: Le Mystère de la Nativité
Locher, Zürcher; Einhorn, Rickenbacher, Brechbühler, Huttenlocher, Pavlu, Rosen; Mozart-Ensemble der Musikhochschule Luzern, Akademiechor Luzern, Mädchenchor inVOICE, Städtische Musikschule Luzern; Luzerner Sinfonieorchester, Koch. French text, German translation only. Musikszene Schweiz MGB CD 6173 (2)
Those who have criticized Frank Martin's music for stylistic invariance should hear his oratorio Le Mystère de la Nativité, composed between 1957 and 1959. A setting of part of Arnoul Greban's vast fifteenth century mystery play Mystère de la passion, Martin's retelling of the birth of Jesus employs different musical vocabularies to demarcate its three settings--earth, heaven, and hell. Martin's hell, which is populated by Satan, Lucifer, and Beelzebub, is a place where percussion dominates and vocal lines are mostly shouted or chanted rather than sung. Instrumental interludes here are almost comically dissonant. In heaven, at the other end of the musical spectrum, we find a tonal language which, though by no means devoid of surprises, is about as uncomplicated as one finds in Martin's output: God the Father intones in recitative-like passages with repeated notes in the vocal line and halos of sustained strings in the accompaniment; the choirs of angels sing affecting modal melodies; and Gabriel, despite some tricky harmonizations, is firmly anchored in tonality. On earth, we find a compromise between hell's dissonance and heaven's consonance which, as it happens, turns out to be Martin's characteristic and unmistakable floating tonality--melodies which use unusual sequences of thirds, half-steps and whole-steps, harmonized by triads (or sometimes contrapuntal lines) which progress according to Martin's own rigorous logic, without recourse to functional harmony. In his deployment of these varying styles, Martin is dramatically shrewd: Gabriel's music becomes denser when he speaks to the mortals--he needs to communicate in a language they understand. Similarly, Mary achieves a heavenly simplicity of her own as she reacts in awe to the voices of the angels.
Barbara Locher, who sings the Virgin Mary (and the briefer role of Eve), has a versatile soprano voice which glows with warmth when she revels in having been chosen by God. Baritone Philippe Huttenlocher, as Joseph (and Adam), is dignified but passionate. Michael Pavlu does not quite have the perfection of intonation one expects from the Heavenly Father, but he is commanding and resonant (aided by an extra bit of reverb). Tenor Christopher Einhorn has a slight tremor at his high end, but is fervent and particularly moving in the Annunciation. Liliane Zürcher as Elizabeth, Mary's cousin and the mother of John the Baptist, has a compelling if slightly covered sound; her voice blossoms more in the smaller role of the prophet Anna. Hans-Jürg Rickenbacher, Peter Brechbühler and Rudolf Rosen as hell's devils are amusing and decidedly unthreatening in their sprechgesang passages; it's nice to discover how well they all sing when they're later recast as shepherds and wise men. Conductor Alois Koch has a clear concept of this challenging but rewarding work, and he elicits stirring sounds from the soloists, the massed choirs, and the Luzerner Sinfonieorchester. Even for this avowed Martin fan, it took a few listenings for this piece to sink in (an English libretto probably would've helped), but it was well worth the effort.
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
RECITAL
Suzie LeBlanc
"AMOUR CRUEL" Songs by Lambert, Le Camus; Concerts by M. de Sainte-Colombe. French texts only. ATMA Classique ACD2 2216 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
Italian arias (Caccini, Monteverdi) and English airs (Dowland and other lutenists) of the early Baroque era are amply documented on records, but the same cannot be said for French songs of that period. Therefore the following interesting quote from 1640 in the annotations of this CD from Québec may be illuminating: "...songs are not meant to provoke anger and various other passions, but rather (...) to charm the spirit and ear and to help us spend our life with a bit of gentleness amid all the harshness we encounter."
The songs chosen here by soprano Suzie LeBlanc with lutenist Stephen Stubbs and gambists Susie Napper and Margaret Little (featured as "Les Voix Humaines") are, accordingly, soothing and gentle, never mind the "douleurs" and "malheurs" suggested by the lyrics. Six of the thirteen selections contained here are actually non-vocals. They are "Concerts" for two viole de gamba by the prolific M. de Sainte-Colombe, a seventeenth- century court musician and teacher of a younger generation of gambists. They are short (six to seven minute) pieces in two or three contrasting movements, the liveliest of which is Concert No. Nine (Cut Seven) with its central Gavotte section. Their brevity notwithstanding, the music allows for a certain variety of moods and ornamentations.
