J. STRAUSS II: Simplicius
Magnuson, Janková, Martini, Nikiteanu; Zysset, Haunstein, Volle, Beczala, Widmer; Chorus, Orchestra of the Zurich Opera,
Welser-Möst. Texts. EMI Classics 5 57009 2How to write a heavy Viennese operetta? First, take a deadly serious subject such as the Thirty Years' War, as depicted in a 1668 German novel. Have its story of a religious hermit and his simple son besieged by Teutonic warriors and Swedish spies adapted by the future co-author of The Merry Widow, Victor Léon. Then, get Johann Str
auss II, fresh from his international triumph with Der Zigeuenerbaron, to compose a thick score that flirts with Wagnerei. Add the celebrated operetta star Alexander Girardi to the mix, and you have Simplicius, a dark operetta that was pretty much forgotten after only thirty performances at the Theater an der Wien in 1887.
But not by Strauss, who lightened the score for a few subsequent performances (and gave Girardi's part to a female), or Léon, who was still fiddling with the libretto as late as 1914. Simplicius then disappeared -- until the recent discovery of Léon's papers led to a reconstruction of the score, sponsored by Zurich Opera. This version (which I saw in Zurich last season) restored items from the Strauss manuscript and was revamped by two mode
rn writers and director David Pountney as a dark, anti-war fable, possibly grimmer than the Grimmelshausen novel that inspired it.
Fortunately, listeners to this enjoyably crisp live recording will not have to endure the busy, dreary mise-en-scène of the stage production, with, among other features, a carousel of hanging corpses. The complicated plot can even be ignored, and attention can zero in where it should: on Strauss's inventive, melody-drenched score. As the fine liner notes point out, the composer's interest was piqued by the contrast of the sylvan setting and the war games, at a time when his sophistication as an orchestrator was at its zenith. Many of the elements that made Ziguenerbaron a success are recycled: the soaring, operatic love duets, the rousing finale marches, the Girardi-styled couplets, the comic crone's numbers. And, of course, there are the waltzes, which reach their climax with the dreamy "Donauweibchen-Walzer," interpolated as a lovely ballet. Franz Welser-Möst makes the transparent scoring shimmer and the waltzes swing, while adding dramatic gravity to the second-act ensemble de perplexité and the fanatically patriotic moments.
Two numbers may seem familiar: they were more memorably used in the 1920s in the Benatzky-Strauss pasticcio Casanova and the Korngold revision of Eine Nacht in Venedig. Here you can hear them as they appeared originally, along with the rest of this unheralded score, sung (and spoken) with theatrical flair.
Martin Zysset's tenor Simplicius is the star performance, lithe, sweet and surely approximating Girardi's fabled charm. Also first-rate are tenor Piotr Beczala and bass Michael Volle, as his brother and father, and bass-baritone Rolf Haunstein, as a blustery general. You'll relish Louise Martini as the gruff Schnapslotte, the canteen manageress, a cross between Zigeunerbaron's gypsy Czipra and Mother Courage.
Simplicius may not take to the stage like Ziguenerbaron; it lacks its romantic focus and Hungarian-Gypsy spine. But as a recording, it's a very entertaining affair that demonstrates Strauss's reach for something different.
RICHARD TRAUBNER
OPERA AND ORATORIO
MASSENET: Manon
Gheorghiu, Panzarella, Koch, Schimmack; Alagna, Ragon, Patriarco, van Dam, Rivenq; Orchestre Symphonique et Choeurs de la Monnaie, Pappano. Texts and translations. EMI 7243 5 57005 2
Unlike Massenet's near-ubiquitous Werther (which was treated to two complete CD sets issued last year, with a third on the way), and despite the continuing popularity of certain of its own showpiece arias, complete Manon sets from major studios are infrequent. EMI's glossy new Manon, the first since its own somewhat tatty 1989 release (Kraus/Cotrubas), outclasses available alternatives on most counts. Manon 2000 boasts the uncut score (including the ballet), recorded in handsome sound; a blue-chip (and largely francophone) supporting cast; a superb young music director operating at maximum efficiency; and big stars in the two leading roles. It's sort of a Metro-Goldwyn-Manon.
The most satisfying element of this project is the conducting of Antonio Pappano, who paces the orchestra and chorus of his current home opera house, the Théâtre Royal de la Monnaie in Brussels, with a sure, supple hand. This is a story of erotic obsession, and Pappano wrings every drop of juice from the score, delivering its familiar set pieces with spirit and impressive attention to detail: the sinuous violin interjections in Manon's St. Sulpice seduction, for example, have never been recorded with such vivid wit. The big crowd scenes -- the inn at Amiens, the Cours-la-Reine, the Hôtel de Transylvanie -- are brilliantly articulated, full of character and color. Pappano has established himself as one of today's most exciting young opera conductors, and one hopes that EMI has more Massenet opera projects planned for him.
As on his EMI Werther last year, Pappano's stars are Roberto Alagna and Angela Gheorghiu. Alagna's Des Grieux is undeniably ardent in address and idiomatically French in dialogue and song; his neatly focused, sweet-toned "En fermant les yeux" is one of the best pieces of singing he has recorded to date. But for much of the performance, Alagna sounds as if he were at the end of his vocal rope, unstylish and strained. "Ah! fuyez, douce image" and the succeeding St. Sulpice duet, while much better controlled under Pappano's direction than the same pieces on the Alagnas' 1996 EMI duo recital with Richard Armstrong and the Orchestra of the Royal Opera, have several embarrassingly squally moments.
This is a pity, because Angela Gheorghiu is a fascinating Manon, worthy of a partner whose vocal technique and performing intelligence match her own. Gheorghiu is not ideally cast in Acts I and II: her femme-fatale timbre is too overtly sexy for the convent-bound ingenue or the restless teenager in the Rue Vivienne apartment. (There's a touch of Joan-Crawford-as-shop-girl in her wily maneuvers here.) But as of the Cours-la-Reine scene, Gheorghiu is home free: devastatingly glamorous and undeniably seductive, she creates a Manon who is as much a victim of her own ambition as of her circumstances. Gheorghiu's Hôtel de Transylvanie scene is a knockout, and her death scene is shrewdly judged, keyed to a truly pathetic "Oui, je puis encore être heureuse." Gheorghiu srikes the appropriate sparks with American baritone Earle Patriarco, an appropriately noxious Lescaut, but has her real field day fencing with José van Dam, a peerless Comte Des Grieux. His Act III scene with Manon, its delicate balance between flirtation and suspicion maintained perfectly by both parties, is worth the price of the entire set.
F. PAUL DRISCOLL
WAGNER: Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg
Magee, Svendén; Seiffert, Wottrich, Holl, Schmidt, Hölle; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra and Chorus, Barenboim. Texts.
Teldec 3984-29333-2 (4)In some Wagner -- particularly the more visionary, ecstatic works, such as Lohengrin and Parsifal -- Daniel Barenboim has few peers among conductors today. His new Meistersinger fails to reach that exalted level. Whether the cause is the live-performance circumstances, flaws in the cast or failings of Barenboim's own, the result seldom touches the heart as this great opera can.
The self-generating musical motion that Barenboim knows how to achieve happens only intermittently here; some episodes sound uncharacterized, others afflicted by unwanted gearshifts. (Perhaps splices between different performances play a role here, as with the shifts in aural perspective.) Aided by the splendid Bayreuth orchestra and chorus, Barenboim makes his best impression toward the beginning and end, with an invigorating prelude and a stirring "Wach' auf!" chorale. In between, both conductor and cast remain earthbound for the most part.
Robert Holl has authority in his sound, making his presence felt in the mastersingers' first scene as few portrayers of Hans Sachs do. In his bigger opportunities thereafter, he offers little but vocal adequacy. Hardly a hint of liveliness in conversation or of poetry in private moments comes through.
The Eva of Emily Magee (Barenboim's Elsa on Teldec 21484) is similarly problematic: her dark-hued soprano renders the music evenly and attractively but without creating either a lovable person or a striking musical profile. Peter Seiffert is almost an excellent Walther. He has enlivening verbal and musical ideas, but the overbrightness that surfaced at moments in his Lohengrin is much more consistently present here, lessening his aural appeal. Only in the scenes of public song does he find a warmer timbre and broader line. Endrik Wottrich's hard-toned singing is unvaried, providing little characterization of David, while Matthias Hölle's good ideas about Pogner are compromised by unsteady tone in crucial vocal moments. The most completely successful solo performance is that of Andreas Schmidt as Beckmesser, another in the gratifying newer tradition of casting a front-rank lyric baritone in the part. Schmidt characterizes effectively while maintaining a fine musical line that gives the town clerk the stature he deserves. But with the recorded choices available today (Kubelik, Sawallisch and the second recordings of Karajan and Solti all high on the list), one outstanding soloist in an otherwise not-quite cast, with uneven conducting, cannot add up to a strong recommendation for this new recording.
