Racette, Martinez, Anthony, Karl; Kuebler, Schmidt, Volle; Opernchor der Hochschule für Musik Köln, Gürzenich-Orchester/Kölner Philharmoniker, Conlon. Text and translations.
EMI Classics 5 7087 2 (2)Alexander von Zemlinsky's opera Der Traumgörge was almost a tragedy of music history. Slated for its premiere in October 1907, under the baton of Gustav Mahler, the opera was in rehearsal when Mahler resigned as director of the
Vienna Hofoper. His replacement, Felix von Weingartner, threatened by Zemlinsky's status as a composer-conductor, called off the production; the score languished in a storage room, and the world premiere of Der Traumgörge didn't happen until 1980, in Nuremberg.
This erudite, finely drawn and thoroughly ravishing work can be approached on many different levels -- as a symbolic, Freudian exploration of dreams and their relationship to reality; as a paean to the composer's tumultuous relationship with Alma Schindler (his pupil and lover, and later, of course, Mahler's wife); as an intriguing melding (by librettist Leo Feld) of at least four different literary sources; as Zemlinsky's attempt to reconcile the musical innovation around him with his traditionalist, tonal leanings; and in purely musical terms, as a sumptuous, Straussian, sometimes overwhelming listening experience.
Görge, as the title implies, is a dreamer and -- as is apparent from his first utterance -- possibly insane. Instead of paying attention to Grete, his betrothed, he keeps to himself, reads furiously and spouts descriptions of fairy tales in response to Grete's entreaties. His dream woman (literally) is the light-bathed Princess (the Alma figure) w
ho appears to him in sleep, temptingly describing the wonders of the unexplored world. Not surprisingly, the marriage to Grete doesn't take place. Act II commences three years later in a different village, where Görge is now the protector of the destitute Gertraud, who is believed by the villagers to be a witch. Gertraud understands Görge's inwardness and speaks his language of fairy tales and dreams. This, of course, enables him to love her and to leave behind the elusive (and empty) promises of that imaginary world in favor of earthly reality. (To underline this intriguing paradox, the Princess and Gertraud were played by the same singer in the Nuremberg premiere.)
In addition to the extravagantly pictorial orchestra writing, conducted invigoratingly in this world-premiere recording by James Conlon, the opera is especially striking for its vivid characterizations and penetrating insights into human relationships. These range from the dysfunctional (Görge and Grete) to the workable but foible-ridden (Grete and Hans, her ex-boyfriend whom she has married by the Epilogue) to the transcendent and eternal (Görge and Gertraud). All land with startlingly contemporary resonance, aided by the superbly inhabited and vocally masterful performances on EMI's two-disc set.
David Kuebler (Görge) and Iride Martinez (Grete) bring us right to the heart of this distinctly ill-matched couple's conversational dynamics. Martinez's Grete leaps adroitly from playfulness to sarcasm to anger and despair as she tries to reshape her fiancée into a more suitable mate. In one introspective passage, Martinez perfectly captures a young woman's ambivalence as she lucidly and persuasively describes her experience of loving and missing Görge when they're apart, but feeling oppressed in his presence. Kuebler's bright, remarkably expressive tenor has just enough edginess to penetrate Zemlinsky's roiling, extroverted orchestral writing (even in passages where the vocals are slightly under-mixed) and to convey Görge's overheated responses to the world of his books. Kuebler also knows when to come off his voice for revealingly human moments ("'Tis nothing. You'll just laugh at me if I tell you"). As Gertraud, Patricia Racette adapts her full lyric soprano becomingly to fill what is at times a heavy, dramatic role. In gentler passages, as when she consoles the despairing Görge, she spins her lines with soothing, freely-flowing beauty, making it immediately clear that this woman ultimately will be his salvation. Indeed, both Racette and Kuebler are vocally transformed in their scenes together. Susan Anthony as the Princess, though lovely and consistent in sound, is dramatically restrained, possibly in an effort to retain the dreamworld atmosphere. Andreas Schmidt's Hans, however, has a winning, hearty swagger in his powerful baritone. (It helps that he brings along his own chorus, singing refrains of "Der Hans! Der Hans!") His disbelief when Grete announces her engagement is a welcome comic moment. Conductor Conlon and EMI have done important and committed work to raise Zemlinsky's profile in recent years; Der Traumgörge is possibly the finest fruit of that labor to date.
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
OPERA AND ORATORIO
WEIR: A Night at the Chinese Opera
Grummet, Lynch, McCafferty; Chance, Robinson, Thompson, Thomas, Daymond, George; Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Parrott. English text only. NMC D060 (2) (Qualiton, dist.)
British composer Judith Weir admits in the notes accompanying this release that there is nothing unusual about the device of a play within a play, yet she has found a unique and intriguing way of exploiting it. The "play within" in question, The Chao Family Orphan, dates from the period of the Yuan dynasty (1279-1368 AD). It reached the West in the eighteenth century via a French translation and is still performed today by Chinese opera troupes. The play (or opera) without is Weir's A Night at the Chinese Opera. Her musical adaptation of The Chao Family Orphan occupies Act II of the three-act work.
Acts I and III tell the story of the purportedly "real" Chao Lin, whose father was driven into exile by the Mongolian invasion of China and died of cold and hunger. Chao grows up, working as a gifted canal-builder who is regarded favorably by the regime that caused his father's death. When Chao views a performance of The Chao Family Orphan, he is struck by the similarity to his own life and becomes aware for the first time of the fate his father suffered. He seeks revenge against the Military Governor but fails and is himself put to death. In a chilling touch, Chao is executed offstage during a performance of the final scene of The Chao Family Orphan, in which the "fictional" Chao succeeds in avenging his father's death. Art, unlike life, has a happy ending.
As Weir points out, little evidence survives as to what kind of music accompanied the Yuan plays -- a lack that enables her to invent her own style: stark and unadorned, modal but rhythmically incisive, linear rather than harmonic, with stylized, highly declamatory vocal writing. (There is also a good deal of spoken dialogue.) The character of the "outer" opera, Acts I and III, is less austere but equally distinctive. As in Act II, the orchestra often directly mirrors the sharp, deliberately-spaced rhythms of the vocal lines, but here, the mimetic accompaniment is primarily chordal. This is especially striking when characters are singing homorhythmically in groups of two or three. The fresh, bracing harmonies, though occasionally reminiscent of Messiaen (another composer with a strong interest in the music of non-Occidental cultures), have a singular stamp. In general, the music successfully evokes the Far East without resorting to clichéd "orientalisms."
All nine of the hard-working cast members throw themselves into this unusual piece with whole-hearted verve; outstanding are the "actors" -- Adey Grummet, Frances Lynch and Karl Daymond, the three of whom perform all nine roles of the play within a play with fiercely committed, often self-mocking stylization. Conductor Andrew Parrott, known best for his work in early music, shows a decided affinity for this piece, a successful, accessible evocation of a remote, bygone culture through a late-twentieth-century prism.
J.R.
MEYERBEER: Robert le Diable
Ciofi, Raspagliosi; Mok, Codeluppi, Surian; Orchestra Internazionale d'Italia, Bratislava Chamber Choir, R. Palumbo. Text and translation. Dynamic CDS 368/1-3 (Qualiton, dist.)
Although it is customary these days to dismiss Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791-1864) as the Andrew Lloyd Webber of nineteenth-century Paris, in his own time he was considered a fresh, innovative voice, a genius who blended the best of the French, Italian and German schools to achieve his own signature style. The truth probably lies somewhere in between. With his Robert le Diable (1831), Meyerbeer defined the form of French grand opera of the period, further codifying it with Les Huguenots (1836) and Le Prophète (1849). Robert le Diable has the energy and excitement of a piece that began a tradition.
The story is a sort of Faust-and-the-Devil tale -- but this time the Devil has actually sired his victim. Robert pits good against evil, good winning out with the help of two women allied to Robert: his mortal half-sister, Alice, and his romantic interest, Isabelle. The Devil, posing as a friend called Bertram, has a limited amount of time to take possession of his son's soul before losing his hold on the young man. There is increasing tension as the plot progresses, and the music becomes very effective. Along the way, we are treated to a variety of arias, ensembles and ballets (and showy effects, which sometimes dilute the overall impact of the story). Aside from Isabelle's celebrated Act IV aria, "Robert, toi que j'aime," recorded memorably by Beverly Sills on her fine French aria collection, the good bits include a wonderful a cappella trio in Act III, "Fatal moment, cruel mystère," and another stunning trio in Act V with horn accompaniment, which shows Meyerbeer at his most inspired; here, the choice of accompaniment is both showy and dramatically arresting.
This Robert performance from the Martina Franca Festival in Italy, one of a series being released on the Dynamic label, approaches the piece as an electrifying music drama, rather than as a grand opera with mothballs falling away at the sound of each measure. The vitality of the performance is admirable. The shortcoming, alas, is the singing -- a flaw of which one was doubtless less aware when watching the show than when listening to this CD set.
The women in this performance outclass the men vocally, although no one is less than adequate. As Robert, tenor Warren Mok attempts to wring what he can out of a character who turns sympathetic only toward the very end of the opera, when he responds to Isabelle's pleading aria and ultimately breaks his pact with Devil-in-disguise Bertram. Mok's reading of Robert is energetic to a fault, a characteristic he displayed as Gabriele Adorno on Dynamic's original-version Simon Boccanegra. The voice sounds forced too much of the time, and although he has all the notes, up to high Cs, they are not too attractive. When Mok uses head voice in the manner undoubtedly employed by the role's celebrated creator, Adolphe Nourrit, he has belted so much that it is difficult for the voix mixte to find focus. As Bertram, bass Giorgio Surian turns in a solid, committed performance. He may not have the charisma of Boris Christoff (Myto) or the vocal allure of Samuel Ramey (Adonis), the two other Bertrams on live Robert recordings currently in the shops, but he is up to the task.
Both Alice and Isabelle are dynamite roles. Annalisa Raspagliosi (Alice) seems, since her Amelia in the aforementioned Boccanegra, to have developed a slightly frayed quality in the middle voice and an occasional sluggishness of vibrato in that register. The top is still quite fine, both at full volume and at pianissimo, of which there is abundant use. In fact, if there is a flaw in this singer's approach, it is the difficulty in locating her real sound within her many "moments." Perhaps an overactive imagination is at work. She also resorts to finessing passages with the use of abundant crooning. But Raspagliosi is an appealing Alice, very involved in the proceedings, and remains a singer to watch. Patrizia Ciofi's Isabelle is a major-league outing. The voices of the two characters ideally should be more different than they are here, but the aural similarity is due mostly to the soft approach Raspagliosi gives to some of Alice's high passages. Ciofi's really is a somewhat lighter instrument, but one with enough thrust to make dramatic passages telling, and plenty of agility where the writing becomes florid in the Italian manner. Ciofi is a markedly Italianate soprano, able to pour out long, emotion-filled lines, full of extravagant diminuendos -- most notably in her great Act IV aria.
