MOZART: Così Fan Tutte
Gens, Fink, Oddone; Güra, Boone, Spagnoli; Concerto Köln, R. Jacobs. Text,translations and CD-ROM. Harmonia Mundi 951663.65 (3)
Much of the hard-core
opera public regards with alarm the recent encroachment by early-music
specialists into "normal" repertory. It is true that
a certain didacticism infects the pronouncements and performances
of some pre-Romantic practitioners, but when the lowered diapason,
old-style instruments and approaches are applied to a pe
rformance
of passion and convinction, it's time to relax and celebrate.
René Jacobs' new recording of Mozart's Così
Fan Tutte is such an achievement.
Jacobs, already lauded for his recordings of Monteverdi, Cavalli and Scarlatti, can now be commended for his Mozart. You certainly know right away that you're getting early-music Mozart, but there isn't any sense of a gauntlet being thrown down. The pitch is a semitone lower than standard concert pitch, but the phrasing is so alluring and incisive that the orchestral sound is a revelation of textures, colors and details seldom heard (or noticed) in previous recordings of this score.
In recent years the tendency has been to make Così too serious and heavy. (Peter Sellars' direly combative production, available on London video, seems derived from papers by contemporary gender theorists rather than Mozart and Da Ponte.) Fortunately, this Così recording doesn't blunder into pretension: balance is its keyword. The love scenes (in real personae and in later disguises) are tender and affectionate, the scheming and prattling surrounding the couples amusing. When Act II begins to vacillate in tempo and emotional pitch, and this school for lovers becomes complicated and threatening, the lean quickness of the orchestra keeps the drama light but urgent, witty yet troubling -- which is how the piece should always be played.
The musical revelations of this Così are pretty much confined to the orchestra. The vocal performances fail to find an emotional scale powerful enough to move the audience without overwhelming the early-music instruments and style. True, everyone sings with a slightly lighter, cleaner texture, and the singers have been allowed to embellish; but there is little sense of the freedom and spontaneity that must have driven this opera in Mozart's day. There is, nevertheless, some fine singing, with Véronique Gens' Fiordiligi the strongest and bravest performance, Werner Güra's Ferrando the least even. Bernarda Fink is a warm if underplayed Dorabella, the character's sexual energy sounding vivacious rather than broad; and Graciela Oddone's Despina is free of the stereotypical Italian shtick indulged in by more famous divas (even Italian ones).
But there is no singing here to match the voluptuous surge of Eleanor Steber's Fiordiligi on the Metropolitan Opera performance reissued last year by CBS/Sony. Richard Tucker was hardly famous for his Mozart, yet on that same Met recording the ardor pulsing in his voice sounds "authentic" in the most complete sense of the word. When Gens and Fink soar in the ravishingly, sorrowfully slow "Soave sia il vento," their voices lack the heartbreak sent across the waters by Kiri Te Kanawa and Frederica von Stade (on RCA). (This isn't a matter of opera-house scale; both duos' voices are pretty well matched in size.)
Jacobs' Così is not the last word in an opera too vast for any definitive performance -- but it may be the start of a new line of Mozart in the old style. This early-music performance is designed and packaged for twenty-first-century audiences. Aside from the usual handsome, informative Harmonia Mundi packaging, a separate CD-ROM waits in the box. On "Discovering Così Fan Tutte," we are zapped through a hypermedia Mozart biography, a thorough rundown of Così's gestation, a bilingual libretto and dramaturgical discussions of the characters, themes, etc. of the work. All of it is handsomely done, but some will find it nothing more than a higher-tech version of liner notes. Still, a computer-based approach to explaining opera (and enhancing the listener's experience) is probably what's desired by the younger generation, and Harmonia Mundi has made a fine start.
PATRICK GILES
OPERA AND ORATORIO
LIGETI: Le Grand Macabre (1997 version)
Ehlert, Claycomb, Hellekant; Van Nes, Ragin, Clark, Cole, Suart, White, Olsen. London Sinfonietta Voices, Philharmonia Orchestra, Salonen. English text and German translation. Sony Classical S2K 62312 (2)
Some twenty-two years ago, the Vienna-based, Transylvania-born Hungarian composer György Ligeti penned a wild and wicked anti-millennial opera, Le Grand Macabre, in which he thumbed his nose at Death, and just about everything else on the way. A new and improved version of Macabre (as revised by the composer for the 1997 Salzburg Festival) has been recorded as the eighth installment of Sony Classical's Ligeti Edition. With Esa-Pekka Salonen leading an outstanding ensemble of singers and instrumentalists, this new release supersedes on all fronts the 1991 Wergo recording of Ligeti's first take.