JON ALAN CONRAD
PUCCINI: La Bohème
Frittoli, Mei; Bocelli, Gavanelli, de Carolis, Luperi, Gatti; Israel
Philharmonic Orchestra, Mehta. Text and translations. Decca 289 464 060-2The reason for the release of yet another La Bohème is to showcase Andrea Bocelli in his first complete opera recording. Coincidentally, other "newcomers" to this effort include Zubin Mehta, who has never recorded this opera, and Barbara Frittoli, in her first Mimì on disc. Undoubtedly, Bocelli's foray into a Puccini favorite will thrill his many fans, but this set is disappointing on several counts.
Much has been written about the strengths and shortcomings of Bocelli's voice, and his Rodolfo displays these familiar characteristics: a natural, open sound with a bright, secure top; a thinner, somewhat reedy and unsupported middle; a tendency to stay at the same dynamic level; a limited ability to shape or color a passage. His strongest moments are in the Act I aria (which he has sung often in concert), performed with a sense of line and emotional involvement that is lacking elsewhere. Although Bocelli performed Rodolfo onstage in Sardinia in 1998, his command of the role is not yet sufficient to produce a solid characterization, or to hold his own in the duets with Mimì and the byplay with his fellow Bohemians. Unfortunately, the decision to record him always in the center of the sound (a tactic acknowledged in the liner notes by producer Anna Barry), while perhaps making the most of his vocal limitations, also emphasizes the sameness of his interpretation.
Mehta requested an all-Italian cast for this recording, so Bocelli receives strong support from the ensemble, notably the lively Schaunard of Natale de Carolis and Mario Luperi's sensitive Colline. Paolo Gavanelli's powerful baritone with its dry timbre sounds rather forbidding for Marcello, but he has some fine moments in Act IV with the delectably sung Musetta of Eva Mei.
Frittoli's Mimì is both fascinating and flawed. She considers this Puccini heroine a "weak personality" and prefers recording the role to performing it onstage. True, "Mi chiamano Mimì" lacks the accustomed (or requisite) tentativeness and delicacy, and her creamy, full tone in the Act I scene seems to dominate Rodolfo -- especially this Rodolfo, whose timbre does not blend well with Frittoli's rich sound. In Act III and in the death scene, however, Frittoli's dramatic power and expressive shading create a stirring and entirely believable characterization.
The Israel Philharmonic performs creditably, given Mehta's occasionally ponderous tempos, and the general lack of dynamic range may again be the result of questionable engineering choices.
CORNELIA IREDELL
LEONCAVALLO: Pagliacci
Frittoli; Cura, Castronovo, C. Álvarez, Keenlyside; Netherlands Radio Choir,
Het National Kinderhook and Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Chailly. Text
and translation. Decca 289 467 086-2Yet another Pagliacci built around a star tenor -- or, in this case, a rising star. Granted, José Cura's lyric voice lacks the sheer amplitude that Canio requires -- in the opening scene, the lowest phrases don't really project, while the climactic "a ventitre ore" betrays strain -- and he occasionally resorts to gimmicks, darkening vowels and pushing an open, nasal tone in an attempt to simulate the correct presence. On the other hand, his basic timbre (bright and ringy at the top, startlingly baritonal below middle C) suits the role well. Cura's tone is attractive and liquid in congenial tessitura; he sings the big aria and "No, Pagliaccio non son" freely, keeping the traditional performance mannerisms within the bounds of taste. This is a satisfactory if hardly ideal Canio, surpassing the similarly tenorcentric vehicles of Pavarotti (Decca/London 414590) and Carreras (EMI CDMB 63650).
The fuss over Cura shouldn't obscure the really first-class performance here: Barbara Frittoli's Nedda. As recorded, she has a distinctive, round, fruity timbre in the middle voice, soaring to a bright, juicy, spinning top. Her solid technique produces a firmly bound legato and allows for plenty of dynamic give-and-take. She sings the ballatella in long, arching phrases (though she doesn't quite match them in the Silvio duet), and she is alert and responsive in the commedia.
As Tonio, Carlos Álvarez's compact, Italianate voice makes an imposing initial impression, but it gets throaty and constricted as the Prologue's tessitura rises, instead of opening out. He colors the text minimally there -- the music does it for him anyhow -- but later his declaration of love is heartfelt. Simon Keenlyside is a solid Silvio, but the love duet wants a rounder, more sweeping instrument than his lean, pointed baritone. He takes the second "Tutto scordiam" to the top A -- impressive but inevitably distracting. Charles Castronovo sounds pretty as Beppe.
Riccardo Chailly paces the opera well and elicits full-toned playing in the interludes, though he begins the final strain of the ballatella heavily. The start of the commedia is trim and graceful, and the cello counterpoints sing ardently. But elsewhere, Chailly seems unable to maintain tight ensemble among the Concertgebouw Orchestra -- a first-class group that doesn't play opera regularly. In driving, energetic music the strings sound massive but diffuse, imprecise in attack, and there are numerous smudged landings.
This is a surprisingly subfusc production from Decca, whose engineers have better tamed the Concertgebouw's resonance elsewhere. The low string excursions are clean and focused, but otherwise excessive ambience blurs definition and produces gummy textures. Perspectives are inconsistent and unclear -- it's hard to tell when the cloudy, frayed chorus actually arrives "onstage" -- and the full-ensemble tuttis are rowdy and indistinct. The numerous splices are ill-concealed.
STEPHEN FRANCIS VASTA
DONIZETTI: La Favorite
Kasarova, Furmansky; Vargas, Michaels-Moore, Colombara, Piccoli, Fehenberger; Münchner Rundfunkorchester, Viotti. Text and translations. RCA 74321-66229-2
La Favorite, Donizetti's biggest success at the Opéra de Paris, was known in the twentieth century primarily through an Italian revision that Donizetti himself labeled a "horror." La Favorite's libretto, in which the king's mistress is married off to a monk who jilts her right after their wedding when he learns of her former royal position, scandalized the Italian censors; with self-serving zealotry, they mangled it into La Favorita.
So this recording of the "original French version," based on Ricordi's critical edition (edited by Rebecca Harris-Warrick), has the difficult task of presenting what is practically a new opera to ears already familiar with many of its finest moments. When Fernand begins "Ange si pur," or Léonor "Ô mon Fernand!," each is revealing rarely heard original words while contending with memories of these airs as immortalized by the likes of Caruso, Pertile and Kraus ("Spirto gentil"), Anderson, Verrett and Simionato ("O mio Fernando"). More importantly, RCA's La Favorite confirms that this opera contains erotically charged music, and that in its original French version the drama is more plausible, more moving and considerably clearer.
RCA's singers aren't particularly idiomatic (strangely, none are French), but they deliver strong performances. Vesselina Kasarova lacks the abandon of Simionato or the lyricism of Verrett, but her own timbre and timing can be ravishingly steamy, creating an often rich, affecting portrait. Ramón Vargas's tone tends to strain when he pushes; without pressure, it communicates the role with real grace. All the other principals are persuasive, and Marcello Viotti offers an excited reading. This recording doesn't contain the sort of "authenticity" heard on the Pathé 1912 Favorite (a pile of 78s remastered for CD with Ward Marston's usual wizardry); it does deliver a solid reintroduction to an important "new old" work.
PATRICK GILES
HANDEL: Theodora
Gritton, Bickley; Blaze, Agnew, David, Smith; Gabrieli Consort & Players; McCreesh. Text and translations. Archiv 469 061-2 (3)
Handel considered the Act II chorus in his penultimate oratorio, Theodora -- "He saw the lovely youth, Death's early prey" -- an even greater triumph than Messiah's celebrated "Hallelujah!" The fourth-century Antiochan princess Theodora, the inspirational center of a band of Christians, has been arrested by order of the pagan Roman governor; the number starts with the soft fearfulness of Theodora's cohorts praying for faith. Then their words inspire them; the vocal line strengthens and accelerates; and the chorus ends in music of rousing glory. The chorus is characteristic of Theodora's deep, insistently prayerful simplicity. Melodrama and spectacle are forsaken.
This amazing demonstration of the power of music to challenge and nourish the soul flopped in its first run (1750), achieving only three dismally attended performances. Today, the oratorio has attracted the devotion of admiring musicians and, though it is still rarely performed, survives via several recordings and one video (of the recent, triumphant Peter Sellars/William Christie production for Glyndebourne). Now Paul McCreesh and the Gabrieli Consort have added Theodora to their growing list of Handel recordings.
This is a musically polished performance; the instrumental passages, especially, give real pleasure. Yet McCreesh's inability to lead his colleagues to the work's deeper, truer message makes this recording handsome but frustrating and raises the question of whether McCreesh's gifts are simply not dramatic but choric. All of Theodora's choruses shine; but there is a constant smallness of emotional gesture in the singing, a strictness of delivery and color that is inadequate to express these conflicted, tragic characters and their sometimes-magnificent words. The soloists are well-suited to their roles, and several of them -- especially Susan Gritton (Theodora), affecting in the Act II dungeon scenes, and the ardent lyric tenor Paul Agnew (Septimius) -- find some passion in their words. But time and again, as the story cries out for greater, more testing efforts, this Theodora stays in its accomplished place. There is an audience for such polite musical drama, but such an approach fails to realize what I am convinced Handel believed in.