Renato Palumbo leads the Orchestra Internazionale d'Italia in a reading of urgency and vigor, and this edition includes much music cut from the Italian-language recording, vocal as well as ballet. It also provides a most welcome French-English libretto. The sound is obviously that of a live performance, but it has a nice, warm gleam to it, and the voices are well captured.
IRA SIFF
SCARLATTI: Sedecia, Re di Gerusalemme
Perez, Capici, Frisani; Cecchetti, Vinco; Alessandro Stradella Consort, Velardi. Text and translations. Bongiovanni GB 2278/79-2 (Qualiton, dist.)
In the first years of eighteenth-century Rome it was a crime to produce opera; papal edict forbade it for its licentiousness. This despite the presence in Italy of some of what would become the century's finest opera composers: Bononcini, Handel and, musical father to them both, Alessandro Scarlatti. Enter a wily and determined patron, the cardinal Pietro Ottoboni. This literate prince bucked the system by building a theater and putting on oratorios and serenatas, which were identical in musical form to opera but kept one step to the side of papal censure.
Scarlatti dedicated his 1706 oratorio Sedecia, Re di Gerusalemme to Ottoboni. Taken from the Old Testament books of Kings and Jeremiah, it tells the story of the rebellious King Zedekiah's demise at the hands of Nebuchadnezzar. Until the final scene of the oratorio, the action consists of an alternate wringing of hands of the three principals -- Zedekiah, his wife, Anna, and his son, Ishmael -- with sporadic interjections from Zedekiah's general Nadabbe, as they await Nebuchadnezzar's closing in for the kill. The plot is thin stuff. But Scarlatti uses the situation to create wonderful musical evocations of fear, hope, courage and pain. Pathetic music is his forte.
This recording by the period-instrument ensemble Alessandro Stradella Consort goes another step toward restoring the still undernourished presence of Scarlatti's dramatic music before the public. Conductor Estevan Velardi elicits superb dramatic playing from his orchestra. The invention and variation of the string players and oboe soloist had me on the edge of my seat in eager anticipation of the da capo returns in the arias. And the continuo team is alert at all times to the nuances of the text, giving superb support to the singers. The singers themselves are less accomplished Baroque stylists (there is not a good trill to be heard among them), but all possess excellent voices and declaim their texts with clarity and involvement. Among the three principals, soprano Rosita Frisani is a knockout. As the young Ishmael, she gets two of the best slow arias -- "Del mio cor," in which Ishmael expresses the fear in his heart at the impending doom, and his death aria, "Caldo sangue." In the former, Frisani's lush vocal color, perfect pianissimos and marvelous decorations inspire awe. As Anna, soprano Alessandra Capici offers fuller lyric singing with alert rhythm. As Sedecia, contralto Amor Lillia Perez is a bit stodgy where rhythm is concerned, but her dark timbre is pleasing throughout. Tenor Mario Cecchetti as Nadabbe and bass Marco Vinco as Nebuchadnezzar offer solid support in their smaller roles.
There are some repeated annoyances in this recording. First, on several occasions the numbers do not lead logically into one another but interrupt the dramatic flow of scenes: when a revenge aria is to be sung, its preceeding recitative needs to prepare the agitated ground. Secondly, the alteration of tempos in the middle sections of da capo arias only serves to interrupt their mood and overall affect, thereby causing the oratorio to lose steam now and again. And at times, there are jarring shifts in the sound picture, sometimes within a single number; this has the effect of a boom suddenly coming into view in an intimate film scene.
All that said, the musical gold of Scarlatti's dramatic world is here to be mined, and there is enough of it to merit repeated listenings.
DREW MINTER
ABERT: Ekkehard
Van Ingen, Kelling, Fujimura; Kaufmann, Reiter, Gerhaher, Hempel, Böhm; Stuttgart Choristers, South German Radio Orchestra, Falk. German libretto only. Capriccio 60-080 (2)
Among composers of late-Romantic German opera, such names as Engelbert Humperdinck, Hermann Goetz and Siegfried Wagner occasionally come up, but you won't hear much about Johann Joseph Abert (1832-1915). Born in Bohemia, he worked for decades in Stuttgart, but the distinguishing feature of his operas is their absorption of French influence, thanks to a prolonged period of study in Paris. Capriccio's CD revival of Ekkehard (1878) stems from a concert performance aired over South German Radio in 1998 during the Autumn Music Days at Bad Urach. Those who can read German will be ahead of the game, as only the original libretto is supplied, and the English plot outline leaves out a lot. Perseverance is advised, however: this opera is worth hearing.
The story combines warlike monks and an Ortud type of pagan sorceress with a too-good-to-be-true duchess and her chivalric love affair with Ekkehard, a monastic tutor knight (how else to describe him?). Thanks to Abert's genuine gifts as a melodist, the score is more appealing than its subject. In his efforts to emulate Wagner without sounding too modern, Abert wrote page after page of lovely, natural-sounding dialogue to his own stilted, rhymed text. The climactic love duet of Act III, divided in parts like the duet from Un Ballo in Maschera, is a cornucopia of distinctive, generous melody, and the finale that follows is effectively structured. Abert's writing combines an admirable sweet simplicity with subtle touches of harmony and orchestration. Bassoons growl and flutes flicker while the villainous Montfort schemes Ekkehard's downfall.
There's no weak link in the cast, though some characterizations are less than vivid. As Hadwig, Duchess of Swabia, Nyla van Ingen could use more heft and authority. She and her handmaiden, Praxedis (Susanne Kelling), both err on the side of caution. The same goes for Mihoko Fujimura as the Woman of the Woods, the anti-Christian witch who wages war against the brotherhood of monks; there's more to her role than meets the ear in this performance. On the other hand, everyone sings pretty much on pitch, and the sense of singing style is everywhere right for the music.
The strength of the cast, happily, lies in its protagonist, Jonas Kaufmann, whose pure, unwavering lyric tenor holds a firm legato and gives the role heartfelt convinction, notably in his Act III monologue, "Der Gedanken Sturm zu bannen." Jörg Hempel doesn't put quite enough teeth into the role of Montfort; his baritone sounds watery. The other players -- Christian Gerhaher as the jolly cellar master, Alfred Reiter as the Abbot, Henryk Böhm as the Duchess's treasurer -- put spirit into their work, as does the chorus, whose music includes both folklike tunes and more complex ensembles. The idiomatic conductor, Peter Falk, persuasively unifies and enlivens this reading, and the studio sound is fine.
JOHN W. FREEMAN
MOZART: Il Sogno di Scipione
Hartelius, Larsson, Brandes; Ford, Workman, Ovenden; Choeur des musiciens du Louvre, Freiburger Barockorchester,von der Goltz. 2000. Text and translation. Naive E8813 (2) (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
This delightful little allegory was composed by Mozart at the age of sixteen for the fiftieth anniversary of his patron, Sigismondo, the Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg. (When Sigismondo died before it could be performed, Mozart re-dedicated it to his successor, Hieronimus Colloredo, for his installation). If Il Sogno di Scipione understandably lacks the maturity of Mozart's later, greater works, it still bears all the fire, dramatic sensibility, inspiration and subtlety we associate with this unrivaled genius.
The compact libretto by Metastasio tells of a Roman general, Scipione, who dreams that he must choose between two goddesses, Costanza and Fortuna. Along the way, he journeys with them to heaven, where he encounters the shades of his father, Emilio, and grandfather, Publio. They offer him support but refuse to make his decision for him. Scipione ultimately chooses Costanza, and in an epilogue, a new character, Licenza, appears to pay homage to the Archbishop. Realizing his tale was not long on plot or dramatic tension, Metastasio knew he had to keep it brief, yet Mozart manages to explore every emotional angle, creating sympathetic, three-dimensional characters from these potentially stock allegorical figures.
The six soloists are all high voices -- three sopranos and three tenors -- and Mozart, with the impetuosity of youth, is ambitious in his demands. The florid, bipartite arias are riddled with unexpected leaps, relentless runs, potentially throat-constricting tessituras and other vocal infelicities. This talented cast rises gamely to the occasion. Malin Hartelius is especially impressive as Costanza. She always seems one step ahead of the demands of the music, and her milky, smooth soprano sounds untaxed, even at the end of her lengthy arias. The bravura "Biancheggia in mar lo scoglio," with its echoes of Mozart's other Constanze's "Martern aller Arten," showcases her flawless, riveting coloratura. Bruce Ford as Scipione anchors the proceedings with a sure dramatic sense, ringing tones and great style, especially in his recitatives. Unfortunately, his baritonal tenor is not the most naturally agile, and he can't keep up with the breakneck tempo of his aria, "Di' che sei l'arbitra"; conductor Gottfried von der Goltz could have accommodated him a little more generously. Lisa Larsson's bright, light soprano conveys all the egotistical fickleness of Fortuna, switching musical moods with spirit and spice and negotiating all her vocal fireworks deftly. Charles Workman surfs Publio's coloratura with panache, accuracy and ease up to high C, but his voice is a little quavering and far back in the throat for my taste. (On the other hand, these qualities do give the impression of age, and he is supposed to be an old man.) Jeremy Ovenden is a dignified Emilio; his crisp diction adds punch to his light, limpid tenor. Christine Brandes, in her brief, eleventh-hour appearance as Licenza, doesn't quite have the timbral range to color the long lines of the lovely "Ah perchè cercar degg'io," but she comes to life in the florid sections, shaping her passagework with effective dynamic contrasts. The Choeur des musiciens du Louvre, weak to begin with, is overwhelmed in the mix by the Freiburger Barockorchester, who dig in with great gusto. This performance, recorded live in concert at the Montreux Music Festival in September 2000, brings welcome variety to Mozart's opera discography.
JOANNE SYDNEY LESSNER
DONIZETTI: Maria Stuarda
Gruberova, Oprisanu, Lucas; Arevalo, dal Monte, Bronikowski; Münchner Rundfunkorchester, Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Viotti. Text and translation. Nightingale Classics NC190209-2 (Koch, dist.)
Sovereignty isn't easy to maintain. Ask any queen. On the heels of the release of, and raves for, Beverly Sills's "Three Queens" boxed set, would-be usurper Edita Gruberova completes her own Donizetti trittico for the Nightingale label with this Maria Stuarda, recorded in 1998 and only released now. This is actually Gruberova's fourth Donizetti queen -- she previously recorded Stuarda for Philips (1989), with Giuseppe Patanè conducting.