The wacky, bawdy libretto, set in an imaginary nether-nether land, is based on a recasting by Michael Meschke of Belgian playwright Michel de Ghelderode's Balade du Grand Macabre. Ligeti matches the text syllable for syllable with his equally wacky, imaginative score. In his 1997 revision, Ligeti cut much of the spoken dialogue, thinned out the orchestration and made hundreds of other small adjustments. The new musical flow, swift and compact, is a triumph, with one added bonus: the recording is in English! (The Wergo recording is in the original German, although the 1978 world premiere at Stockholm's Royal Opera was given in Swedish.)
Much of the plot is silliness, however inspired -- a doomsday comet on a crash course to earth fizzles out -- but the composer employs sophisticated musical means, drawn from his vast arsenal, to create a variety of special effects that hold up well against their visual corollaries in the recent flurry of Hollywood end-of-the world-by-comet riffs. Some of the seemingly flippant touches, such as the dozen car horns that sound the prelude, or the opera's fleeting musical quotes (Stravinsky's Sacre du Printemps, Offenbach's cancan) mask a carefully hewn design. For instance, it may surprise some that the second half of the opera is a distorted mirror image of the first half; palindromic forms fascinate Ligeti, as they did his predecessors Bartók and Berg. Here, the structure bespeaks the reversal of fortune for Nekrotzar, a death-wielding Lord-of-the-Underworld figure. Nekrotzar's final exit music is a twelve-tone mirror canon, carefully calibrated to evoke an overwhelming feeling of pitiful defeat; his earlier "grandiose entrance" music is a miniature masterpiece, a riveting instrumental passage, as is the final passacaglia.
But the singing is the triumph of this new recording. Ligeti's unorthodox extension of vocal techniques -- including laughs, whispers, high shrieks and groveling growls -- plays with the conventions of bel canto. The hilarious interaction between Piet the Pot, an intoxicated citizen of the make-believe Breughelland, and Nekrotzar -- in which they try to outdo each other with the most ridiculous sendup of ornamentation imaginable -- is performed with great wit by tenor Graham Clark and bass-baritone Willard White. The most spectacular moments, though, belong to Gepopo, the head of Breughelland's secret police, whose most dazzling, if semi-nonsense, coloratura arias are performed brilliantly by soprano Sybylle Ehlert. Her hysterical aria about the fast-approaching comet is itself a blazing light in the operatic sky. The rest of the cast is also superb. Under Salonen's savvy direction the orchestra sparkles.
At seventy-six, Ligeti is one of the youngest composers around. Remarkably, he hasn't settled into a stale or dogmatic routine. He wrote in the program notes of Sony's Ligeti Edition 4, "After each completed composition I revise my position; I avoid stylistic clichés and know no 'single right way.' I keep myself open to new influences, as I am excessively intellectually curious." Le Grand Macabre shows his scope and mastery of form and style; he knows music history, from Gregorian chant to the most avant-garde modernism. This new recording demonstrates a master's endless ability to grow and to improve earlier works. Too bad other composers don't follow his example.
ROBERT HILFERTY
WAGNER: Die Feen
Patchell, Schellenberger, B. Beer; Sirkiä, Korn, Holecek, Korhonen; Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro Comunale di Cagliari, Ötvös. Text and translation. Dynamic CDS 2171/1-3 (3) (Qualiton, dist.)