The songs are typical of what was then called "airs de cour" (court songs) with lyrics of the précieux variety, plaintive, yearning, and somewhat predictable. Their composers were either noted singers (Michel Lambert, who was Lully's father-in-law) or instrumentalists (Sébastien Le Camus, who was a master of both the gamba and the lute). The songs are accompanied either by the two gambists or by lute/theorbo and on two occasions by the full ensemble, which means three instruments. The vocal ornamentations are rather delicate in contrast with the more vigorous Italian style. "Ombre de mon amant" (Cut 10) follows an ABA structure, the other six songs are in two sections. In general, the songs engagingly evoke the distant world of a bygone age, and are exquisitely sung and played.
Suzie LeBlanc is an internationally known exponent of early music. Her soprano is admirably pure and she handles the ornamentations smoothly and gracefully. Her tone is warm and full, with a touch of enriching vibrato that I miss when she removes it in "Forêts solitaires" (Cut Eight). The airs are usually preceded by "Les Voix Humaines" who then subtly support the singer before asserting their prominence again in the ritornello. Two of the airs call for lute or theorbo accompaniment, tastefully supplied by Stephen Stubbs.
The recording offers excellent balances and a sound of immediacy. The repertoire pleases the ear, though I find it emotionally uninvolving -- admittedly a personal view. But the performers are to be admired for their dedication to this relatively uncharted musical region.
GEORGE JELLINEK
Ljuba Kazarnovskaya
"TCHAIKOVSKY: COMPLETE SONGS, Volume Three" with Orfenova, piano. Texts and translations. Naxos 8.554371
I admired Russian soprano Ljuba Kazarnovskaya's first two sets of the complete Tchaikovsky songs on Naxos. In Volume III, however, something has gone awry. Volumes 1 and 2 showcased Kazarnovskaya's impressive control and delicacy, coupled with her ability to pull out the dramatic stops when necessary without spilling over into stridency. Here, she crosses that boundary several times, and, above an F, the sound is rarely pretty. While she remains connected to the emotional content of these songs, her voice simply overpowers them in many instances, and her vibrato frequently lacks focus. There are some happy exceptions; a striking one is "Pimpinella," which, interestingly, is also the only song on the disc with an Italian text. (It's reputedly based on a melody the composer overheard from a street-singer in Florence.) "Serenade," a lullaby, is handled with the same tenderness that Kazarnovskaya lavished on the Children's Songs of Volume 2, as are a few other songs about sleep. "Sleep, poor friend," however, while managing to avoid top-heaviness, is marred by flatness of pitch--unusual for this singer. Ljuba Orfenova again provides shapely, creatively sympathetic accompaniment, but the piano is under-miked and doesn't always cushion the vocal sound optimally. As before, there are rare gems to be discovered and familiar tunes which are happily re-encountered. ("My genius, my angel, my friend," an exquisite miniature written when the composer was a teenager, is a personal favorite.) This series is a highly worthy project, and I am optimistic that Kazarnovskaya can regain her footing by the next installment.
J.R.
HISTORICAL
VERDI: Il Trovatore
Stella, Cossotto, Fiorentini, Corelli, Bastianini, Vinco. Orchestra and Chorus of La Scala, Milan, Gavazzeni. Italian libretto only.Myto 2MCD 012.243 (2) (Qualiton, dist.)
While there is no shortage of recordings of Il Trovatore available for purchase, and the opera is, despite the oft-lamented dearth of Verdi voices these days, still performed with regularity, this release is a significant document of a lost era. At the time of this performance, opening night of La Scala's 1962-63 season, had one expressed the suspicion that in twenty years it would be impossible to assemble a Italian cast to do justice to Verdi's masterpiece, it would have seemed laughable. And yet now, almost forty years hence, this exciting and vital presentation of a work which merely requires four sensational Verdi voices (a fifth, in the bass role, doesn't hurt things), and an idiomatic conductor, seems as much a part of history as, say, the two Scala recordings of the late 20's, one with Bianca Scacciati's vivid Leonora, and the other with the searing Azucena of Irene Minghini-Cattaneo. The recorded sound, and the style of singing, may be more up to date here, but an opening at La Scala with an Italian cast and conductor, all able to handle the demands of a standard repertory Verdi opera, is so exotic today, that it puts the 60's more in line with the 20's than with our time.