Maria Stuarda is perhaps the most difficult to bring to life of Donizetti's three Tudor queens. The title role affords ample diva moments, although it is written more for long linear display than for vocal fireworks of the coloratura variety. As Gruberova is a singer who excels at both, this is not a problem, and what florid singing there is is delivered energetically and accurately on both of her recordings. The difference of nine years between Gruberova Stuardas does not amount to the kind of vocal difference (i.e. decline) one encounters in, say, Callas's stereo re-recordings of Lucia or Norma. The Gruberova voice is basically the same in the two Stuardas; the earlier recording has a bit more freedom and spin, the later more subtlety. The soprano's tendency to swoop up to high notes has become quite pronounced by the more recent reading, and some of the pianos are a bit wiry, although others are as lovely as ever. The interpretation has become quieter, less extrovert, save for the famous "vil bastarda" epithet in the confrontation with Elisabetta; Gruberova chose a high ending for this in '89 but now plunges into chest voice most effectively. There is a new, ironic reading of "D'un cor che muore," in which the singer invokes the opposite of the forgiveness expressed in the text, through her tone of voice and use of the broken descending phrases. It's the sort of delving beneath the obvious that Renata Scotto did so effectively, and it's a welcome touch.
The main problem with the more recent recording is the supporting cast, which is simply no match for the previous one on Philips. As Nightingale's Elisabetta, Carmen Oprisanu has a rich, lovely voice -- sometimes so rich that words are obscured -- but she cannot compete with the ferocious Agnes Baltsa on Philips. Tenor Octavio Arevalo, as the hapless Leicester, is pretty much the equal of the earlier Francisco Araiza; both have firm, attractive, somewhat light voices. But the Cecil of Marcin Bronikowski pales next to that of his predecessor, the formidable Simone Alaimo. Neither Duccio dal Monte (Nightingale) nor Francesco Ellero d'Artegna (Philips) contributes quite what is needed for the fine duet between Talbot and Maria, so superior to its parallel in Lucia, but at least the more recent model sounds extremely sympathetic. The orchestra is the same for both recordings, and both are well conducted, but Patanè on Philips has the edge. He propels the performance, with the help of the dynamo Baltsa, who makes the most of Elisabetta's rage and inspires Gruberova's sense of diva competitiveness, taking her to a heightened intensity. I.S.
CHORAL AND SONG
VERDI: Messa da Requiem
Fleming, Borodina; Bocelli, d'Arcangelo; Kirov Orchestra and Chorus, Gergiev. Text and translation. Philips 289 468 079-2
Giuseppe Verdi was not religious in the churchgoing sense; in letters written during the period of its composition, he seems surprised by his pleasure and involvement in creating his Messa da Requiem. Although the composer wrote to Camille du Locle (librettist for Don Carlos, a first cousin to the Requiem) that he found himself suddenly "a serious person, no longer the audience's clown" who made the sign of the cross at the mention of operas, Verdi was, in essence, composing an opera in his Requiem -- albeit one that utilizes liturgical text in an openly dramatic way. Conductors have been taken to task for accenting the work's operatic feel; singers have been similarly chastised. Yet no successful performance of the work can ignore completely the Requiem's raw emotional bite, its Shakespearean scale and sweep, its unmistakable flavor of opera.
The new Philips Requiem, under Valery Gergiev's direction, is not for those who like their Requiems on the restrained side. There are a few other things about this recording that will raise eyebrows right away. First of all, how about the gold label slapped onto the cellophane, proclaiming this "The Ultimate Verdi Requiem?" Ultimate in relation to what, one asks? Do collectors now toss their prized recordings of the work, conducted by the likes of Toscanini, Reiner, Serafin, Solti, Giulini and Muti? Or is this meant to be the last recording of this piece ever, no more allowed? (Ah, the age of hype!)
Another eyebrow-raiser is, obviously, the presence of Andrea Bocelli as the tenor soloist. This performance is quite an accomplishment for a singer whose real métier is Italian canzone, and for whom the learning of an intricate ensemble piece such as this must present challenges far beyond the ones encountered by sighted opera singers. The effect of his participation is, nonetheless, weird. The first solo voice we hear is that of the tenor in his ascending Kyrie. Bocelli's wide-open, close-miked, straight-ish tone is a jarring sound -- particularly through the passaggio -- and one that clashes with the three A-team opera voices that complete the quartet. (The unconscious question Bocelli's voice poses to the audience of this Requiem is: "Who's right? Him or them?") The tenor's singing has many raw attacks, blunt cutoffs and pushed high notes (the climax of the Ingemisco, for one), offset somewhat by his natural feel for (not always appropriate) portamento and his beautifully clear, innately moving enunciation of the text. Bocelli's is not a bad sound; in fact, there are times when its slenderness sounds more appropriately liturgical than, say, the plush outpourings of his colleagues Renée Fleming and Olga Borodina. It has an apt eeriness in passages such as the Hostias, which is tenderly intoned.
Elsewhere, things run along more traditional lines. As one would expect, Fleming pours out floods of tone, much of it appealing. As is occasionally the case with this enormously gifted artist, she gilds the lily a bit, unable to resist making an overtly dramatic effect in places (such as the opening of Libera me), and she has difficulty integrating her singing and acting: rather than being intensified by increased emotion, much of the voice's beauty falls away when "acting moments" come along. Bass Ildebrando d'Arcangelo has a rich, attractive sound and makes all the right vocal gestures. Maturity will doubtless supply the rest.
The starry quartet is completed by Olga Borodina, who offers a caring, if a bit careful, reading of the mezzo-soprano part. Borodina gives a caressing softness to the Lux aeterna, which is quite moving, and elsewhere also keeps the volume down, as if to counterbalance the thundering of her Kirov colleague Gergiev with a more delicate humanity. And thunder he does! The opening G-minor claps of the Dies irae and its violent off-beat clashes of the bass drum could scare any fence-sitting agnostic into the nearest church posthaste. String tremolos are spine-chilling. Gergiev's great whirlwind of sound sometimes gets out of hand, but the Kirov Orchestra does its best to keep up, and the chorus, with its wonderfully distinctive sound in which individual vocal textures emerge, likewise works hard.
The ultimate Verdi Requiem? For Bocelli fans, certainly. The rest of us mortals will just have to make do with Bjoerling or Pavarotti.
I.S.
Choir of King's College, Cambridge"BEST LOVED HYMNS" Hymns and hymn arrangements. Cleobury, cond. Texts. EMI 7243 5 57026 2 3
Choir of New College, Oxford
"BLUEBIRD:VOICES FROM HEAVEN" Anthems of Rutter, Stanford, Tavener, Rossini, Messiaen. Higginbottom, cond. Decca 289 466 870-2
Two new releases from noted British boy choirs testify to just how different such forces can sound in the hands of different conductors. The Choir of King's College, long sustainer of a grand choral tradition, grew to world prominence through the recordings made in the 1970s under its conductor David Willcocks. Many would not miss King's annual international broadcast of the Chrismas Eve service of lessons and carols. Stephen Cleobury continues King's tradition most recently with this energetic and varied recording of hymns; it demonstrates why many hold King's College to be the Cadillac of the boy-choir tradition.
Judgment passed on recordings of boy choirs must generally revolve around the sound of the boys themselves. One can bathe in the acoustic of King's College Chapel, and as a result the treble sound of this choir has a rather direct, even piercing, quality. At times this can produce a pitch that sits just south of its desired destination, but the shape of the lines is unfailingly musical, the clarity of the words exemplary, a fact especially appreciated in a recording of hymns. It should be said that Cleobury's rhythmic understanding is what gives life to these hymn arrangements, many of them old favorites such as "Come Down, O Love Divine" and "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence." Cleobury has made clear to his choir that in vocal music the beat begins when the vowel is heard, and the resulting accuracy of ensemble gives special pleasure. Many of this album's highlights come from climactic descants of the boys on old familiar tunes such as "Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven." Kudos should go to the two organists, Benjamin Bayl and Thomas Williamson, who accompany the choir; their effusive delivery enhances track after track. While not the principal pleasure of this recording, the liner notes offer interesting profiles of each of the hymns included.
The boys of New College produce an altogether more ethereal, lofting sound. In music such as the title track by Stanford, or Bainton's "And I Saw a New Heaven," the soaring lines of the trebles are truly beguiling, indeed inspiring. Rhythmic precision is not the outstanding feature of this choir, but conductor Edward Higginbottom knows how to downplay the dotted rhythms in Rossini's "O salutaris hostia" and deliver an interpretation of enormous dynamic contrast, a hallmark feature of this recording. The inclusion of cheesy sacred-choral arrangements of classical standards such as Handel's "Ombra mai fu," the Gounod-Bach "Ave Maria" (featuring an unthrilling, amateurish tenor soloist) and Ravel's Pavane pour une Infante Défunte puts this album frequently over the top.
D. M.
GORDON: Songs
"BRIGHT EYED JOY" With Upshaw, McDonald, McCarthy, Blazer; de Haas, Guettel, Trakas; Gershon, Ellison, Sperling, Gordon, piano; Orchestra, Stern. Texts. Nonesuch 79626
With the notable exception of Andrew Lloyd Webber, who mined gold from T. S. Eliot's cat poems, most Broadway composers don't turn to celebrated poets for inspiration. So it is perfectly natural to assume that Bright Eyed Joy, an album of songs by composer Ricky Ian Gordon, setting poems by Langston Hughes, Edna St. Vincent Millay and other great American writers, will fall outside the realm of musical theater. That would be a mistake. One doesn't have to listen very long to realize this recording should not be filed under classical.
Despite the participation of Dawn Upshaw and the Juilliard-trained Audra McDonald -- who both offer the kind of polished singing (even tone, spot-on intonation, rhythmic precision and elegant phrasing) that would be equally welcome in Schubert or Sondheim -- the performance style on Bright Eyed Joy is pure musical theater. On the opening selection, a setting of Hughes's "Heaven" crooned by Darius de Haas in a heady, vibrato-laden voice, one merely has to close one's eyes to imagine oneself at an Off-Broadway musical. The dry, claustrophobic recording quality merely enhances the illusion. Broadway aficionados will likely enjoy the animated performances of de Haas, Judy Blazer, Theresa McCarthy, Adam Guettel and Chris Trakas -- although the contrast with McDonald and Upshaw is jarring.
The songs themselves are reasonably well-crafted. Gordon knows how to write a memorable tune, and his harmonic progressions are sure-footed, with enough unexpected turns to keep one's ears engaged. The accompaniments (performed here either by solo piano or by a small instrumental ensemble) are rather conventional, however, consisting mostly of arpeggios, repeated chords or jazzy riffs. Sometimes these are effective, as in the spare and joyful syncopations of "Heaven," but the soaring melody of "Wild Swans" is held earthbound by the piano's unimaginative figuration.