P.G.
SMETANA: Dalibor
Urbanova, Schellenberger; Popov, Prolat, Alexejev, Basyrov; Chorus and Orchestra of the Lyric Theater of Cagliari, David. Dynamic CDS 295/1-2 (Qualiton, dist.)
If only more of our opera stars felt comfortable singing in Czech, marvelous scores such as Smetana's Dalibor might not be such rarities. These days, however, even the charming The Bartered Bride seems to have disappeared from the standard repertory -- at least outside of its native land. What a pity.
Dalibor (1867) is both nationalistic legend and ill-fated romance; its plot echoes Beethoven's Fidelio, and its music pays a debt to Wagner. Yet the opera is also vintage Smetana, imbued with the same stirring character one finds in the evocative tone poems of Má Vlast. This live 1999 recording from the Teatro Lirico di Cagliari effectively conveys the opera's dramatic strengths, despite a basic interpretive bluntness that obscures the subtlety of Smetana's musical invention. Both Eva Urbanova (Milada) and Valerij Popov (Dalibor) have the requisite vocal heft for their roles, and they are not afraid to sing softly when the music demands it, as in their ethereal duet at the end of the second act. When the tension heightens, however, they tend to push too hard, making Dalibor sound more like Turandot. Dagmar Schellenberger (Jitka) and Valentin Prolat (Vitek) are also prone to strain, although Schellenberger whoops it up quite thrillingly at the end of their Act II duet. Jiri Kalendovsky (Benes) and Damir Basyrov (Budivoj) are completely overparted, but Valeri Alexejev (Wladislaw) provides a consistently commanding presence. The recording places the orchestra quite close to the microphones, allowing one to appreciate some fine playing. The Cagliarians are not the Czech Philharmonic, however, and while Yoram David's conducting is unusually inspired, this performance must bow to the Supraphon studio version under Kosler (also featuring Urbanova and Kalendovsky). Collectors with a historical bent should be sure to check out a live 1969 recording from the Vienna State Opera (BMG). Although it is sung in German, the cast -- led by Leonie Rysanek and Ludovico Speiss -- is by far the best on record, and Josef Krips's conducting is magnificent.
ANDREW FARACH-COLTON
PORTUGAL: Le Donne Cambiate
Russo, Ferraz; Vaz de Carvalho, Rodrigues, Lobo Da Silva, de Villalonga; City of London Sinfonia, Cassuto. Text and translation. Marco Polo 8.225154
Marcos Portugal (1762-1830) is a name unfamiliar to all but the most erudite opera-lovers -- undeservedly so, to judge by this winsome farsa giocosa. Portugal was trained and composed his first operas in his native Lisbon, then undertook the peripatetic lifestyle typical of late-eighteenth-century composers, enjoying great success in Italy and in Rio de Janeiro, where he served as mestre de capela for the exiled Portuguese court. This 1999 Marco Polo recording advertises itself as the first commercial release of a major work by Portugal, who composed some fifty operas. Shorn of its apparently extensive recitatives, Le Donne Cambiate is heard in a reconstruction of its 1804 Lisbon version; the opera had its premiere in 1797 at Venice's Teatro San Moisè.
While the graceful, high-spirited score recalls the buffo idiom of Cimarosa and Paisiello, the characters and plot devices of Le Donne Cambiate anticipate those of Rossini's early works -- notably La Cenerentola -- albeit with a rather misogynistic spin. The "transformed women" of the title are the vain, frivolous Countess Ernesta and Carlotta, a humble peddler and shoemaker's wife. The Countess spurns a pilgrim seeking alms, while Carlotta gladly shares her modest goods, whereupon the pilgrim (a kind of benign necromancer) switches the women's appearances and stations. The pilgrim's legerdemain is revealed in the end, when the Countess, chastened after a sound thrashing, and Carlotta, with some regret for her glamorous interlude, are returned to their husbands, who praise the pilgrim's magic wand as their wives promise to be docile and obedient. The Rossinian parallels and reversals run even deeper: there is a (restrained) quadro di stupore in the finale, and the Countess sings not of a poor, virtuous girl rewarded but of a noblewoman transformed into a villana and seething as she toils.
The vocal soloists, while not of the highest order, offer vivid characterizations and handle the sometimes florid score capably, Ana Paula Russo (Countess Ernesta) in particular dispatching her runs and gruppetti with real grace. They are well supported by the pert, silky playing of the City of London Sinfonia under Álvaro Cassuto. Useful notes and warm, natural acoustics round out this valuable addition to the catalogue.
M. LIGNANA ROSENBERG
RECITAL Andrea Bocelli
"VERDI" Arias from Il Trovatore, Rigoletto, Un Ballo in Maschera, Aida, La Traviata, I Lombardi, Ernani, Don Carlo, Luisa Miller and La Forza del Destino. Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, Mehta. Text and translations. Philips 289 464 600-2
Andrea Bocelli's Verdi CD, although inadequate in several respects, is nonetheless a worthy one. Bocelli is a pop singer; this album should not to be compared to CDs by great opera tenors, but it's a bridge to a wider culture, in the same way that the film The Red Shoes or the singing of Mario Lanza and Jeanette MacDonald introduced listeners of their day to "highbrow" art forms. After listening to this recording, I took a walk in my midtown Manhattan neighborhood, where the streets are full of tables stacked with bootleg pop CDs. On one of the busiest tables near Broadway, piled between releases by Missy Elliott, Eminem and Destiny's Child, was Andrea Bocelli/Verdi. "Blind opera guy," the salesman explained, "but he's cool."
The limitations in Bocelli's sound that would make him problematic on the (unamplified) opera or concert stage actually make him a good salesman for this music among novice opera listeners. He has an affecting tenor, with a yearning urgency and touching tenderness; in music that doesn't move quickly or ask for dynamic extremes, it can sound beautiful. It's to Bocelli's credit that he doesn't dodge any of his music's toughest challenges, but his is a slender voice, with a prevailing whiteness of sound and little natural volume or agility. The voice has personality, but each sung "face" in Manrico or Oronte or Ernani's arias remains that of the artist, not the role.
Bocelli's virtues as a singer do translate into Verdian terms, once the listener adjusts to his want of color and facility at speed. Despite its limited palette, his voice manages some good shading effects, most impressively in "Celeste Aida." There is a genuine sense of the aria's architecture and how its words speed and brake its ardent pulse. He takes all the high notes, but the fact that several of these are considerably longer, bigger and fuller than any other notes on this or other Bocelli recordings makes them suspect. (On the other hand, the Ernani and I Lombardi arias suggest that this voice is capable of greater force and focus in its upper middle range.) In the arias from I Lombardi, Don Carlo and (especially) La Forza del Destino, Bocelli communicates a real grasp of what these pieces are about and how effective they can be. His "O rimembranza!" in the Forza selection is a genuinely beautiful, moving moment, and it's not the only one on this disc.
This recording isn't meant for opera veterans, and it probably will not please numbers of them. Bocelli/Verdi is meant for the many pouring into Virgin Records or Tower Records, their Discmans blasting bubblegum pop or hip-hop. If it's successful, it will prove an important album, because reaching these listeners is getting harder and harder.
P.G.
Bryn Terfel
"WE'LL KEEP A WELCOME: THE WELSH ALBUM" Welsh songs, hymns and folk music. The Black Mountain Chorus, Risca Male Choir, The Orchestra of Welsh National Opera, Gareth Jones. Texts and translations. DG 289 463 593-2
Renée Fleming
"RENÉE FLEMING" Arias by Puccini, Leoncavallo, Cilèa, Catalani, Massenet, Bizet, Gounod, Verdi and Bellini. London Philharmonic Orchestra, Mackerras. Texts and translations. Decca 289 467 049 2
José Cura
"VERDI ARIAS" Philharmonia Orchestra, Cura. Texts and translations. Erato 8573-80232-2
Not all stars (or star vehicles) are created equal. Bryn Terfel's newest recital disc, which celebrates his Welsh homeland, is a triumphant custom fit of singer and song. What other artist could make this material work as well as Terfel does? The disc opens and closes with him shaking the rafters with the Welsh national anthem, backed by a magnificent choir. Impressive, indeed. But it's the second cut that takes this program into the realm of must-haves: "Ar lan y môr" (By the Seashore) -- the simplest of melodies, arranged here with admirable spareness for winds and strings, spun with surpassing tenderness by a great singer. This high standard is met in the rest of the program, which sounds like a labor of love. There are many treasures, but top honors go to the lullaby "Suo-gan," with which the crafty charmer Terfel could melt a heart of stone.