Wagner's earliest completed extant opera, Die Feen (The Fairies), has not enjoyed a very happy history. Written in 1833-34, when Wagner was barely twenty, this journeyman work was not produced until 1888. The Metropolitan Opera, a company steeped in Wagnerian tradition, has never mounted a production, and this Dynamic release makes only the second "complete" recording, along with Wolfgang Sawallisch's celebrated live 1983 Munich performance on Orfeo. Inspired by the mid-nineteenth-century German vogue for fairy-tale operas such as Weber's Oberon and Hoffmann's Undine, Die Feen remains something of a stylistic muddle, with elements of dramatic Italian opera, French opéra comique and even buffa mingling uneasily with German pantheism and mysticism. Though the opera is usually dismissed as Wagnerian juvenilia and the juxtaposition of serious drama and fanciful whimsy is often jarring, there is much excellent music in Die Feen.
The text is modeled after Gozzi's 1762 comedy La Donna Serpente. Arindal, king of Tramont, mistrusts the constancy of his beautiful wife, Ada, a fairy. Arindal is cursed and driven mad by his cowardice in battle, and Ada is turned to stone. After undergoing a series of Zauberflöte-like "trials," Arindal sings a lyre song that releases his wife from her stone imprisonment. The lovers are joyfully reunited, and the mortal Arindal is elevated to the status of the fairy kingdom.
This new live set, originating from a provincial Italian opera company, is a generally solid performance, with a rather mixed cast. As Arindal, Raimo Sirkiä's dry, uningratiating timbre is less than enchanting, yet the tenor sings heroically, rising to Act II's demands with both ardor and sensitivity. Sirkiä is at his best in the final act, where his singing is most dramatic and incisive. Sue Patchell's rich-voiced if occasionally fluttery Ada is a creditable performance, with some reserves of power. Patchell lacks the fiery vehemence and strong upper register of Linda Esther Gray on Orfeo, so Ada's long Act II scene doesn't make quite the impact it should.
The rest of the singers are decent but consistently outshone by Sawallisch's luxuriously cast Munich performance. Dagmar Schellenberger is an agile, bright-toned Lora, though sounding overparted at times, no match for June Anderson in her prime on Orfeo. Artur Korn is a workmanlike Gernot, Sebastian Holecek an unfocused Morald, with a memory lapse in Act I. Birgit Beer makes a youthful, bright-voiced Drolla, but the delightful Act II buffo duet with her lover, Gernot, lacks the sparkle and vivacity of Cheryl Studer and Jan-Hendrik Rootering in Munich. In the brief role of the Fairy King, Jyrki Korhonen sounds like a doddering Timur. (Sawallisch boasts Kurt Moll in this tiny part.)
Conductor Gábor Ötvös' direction is capable and efficient but mediocre; Sawallisch's Orfeo performance remains in a class of its own. Besides having a killer cast, sharper orchestral playing and a much better chorus, Sawallisch invests this music with great dramatic thrust and the frisson of a great night in the theater. Such moments as Arindal's swearing of fealty to Ada -- so intensely dramatic under Sawallisch -- barely raise a ripple in the Italian performance, and while the Cagliari Theater orchestra plays well enough for Ötvös, they're clearly inferior to the Bavarian musicians. The Dynamic set also has a sizable cut in the last act (before the chorus' entry on disc 3, track 8) and some smaller trims elsewhere.
LAWRENCE A. JOHNSON
SUTERMEISTER: Die Schwarze Spinne
Zürcher, Zelenka; Widmaier, U. Studer; Orpheus Chor Bern, Berner Symphonie-Orchester, Garst. 1997. German text only. MGB, CD 6147 (Qualiton, dist.)
The Swiss-born Heinrich Sutermeister (1910-95) lived long enough to see his music largely forgotten, after a period in the 1940s when his operas were quite popular internationally. Die Schwarze Spinne ("The Black Spider"), a commission from Radio Berne, was written specifically for radio broadcast, and Sutermeister took the special requirements of this type of performance quite seriously. Minus the benefit of any visual context, the action of the drama called for a direct, vivid approach to text setting, with an unambiguously evocative musical language.
The resulting one-act opera is successful within these limits and at times quite arresting. The characters are clearly delineated, with musical motifs that are striking without being obvious or melodramatic. Liliane Zürcher, Ludmila Zelenka, Matthias Widmaier and Ulrich Studer all act well with their voices; they and conductor Peter Michael Garst have obviously taken to heart the composer's desire for dramatic immediacy in this work, and their communicative skills are superb.