The clarity of Gordon's writing is admirable given the quality of the poetry. And some of the most effective settings have a touching simplicity, such as Millay's "Souvenir," which is as lovely and comforting as an old folk song. On the other hand, while the sing-songy rendering of Hughes's "Daybreak in Alabama" holds true to the poem's rural accent, the rapturous, earthy fragrance of the words is forsaken.
If you have an interest in contemporary musical theater, you may well find Gordon's style to be a breath of fresh air. His songs are always entertaining, often clever and occasionally moving. So what if the poetry sometimes outshines the music? Only in the greatest songs -- from "Du bist die Ruh'" to "You're the Top" -- do words and music seem consumed by one another. The song here that comes closest to this ideal is "Run Away." It may not be a masterpiece, but it's the one that sticks with you. And oddly enough, in this case, the words are the composer's own.
ANDREW FARACH-COLTON
RECITAL
Barbara Bonney
"FAIREST ISLE" Songs and arias by Purcell, Dowland, Byrd, Campion, Jenkins, Morley. Heringman, lute; Phantasm viol quartet; Academy of Ancient Music, Hogwood. Decca 289 466 132-2
Barbara Bonney faces an uphill battle in this Elizabethan medley. After a series of tasteful but basically modest offerings, which might strike some as a waste of her considerable talents, the light lyric soprano finds herself, in the final selection, strapped with an outsize challenge -- basically miscast -- in Dido's lament from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas.
The overall strategy may not be so ill-advised as it seems, even to a listener who associates the role of Dido with the majestic resonance of a Kirsten Flagstad or a Janet Baker. The dozen pieces that precede the aria give us a sense of period context, which justifies Bonney's attempt at Dido in stylistic if not vocal terms. Christopher Hogwood's conducting and an assortment of Elizabethan specialists set a tone of idiomatic, ultra-light-textured execution.
The program doesn't ever really bog down. Amid the frilly insouciance or wry heartache of the early selections, we also encounter stronger fare in William Byrd's almost flamboyant (and beautifully accompanied) "O Lord, How Vain Are All Our Frail Delights." The pulse quickens with the searing lyricism Bonney summons for "The Plaint" (from Purcell's Fairy Queen), which seems almost a first cousin to Dido's farewell. On her own scale, the singer's technical and instinctive command of musical emotion take her quite far.
Her Dido -- possibly more princess than queen -- suggests numbing loss rather than impassioned affront, in a timbre that seems blanched by pain and almost stunned in disbelief. All this is very cleverly conveyed through subtle dynamics and a tone palette that extends to white-on-white. Bonney is also persuasive in her way with slightly bent notes or vocal turns (for instance, on the first vowel of "in thy breast") that provide emphasis without any forcing.
As for those other songs, by Dowland, Campion and so on, listeners may grow weary, on first hearing, of the narrow vocal range and muted style, and yearn for just one long trill or rippling scale above the staff. But closer attention is amply repaid by this artist's unfailing sense of vocal line, her sweetness of timbre and acute sensitivity to words.
The producers have a nerve, nevertheless, filling out the disc with no fewer than three instrumental numbers. Purists won't mind, but Bonney fans may consider those pieces ballast.
DAVID J. BAKER
Ian Bostridge
"HANS WERNER HENZE" Sechs Gesänge Aus dem Arabischen, Three Auden Songs. With Drake, piano. Texts and translations. EMI 5 57112
Ian Bostridge has a vocal presence and musicality that not only captivate audiences but inspire composers to create for him. His performances -- focused, intense, subtle, sculpted -- are built around a profound understanding of the music and texts he sings. This is a supremely intelligent musician, totally in control, yet one who knows how to lose himself once he's learned every syllable and grace note in question. In a word, he becomes possessed, and so do we. (Perhaps it's no accident that he wrote his Oxford dissertation on witchcraft.) German composer Hans Werner Henze was so smitten by Bostridge's voice and presence that he decided to compose a series of six songs for the English tenor. The result: Sechs Gesänge aus dem Arabischen (Six Songs from the Arabian).
Henze, who is as prolific as ever at seventy-five, has passed through many periods and styles. The early imprint of serialism remains in much of his music, in spite of the fact that (to the dismay of Boulez and company) he turned his back on the strict technique, disgusted by the dogmatic tyranny of the Darmstadt school. Fascist tactics, in the real and art world, appalled him. He eventually wore his leftist politics on his musical sleeve -- living in self-imposed exile in Italy beginning in 1953, even spending time in Cuba as a sort of musical freedom fighter. He has conquered every genre, writing chamber music, concertos, film music and more than a dozen operas, as well as ten symphonies.
The new song cycle is an ambitious undertaking, for sure, and it achieves mixed results. Henze wrote the texts himself (except the final poem, which is a German translation by Friedrich Rückert of a poem by Hafiz), so that he would be able "to change and manipulate the words while working on the music, altering them as much as I felt was necessary to help the musical argument, without having to ask anyone's permission to do so." The poems vaguely relate the tragic relationship between Selim and Fatuma (who Henze claims are real people whom he knows). The most successful poem is "The Praying Mantis," in which Henze assumes the point of view of the predatory insect to illustrate how it gets its lover-victims to succumb to its holy embrace. The rest of the composer's poetry is generally okay, but some of it -- for instance, "Selim, irresistible whoreson, where now are your raven-black eyes/ your cool flesh that glowed so resplendent in the shadow of lust/ where is your sword, so swiftly snatched up to run through my body/ where are you, wily highwayman of the soul?" -- made my eyes roll. Where is the line between mannered, mediocre poetry and outright bad poetry? Perhaps this is meant to be a low-key parody?
In many ways, the song cycle harks back to the atonal melancholy of Schoenberg's Book of Hanging Gardens, albeit with more noodling and tone-clustery chords in the keyboard. In spite of the variety of textures Henze achieves between voice and piano, sickly harmonies dominate and monotonize the score. The composer resorts time and time again to endless running scales, with the effect of sabotaging the variety of expression actually present. There's an awful piano postlude in the fourth song, "Caesarion." The bleak, grey, I'm-on-the-verge-of-suicide sound triggers a kind of seasickness in the listener.
The great triumph of the recording is the impeccable teamwork of Bostridge and his sensitive accompanist, Julius Drake. They make this well-chiseled drivel sound like great music, and Henze, to his credit, has provided Bostridge with much material to show off his superb instrument. From the sturdy determination of the lower range to the heavenly lilts of the upper, Bostridge sings with heartfelt expression and conviction -- even in the sumptuous pseudo-Arabic (unaccompanied) melismas of "Fatuma's Lament." I just wish he had more exciting material.
Well, in fact he has. Henze's earlier Three Auden Songs (1983) are also on the program, as they were at Bostridge's debut recital at the Aldeburgh Festival in 1996. (This was the concert at which Henze first heard and admired Bostridge.) Three Auden Songs features more appealing music than Six Songs from the Arabian -- and much better poetry.
ROBERT HILFERTY
Christopher Maltman
"THE SONGS OF ROBERT SCHUMANN, VOLUME 5" Dichterliebe and other Heine settings. Johnson, piano. Texts and translations. Hyperion CDJ33105
Graham Johnson's Songs of Robert Schumann, now at its fifth volume, may not reach the iconic status of his Schubert edition for Hyperion, but it is imposing nonetheless. Johnson's program essays are so thorough and captivating, with cultural references ranging from Busby Berkeley to Jurassic Park by way of the Yellow Pages, and his musical and literary digressions are so entertaining that it's hard to believe he finds time after reading, writing and moviegoing to practice the piano at all. The program offered here is of songs set to the poetry of Heinrich Heine, and the selections are wonderfully related, with musical and textual echoes throughout the recital. Four interesting settings by Clara Schumann are tenderly performed, the miniature tragedy "Der arme Peter" is sung with nice line and detail, and some songs originally included in Dichterliebe but later excised for separate publication lead up to the great cycle itself. Singers, pianists and listeners who have been baffled by the illogical turns of this work's emotional storyline will find some answers and much background in the fascinating essay on Heine's collected poetry, with a comprehensive rundown and all poems cross-referenced. So meticulous is Johnson's research that even the famous painting in the Cologne Cathedral gazed upon in "Im Rhein, in heiligen Strome" is traced to its present location.
Compared to the exquisite feeling with which Johnson describes the chords, the turns of phrase and the pianistic effects, the actual performances are not nearly so colorful or quirky. Baritone Christopher Maltman won the Lieder prize at the 1997 Singer of the World contest in Cardiff, and his strengths are obvious. The voice is attractive, with an eloquent and controlled top extension (in fact, most of the material here is sung in the original tenor key) and plenty of dynamic range, though it can turn a bit snarly and narrow or, alternately, wobbly at full-out forte. The opening "Belsatzar" is strong, and all the lyric and intimate moments are faultless. The dreamy first five songs of Dichterliebe are exquisitely sung, but as the cycle progresses there is less and less developing connection with the music, and only the fussy details remain.
JUDITH MALAFRONTE
Karita Mattila
"SONGS OF THE SEA" Songs by Mårtenson, Broberg, Taube. Jyväskylä Sinfonia, Niemi. Finnish/Swedish texts only. Ondine ODE-907 (Koch, dist.)
Island Songs might be a more appropriate title for this CD. According to the brief English bio of Lasse Mårtenson, composer of eleven of the thirteen songs, he received a foundation grant "for the revival and setting to music of island poetry. This also meant a deepening interest and respect for the archipelago, its nature, people and culture." A couple of the songs have Swedish texts; the rest are in Finnish. Unfortunately, there are no translations.
To coin an oxymoron, this is outdoor salon music. The very first song, vocalized without words, is a sort of tone poem, with hints of Villa-Lobos's Bachianas Brasilieras No. 5. Karita Mattila, absolutely at home in the soft-pop idiom, floats her wordless melismas with a pure, gently modulated sound. In the second song, she ventures quite low in her range, then in the fourth goes higher and louder, but the sound soars like a glider, never under-powered (close miking helps). Though rocking rhythms prevail, the rocking is of the boatlike variety: no rock or disco influence. A sense of hypnotic sameness is occasionally broken by dance meters, as in track 7, with its quasi-Latin syncopation, or tracks 8 and 10, which are waltzes.
In the absence of any material that would require a listener's concentration, Mattila's fresh, easy, lovely soprano is its own excuse for being. Take this one on your portable to the beach.
J.W.F.