Renée Fleming's luxe aria favorites sampler includes some full-scale diva artillery ("Casta Diva," Juliette's waltz, "Un bel dì," the Vêpres Siciliennes bolero), as well as cuts from seconda donna roles (Lauretta, Micaela, Nedda, Liù) that are unlikely opera-house assignments for the soprano at this white-hot stage in her career. She is in refulgent voice throughout, lavishing equal measures of gold on "Quando me'n vo" -- what a pleasure to hear a Musetta who doesn't shriek! -- and "Come in quest'ora bruna," its ascending notes bound (for once) into a seamless legato. Charles Mackerras, Fleming's conductor on the complete Rusalka as well as her splendid Mozart recital disc, is again her attentive partner. There are one or two undercooked moments (notably the slowest "O mio babbino caro" ever recorded), but most of Renée Fleming represents the best work of an artist in her prime.
José Cura's centenary tribute disc of Verdi arias -- a program that covers the waterfront from I Due Foscari to Otello -- is a dud, however well-intentioned it may be. The Argentinian tenor doesn't so much sing the material as punch it into submission with throaty, groaning attacks (especially damaging in "Celeste Aida" and Macduff's lament), inelegant, connect-the-dots phrasing (which sinks Gabriele Adorno's "O inferno! ... Sento avvampar nell'anima") and aspirated vowels (take your pick of any track). As in two previous recital discs (the charming, pop-flavored Anhelo and a considerably less accomplished verismo program), Cura serves as his own conductor, an ill-considered stunt undone by material of this complexity. "Di quella pira" is recorded without a chorus; one wonders what blessed voice of reason prevented the tenor from providing his own.
F.P.D.
Ramón Vargas
"MÉXICO LINDO" Songs by Jiménez, Grever, Lara et al. La Camerata de las Américas, Barrios; Mariachi de la Casa de la Música Mexicana, Garcia Blanco; Trio los Morales. Texts and translations BMG 74321-75478-2
This collection of chestnuts is liable to warm the hearts of Ramón Vargas's admirers but may not add substantially to their ranks. The trouble is that so many of these songs are sung just as effectively by people with much less voice. They're popular songs, not operatic showcases or unjustly neglected masterworks, and occasional support from the Trio los Morales only reminds the listener how much this music can profit from a simpler approach. It's not always clear whether some of his romantic swaggering is meant to observe time-honored performance tradition or to mock hoary stereotypes. Many of his high notes seem gratuitous, having less to do with the song than with the singer; and it's doubtful he could have done anything to prompt critical reconsideration of "Bésame Mucho" or "Cielito Lindo."
The tenor can't be faulted for lack of respect or patriotism (in his liner notes, director and arranger Daniel Garcia Blanco boasts that every cut was recorded by Mexicans in Mexico City). Most importantly, Vargas has a wonderful time here. When he lets the music work its charms on him -- caressing every word and note in nuanced readings of "Cuando sale la luna," "Corazón, Corazón" and "Sabor a mí" -- he charms the listener, too.
WILLIAM V. MADISON
Victoria Livengood
"PIERCING EYES" Fourteen English canzonettas by Haydn. W. Lewis, piano. Texts. Troy Albany 406
The English canzonettas of Haydn, like so much of his vast musical output, deserve greater prominence. Haydn's pleasing and singular harmonic sense, heard here especially in "Recollection" and "Despair," is still delightful, and his keyboard writing is gratifying to the hand and ear. The performances here represent one approach to the music, the sort taken in a large and echoing hall by a heavy voice with a modern piano. It's pleasant on its own terms, but at a considerable sacrifice of charm.
Victoria Livengood is most comfortable with the overt drama and characterization of her opera roles -- she might do well with Haydn's Ariadne cantata -- and here she finds something congenial in "The Spirit's Song." But the combination of a thick voice with heavy piano and several downward transpositions crushes some of these numbers, and too often there is a Victorian contralto-ish quality. Livengood has a curious tendency to sing each phrase as if it were the last, losing the structure of the piece in a series of fragments, and at the top of the staff her vibrato suddenly becomes intrusive. William Lewis might well have investigated using a fortepiano to help him around a persistent clumsiness in ornaments.
WILLIAM R. BRAUN
Jessye Norman, Christa Ludwig, Fritz Wunderlich, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
"ERLKÖNIG: THE ART OF THE LIED" Songs by Schubert, Schumann, Brahms. With Moore, Demus, Giesen, Gage, Eschenbach, Barenboim, piano.
Texts and translations. Exhaustive CD-ROM annotation. DG 445 188-2The title of this set is confusing; Schubert's "Erlkönig" is just the opening song in a collection of twenty-eight disparities. The subtitle may be a bit too broad for comfort; "Lieder's Greatest Hits" might have been closer to the mark. The billing on the cover is unfair; Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sings first and is heard in nine other selections, yet Jessye Norman, who sings last and less, gets top honors. The annotation is skimpy.
But the singing, for the most part, is illuminating. Fischer-Dieskau, captured at his ultra-sensitive best between 1959 and 1976, reminds us how and why he created a whole generation of fine, introspective baritone emulators. Fritz Wunderlich, represented by recordings made just months before his untimely death in 1966, capitalizes on uncanny sweetness, purity and lyric finesse. Christa Ludwig, anno 1973, proves that less can be more, much more, in the potentially melodramatic narratives of Schubert's "Gretchen am Spinnrade" and "Der Tod und das Mädchen." In this context, Norman seems a bit extroverted, perhaps a bit too operatic for expressive comfort, but there is no denying or decrying her vocal opulence, especially in Brahms's "Der Schmied," as documented in 1982.
With Gerald Moore, Jörg Demus, Hubert Giesen, Irwin Gage, Christoph Eschenbach and Daniel Barenboim serving as keyboard collaborators who know exactly when to lead and when to follow, one might be tempted to re-label the set "The Art of the Accompanist." With such artists at work, however, the term seems demeaning.
The collection, not incidentally, is released in the new "CD-pluscore" format. That means follow-along scores, puffy biographical and historical essays, selected iconography and related teaching tools can be made to flash upon the computer screen when the disc is utilized as a CD-ROM -- fascinating, but also cumbersome.
MARTIN BERNHEIMER
HISTORICAL
Dame Eva Turner
"THE COLLECTED RECORDINGS" Arias and scenes by Verdi, Ponchielli, Puccini, Mascagni, Wagner; songs by D'Hardelot, Bantock, Grieg, Del Riego, Bull, Vaughan Williams. Various artists, orchestras, conductors. Notes, no texts or translations. Pearl GEMM 0094 (3)
Dame Eva Turner (1892-1990), the great, woefully under-recorded British dramatic soprano, is represented here with a three-CD set of her recordings for Columbia, as well as unpublished takes, sound checks, BBC archival material and the legendary live Turandot riddle scenes recorded at Covent Garden during the Coronation Season of 1937. In the past decade, some of the material on these discs has come -- and gone -- on CD, but nothing so complete as this collection has appeared previously. With an artist of this caliber, it is desirable to have all available material, and this release, made possible by the generosity and devotion of her friend, record collector Richard Bebb, and the skillful engineering of Roger Beardsley, who restored several discs that seemed beyond repair, is therefore most welcome -- with one drawback. As Turner was not widely recorded, what we run into here are multiple versions of the same aria; not in itself an unattractive option to collectors, but in this case we are talking about no fewer than six "In questa reggia"s, four "Vissi d'arte"s (two in English), three each of "Un bel dì," "Ritorna vincitor," "O patria mia," and so forth. While this can be interesting, it is not for everyone.
The first tracks, from 1926, were recorded in Milan and consist of two ensembles and a number of arias and songs. The finales of Act II of Aida and Act III of La Gioconda are both a bit boxy-sounding; the most interesting thing about them is perhaps Turner's own story that she had to be placed behind the chorus, as she was too loud for the microphone. This is not terribly surprising; her voice is enormous and possesses an amazing cutting edge of steel, combined with richness. According to Bebb's notes, EMI producer Walter Legge claimed that Turner's high C used to go straight up to the gallery, right through the walls of Covent Garden and be clearly audible out on Bow Street. Beardsley explains, in a producer's note, that he made the choice not to "damp this down," and therefore it is up to the listener and his/her equalizer to handle what are some truly penetrating sounds.
The 1926 "Ritorna vincitor" has an immediacy and energy that pervade all the arias on the set. Diction is excellent, the soprano using the double r's expressively; she clearly loves singing in Italian, a language she spoke fluently. "O patria mia" includes the recitative, but in all versions it was shortened for time and goes directly to the high C of the second verse. Attention to dynamics is sensitively observed here, as it is in Gioconda's "Suicidio!," the phrase leaping the octave to a soft high A on "Volavan l'ore" executed with an ease and beauty that would have annoyed Zinka Milanov.
Another feature of the Turner instrument is a strong chest voice, which she uses unsparingly. But don't look for snarling or growling in an identifiably separate register; the chest tones are passionate, but her registers are so well equalized that there is seldom even the slightest hint of break. The songs are majestic as well, especially Tosti's "Goodbye," sung with Caruso-like fervor.