Special mention must be given to the Orpheus Chor Bern, under the training of Denise Bregnard. They are called upon to convey joy, shock, horror and outrage, and they sing, chant, speak, shout and whisper (sometimes in combination) with an ear-bending range of color and emotion, plus impressive intelligibility. (A good thing, as the printed libretto is in German only; a helpful track-by-track English summary is included.)
Several of the tunes are quite memorable, and one could certainly say worse about a midcentury piece of serious-minded music theater. (In fact, it was probably the very accessibility of Sutermeister's work that caused it to lose favor as the century progressed.) The most chilling moment, however, is spoken: Christine (Zürcher), who has attempted to save her village from the plague by granting the Devil a kiss, is now trying to reclaim her soul by kidnaping an unbaptized baby for him. As Christine sings a lullaby to soothe both mother and child into unwitting slumber, the half-asleep mother (Zelenka) inquires, with halting speech in stark counterpoint to the cradle song, "Christine, warum hast du ein so sonderbares Zeichen auf der Stirne?" (Christine, why do you have such a strange mark on your forehead?)
JOSHUA ROSENBLUM
GLUCK: Armide
Delunsch, Podle´s, Masset, Heaston; Workman, Naouri; Les Musiciens du Louvre, Minkowski. Text and translations. DGG Archiv 459 616-2 (2)
It was an extraordinarily daring decision for Gluck to compose his Armide using the nearly hundred-year-old libretto of Philippe Quinault, originally written for Jean-Baptiste Lully. The still-venerated Lully was rightly regarded as the father of French opera, and Armide, composed in 1686, was his masterpiece. (Imagine a modern composer writing new music to Boito's Falstaff or Otello libretto.) Nonetheless, against those heavy odds, Gluck's Armide, his favorite creation, triumphed at its 1777 premiere. Given the work's importance and musical beauty, it is surprising that this is only its second studio recording. The first, issued in 1983 and starring Felicity Palmer and Anthony Rolfe Johnson, was based on a misbegotten production in Spitalfields that featured a "Che Guevara" look. Musically, it is a dreary, listless affair. This new recording led by Marc Minkowski is superior in every way.
It is immediately apparent that Minkowski is an outstanding Gluckian; the opening bars of the famous overture have a winning vitality and majesty. The heart and soul of the performance are Minkowski, his fine chorus and his "original instruments" orchestra. Kate Clark plays the great flute solo in the "Air sicilien," one of the most beautiful passages Gluck ever wrote, with true eloquence. It is evident in every bar of music that the performance as a whole has been lovingly prepared.
The admirable cast, however, is perhaps less heroic than is ideal for Armide, an opera that demands powerful singers. When Armide opened the Met's 1910-11 season, in its only staging by the company to date, the Armide and Renaud were Olive Fremstad and Enrico Caruso. While Mireille Delunsch, DGG's Armide, does not sound like a future Isolde, she brings a strong personality to "Ah! Si la liberté," as well as soft singing of genuine nobility. Delunsch and Charles Workman (Renaud) sing ravishingly in the great duet "D'une vaine terreur pouvez-vous être atteinte," and the Lucinde, Nicole Heaston, sings with a sweet clarity and awareness that are reminiscent of Dawn Upshaw. La Haine, the role taken at the Met by the great Louise Homer, is cast here with the one voice in the recording that could be characterized as heroic: Ewa Podle´s' amazing contralto. In an electrifying "Plus on connaît l'amour," Podle´s gives a hint of what this performance might have been like had it been cast with dramatic rather than lyrical singers. (What an Armide she might have made!) The recorded sound is first-rate, and the notes and translations are excellent.
JAMES CAMNER
CHORAL AND SONG
LISZT: Faust Symphony
Domingo; Chor der Deutschen Staatsoper Berlin, Berlin Philharmonic, Barenboim. Text, no translation. Teldec 3984-22948-2
Franz Liszt's Faust Symphony is one of the most significant yet (in our time) least appreciated orchestral works of the nineteenth century. Written at the urging of Hector Berlioz, the quasi-autobiographical Faust Symphony is Liszt's largest and greatest symphonic utterance, the bridge between Beethoven's Ninth and Mahler's Resurrection Symphony. Without sinking into mere pictorialism, the Faust Symphony advances the concept of programmatic music, marking the path to the great tone poems of Richard Strauss. Its wildly original orchestration clearly had a major influence on Debussy, and in the Méphistophélès movement one hears sounds prescient of early Stravinsky ballets. The Faust Symphony is a tour de force of nineteenth-century harmonic practice, and its motivic construction influenced Wagner. Its opening motif, utilizing all twelve tones, foreshadows the early works of Schoenberg.