Susanne Mentzer"THE ETERNAL FEMININE"Songs by Libby Larsen, Lili Boulanger, Alma Mahler, Rebecca Clarke et al. Rutenberg, piano. Texts and translations. Koch International Classics 3-7506-2
The recent surge of interest in women composers has yielded several noteworthy recordings, not the least of which is this collection, first performed by Susanne Mentzer at the Ravinia Festival in August 2000. The phrase "the eternal feminine," taken from Goethe's Faust, is pressed into service here to encompass the entire experience of womanhood -- love, puberty, spirituality, loss, children -- through the eyes of the composers and the voice of the singer. Mentzer's shimmering, velveteen mezzo is delicious in all registers. She sings with full-throated passion and impressive control, always weaving a spell with the power of her unwavering expressivity. Unfortunately, her diction and delivery are often peppered with artifice. In the liner notes, Mentzer speaks of how song repertoire gives her a chance to be herself and not an opera character, and she's only partially successful in that regard. This is particularly noticeable in the ingratiatingly vernacular set Love After 1950 by Libby Larsen, where Mentzer's vocal gestures threaten to overwhelm the innocently raunchy texts. The exception is the bravura third song, "Big Sister Says," in which Mentzer cuts loose, growling "beauty hurts" with an intense and authentic feeling that is bound to strike a chord in any woman listening. The three songs by Clara Schumann that open the disc are lovingly rendered, and four children's songs by Lisbeth Alexander-Katz bring out Mentzer's smiling maternal warmth. Several songs by Rebecca Clarke, including the stirring "Cloths of Heaven" and the disturbing "The Seal Man," confirm that this is a sadly overlooked compositional voice. The male force supporting this eternal feminine is the excellent pianist Craig Rutenberg, who is a full partner to Mentzer. Rutenberg makes the piano sing with clean articulation and a palette of colors to coordinate with Mentzer's every mood.
J.S.L.
Luciano Pavarotti
"40TH ANNIVERSARY RECITAL Arias by Bononcini, Scarlatti, Verdi, Puccini, Donizetti and Cilèa, songs by Beethoven, Bellini, Donizetti and Tosti. Magiera, piano. Decca 466 350-2
Anyone exposed to Luciano Pavarotti's recitals anywhere in the world during the past fifteen years or so could have anticipated the program of this highly touted "first new recital recording since 1988." It is pretty much the last concert he gave, or the one before that: a few familiar opera arias interspersed with Italian songs Decca has been assembling and reassembling for the tenor with regularity over the past many years.
There is one important difference, however. This is Pavarotti in the year 2000, at age sixty-five. He still has the well-remembered bright, gleaming tone and communicates his music with charm and enthusiasm, rounding out final phrases with his characteristic ecstatic exhalation. Enthusiastic, too, is his effect on the audience, as proved by their reaction. But forty years before the public have taken their toll on the sustained notes, and his intonation is not so dependable as it was in days of yore. The two Tosca arias sound labored; Federico's lament from L'Arlesiana may still have a ringing B-natural, but the long-held notes waver, and "Una furtiva lagrima" is delivered with a degree of rubato that most conductors would not tolerate. The gentle Bellini songs are lovingly, if somewhat mechanically, delivered; the Tosti songs (nine of them) never fail with their emotional message, especially "L'ultima canzone" and "Non t'amo più," and whenever the artist shows his mastery of the graduated mezza-voce, we are treated to glimpses of the old magic. But comparing this recital with similar ones dating from the tenor's prime years makes us wonder about the purpose behind such an unnecessary release -- beyond Decca's conviction that anything bearing that magic name sells and sells BIG.
Is there anything left to follow this fortieth-anniversary event? Surely nothing operatic, given the tenor's recent stage performances. There is, obviously, still a public gullible enough to hear anything and buy anything. But let us hope that this gifted artist will take pride in past achievements, and his representatives will advise him to continue with live performances as long as he or his audience want them -- but refrain from leaving recorded souvenirs that can only dim the luster of his glorious career.
GEORGE JELLINEK
Daniel Taylor
"O SWEET LOVE" Songs by Byrd and Dowland. Stubbs, Les Voix Humaines.
ATMA ACD 2 2207 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)Matthew White
"TRADITIONAL CELTIC MELODIES" The Skye Consort.
ATMA ACD 2 2236 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)Robin Blaze
"SALVE REGINA" Sacred music by Monteverdi and his Venetian Followers. Holman, The Parley of Instruments. Texts and translations. Hyperion CDA67225 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
Three recitals by fine young countertenors, presenting traditional countertenor repertoire (as defined in the last fifty years or so, that is) -- an endearingly retro idea in these times of sopranista incursions into Berlioz and beyond.
The prize of the lot is Daniel Taylor's recording of Byrd and Dowland songs. At first glance, the program portends a certain monotony -- one soloist, two familiar composers of the late 1500s and the austere accompaniment of lute and viole da gamba. In its quiet, mesmerizing way, though, "O Sweet Love" traverses entire universes of sound and emotion. Much of the credit goes to Taylor, whose singing is ravishing: his voice is lustrous at the top of its range, seductive and vibrant at the bottom, capable of fading away into a sigh (in Byrd's "Blame I confess") or tripping through the intricacies of Dowland's "Come again" with apparent and utterly winning artlessness. Like all outstanding singers, Taylor manages to persuade listeners that he is speaking to them, or that they are somehow privy to his secret, unguarded thoughts, drawing them deep into the depths and telling silences of these remarkable songs. His fellow musicians, gambists Susie Napper and Margaret Little and lutenist Stephen Stubbs, are no less compelling. This is a recording of rare beauty, offering greater rewards each time it is revisited.
In contrast to the narrow focus of Taylor's disc, the program of Celtic melodies by Matthew White and the Skye Consort covers a wide expanse of time, from the "Lamento di Tristano" (that favorite chart-topper of the Middle Ages) to compositions dating from the past few years. According to the notes, the artists undertook a fusion of early-music sonorities and folk melodies in the hope of creating something "new and interesting." The results, alas, have a sanitized, Muzak-like quality -- a cloying sameness of clean, pretty instrumental sound and relentlessly smooth vocals that fall agreeably upon the ear but consistently fail to challenge or provoke. One waits in vain for the musicians to get down and dirty in works that really want an edge: the saucy "Came ye o'er from France?" or "The Outlandish Rogue" (in which a scoundrel gets his rather spectacular comeuppance). That said, Matthew White shows that he can hold his own in the current gaggle of first-rate countertenors: he unfurls his cool, firm tone with assurance, offering glimpses ("Let me in this ae night") of striking communicative power and sensuality.
Alongside these irreverent outpourings, Robin Blaze's disc of sacred music by Monteverdi and followers can seem a sedate affair. His sound is throatier than Taylor's or White's, but he delivers his varied, exacting program with élan, serving up graceful staccatos and echo effects in Castello's "Exultate Deo" and gliding through the tricky intervals of Legrenzi's "O mirandum mysterium" with admirable ease.
Listening to these and other gifted sopranisti of our time, one recalls that Albéniz wrote a nonet for countertenors. Any enterprising labels (or composers) game?
M. LIGNANA ROSENBERG
Fabio Armiliato
"A TRIBUTE TO GIUSEPPE VERDI " Arias from Ernani, Macbeth, I Masnadieri, Simon Boccanegra, Un Ballo in Maschera, La Forza del Destino, Otello; Inno delle Nazioni. Orchestre Philharmonique de Nice; Choeur de l'Opéra de Nice, Panni. Romeo Records 7207 (Qualiton, dist.)
Decorated by the Italian national colors, imaginatively programmed and intelligently annotated, this thoughtful Verdi tribute provides an impressive showcase for tenor Fabio Armiliato. Most welcome is the first recording in more than half a century of "Inno delle Nazioni," a festive cantata for chorus with tenor soloist that Verdi wrote for an international conference in London in 1862. On that occasion, the composer proudly represented the spirit of the new Kingdom of Italy alongside the national anthems of England and France. In 1943, when Arturo Toscanini resurrected that long dormant work for a movie short filed by the Office of War Information (with Jan Peerce as soloist), he added the anthem of the U.S. and the Socialist Internationale. Seized by the spirit of the occasion, he also changed Boito's original phrase "O Italia, o patria mia" to "Italia, patria mia tradita." In this new recording, Fabio Armiliato returns to the original line, even though the enclosed text lists the Toscanini amendment.
Armiliato's rendering of the text (Boito's first Verdi collaboration) is fervent and splendidly enunciated. He is no less impressive in the arias from the three early Verdi operas, and he vividly captures Gabriele's despair in the Simon Boccanegra aria. The relative brevity of the CD (58:17) would have allowed for Riccardo's Act III aria, as well. We get only the zesty sailor's song "Di' tu se fedele," but it is sung with great spirit. Alvaro's melancholy recollections are movingly portrayed, and Otello's "Ora e per sempre addio" and "Dio! mi potevi scagliar" are convincingly characterized. Armiliato, who made his professional debut in 1986 and studied with Magda Olivero and Franco Corelli, gives evidence here of excellent schooling. Stylistically always on the mark, he commands a wide range of dynamics and sings with a steady tone and fine intonation. Orchestra and chorus are fine. The recording is somewhat cramped in sound, but not enough to diminish this highly enjoyable tribute.
G.J.
Sumi Jo
"PRAYERS" Arias, solos, songs by Bellini, Bernstein, Caccini, Donizetti, Fauré, Gounod, Loewe, Schubert et al.; with Su. Graham; Gürzenich-Orchester/Kölner Philharmoniker, Conlon; Conlon, piano. Partial texts and translations. Erato 8573-85772-2
Sumi Jo seems impatient with type-casting. The extra edge she can bring to a coloratura role such as Gilda suggests an interest in heavier fare, while a string of hit recordings testifies to her pop-music skills. Her latest recital disc takes an elastic approach to the term "prayer" (packing in spirituals, sacred texts, opera, operetta and musical-comedy numbers) in a slightly aggressive display of versatility.
She leads off strongly, with a sultry, liquid middle voice for Ravel's "Kaddisch" that some Carmens might envy, followed by virginal radiance in the celebratory "Laudate Dominum" from Mozart's Vesperae K. 339. Contrasts just keep coming -- silken bel canto flexibility for "Giusto ciel" from Rossini's L'Assedio di Corinto, succeeded by broad-toned hymnal entreaty in Pie Jesu from the Fauré Requiem. In a rarity by Zbiegniew Preisner (from his 1955 Requiem for a Friend), the repeated arched phrases find Jo touching just the top of each note. Conversely, she works from below the melody, all soul and undertone, in a surprisingly effective "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" -- surprising after her country-tinged but overdone "Amazing Grace." Mezzo Susan Graham joins her for "Take Care of this House," from the Bernstein/Lerner musical 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. There's more, though, than just dark or light on the menu.