Two years later, most of the arias done in 1926 were recorded again, with the addition of "In questa Reggia" from the two-year-old Turandot. (Turner had assumed the role in Brescia eight months after the La Scala world premiere and continued to sing it throughout her career.) Perhaps feeling that these Italian sessions did not do the voice justice, she recorded the arias a third time in London the following summer. A first at these London sessions was Turner's particularly lovely "D'amor sull'ali rosee" (Il Trovatore), with endless legato and a good trill. Most of the London sessions were conducted by Thomas Beecham.
1933 brought a batch of arias in English, including Butterfly's "One fine day," with a startlingly huge B-flat at the climax, and two Wagner excerpts, "Elisabeth's greeting" (Tannhäuser) and "Elsa's dream" (Lohengrin). The first is spectacular in every way: mood, voice, length of breath, ecstatic energy. The second makes one's mouth water for more of this soprano in this repertoire. (What an Isolde or Brünnhilde she would have made, not to mention Strauss's Elektra, or the Empress in Die Frau ohne Schatten!) These, and the previously mentioned London-based records, allow more space for the voice and represent its lush middle register far better than do the 1926 Italian discs.
But nothing can quite prepare one for the Turner instrument in the opera house, and two 1937 Covent Garden performances of "In questa Reggia" and the riddle scene, with Giovanni Martinelli as Calàf, conducted by John Barbirolli, remain my favorite Eva Turner recordings. Turner's Turandot is, by turns, imperious, sarcastic, hot, cold and, most of all, frightened and vulnerable when the riddles are answered correctly. Particularly in the first performance, her voice takes on a delicate quality as she addresses her father, melting into a ravishing pianissimo. The high notes in the aria and at the climax of the scene are breathtaking for both beauty and power. Martinelli is no slouch either, taking Calàf's optional high C; Liù is Mafalda Favero the first night, Licia Albanese the second.
An additional rare treat comes in the form of the musical content from a 1937 BBC program entitled Puccini: The Man and his Music, featuring Turner as Butterfly, Mimì and, yes, Turandot. This material apparently was destined for the trash bin at the BBC and was discovered and saved at the eleventh hour by Bebb. Vaughan Williams's Serenade to Music closes the set; in it Turner is joined by fifteen of England's finest singers at the time, including Isobel Baillie and Heddle Nash. The piece was composed for the 1938 Jubilee of Henry Wood, who conducts the performance.
IRA SIFF
Theodor Uppman
"THE ART OF THEODOR UPPMAN" Arias and songs by Verdi, Massenet, Bizet, Strauss, Foster, Weill, Vaughan Williams, Hahn and others; Bell Telephone Hour Orchestra, Vorhees. VAI Audio VAIA 1181
This CD, drawn from Bell Telephone Hour radio broadcasts from 1954-57, is a wonderful reminder of the persuasive artistry of baritone Theodor Uppman, who celebrates his eighty-f
irst birthday this month. He was the first Billy Budd in Britten's opera (in 1951) and, three decades later, was in the first cast of Bernstein's A Quiet Place. In between, he sang almost 400 performances at the Metropolitan Opera, plus numerous recitals. The first thing likely to strike a listener to this diverse collection of arias and songs is the sheer sound of Uppman's baritone: gorgeous, warm and very natural-sounding. Close behind will be admiration for his superb English diction. Uppman's rendition of "Home on the Range" is typical of the twenty-three selections here: a refreshingly honest, straightforward performance of a piece of Americana. He does not try to make it more than it is, but neither does he condescend to it; he simply seduces us into the world of the song.
Many of the selections would come under the heading of "salon pieces," the type of song that was once an established part of singers' recitals. When Uppman sings Richard Hageman's "Do Not Go, My Love" or Katherine K. Davis's song about Abraham Lincoln's mother, "Nancy Hanks," one wonders why they have disappeared from contemporary recitals. His "Promesse de mon avenir" from Massenet's Le Roi de Lahore makes one long to have heard him as Ambroise Thomas's Hamlet. If the Carmen toreador song and the arias from Rigoletto and Un Ballo in Maschera are not quite on that stylistic level, they are no less enjoyable.
PAUL THOMASON
Jussi Bjoerling
"JUSSI BJOERLING RARITIES"
Arias, songs and scenes by Puccini, Meyerbeer, Verdi, Gounod, Massenet, Bizet, R. Strauss, Rossini, Leoncavallo, Alfvén and others. With A. Bjoerling, Moore, Steber; D. Dickson. Various orchestras, Rapee, Iturbi, Ormandy, Weissman, Ehrling, Barlow, Vorhees, Gustafsson. No texts. VAI Audio VAIA 1189Although Jussi Bjoerling's repertoire of arias and songs was quite large, only a fraction of it found its way into his substantial recorded legacy. He had a habit of re-recording his favorite recital pieces on different occasions, sometimes frustrating his legion of enthusiasts eager to discover hitherto unrecorded riches. They will find partial solace in this collection of rarities lovingly assembled and knowingly annotated by Cantor Don Goldberg, a Bjoerling scholar. They come from radio concerts from 1937 (the year of his American debut) to 1953, and the recorded sound varies in quality from fair to acceptable, but Bjoerling fans (present writer included) can overlook the sometimes noisy surfaces to find the unmistakable tonal magic relatively unimpaired.
Of special interest is a 1938 sequence under José Iturbi that contains Bjoerling's first "Salut, demeure" (in Swedish; the French version followed a year later), with a stunning high C, and his first recording of Des Grieux's "Le Rêve," with a marvelous diminuendo. The same remarkable diminuendo is on display in Don José's flower song (1939). James Carroll Bartlett's "A Dream" and Charles W. Glover's "The Rose of Tralee," not recorded by Bjoerling elsewhere, are obvious gestures to please the artist's new American audience, but there are also two sacred arias by Gounod in English. All these are clearly and meaningfully articulated. Among the surprises, we may note Rossini's "La Danza," rattled off in Swedish with its tongue-twisting details intact. On other tracks, the tenor is joined by illustrious partners: Grace Moore in the final trio from Faust, with baritone Donald Dickson as Mephisto. Dickson joins Bjoerling in "Solenne in quest'ora" from La Forza del Destino in the same 1937 concert. Surprising, too, is the Bjoerling-Eleanor Steber pairing in the "Miserere" scene from Il Trovatore (1946). (Leonora appears in Steber's repertoire listing, but she never performed the role at the Met.) A Swedish-language "Silent Night" was recorded at the NBC studios for transmission to Sweden for Christmas, 1945, with Bjoerling singing the lower part to his wife Anna-Lisa's bright soprano in a private rendition long cherished by the family.
The uniquely ringing brightness of Bjoerling's tenor and his admirable limitless legato are everywhere evident, and the unmistakable timbre of that voice showed no changes and certainly no decline during the sixteen years encompassed here. Only the dubiously intoned "Nessun dorma" from 1943 proves inferior to his later alternatives.
GEORGE JELLINEK
Reimann's Lear reaches CD; Rigoletto in English revisited; 1985 Salzburg performance of Henze/Monteverdi Ulisse with Thomas Allen; new recordings of Leoncavallo's Zingari and Paisiello's Nina; Broadway's The Green Bird, by Elliot Goldenthal; recitals from Dwayne Croft and Ainhoa Arteta, Eva Marton, Alastair Miles and Dilbér; Hyperion issues two volumes of songs by Charles Villiers Stanford.
OPERA AND ORATORIO PAISIELLO: Nina o sia La pazza per amore
Antonacci, Lombardi, Florez, Lepore, Pertusi. Orchestra and Chorus of La Scala, Muti Texts and Translations RICORDI RFCD 2010-2 (Qualiton, dist.)
Although remembered today, if at all, as the composer of the "other" Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Giovanni Paisiello (1740-1816) was one of the most successful, influential and popular composers of the eighteenth century. His patrons included King Ferdinand of Naples, Catherine II of Russia and the Bonapartes, Napoleon and Joseph, and he held positions in, and composed commissions for, all of their courts at different times during his long career. His Barbiere not only preceded Rossini's version, but at first overshadowed it; so respected was the older maestro's version that initially Rossini's opera was titled Almaviva. The simplicity of his melodies captured the affection of the public, and even today, his air "Nel cor piu non mi sento" is a requisite vocalise for many a fledgling singer. But, aside from that tune, his eighty-odd works are all but forgotten, and his image as a composer chiefly of comic opera has obscured the fact that his many tragic operas also enjoyed considerable success.
As Paisiello's popularity gave way to the more imaginative Rossini, and the brilliant Mozart -- both of whom heard, and were influenced by, his music -- the two operas which remained before the public longest were the Barbiere, and Nina o sia La pazza per amore. Nina, which takes the form of an opera comique, with spoken dialogue between the arias and ensembles, began in Paris in 1786 as exactly that, but with the prose play augmented with music by Nicholas Dalayrac. The story, with its sympathetic representation of madness immediately captured the hearts of the Parisian public. Not only is Nina a precursor of the bel canto heroines to come, but the depiction of her aristocratic father's greed in breaking up her romance in favor of an advantageous arranged marriage, and the image of nobility as corrupt in juxtaposition to the real values of the poor, were all ideas which were ripe for dramatization at the time.