Have we come so far from the aesthetic world of Romanticism that we can no longer appreciate a work that takes all the time it needs to state its case? The present recording should win the Faust Symphony many converts. Daniel Barenboim's interpretation is in a class with those of Jascha Horenstein and Thomas Beecham, and Teldec's recorded sound is a vast improvement over those two classic early accounts, in both clarity and warmth. The Faust Symphony makes tremendous demands on the orchestra, its bombastic tuttis contrasting with chromatically lyrical solo passages. The Berlin Philharmonic plays with its customary suavity, giving a passionate, emotionally engaging yet unlabored performance. Plácido Domingo delivers his short aria with powerful intensity and world-weariness, perfectly capturing the character of Faust at the end of his life. The male chorus also catches just the right dramatic tone.
My only quibbles are with the CD booklet. Although there is plenty of space, no translation of the brief Goethe text is provided. Whatever the reason -- misguided aesthetics, intentional snobbery or the unavailability of a natural-sounding English translation -- it is annoying.
ARLO McKINNON
MAHLER: Eight Songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn;Symphony No. 3.
B. Remmert, Keenlyside. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Rattle. Texts and translations. EMI Classics 7243-5-56657-2
British baritone Simon Keenlyside first attracted attention, earlier this decade, through a recording of Schubert songs. It was an exciting debut: his voice was pure, beautiful and healthily produced -- a tabula rasa on which great things might be inscribed as he sought greater interpretive depth.
This recording of eight of Mahler's Wunderhorn songs confirms that the baritone has acquired insight while maintaining his inherent vocal qualities. His is not a particularly sonorous voice, and the lowest notes of the bass staff sometimes display a touch of effortful forcing. In "Wer hat das Liedlein erdacht," his roulades are smooth and fluid, and he captures a sense of rhythmic buoyancy that is not always apparent elsewhere. This is a disciplined, well-schooled interpretation, but one would welcome a greater illusion of spontaneity. Curiously, Rattle and the CBSO offer rather the opposite: their approach is free and often exciting, even if the orchestra shows some technical shortcomings.
The accompanying booklet makes much of the "extraordinary clarity" of Birmingham's Symphony Hall, where the recording was made. That's all well and good, but the balance engineer, Mike Clements, has had his way with the acoustics more than one might wish. Keenlyside sometimes sinks far too deeply into the orchestral fabric: why should a flute, in "Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen," be as pronounced as the baritone soloist?
In Mahler's Third Symphony, Rattle also turns in good work. Birgit Remmert lends a solid, vibrant contralto -- as such is she billed -- to her solo passages, and the orchestra's women's and youth choruses make merry angels indeed. I was happy to hear both the symphony and the songs, and to be assured that Keenlyside continues to develop on the right track vocally. Had I encountered these performances in concert, I would have left satisfied. But one should feel compelled to return to a recording repeatedly, which, in this case, I feel little need to do.
JAMES M. KELLER
ELIAS: The Prayer Cycle
Morissette, Ronstadt; Provenzano, Taylor, Keita et al.;
The American Boychoir;
The English Chamber Orchestra and Chorus, Schwartz. English translations
only. Sony Classical 60569
Jonathan Elias' self-described "symphonic choral prayer," in nine sections, fails on every level. I don't doubt the sincerity of his faith or the serious-mindedness of the project, but the result is almost unlistenable. The texts (written by the composer) are in about a dozen languages, some familiar (French, German, Italian), some not (Tibetan, Swahili, Urdu). While this attempt to communicate the trans-cultural universality of religious faith is admirable, it matters little, as the singing is equally incomprehensible in every language.