Something interesting occurs in the earliest selection, an Ave Maria by Giulio Caccini (ca. 1550-1610), one of the pioneer opera composers. Where some interpreters might mimic the whitened tones of hyper-orthodox early-music practitioners, Jo is all over the vocal line, like a pop diva "going classical" in a bid for prestige -- indulging in pious tremolo, teased phrases and some nasal belting. Granted, the recording is using Steven Mercurio's updated big-orchestra arrangement of Caccini (think Stokowski and Bach). Jo nevertheless has scored what might be called a double-crossover coup, coming at a hybrid from the opposite side of the street, the long way around, as if belying her own point of departure.
In lighter fare, she has charm and a sense of fun for a Gigi selection and for a lilting, ridiculous prayer in 3/4 time (from an operetta convent scene) by Johann Strauss II. But sometimes she's simply out of her depth. Not even good engineering can confer legitimacy on her strained Maria Stuarda or sustain the Weber-like gymnastics of a rare Schubert opera excerpt. Though Jo triumphs in a warm, caressing rendition of Richard Strauss's "Breit' über mein Haupt," the taxing climaxes leave her just a bit out of focus in the final lyric diminuendo. Elsewhere we can detect the same pattern at work, as overcompensation in the middle or lower register undermines her signature effects higher up the scale.
Versatility has its costs. Taken to extremes it can also verge on identity crisis. With Jo, however, these experiments seem more like adventures. She is impeccably supported by James Conlon's conducting and piano accompaniment, stylistically sound and always energetic.
D.J.B.
New recordings of Martinu°'s The Greek Passion, Franchetti's Cristoforo Colombo, Dvorák's Vanda, Poldini's Love Adrift and Sheppard's Missa Cantate; recitals by Iris Vermillion, Anne-Sophie Schmidt, Marie-Nicole Lemieux; historic Gounod La Colombe; Gencer and Bergonzi in Un Ballo in Maschera; Mado Robin in coloratura arias.
OPERA AND ORATORIOPOLDINI: Farsangi Lakodalom (Love Adrift)
László, Pászthy, Lehoczky, Takács, Barlay; Horváth, Gáti, Melis; Hungarian Radio and Television Chorus, Budapest Symphony Orchestra, Breitner. 2000. Text and translation. Hungaroton Classic HCD31974-75 (2) (Qualiton, dist.)
Hungarian composer Ede Poldini composed his three act comic opera Farsangi Lakodalom to an award-winning libretto by his compatriot Ernó Vajda. The opera had its world premiere in Budapest in 1924, and two years later, it made an appearance at the Gaiety Theatre in London with the title Love Adrift. Poldini was clearly well-versed in the German and French operatic traditions, but he also knew he needed to give a nod to his heritage, if he wanted to be a success in his native country. The result is a work which draws primarily on the traditions of Nicolai and Humperdinck, as well as the same Hungarian folk dances which inspired Brahms and Bartók. There are also smatterings of Puccini in the big love scene, a dissonant, forward-looking contrapuntal chorus, and a bustling act one opening worthy of Sullivan. All this could easily result in a hodgepodge or pastiche, were these elements not filtered through Poldini's Hungarian sensibility. There is the requisite Gypsy dance of course, complete with cimbalom, but it is the prevalance of angular minor harmonies and the characteristically Hungarian reverse dotted rhythm on the first beat (which echoes the language's unusual quirk of accenting every first syllable) that anchor the piece in place and time.
The plot, which centers around a betrothal derailed by an unexpected snowstorm, is light and sweet, without being too silly. As the nameless "Lady of the Manor", Margit László dominates the action with a not unpleasant Mack truck quality to her singing, while György Melis strikes a balance between henpecked meekness and squirely pride as her husband, Péter. Júlia Pászthy is plaintive as their daughter, the ingénue Zsuzsika, although her soprano is a bit too unfocused and hooty to be truly expressive. Tenor József Hormai Horváth is heroic as her would-be lover Kálmán, and gives his lushly beautiful aria "Oh, I can feel your hand quivering" its full due. Tamara Tákacs and István Gáti sing richly and ruefully as lovers who find each other too late. Éva Lehoczky as Stanci, a stranded soubrette, gives an amusing multi-lingual appeal for love, and Zsuzsa Barlay manages to outdo the Lady in hauteur as the erstwhile bridegroom's mother. The chorus chimes in with enthusiasm and personality, if not always ideal pitch. The singing in general lacks a modicum of finesse, but this in its way only adds to the Biedermeier country appeal of both plot and music. Likewise, the Budapest Symphony Orchestra, under Tamás Breitner, plays with a bit of a rough edge, although vigorously. Sung in Hungarian--admittedly not the most mellifluous of languages--Love Adrift is a fresh, snappy piece exhibiting a cohesive mélange of styles and melodies of both the catchy and the soaring variety.
JOANNE SYDNEY LESSNER
MARTINU: The Greek Passion
Efraty, Stemme; Ventris, Daszak, Silins, Ruuttunen; Moscow Chamber Choir, Children's Choir Bregenz; Vienna Symphony, U. Schirmer. Text and translation. Koch Schwann 3-6590-2 (2)
The fact isn't mentioned anywhere on the slipcase, but this appears to be the first recording of the original version of The Greek Passion prepared by Martinu for Covent Garden. The allegorical English-language libretto, from a Nikos Kazantzakis novel, concerns Manolios the shepherd, chosen to represent Christ in a passion play, and eventually murdered for disrupting the villagers' complacency. Martinu set it with a mixture of recitative, spoken dialogue, with and without music, and connecting narration; the result plays more as a drama enhanced by music than as a conventional opera. It clearly confounded the expectations of Covent Garden's repertoire committee, which rejected it in 1957, despite Rafael Kubelik's advocacy. (Indeed, when the composer revised the score for its eventual Zürich premiere, he weighted it more strongly towards conventional arioso.)
Koch's production, taken in performance in 1999, begins unpromisingly. The orchestra sounds short in the strings, an effect exacerbated by the dry opera-pit acoustic, and the singing is undistinguished. But gradually the ear adjusts; the orchestral playing comes into focus for some thrilling, even shimmering interludes; and the vocal performances begin to impress in terms of sheer theatrical knowhow.
Thus, Christopher Ventris, despite inconsistent enunciation, rises to the challenges of Manolios, most convincingly in his two long monologues: an unaccompanied chantlike recitative in Act III, and his final fervent sermon in Act IV. Among his intended disciples, John Daszak's Yannakos is especially clear and persuasive, though his accent is unmistakably British. The principal basses, the Latvian Egils Silins (Fotis) and the Finn Esa Ruuttunen (Grigoris), both struggle with exaggerated, unidiomatic vowels and stiff, unsteady instruments, but Silins delivers his priestly invocations with winning commitment. Anat Efraty is pallid as Manolios's fianceé, Lenio; but as Katerina, the Magdalen figure, Nina Stemme's rounder voice occasionally soars.
The choral tone suffers distinct, unmatched wobbles and fuzzy intonation, though the broad harmonic gestures emerge clearly. The stage-based perspectives frequently leave one or another solo voice at an acoustic disadvantage, but then the chimes in Act I are absurdly close. The carelessly proofread libretto differs in numerous particulars from what is actually sung and spoken.
STEPHEN FRANCIS VASTA
DVORAK: Vanda
Romanko, Chistiakova, Breedt; Straka, Kusnjer, Daniluk; Prague Chamber Chorus, Cologne West German Radio Symphony, Albrecht. Czech libretto only. Orfeo C-149-003F (3) (Qualiton, dist.)
Outside his homeland, Dvorák is not thought of as an opera composer, but as a young man he had played viola in the Provisional Theater orchestra in Prague for nine years, and he considered opera a primary venue for Czech national music. Vanda (presented by Orfeo under the German spelling, Wanda, but sung in Czech) is the fourth of Dvorák's eleven scores for the lyric stage. Written during the second half of 1875, when he turned thirty-four, it shows the influence of French grand opera in form, but the subject, drawn from Polish legend, elicits a typically Slavonic sound.
Vanda, daughter of the national hero Krak (after whom the citadel of Krakow is named), is a victim of male chauvinism. Though beloved of her people, she is considered by the authorities (the inevitable High Priest) not strong enough to rule alone after her father's death, so she must marry. Her heart's choice, Slavoj, though a knight, isn't of the nobility and therefore is judged unsuitable. Nevertheless, the hotheaded youth challenges his rival, the German ruler Roderich (Ritiger), and beats him. Roderich, after turning to black magic for revenge, attacks Poland with his army. Threatened with destruction, the Poles win only after Vanda offers her own life to the pagan gods in exchange for victory. Bound by her vow, she throws herself into the Vistula River.
Orfeo's recording, issued in 2000 from an undated Cologne broadcast, presents the first complete version heard in modern times or on disc. Since Vanda had little stage history, the materials were in disarray and had to be reconstructed by musicologist Alan Houtchens. Behind the revival was Gerd Albrecht, tireless conductor of unusual operas, whose sympathy for the epic Romantic style is as great as for more modern idioms. Thanks to Albrecht and his capable forces, Vanda emerges as a vibrant if somewhat long-winded experience.
The singers sound as if they really believe in these cardboard figures, and Dvorák helps by making the dramatic situations feel credible. His battle scene in Act IV, a kaleidoscope of urgent vignettes, even seems to forecast Prokofiev's War and Peace. Russian soprano Olga Romanko, sometimes squally or throaty in tone, seems light for the title role, but there's a payoff in propulsive brightness during her emotional scenes with Strakoj, also in nobility of stature when she has to present her public persona. As her sister, Bozena, Irina Chistiakova also has a little trouble with throatiness during register shifts. Mezzo Michelle Breedt veils her incantations with mystery as Homena, the pagan sorceress.
Tenor Peter Straka has the lyric/dramatic steadiness and stamina for Slavoj, plus a pleasant and expressive tone. Ivan Kusnjer, a tenorial baritone of the type that might essay a Siegmund, plays Roderich, sounding smooth and courtly, then subtly sinister after the villain shows his true colors. Pavel Daniluk, a prototytpical Slavic bass, makes the High Priest stand tall. His lowest notes, if not especially loud, are nevertheless imposing. He's in evidence as a solo motivator, also as a kingpin in the ensembles, such as the big, slow, thoughtful one that follows Slavoj's defeat of Roderich in single combat.