This performance is typical of the era as concerns cuts -- Leonora loses the second verse of her Act I cabaletta, as well as the entire "Tu vedrai" following the Miserere. But despite these excisions, and the fact that most of the principals in the cast can be found on a DG Trovatore that originated in the studio at about the same time (Carlo Bergonzi is the Manrico on the commercial version), this is a set worth considering.
First of all, there is the cast, captured here in the white heat of an opening night, with chemistry oozing from every ...well, were it still the LP era, we might say "groove". The five protagonists are all young and in their prime. Il Trovatore is a high energy opera, sometimes relegated to the position of static vehicle for static veterans. Here, there's a sense of a viable love triangle, with the Di Luna as charismatic and attractive as the Manrico, and a Leonora of real femininity, balanced by sheer guts. Franco Corelli was clearly the Manrico of his time, pliant yet heroic of voice, stunning to look at, and seemingly fearless in the upper register. "Deserto sulla terra," anything but an easy opener, is tossed off with spectacular ease. Squillo-drenched high notes are balanced with floated soft tones through out the performance, and even if, in the 60's, real men didn't trill in "Ah! si, ben mio," there are caressing tones aplenty in place of the missing embellishment. "Di quella pira," a legendary Corelli moment, brings back memories of his sensational Met Manricos of the time, with a simply endless high B natural at the climax. Antonietta Stella, sometimes lost in the Tebaldi/Callas crossfire, gives a lesson in fine, unaffected Verdi singing. One can quibble with the slurred trills in "Di tale amor," or lament the fact that her early-career pianissimo had deserted her by the time she was thirty-three, replaced by a lovely, if less impressive, mezzo piano. But, as always, Stella's crystal clear diction and her total commitment to every moment make her Leonora more than the one-dimensional character one usually encounters. Ettore Bastianini's voice was once described as "oily, juicy sound," by no less than Dimitri Hvorostovsky, an ardent admirer of the older baritone's recordings. This performance finds Bastianini, just diagnosed with the throat cancer that took his life at the tragically young age of forty-four, in electrifying form, his plush instrument poured out with fiery abandon. His Act IV duet with Stella is perhaps the high point of a performance full of high points. Fiorenza Cossotto was on the way to her great Azucena years in 1962; there is plenty of voice, but the tone is a bit lacking in depth, and there is not yet much in the way of detail. Cossotto was never a subtle singer, but she grew into her roles quite effectively, and this is early days for what was to become, along with Amneris, her signature role. Nonetheless, there are plenty of sparks flying amidst multitudinous decibels. Cossotto's husband, Ivo Vinco, is a smooth-voiced Ferrando, who does trill - perhaps not the most expressive singer in the world, but quite respectable, even in such exalted company. Gianandrea Gavazzeni leads the Scala orchestra through an evening which must have been singularly memorable. The tempi for the first three acts are rhythmically potent, and the playing blazes away with a combination of fire and accuracy that ignites every number. In Act IV, there is a sudden, inexplicable broadening of pace, which seems to confuse the singers a bit, and reminds one more of his late, mid '70's Trovatores at the Met. But the second scene of Act IV rekindles, and the climax of the opera is thrilling. The recorded sound is bright and clear.
IRA SIFF
GILBERT & SULLIVAN: Ruddigore, The Gondoliers
Mitchell, Drummond-Grant, Dean, Harding, Halman; Green, Fancourt, Osborn, Styler, Watson; D'Oyly Carte Opera Orchestra & Chorus, Godfrey. 1950. Notes, no libretti. Pearl GEMS 0135 (3)
Copyrights, copyrights... In 1949 and 1950, just before the original D'Oyly Carte Opera Company would lose its performing rights in Arthur Sullivan's music, it hurriedly recorded several of the Savoy operettas with its postwar ensemble for British Decca, originally on 78s and then on LPs. These appeared here on the London label, and many will remember the familiar pink-, yellow-, and blue-striped American covers with caricatures that one could stare at for hours, as well as the logo for "ffrr" sound. These recordings were later reissued in the U.S. on the cheaper Richmond label.