Elias seems to be striving to transcend musical genres as well as cultures, but his piece has neither the sophistication of contemporary classical music nor the catchiness of pop. Nor does it provide even the occasionally pleasing, trance-like effect of neo-medievalism, which places few demands on the listener. Elias gives you nothing to listen to except, as he puts it, "the power of the primitive human voice." This isn't quite enough.
Young Devin Provenzano of the American Boychoir does manage to distinguish himself, but the pop artists (James Taylor, Linda Ronstadt, Alanis Morissette) seem lost without their usual groove-based backgrounds (although there is the bonus of hearing Morissette sing in Hungarian). Conductor Lawrence Schwartz, who was also responsible for the orchestration, has no doubt made better use of his talents elsewhere.
J.R.
SCHUBERT: Nachtgesang
Remmert; Güra; Mayers (piano). Scharoun Ensemble, RIAS-Kammerchor, Creed. Texts and translations. Harmonia Mundi 901669
The night has many faces, nowhere more abundant than in this stunning array of Schubert part-songs, all of which contain some reference to night and darkness. It is surprising that these pieces are not better known, for here Schubert continues to explore the subtle musical vocabulary of his mature lieder, exploiting the added dimension of choral harmony in various ingenious ways. Every piece on this disc is a gem; variations in mood and texture keep you listening all the way through.
The RIAS-Kammerchor, under the crisp direction of Marcus Creed, excels in creating a uniform, balanced choral sound with excellent intonation and just the right amount of controlled vibrato. The Scharoun Ensemble contributes much in the way of color: lively hunting horns in "Nachtgesang im Walde" and sonorous, pensive strings in the mesmerizing "Gesang der Geister über den Wassern." In other excerpts, Philip Mayers is the excellent pianist. Featured soloists are contralto Birgit Remmert, playfully mellifluous in "Ständchen" (the best-known of these pieces), and Werner Güra, whose silvery, Mozartean tenor rings most pleasingly in the stirring "Nachthelle." A delightful discovery.
JOANNE SYDNEY LESSNER
RECITALS
Vesselina Kasarova
"ROSSINI ARIAS & DUETS" with Juan Diego Flórez, tenor. Bavarian Radio Choir, Munich Radio Orchestra, Fagen. Text and translation. RCA Red Seal 74321-57131-2
Vesselina Kasarova makes a much better showing here than on her Mozart album (RCA 09026-68661-2), where her singing was so uneven as to be amateurish. If several key aspects of her technique remain conspicuously unfinished, at least she displays a clear idea of what she wants to do with the music, and some of the wherewithal to realize it.
Here the Bulgarian mezzo is at her best in the more heroic soprano scenes/duets from Armida and Otello, and "Tanti affetti" from La Donna del Lago -- where the higher tessitura prods her into energetic, forwardly placed singing. She shapes the phrases firmly, with plenty of bite and thrust in coloratura passages and upward cadenzas; the sustained high notes are solid, if a bit steely. (The Otello excerpt is the Otello-Roderigo duet; the booklet tenuously justifies substituting a female voice for one of the two tenors.) Kasarova also rises reasonably well to the challenges of "Ah! quel giorno," presented with the uncut orchestral introduction. She lacks the flair of Marilyn Horne (who practically owned this aria) in the recitative, but she sings the cavatina sensitively and delivers the cabaletta with some panache.
The other "standard" mezzo and contralto selections are less successful, pointing up Kasarova's registral imbalance. From the lower midrange downward, her tone is hollow and unprojected. She can't maintain an even line in this area, and the downward-pointing cadenzas, which simply drop out of hearing, go for nothing. The law of opposites working as it does, the poorly anchored low range bespeaks problems up top; in these numbers, the high notes and flourishes are, frankly, squealy (the end of the Cenerentola duet is a glaring example).
And Kasarova's coloratura technique is decidedly makeshift. On open vowels, as in the Bianca e Falliero scene, she can actually sing all the notes with round, solid tone, though she doesn't always shape them into a line with any style. In the Armida duet, she rides the descending figures "on the breath," clearly enough if a bit lazily. At other times she emulates the near-aspirated style of Cecilia Bartoli or substitutes a fluttery warble.