Qualiton, which imports the three-CD Orfeo Vanda, also distributes a less complete historic performance from 1951 on two discs (Supraphon 3007-2 62), resuscitated for CD in 1996. Supraphon's big plus is the English libretto that Orfeo lacks, though of course scenes missing from the Supraphon performance (including the lovely pastoral prelude and tender last duet of Vanda and Slavoj in Act V) are also absent from the text. Though sonic deterioration is evident in a few noisy passages, the only steady intrusion, which sounds like LP surface noise, is minor. In the outstanding cast, there's Beno Blachut as Slavoj, his sweet-toned lyricism and plangent phrasing backed by a way with words. Drahomíra Tikalová, sharply focused in tone, makes a regal, passionate Vanda. Václav Bednár and Karel Kalas offer a strong Roderich and High Priest, respectively, while Frantisek Dyk leads with comparable authority. Both recordings are fortunate in their energetic choral and orchestral support.
JOHN W. FREEMAN
CHORAL AND SONG
SHEPPARD: Missa Cantate
Evans, Greig, McCarthy, Podger (chant); Salisbury Cathedral Boy Choristers; Gabrieli Consort, McCreesh. 2000. Text and translation. Archiv Produktion 289 457 658-2
Among the casualties of the Reformation were the florid, polyphonically complex musical settings of the Roman Catholic Latin Mass which had evolved over the previous century. Starting with the six-year reign of King Edward VI, this musical approach was shunned, abandoned in favor of simpler, homophonic settings of English sacred texts, deemed more appropriate for the celebration of God's glory. John Sheppard (c. 1515-c. 1560), a contemporary of John Taverner and Thomas Tallis, lived to see the rich textures which he obviously favored banned by King Edward's Council, and then restored when Edward's Catholic sister Mary Tudor ascended the throne in 1553. Although many of Sheppard's manuscripts have not survived, the Missa Cantate endures as a fascinating document of this juncture in the history of sacred music. This recording presents the entire Third Mass of Christmas according to the Sarum Rite, a form of the Latin ritual which evolved at the Cathedral Church of Salisbury. Thus, Sheppard's settings of the Ordinary of the Mass--the Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei texts (but not the Kyrie)--are interspersed with traditional plainchant renderings of the remaining texts from the Mass Proper. Sheppard's Ordinary settings are indeed explosions of full-blown polyphonic splendor, and it is easy to imagine an ardent, newly-liberated Catholic composer writing his heart out after the years of repression. The Salisbury Cathedral Boy Choristers (obviously well-trained by Chorus Master Richard Seal) and the Gabrieli Consort under Paul McCreesh give an impeccable performance--pitch and blend are marvelous. The recording was made at the very Cathedral of Salisbury where the Sarum Rite evolved, and its overwhelming acoustics are captured convincingly. Probably as close to an authentic sixteenth-century English Roman Catholic Mass experience as one could imagine.
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
RECITALS
Iris Vermillion
"SINGS SIEGFRIED WAGNER" Scenes and arias from Bruder Lustig, Herzog Wildfang, Schwarzschwanenreich, Die Heilige Linde, Der Friedensengel, Reinulf und Adelasia, Der Schmied von Marienburg. Vermillion; Cologne West German Radio Chorus and Symphony, Albert. Texts and translations. CPO 999-651
Iris Vermillion is a German mezzo-soprano, born in Bielefeld, who studied with Christa Ludwig and Hermann Prey. To judge from her choice of repertory here, she must share with Hildegard Behrens an interest in the more metaphysical aspects of her art. Vermillion's is a voice of the right type for Brangäne, weighted toward the soprano end of the spectrum. Interpreting the obsessive, visionary heroines of Siegfried Wagner's convoluted, symbol-laden operas, she sounds gentle, steady and mysterious -- rather too gentle for some of this stuff, with its hair-raising accounts of black swans that abduct and impregnate young girls. The listener, guided only by liner notes that read opaquely in translation, is led into a dense forest where the Dark Ages collide with Freud and the Brothers Grimm.
Unfortunately, the obsessive is just a step away from the repetitious, so these librettos, even in excerpt form, tend to outlast any interest -- historical, psychological or prurient -- they might initially arouse. Siegfried Wagner, for all his skill as a composer of German fairytale opera, is hard put to sustain an incantation that runs to several pages. He's better at creating purely orchestral "transformation music" leading into Urme's scene from Bruder Lustig. Indeed, CPO has released some of Siegfried's overtures and preludes on other CDs, a helpful adjunct for serious students of his work.
Vermillion's serious artistry and Werner Andreas Albert's understanding collaboration as conductor commend this disc, but only to those who know what they're getting into.
J.W.F.
Anne-Sophie Schmidt
"LES TRESORS CACHES DE L'OPERA FRANÇAIS" Arias by Saint-Saëns, Massenet, Meyerbeer, Halévy, Gounod, Bizet, Fauré and Reyer. Failoni Orchestra of the Hungarian Opera, Tingaud. No texts or translations. Mandala MAN 5002 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
One has to admire the dedication and love that Pierre Jourdan, Director of the Imperial Théâtre of Compiegne, has put into this project in his capacity as artistic director. He has produced some twenty works by French composers in his theatre, and with this disc he hopes to give listeners a taste of a neglected French opera (the Bizet/Halévy Noé), highlight an oft-omitted aria from a familiar work (Gounod's Faust), or just "clean up" the approach to a selection one might know from other recordings. The program has the air of a crusade.
Soprano Anne-Sophie Schmidt has sung Suzanne in a French adaptation of Le Nozze di Figaro under Jourdan's direction, and appeared in La Voix humaine at his theatre as well. She is entirely at home in the style of the French repertoire (allowing for a rather pronounced gutteral "r" at times), and the basic timbre of the voice is attractive and right for the music. There is an eerie similarity between Schmidt's sound and that of Régine Crespin, except that Schmidt lacks Crespin's heft on low notes and the haunting pianissimo the older artist displayed in early to middle career. Schmidt's seems to be an essentially lyric voice, pushed a bit to manage some of these arias, but without a lyric soprano's command of soft singing. The upper passagio can sometimes prove a trial, and top notes vary in success, sometimes silvery, sometimes tinny. With repeated hearings, one becomes more accustomed to (and forgiving of) the vocal shortcomings this repertoire exposes in the soprano, and her dramatic commitment to the material on this most attractive program is generally persuasive.
A commanding performance of "Ô cruel souvenir," Catherine of Aragon's aria from Saint-Saëns's Henri VIII, opens the disc impressively; it is a treat to hear this music at all, let alone delivered with such style. Salome's better known "Il est doux, il est bon," from Massenet's Hérodiade, is a bit frustrating; the singer sounds involved, but the two verses of the aria are basically identical in delivery. While it is one of the goals of this CD, professed in its program notes, to "come back to a purity and truthfulness" on a vocal level by removing "portamenti and other annoying traditions," Massenet was hardly a composer opposed to effects, and one or two would be welcome in this aria. More appropriately simple and direct is "Ô mes soeurs," Meryem's entrance aria from the same composer's drame sacré, Marie-Magdeleine. This is perhaps the finest work on the disc, profoundly moving and beautifully sung.
Chimène's "Pleurez mes yeux!" from Le Cid finds Schmidt out of her league, as does Valentine's scena from Meyerbeer's Les Hugenots, in which the top of the voice does not respond well to pressure in the finale. The three Gounod excerpts are more successful; Marguerite's often-cut "Il ne revient pas" has a lovely plaintive quality, and the Sapho aria, frequently favored by mezzos, lies well, as does "Un soir dans la forêt immense" from Noé. Also well-handled is Rachel's "Il va venir" from La Juive, a neglected masterpiece with many passages to treasure. Rounding out the program are rarities from Saint-Saëns's Etienne Marcel, Reyer's Sigurd, and Fauré's Pénélope, all completing the mission of piquing curiosity.
The Failoni Orchestra - here beefed up from its chamber size - perform superbly under Jean-Luc Tingaud's sensitive direction. One could hardly ask for more in terms of accompaniment -- an obvious labor of love. Unfortunately, the presentation lacks any information about the works, or the context of the arias, let alone texts or translations. With excerpts chosen, in most cases, because of their obscurity, such a feature would be welcome. Those prospective converts from "mainstream rep only" land will enjoy the tunes, but...
IRA SIFF
Marie-Nicole Lemieux
"BERLIOZ, WAGNER, MAHLER". Blumenthal, piano. Texts, no translations. Cyprès CYP9611
Canadian Marie-Nicole Lemieux made this début recording after winning first prize in Belgium's Queen Elisabeth International Music Competition. The plummy-voiced young contralto chose a heavily romantic program, featuring Berlioz's Les nuits d'été, Wagner's Wesendonk Lieder, and Mahler's Rückertlieder. It's an elegant, if somewhat monochromatic collection, and Lemieux isn't a skilled enough interpreter to achieve the finer distinctions of style and language. Her emotional involvement remains a bit measured--the Berlioz in particular could stand a little more drama--and her phrasing is somewhat leaden at times. Even the insouciant "Villanelle" is a bit on the down side. Nevertheless, her sound is opulent and wholly pleasing, her diction clear and delivery polished. Pianist Daniel Blumenthal is quite expressive, notably in the spellbinding introduction to "La spectre de la rose" and the restless undercurrents of "Stehe still!". There are no translations and no track listings.
JOANNE SYDNEY LESSNER
HISTORICAL
VERDI: Un Ballo in Maschera
Gencer, Gatta, Lazzarini; Bergonzi, Zanasi, Maddalena, Foiani. Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro Communale, Bologna, De Fabritiis. No text or translation. MYTO 2MCD011.238 (2)
One of the great pleasures experienced and remembered by those in attendance at the old Met in the 60's was the prime of Carlo Bergonzi. The possessor of neither the ringing top notes nor the stage glamour of compatriots like Del Monaco or Corelli - in fact, this tenor often emanated all the charisma of a table lamp - Bergonzi's stolid presence all but vanished as soon as he opened his mouth and emitted some of that tone of molten gold which not only poured out, but was then channeled into performances of rare elegance and style. Because of his sense of vocal refinement, certain operas suited the tenor both as vehicles for his voice, and as opportunities for expressiveness. Un Ballo in Maschera was one of the most memorable. It is therefore a joy to have this document of the tenor at his peak, recorded in an Italian theatre of reasonable size surrounded by a strong cast. For those who already own a commercial Ballo with all the trimmings, this recording is a welcome addition.
According to Myto's accompanying notes, the release was inspired by the lack of representation on commercial disc of the Amelia, Leyla Gencer. And, as is often the case with Gencer, there is an abundance of singing to admire. The basic tone may not be the most plush, but it is firm and attractive. Her top notes are solid, chest tones true, and she has the trump card of a sensational floated pianissimo, which she pulls out when needed in order to raise the temperature of a performance. As video taped performances of this artist have surfaced, it has become apparent that her stage deportment may not be to every taste, but, like Bergonzi, she is able to communicate a great deal with voice alone, and audio takes of live performance seem to highlight the best aspects of her work.