The French version came to the attention of Giuseppe Carpani, who translated the text into Italian, and after a few changes and additions by Giambattista Lorenzi, it was reset by Paisiello and presented in Italy. After an initial performance in Naples as part of a royal celebration, the spoken portions of the libretto were transformed into sung recitative and Nina enjoyed success as a conventional comic opera.
The current recording documents a performance staged at the Teatro Strehler by the Scala forces in 1999, under Riccardo Muti, who restores Nina to its original (Italian) form by having the singers speak the prose dialogue, but does not use the libretto in its entirety. Rather, the spoken text is heavily cut and rewritten; not a problem in itself, it becomes a big difficult for non-Italian speaking record collectors, as the enclosed libretto contains the original Italian text and an English translation, rather than the version recorded!
The plot revolves around the young girl, Nina, who was betrothed to her beloved Lindoro until her father, a count, decided that she should marry a wealthier suitor and broke up the romance. To make matters worse, Lindoro's rival challenges the young man to a duel and mortally wounds him, at which point our heroine divests herself of her marbles, remembering only that she is waiting for the return of her Lindoro, who she believes has gone away on a journey. The action of the opera begins once Nina has been sent to the country by her father, with the hope that the pastoral atmosphere will gently encourage recovery. The sad young girl spends all her time dispensing lovely little gifts to the peasants and asking whether anyone expects Lindoro will come back. To alleviate the sadness of all this, we have Giorgio, a basso buffo who is distressingly cheerful, even when relating to the repentant Count how upset Nina becomes at the very mention of her father. In the second act (the original French version was one act, but Paisiello fleshed it out to two), Lindoro, who was only seriously wounded after all, returns, to declare to Nina that he still loves her and die at her feet. Much to his surprise, the Count calls him "son", tells him of Nina's depression and loss of memory, and with the help of the girl's governess Susanna, figures out a way to try to gently restore her sanity. The plan works and the lovers are reunited.
To ears which have become accustomed to the sublime melodic inventions of Mozart, the timelessly funny and inspired music antics of Rossini, and the heartbreaking strains created for Bellini and Donizetti's crazy ladies, Paisiello's rather monochromatic setting may sound a bit less than convincing. (A recent live performance of this maestro's Barbiere made his limitations as a theatrical creator more than clear to this writer.) Unlike the goldmine of Handel being unearthed, most of Paisiello's large output is probably not destined for revival. However, there are some inspired moments in this score, and one must consider that the simplicity of style so in evidence here was the goal to which the composer aspired. Although not a reformer in the mould of Gluck, Paisiello did strive for a directness of dramatic expression, urging his singers to eschew all but the written decorations, and in some of his operas, setting recitative to full orchestration. Particularly lovely in Nina are the lament with chorus for the heroine, "Lontana da te", the tenor's "Questo è dunque il loco usato", and the finale during which Nina slowly comes around and recognizes her father and her lover. There is also a song for a shepherd accompanied by bagpipe (in the original French version it was a bagpipe solo), which is very evocative. Paisiello added the song as an opportunity for the tenor playing Lindoro to have something to sing in the first act, and for the effect of Nina hearing a voice so reminiscent of that of her lover. But Muti chooses to cast a second tenor in this role, thereby undoing that device.
Anna Caterina Antonacci sings the title role affectingly, and makes the most of expressive moments. As Lindoro, tenor Juan Diego Florez is both passionate and stylish; his big aria is the one fiery excerpt in the score (despite the character's alleged weakened condition) and he makes the most of it. Michele Pertusi's attractive basoo, familiar to Rossini fans is well displayed in the role of the Count, Giuseppe Filianoti does well with the shepherd's song and Donatella Lombardi and Carlo Lepore provide solid support as Giorgio and Susanna, although a little of the latter's buffo schtick goes a long way. Riccardo Muti, who must have enjoyed the composer's come scritto philosophy, leads a crisp but sensitive performance, the Scala orchestra and chorus, as usual, giving him their best support.
IRA SIFF
LEONCAVALLO: Zingari
Fratarcangeli; Elena, Morini, Rola; Harmonia Cantata Chorus, Regina Orchestra, Varoli. Italian libretto only. Kicco Classic KCO-54 (Qualiton, dist.)
This single CD captures a live performance at the Teatro Verdi, Montecatini, on September 13, 1999. Ruggero Leoncavallo wrote Zingari for a production in 1912 at the Hippodrome in London, where it enjoyed a brief success; but World War I impeded its progress abroad, especially in Italy, where it was dismissed as a pale retread of Pagliacci.
Zingari, like Pagliacci, is a brief work in two parts; like Rachmaninoff's Aleko, it derives its libretto from Gypsies, a narrative poem by the young Pushkin. In a Byronic vein, it tells of the worldy Radu (Aleko in Rachmaninoff's version), who falls in love with Fleana, a hot-blooded Gypsy girl, and accepts her tribe's way of life in order to live with her. But like Bizet's Don José, he loses his lover's heart to another: Tamar, a Gypsy poet who previously adored Fleana in vain. When Radu finds Fleana and Tamar having a rendezvous, he murders them, reacting in bourgeois fashion rather than in accordance with the Gypsy code of freedom. The resemblance to Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci is obvious, but Leoncavallo spiced up the formula a little by studying Gypsy customs and music. While his melodic inspiration in Zingari is less fresh or spontaneous than in Pagliacci, he handles the dramatic moments in the same surefire idiom that established him as a founding father of verismo.
Devotees of the verismo school, whose shock value around the turn of the century soon yielded to more modern trends, will welcome this recorded rarity. The producers, however, have done nothing to encourage more casual listeners. There is no libretto translation, not even an English synopsis, and the singers' names are not assigned to their roles. Maria Fratarcangeli, the only female soloist, plays a gutsy Fleana, with earthy colors in her voice. The Tamar and Radu -- Andrea Elena and Carlo Morini, though perhaps it's the other way around -- know how to tear a passion to tatters, not without stress or strain. In a shorter, calmer assignment, the baritone Elder who leads the Gypsies (Andrea Rola?) offers stylistic assurance and tonal solidity. Orchestra and chorus maintain a respectable provincial level under Giovan Battista Varodi, and the tape, which "unfortunately suffered a damage" according to the album notes, sounds a bit raw on CD, doing the voices no favors but conveying the composre's elemental message.
JOHN W. FREEMAN
Monteverdi-Henze: Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria
Murray, Evangelatos, Szirmay, Kuhlmann; T. Allen, Tear, Cole, Ramirez; Tölzer Knabenchor, Ensemble Spinario, Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra, Tate. Orfeo C528003. (Qualiton, dist.)
Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria is the second and least known of Monteverdi's three surviving operas. The work poses significant musical problems, which may explain why it is so infrequently performed and recorded. To begin with, we have no score in the composer's manuscript, which has prompted some debate about the very legitimacy of the work itself. If one is to assume that the music is by Monteverdi, however -- and listening to Ulisse leaves little doubt that it is -- there remains the problem of how to realize the opera in performance. The existing score, discovered in Vienna in 1923, not only differs considerably from the libretto, but it offers precious little information about voice types or instrumentation. This being the Age of Musicology, most contemporary productions have attempted to reconstruct the premiere performances of Ulisse in Venice in 1641. René Jacobs's exquisite 1992 Harmonia Mundi recording is the best example of this scholarly approach. But there is another way, albeit a more controversial one, in which Monteverdi's score is used as a blueprint for an unashamedly updated rendering. That is what the Salzburg Festival commissioned from German composer Hans Werner Henze.
Henze's performing version makes few concessions to baroque scholarship, employing instead a large modern orchestra tricked out with guitars, harmonium, accordion, and an arsenal-sized battery of percussion. The scoring is generally spare, however, and instruments are often grouped together by family, harking back to the homogenous sounds of Renaissance consorts. If the result is blatantly inauthentic, it is also brilliantly imaginative, as in the murmuring mandolin that accompanies the love scene between Melanto and Eurimaco in Act One, or the brassy, borborygmic tones that accompany the entrance of the comically corpulent Iro. This recording was made at the Salzburg Festival premiere on August 11, 1985, and features a strong cast, led by the noble and wise Ulysses of Thomas Allen. Kathleen Kuhlmann makes gripping drama of Penelope's anguish, and Alejandro Ramirez's Telemacus is admirably strong and youthful. Given the size of the cast, there are surprisingly few weak links. Conductor Jeffrey Tate leads the proceedings with a firm yet flexible hand, eliciting characterful, if not always immaculate playing from the RSO Vienna. One wishes the instruments had been miked a bit more closely to better reveal the intricate detail of Henze's orchestration, but as we are unlikely to get a studio recording anytime soon, we should be grateful to Orfeo for making this historic performance available on CD. Despite its contemporary garb--or perhaps because of it--Monteverdi's Ulisse is more dramatically potent than ever.