Jump forward a half century, and these mono recordings, now out of copyright, are being issued by Pearl, and at least one other British company. They bring back an era many still recall, when the D'Oyly Carte was doyenned by the illustrious Martyn Green and Darrell Fancourt, and was still making friends on extensive U.S. tours. Excellent singers were in the company, and, perhaps more importantly, some of them had roots in the tradition of the glittering post-World War I revivals at London's Prince's Theatre, or the lengthy stays at Broadway's Martin Beck Theatre in the 1930s.
Personally, it's hard to criticize the series that introduced me to G&S, the recordings I accepted as a youth as the G&S Gospel according to the D'Oyly Carte, the discs I carefully imitated each inflection of when boring countless friends and relations. But that was before the modern choice of countless other versions of the operettas: the later stereo D'Oyly Cartes, the New D'Oyly Cartes, the Sadler's Wellses, the Glyndebournes, and others.
In 1950, Ruddigore had just re-entered the repertory in colorful designs I still recall (by Peter Goffin), and was becoming comparatively more popular than it was originally, in 1887. Martyn Green's smooth dexterity was especially well suited for the shy farmer-slash-wicked baronet, Robin, and Darrell Fancourt gives the ghostly Sir Roderic his customary basso swagger (Pinza would have been marvelous in this role!). Leonard Osborn has gusto and gutsiness to spare as Richard Dauntless, the sailor home from the Napoleonic wars, and Margaret Mitchell is a delicate Rose Maybud. The pairing of Richard Watson and Ann Drummond Grant as Sir Despard and Mad Margaret has since been considerably bettered by others, though in the '50s I thought they inhabited their roles perfectly. Then-traditional cuts were taken, including the excision of the moving duet "The Battle's Roar is Over," and these and others have since been restored on other recordings.
The 1950 Gondoliers had to compete in that decade (at least with me) with the treasured 78s of the fantastic 1927 recording with Henry Lytton, Bertha Lewis, Leo Sheffield, Derek Oldham, and other glowing stars. Martyn Green sings the role of the chief Plaza-Toro with grace, precision, and humorous hauteur, his diction faultless and creamy, but I relish the outright seediness Lytton demonstrates with less vocal prowess. If Ella Halman is a bit featureless as the Duchess, the young Alan Styler is a winning Giuseppe (though his initial "rapture, rapture!" is a bit unenthusiastic) and Osborn charms again as Marco. Muriel Harding, whose elegance as Josephine in H.M.S Pinafore enchanted me as a boy at the Shubert Theatre in 1955, is a lovely, lively Gianetta.
Isidore Godfrey was always a very spirited, no-nonsense conductor; indeed, Godfrey's 1961 stereo Gondoliers--London CD 425 177--is even more delectable. But he displays an unmistakably theatrical drive in both works--especially in the dance sections, as does the Cartesian chorus, which points so many phrases matchlessly.
Pearl's transfers are typically all right, not that the original, hurriedly-made recordings were known for their superb sound. For alternate acoustics, however, you might try the series on the British label Sounds on CD, engineered by Chris Webster, who has previoulsy remastered several excellent 78 G&S transfers. (e-mail: chris@sounds-on-cd.co.uk).
Pearl includes some notes--the ones about the early 1950s' recording techniques are interesting--but no libretti. For some strange reason, the second acts of both operettas share a single disc. And it's too bad they had to lop off the gorgeous cover images, a poster and music cover from the late 19th century. But however you look at them, it's high time to welcome back Martyn Green and company--ffrr or no ffrr--and I look forward to his Bunthorne, Lord Chancellor, and other memorable characterizations. Hearing them, some of us really can recapture our youth.
RICHARD TRAUBNER
photo credit: © Johannes Ifkovits 2001 (Bartoli)
OPERA NEWS, October 2001 Copyright © 2001 The Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
RECORDINGS
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Cecilia Bartoli follows up her best-selling all-Vivaldi recital with
a disc of rare arias by Gluck.
Bartoli provides singing on the highest level