The performance gets off to a fine start with Riccardo's (this is the Boston setting of the opera, customary in Italy at that time) "La rivedra nell'estasi", which in Bergonzi's hands is a calling card aria that lets us know what's in store in terms of suavity of delivery. As always, the tenor is careful with high notes - as a converted baritone, he always was - but this performance dates from the time (1961) during which that care led to the unfolding of some lovely, spun-out upper tones as the evening progressed and the voice warmed. Enter the Renato of Mario Zanasi. Like Gencer, Zanasi never had the backing of a commercial recording company and therefore did not receive the exposure accorded Bastianini or Gobbi. But this is a first rate Italian Verdi baritone, and Renato is perhaps his finest recorded role. His "Alla vita che t'arride" goes quite well, as does the ensuing Ulrica scene, although Adriana Lazzarini tends to wobble a bit on high G's, which are where all of Ulrica's climactic notes sit. But Bergonzi makes the most of "Di tu se fedele" and "E scherzo od e follia", both of which could have been written for him. His aristocratic phrasing suits the character to perfection, and there is a nice balance between the playfulness of character and that of artist. It is interesting that, for all the admiration Bergonzi garnered by the time of his late career, he has not inspired a current generation of Italian tenors to inherit is vocal manners. One must look to the marvelous Verdians Marcelo Alvarez and Francisco Casanova, both of Spanish descent (and both a bit more theatrically imaginative than their great predecessor) for the Bergonzian approach of ardor tempered with delicacy. It is in the gallows scene that things really begin to cook; not only does Gencer have every asset necessary for Amelia's big scena (including a psychic moment when she notes that it is midnight before hearing the chimes - Ulrica's influence?), but this Amelia and Riccardo compliment one another perfectly in the love duet. If Gencer outdoes herself in "Moro, ma prima in grazia", then Zanasi reaches another level entirely with "Eri tu". The raw intensity of Renato's pain is expressed through the most impressive diminuendi, rather than baritonal blaring. (Those interested in seeing Zanasi and Bergonzi in these roles should seek out a video from Legato Classics of a Ballo taped a few years later in Japan, with Antonietta Stella as Amelia). Bergonzi makes the most of Riccardo's sometimes unnoticed "Ma se mi forza perderti", and his death scene is a singing lesson.
The balance of the cast is unexceptional, but adequate and, of course, idiomatic. One often wishes for a better Oscar when listening to Ballo; maybe it's the role - although Anneliese Rothenberger in a performance with this very tenor, on one of those memorable 60's Met broadcasts amply demonstrated that the right Oscar can make those ensembles melt in your ear. The Bologna forces play well for Olivero de Fabritiis, who is liberal with the singers, but not excessively so. The sound is excellent, but there is a high frequency ring that sometimes creeps in, noticeable during quiet passages only, and easy to equalize out.
I.S.
GOUNOD: La Colombe
Micheau; Peyron, Lenoty, Lovano; Orchestre Radio-Lyrique, Aubin. with arias by Gounod, Bizet, Offenbach, Thomas and Rossini. No text. Malibran-Music 161 (Qualiton, dist.)
This 1947 radio broadcast appears to be the only recording of La Columbe (1860), Charles Gounod's sixth opera. But why should such a delightful score languish in obscurity? Even those souls who find Faust nauseatingly pious might enjoy the unpretentious sweetness of this two act opéra comique. Based on a fable by La Fontaine, La Columbe is a tale of unrequited love in which a Florentine named Horace finally wins the affection of his beloved Sylvie by the (supposed) sacrifice of a white dove. Gounod's score sparkles, and one can hardly imagine a more idiomatic performance than this. Jean Peyron (Horace) has the kind of high, slightly nasal, and oh-so-French tenor that seems to have gone missing in today's global village. He sings with an ideal balance of ardor and elegance, too, especially in his all-too-brief Second Act aria--a real gem, and perhaps the most perfect of Gounod's melodic inspirations.
Those who fondly remember soprano Janine Micheau (Sylvie) from the old EMI sets of Carmen (under Beecham) and Les Pêcheurs de Perles (under Dervaux) will find that she sounds even better here: a model of rosy-cheeked, delectable femininity. Mazet, Horace's impoverished godson, was originally conceived as a dugazon or trouser role, but it is sung here by the quick-tongued René Lenoty. In fact, all four principals on this recording turn in zestful performances. Admittedly, Lucien Lovano, who plays Jean, the rival for Sylvie's affection, has some intonation problems, but he points the rhythms of his lone aria so deliciously that one regrets not being able to hear more of him. The orchestral playing is adequate, but just barely--although conductor Tony Aubin probably can claim some credit for the charming effect of this musical whole.
Filling out the disc are studio recordings of six arias recorded by Micheau between 1943 and '49. Few sopranos have captured the girlish giddiness of Juliette's "Je veux vivre" so well. Mireille's waltz is also quite breathtaking--a fine example of Micheau's technical assurance. On the other hand, Olympia's aria from Les Contes d'Hoffmann seems neither sufficiently mechanical nor supple enough to make its proper effect. And while Leila's cavatina from Les Pêcheurs de Perles is very beautifully sung, it somehow lacks magic. Most impressive of all, perhaps, is the mad scene from Thomas's Hamlet, the earliest of these recordings. Micheau projects Ophelia's passion as well as her purity, and her voice is the embodiment of youthful innocence and beauty.
Collectors with an interest in 19th-century French opera cannot afford to pass over this version of Gounod's opera, as it is currently the only show in town as well as a precious memento of a musical tradition that has all but disappeared. Micheau's arias may not all be completely satisfying, but with a total running time of more than 71 minutes, it would be ungrateful to complain about such a generous and valuable disc.
ANDREW FARACH-COLTON
FRANCHETTI: Cristoforo Colombo
Ragatzu, Pasino; Bruson, Scandiuzzi, Berti, Lefebvre, Previati, Turco, Ulbrich; Hungarian Radio Chorus, Frankfurt Radio Symphony, Viotti. No Italian libretto; English & German translations only. Koch-Schwann Musica Mundi 6739 (3)
Alberto Franchetti (1860-1942), a contemporary of the Italian verismo composers, did not follow the same path as theirs. Instead, he joined Alfredo Catalani in leaning toward cosmopolitanism, responding to the influence of Wagner (Franchetti had studied in Germany); and like Ildebrando Pizzetti, he preferred an elevated literary tone in his librettos.
In 1892, for the 400th anniversary of Columbus's voyage to the Americas, the explorer's home city of Genoa held a competition for an opera in his honor, and Franchetti won. His work had a number of productions, at home and abroad, before sliding off the shelf, so to speak. There was a revival in Philadelphia in 1913; and in 1991, as the 500th Columbus anniversary approached, the performance here recorded was given twice, in concert form, at the Old Opera in Frankfurt.
With a text by Luigi Illica, Cristoforo Colombo celebrates Columbus without unduly glorifying him. At both the beginning and the end of the opera, he is reviled -- first for his heretical ideas, last for his failure as a leader. Rather than a hero, he appears a visionary, ending his days as Don Quixote did, his shattered illusions leaving only splinters of the hope that once inspired him. Further negative evidence appears in Act II, which follows the Spaniards into the New World, glimpsing the exploitation, discord and bloodshed they brought.
Colombo is a festival work, cast in the grand-opera format that had served Spontini and Meyerbeer, but enriched with a turn-of-the-century sensibility. Instead of stiff recitative, Franchetti wrote Wagnerian "endless melody" for his dialogue. In an early scene with Queen Isabella, the protagonist echoes Wotan's pessimism, longing only for "the end." Later, his mellow, reflective Act II monologue, "Dunque ho sognato?," spins off from Hans Sachs's Fliedermonolog in Die Meistersinger. The orchestral and choral writing abound in colorful touches, but apart from an Indian Lament in Act II, attempts at local color are restrained. Overall, Franchetti moves the cumbersome apparatus with the skill of an experienced stage manager.
Similar instincts guide Marcello Viotti's leadership of the splendidly prepared Frankfurt performance. At the head of the cast, Renato Bruson's baritone sometimes sounds dry, but he invests Colombo with breadth and depth of feeling, keeping the role interesting. Roberto Scandiuzzi plays Roldano, the explorer's skeptical nemesis, with darkly grand tone. In the mercifully brief subplot, which injects stock love interest, tenor Marco Berti (as Guevara, Colombo's loyal aide) and Rossella Ragatzu (as the Mexican Indian princess Iguamoto) bloom with Italianate vocal melody.
Ragatzu doubles as Isabella, achieveing a radiantly pious tone with her expressive spinto soprano. The one heavy-handed interpretation from this cast is the Queen Anacoana of Gisella Pasino, who sings even her most confidential lines in the raw, booming accents of a provincial Amneris. Her lack of suavity is exaggerated by shamelessly up-front miking of the soloists.
Otherwise, apart from the canned, unconvincing sound of anything that's supposed to be heard offstage, the recording is crisp and creates a broad panoramic presence. Oddly, the the album booklet offers only English and German translations of the libretto, with no Italian original.
J.W.F.
Mado Robin
"ARIAS from Perle du Brésil, Monsieur Beaucaire, Mireille, Hamlet, Hoffmann, Lakmé, Rigoletto, Lucia; songs by Benedict, Dell'Aqua, Tosti, etc. Grandt (piano),; Orchestra, Cariven/Rys. No texts or transl;ations. INA Memoire Vive IMV-040With twenty tracks running to a total of seventy-five minutes, this French CD is a generous cross-section of Mado Robin's radio work from 1946 to 1956. The soprano was born in 1918 in the Touraine and died in 1960, just short of her forty-second birthday. Because of a voice range that took in the octave above high C, she was known as a sort of trick pony. But whether she ventured up there or not, she was also a stylish French singer, capable of soft phrasing in Lakmé's bell song and a smooth legato in "Caro nome."
Robin's voice had a very fast vibrato, like a hummingbird's wings, and its bright, juvenile sound, often shrill on records, can sound like an LP being played at 78rpm. Thorough schooling and orderly musicality, however, are equally evident, as are flair and joie de vivre in light selections. These broadcast excerpts are not state-of-the-art sonically, but they have been carefully dubbed to preserve more of the legacy of a singer whose only complete role on commercial discs was an impeccable Lakmé for Decca/London.
J.W.F.
photo credits: © John-Francis Bourke 2001 (Conlon); © Henry Grossman 2001 (Casanova), © Marty Umans 2001 (Graham), Photofest (Kander);
OPERA NEWS, July 2001 Copyright © 2001 The Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
A DREAM RECOVERED
James Conlon's invigorating leadership
sparks the world-premiere recording
of a forgotten Zemlinsky opera.
Zemlinsky champion Conlon
Listening Room by Rebecca Paller