ANDREW FARACH-COLTON
RECITALS Ainhoa Arteta and Dwayne Croft
"EN CONCIERTO" Orquestra Sinfonica de Castilla y Léon, Bragado Darman, cond. RTVE MUSICA 65126
Ainhoa Arteta and Dwayne Croft, opera's Other Married Couple, never seem to generate quite the same amount of attention as the Alagna-Gheorghius. Perhaps it's because they're not known for willful backstage shenanigans, or because they rarely play lovers onstage since soprano-baritone romantic pairings in operas are few. Arteta and Croft haven't even recorded as much as they should have, and that's a sad waste, because these are two of the best singers in the business.
Fans should pounce, then, on this Spanish CD, which was recorded live on August 9, 1999 at the Palacio de los Festivales in Cantabria. Both stars are singing at the very peak of their form. After a brisk Barbiere Overture, Arteta leads off with "Una voce poco fa" and turns this done-to-death warhorse into a thrilling display of bel canto. With her distinctive, highly focused timbre, she is able to delineate every note in the stacatto runs with pinpoint accuracy. She also projects a sound that is warm and womanly rather than girlish, and shows off a full and firmly-grounded chest register. Croft proves himself every bit her equal with a "Largo al factotum" that is handsomely sung and vivid without being hammy. Both then join forces for the opera's "Dunque io son" duet and have a marvelously good time with it. It's enough to make those of us who have developed an allergy to Barbiere long to see it again if Arteta and Croft ever do it together.
Verdi's Traviata prelude is followed by the entire Germont-Violetta scene from Act II. Masterfully performed, and sung with heartbreaking intensity, it is the best on record since the Gheorgiu-Nucci-Solti version from Covent Garden. When Arteta voices her "Dite alla giovine" in exquisitely-sustained piano, her tone nearly mute with sorrow, time seems to stand still.
Arteta displays a different kind of despair in "Dove sono" from Le Nozze di Figaro. She and conductor Max Bragado Darman luxuriate in very slow tempi here, which may not be to everyone's taste (the aria clocks in at over eight minutes), but Arteta depicts the Countess's sense of loss and subsequent resolve movingly. Croft then contributes "O Carlo, ascolta" from Verdi's Don Carlo, and does it with such style and vocal richness that one wonders why he has not sung more of the Verdi baritone roles.
The encores, which are skippable, are Croft singing "The Impossible Dream" from Man of La Mancha (must we?) and Arteta trying to tame her Spanish accent for Rodgers and Hammerstein's "If I Loved You." At least this version is more bearable than Renata Tebaldi's late-career attempt at it.
The notes in the booklet, ineptly translated from Spanish, have some real howlers. The best is: "From such a masterpiece we are only going to have the few minutes performed by Ainhoa Arteta: the aria "Dove sono," sung by the Countess, who happens to be the young Rosina of Il Barbiere di Sevilla, a Countess by her marriage with that Count of Almaviva, who, there, was craving for her love...But now it is not the same, once extinguished the ardors of the youth by the lapse of years and by the damned routine of cohabitation."
ERIC MYERS
Eva Marton
Songs of Zemlinsky, Schoenberg, Schreker; aria by Korngold. Budapest Symphony Orchestra, Carewe. Notes, texts, no translations. Hungaroton HCD 31932 (Qualiton, dist.)
What do brassy dramatic sopranos sing at career twilight? Eva Marton, who made her debut in her native Budapest 32 years ago, chooses obscure music from old Vienna that documents the final flickers of a decaying romanticism. In the process she manages to unearth some interesting repertory and evade dangerous comparisons with fresher rivals.
On this recording, which dates back to September 1999, she enjoys solid support from the British conductor John Carewe and the Budapest Symphony Orchestra in challenges by Alexander Zemlinsky, Arnold Schoenberg, Franz Schreker and Erich Wolfgang Korngold. Marton does not sound particularly fresh--all those Elektras and Turandots plus occasional Brünnhildes may have taken their toll--and she never was very imaginative when it came to probing for character. Her articulation of the German texts, here as elsewhere, hints at Magyar roots. Her attractively smoky tone tends to lose focus and support under pressure (and sometimes does so even when not under pressure). Still, one has to admire her grandeur, her enterprise and commitment, not to mention the emotional sweep of these esoteric performances.
Zemlinsky's Sechs Gesänge (1910-1913), based on texts of Maeterlinck, emerge poetically apt if expressively dreary, at least in this incarnation. But there is splendor in Schoenberg's Sechs Orchesterlieder (1903-1905), which document the composer's Wagnerian past and allow few hints of the harmonic revolution to come. Schreker's Vom Ewigen Leben (1927) turns out to be a fascinating curio, Walt Whitman gushing auf deutsch. And finally there is an unabashedly sentimental aria from Korngold's Das Wunder der Heliane, written for none less than Maria Jeritza in 1927. It provides a radiant climax for a worthy project.
MARTIN BERNHEIMER
Stephen Varcoe
"STANFORD SONGS - 1" songs by Charles Villiers Stanford. Benson, piano. Hyperion CDA 67124 (Harmonia Miundi, dist.)
"STANFORD SONGS - 2" songs by Charles Villiers Stanford. Benson, piano. Hyperion CDA 67123 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
The most rewarding songs in this thorough two-volume overview of the work of Charles Villiers Stanford come from early and late in his career. In his Opus 1, songs from The Spanish Gypsy to texts by George Eliot (Volume I), the music is satisfying structurally, and eight early Heine settings (Stanford studied in Leipzig and Berlin) are not exactly original but are heartfelt and enjoyable. At the end of his compositional life, Stanford set six items from Moira O'Neill's The Glens of Antrim (Volume II); two of them, "Lookin' Back" and "At Sea," represent the culmination of his art. The general impression from the fifty-seven selections in these two volumes is that Stanford was at his best with simpler poetry. In A Fire of Turf, to poems by Winifed M. Letts, the effect is appealing, but three Shakespeare settings from Twelfth Night are hardly a discovery, and the musicalization of Whitman's Songs of Faith adds nothing to the poetry. Piano parts on the whole are no more than accompaniments, the Schubertian "Spring Comes Hither" a notable exception. The Songs of the Sea are nicely contrasted.
Baritone Stephen Varcoe is adept in patter songs. The upper middle of his voice is unsupported at anything other than forte, but a parlor-ish quality is not amiss in some of this music. He and pianist Clifford Benson unwind the thread of a long Keats ballad with assurance. Extensive notes are provided in Hyperion's usual fashion, here by Jeremy Dibble, but the effect of such exhaustive analysis on such slight material is jarring indeed.
WILLIAM R. BRAUN
Dilbèr
"THE ART OF THE COLORATURA" Aria, vocalises and showpieces by Arne, Bishop, Rachmaninov, Glière, Adam, Bachelet, Delibes, Aljabjev, Benedict. Malmö Opera Orchestra, Tang. Texts, no translations. dBCD50 (Qualiton, dist.)
From Xinjang, a remote part of northwest China, by way of Finland, to Sweden to cut a CD, comes the single-named Dilbèr, a diminutive coloratura of considerable ability. After reading the biographical notes accompanying this disc, one knows only slightly more about this artist than before. She was apparently plucked from among the Turkic-speaking Uighur people to be educated by a team of teachers both Chinese and Western musical traditions at the Beijing Music Academy, after which she made the difficult move to Europe, working at the Finnish National Opera. No years or roles are mentioned. If one reads between the lines, it seems the soprano is probably slightly north of thirty-five. This would reek merely of a vanity project were this not a very appealing instrument. The voice sounds somewhat ripe; perhaps it was a bit easier at the very top a few years back, but the middle voice is rich and the piano singing in the range from F to about high C# is ravishing, and intonation is impeccable. Considering her linguistic roots, Dilbèr's command of western languages is admirable.
The program is, aside from "The Soldier Tir'd" from Arne's Artaxerxes, devoid of opera arias, and comprised mainly of the type of vocal showpieces beloved of coloraturas in the pre-Callas era. Nowadays, even sopranos who make discs of such fluff sing opera as well. This collection reminds one of the fare featured in a Deanna Durbin film, and, coupled with the mysterious liner notes, presents an image a bit hard to swallow for jaded post-millennium opera nuts. Of course, we all crave a new discovery; hope for such a phenomenon springs eternal in the hearts of all lovers of the human voice. While Dilbèr is not the second coming of Callas, nor even the next Yma Sumac, she is an attractive vocalist. The disc begins with a rousing rendition of the Arne, featuring bright tone, clean octave leaps and good English diction. Only a high D at the climax is a bit pinched. Bishop's "Lo! Hear the gentle lark" boasts the same virtues along with perfect staccati. Trills however, are only intermittently successful. Rachmaninov's "Ne poj krasavitsa" and his "Vocalise" are floated beautifully. The schmaltzy concoction, Gilère's "Concerto for Coloratura Soprano," supplies more opportunities for alluring tone, albeit in the context of a piece that goes nowhere. (Any number of worthwhile arias might have filled those fourteen minutes!)
Most successful of the florid chestnuts is Adam's variations, "Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman," in which the soprano still sounds less spontaneous than one would hope, but nonetheless delivers the goods with great aplomb. There is never quite the joy of the daredevil feat that made high-flying birds like Erna Sack or Miliza Korjus so much fun, or Joan Sutherland so (literally) breathtaking. Paradoxically, it is in legato pieces like Bachelet's "Chere Nuit" that Dilbèr is at her loveliest, rather than in the rapid-fire numbers. Delibes's "Les filles de Cadix," however, encourages just that exuberance and charm that's on short supply in other selections. Michai Tang and the youthful Malmö Opera Orchestra supply fine accompaniment atmospheric where needed and rhythmically attentive.
I.S.
Alastair Miles
"GREAT OPERATIC ARIAS" Arias and scenes by Bellini, Rossini, Verdi and Gomes; Philharmonia Orchestra and Geoffrey Mitchell Choir, Parry. English texts and notes. Chandos CHAN 3032
VERDI: Rigoletto
Field; Davies, Rawnsley, Tomlinson; English National Opera Orchestra and Chorus, Elder. English text and notes. Chandos CHAN3030(2)
While some operas can translate into English fairly convincingly (the more declamatory parts of Wagner's Ring, for instance), singing the highly ornamented vocal lines of bel canto opera in English is asking for trouble. Part of the problem with Alastair Miles's recital CD is the translations used. Though most of them are recent, they tend toward oratorio-ese. So Pagano (in Verdi's The Lombards at the First Crusade) has to sound convincing while singing, "The love I bore her should have been sacred, the traitress!" Occasionally translations come perilously close to the Marx Brothers, as in the Druid Chorus from Bellini's Norma: "Smiting their swords asunder,/his mighty shield like thunder/, even as far as Rome itself/shall echo evermore." The casual listener to this disc is unlikely to be disturbed by these translations, since it is impossible to understand what anyone is singing without following the printed words in the booklet--which surely defeats the original purpose of performing Italian opera in English.
In the theater Alastair Miles is often a potent asset, his well-schooled, beautiful bass voice used strongly in service of the drama. Here he is less convincing, both vocally and dramatically. Perhaps the problem is having to wrestle with Rossini's coloratura through uncomfortably fitting English words, or because it is difficult to create a character in only a single aria. But the end result is a curious blandness that casts a pall over the disc, despite Miles's stylish embellishments. In addition, here his usually even voice tends to thin out on the bottom, giving the impression of tentativeness.
The pronunciation of the singers in the complete English-language Rigoletto is generally crisp, allowing listeners to understand most all the words, and the translation is dramatically viable. (This is a Chandos reissue of the 1983 EMI recording of Jonathan Miller's production for the ENO, which updated the opera to New York City's Little Italy.) Helen Field, a matronly-sounding Gilda, tends to garble words more than the other singers. Arthur Davies is an often vocally appealing Duke -- he makes one glad the Duke's Act II cabaletta ("The power of love is calling") is included -- but has trouble in the higher parts of the role. Oddly, it's his aria "La donna e mobile" ("Women abandon us") that is not understandable without the booklet. John Rawnsley's Rigoletto is a totally committed, highly nuanced performance and the English National Opera Orchestra plays clearly and tautly for Mark Elder. Alas, what comes across strongly is how hard everyone is working, and how sincere everyone is about his task, rather than the emotions of Verdi's Rigoletto and the plight of its characters.
PAUL THOMASON
REIMANN: Lear
Varady, Lorand, Dernesch; Fischer-Dieskau, Knutson, Götz, Holm, Paskuda, Boysen, Helm, Wilbrink, Nöcker; Bayerischer Staatsopernchor und Staatsorchester. 1979. Text and translation. Deutsche Grammophon 463 480-2 (2)
Aribert Reimann's Lear, to paraphrase a friend, is like Wozzeck without the great tunes. Unremittingly bleak and frequently cacophonous, Reimann's 1978 work re-imagines Shakespeare's iconic characters and the evil they wreak upon each other through a distinctly twentieth-century prism of alienation, anxiety and derangement. The results are not for the faint of heart. Indeed, after a while, one is tempted to respond by saying, "Okay, okay, we get it--Lear's insane!" Yet if we're willing to put certain expectations aside, some truly striking aspects of this piece begin to emerge. Goneril and Regan's insincere declarations of love for their father are all the more despicable when rendered in Reimann's harsh, angular phrases. Edgar (the versatile and commanding David Knutson), disguising himself as a madman to avoid being recognized by Gloucester, flips into an eerie, dissonant countertenor. The aural violence accompanying the gouging out of Gloucester's eyes is masterfully rendered and almost unbearable. And when Lear's speech becomes repetitive and incoherent, the orchestral frenzy subsides, and the relatively tranquil accompaniment, though still atonal, creates a placid effect which, contrasted with the King's jabber, is chilling. Similar effects occur in Cordelia's remarkable Act II aria to the sleeping Lear, which is accompanied by two solo violins, and in the final scene, which features slow-moving unison melodic lines. Such moments have a pure beauty one would never have thought possible within this sound world.
The cast, to their enormous credit, inhabit these roles in their totality, fearlessly traversing the demands of singing, speaking and sprechgesang alike with agility and naturalness. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, who suggested the idea of the opera to the composer (Reimann had been his accompanist), creates a nuanced and majestically tragic Lear, a bystander to his own monumental self-destruction. Colette Dorand turns Regan's fragmented coloratura into a penetrating character study, rather than a mere technical feat. Werner Götz, as Edmund, Gloucester's bastard son, summons convincing depths of rage and malice with his vibrant, full-throated tenor. Julia Varady as Cordelia, the only character untouched by insanity, either authentic or feigned, manages this challenging role with her customary warmth and tonal splendor, almost convincing the listener at times that she is singing Strauss. Helga Dernesch as Goneril likewise sustains a constant intensity without sacrificing beauty of sound. Conductor Gerd Albrecht's command of this formidable work is inspirational, as is the ferocious playing of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester on this excellently rendered transfer from the original LP.
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
GOLDENTHAL: The Green Bird
Salguero; Roché, Lewis, Weems; Martinez, music director; Gohl, Church, Goldstein, Tesori, conductors. Some texts. DRG 12989
Elliot Goldenthal's name is not usually mentioned on lists of important American composers of the younger generation, but this is a distinct oversight. One possible reason for the omission is that Goldenthal, despite an impressive catalogue of concert works, has achieved prominence mostly in the worlds of film (Interview with a Vampire, Michael Collins, Batman Forever, Drugstore Cowboy) and theater. Nonetheless, everything he writes bears the unmistakably original stamp of his protean and formidable talent.
Goldenthal's body of work with director-designer Julie Taymor, his partner and artistic collaborator, includes some of the most adventuresome and captivating music theater of recent years, such as the under-appreciated The Transposed Heads (full disclosure: I conducted the original productions at the American Music Theatre Festival and Lincoln Center) and the Tony-nominated Juan Darien. In 1996, Taymor and Goldenthal created their adaptation of Carlo Gozzi's The Green Bird (1765), a play in the commedia dell'arte tradition, and the third Gozzi piece which they have adapted. Written originally for Theatre For a New Audience at the New Victory Theater, its transfer to Broadway this past year was a follow-up to Taymor's triumph in bringing Disney's The Lion King to the stage.
There is so much to dazzle the eye and the ear in a Goldenthal/Taymor piece that an original cast recording is a welcome opportunity to focus on the music alone. The Green Bird, with its juxtaposition of the mystical and the earth-bound, the holy and the bawdy, is a perfect chance for Goldenthal to display his singular gifts of synthesis. The result is a characteristic brew of eclectic influences both popular and classical, exotic world percussion, virtuoso instrumental writing, surprising yet inevitable harmonizations, and sinuously appealing melodies based on intervallic combinations that just don't occur to most composers. Goldenthal's ear is well-travelled, across genres as well as continents, but he is no purveyor of mere pastiche; the score contains allusions to Stravinsky, Satie, Nino Rota and John Barry, as well as elements of Italian popular music, reggae-funk, contemporary opera and torch song, but there is nothing that doesn't sound like it is entirely Goldenthal's own. The stylistic breadth is reflected in the multiple sessions and four different conductors required to compile the album (some of these tracks were used during the production to supplement the three live pit musicians). The twenty cuts on the disc are comprised of mostly incidental music (although Sophia Salguero makes the most of a deliciously vampy number for the leader of a trio of singing apples). There is ace playing by several soloists, including Bruce Williamson, multi-tracked in a toccata-like piano and clarinet duet with himself. And just when you think you've heard it all, Goldenthal pulls out a full-blown, vocalese-style big band stomp number for the entire cast. As the composer himself puts it in the notes, "What does this 18th-century ghost-commedia company do when they get to Broadway?--swing."
J.R.
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photo credits: © Suzanne Schwiertz 2001/Zurich Opera (Zysset); © Louise Pote 2001 (Uppman)
OPERA NEWS, January 2001 Copyright © 2001 The Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
Recordings
SERIOUS FUN
Franz Welser-Möst leads the Zurich Opera in a crisp performance of a melody-drenched Johann Strauss II rarity.
Editor's Choice: Zysset as Simplicius in Zurich
Uppman in rehearsal