Juan Diego Flórez, Kasarova's clear-toned tenor partner in three duets, doesn't seem to know any better than she how to shape the Cenerentola duet. He is better in the other scenes, and his proclamatory ring at the Otello duet's opening is impressive. The conducting by Arthur Fagen will do, but the basically fine-sounding production betrays signs of careless preparation. The engineers get a good perspective for the stage band in the cabaletta to "Tanti affetti" but neglect to distance the stepsisters' offstage calls in the Cenerentola duet. The booklet texts omit large chunks of the Cenerentola, Donna del Lago and Italiana in Algeri Act II excerpts, while nonsensically including the recitative lines following "Pensa alla patria," which are not sung on the disc.
STEPHEN FRANCIS VASTA
Stephan Genz
"BEETHOVEN SONGS" Vignoles (piano). Texts and translations. Hyperion CDA 67055 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
A young German singer from whom fine things can be expected, Stephan Genz might at the moment be termed a Papageno. He is at his best in the short, light numbers on this all-Beethoven program, especially his unmannered, fresh "Sehnsucht" and easy, natural "Das Liedchen von der Ruhe." A sparkling "Neue Liebe, neues Leben" is also very effective. The larger songs, in particular "Adelaide" and the cycle An die ferne Geliebte, do not come across so well. The latter begins with a sense of lessons carefully learned and executed, which might be a persuasive interpretive choice (the song is a framing device) if the idea led somewhere else. But the second song becomes oddly unfocused, and Genz does not make anything of the magical monotone in its second verse. He is not sensitive enough to harmonic changes in the piano part, and pianist Roger Vignoles seems to be fighting problems of regulation in his instrument.
Genz does have a real gift for the inflection of each verse in strophic songs. The discovery of this recital turns out to be the Gellert Lieder, for which Genz and Vignoles restore the seldom heard extra verses to the first five songs. It might sound in prospect like too much devotional music, but the cycle at its full length is quite moving. The extra material is of particular benefit to the fifth song, which makes little effect in this group otherwise. (Curiously, and without explanation, the second verse of "Das Liedchen von der Ruhe" is omitted from both performance and text booklet.) Also on the plus side are Genz' attractive low register and a generous, varied selection of material. An die ferne Geliebte is preceded by the brief, delightful "An die Geliebte," written five years earlier.
WILLIAM R. BRAUN
Barbara Bonney
"STRAUSS: FOUR LAST SONGS" with Acht Lieder, Op. 10, and other Strauss lieder. Martineau (piano). Texts and translations. London/Decca 289 460 812-2
In Barbara Bonney's excellent all-Strauss recital, the usual suspects in programs of this kind ("Zueignung," "Allerseelen," "Morgen!," etc.) are given fresh, intelligent performances. Just as lovely are Bonney's sharp-eyed takes on less familiar songs, such as "Die Georgine," its quirky temper stirred but not shaken by the soprano's cool reading and Malcolm Martineau's splendid accompaniment. The black-and white coloration of the piano version of Vier Letzte Lieder suits Bonney's chaste tone and reserved manner, highlighting her impressive command of the poetry. Translations provided are by the soprano.
F. PAUL DRISCOLL
William Powers
"ROGUES AND VILLAINS" Arias and opera scenes. No texts. Centaur CRC-2388 (Qualiton, dist.)
After an active career of three decades, William Powers may not be a household name, but he's a lively, engaging interpreter of opera characters from the whole bass-baritone spectrum. The sheer delight he takes in portraying these vignettes is equaled only by the care with which he details them. From the first track, Gianni Schicchi's diatribe "Ah! che zucconi," it's apparent that Powers enunciates clearly and meaningfully, shaping his tone and shading its resonance. Unlike many other aria recital discs, on which everything sounds pretty much the same, this one presents a rogues' gallery of individualists. Sometimes the portrayals are overdrawn, as they would be onstage ("La calunnia" gets a little campy, and as Falstaff the singer tries too hard), but they are blessedly alive.
It's refreshing to hear Iago played as a personality, not as a Great Baritone. In roles associated with Norman Treigle (Blitch in Susannah) and Lawrence Tibbett (Gruenberg's Emperor Jones), Powers lives up to his surname. Like any artist attempting such a wide variety, he hits an occasional snag -- not enough Parisian suavity for Méphistophélès, and if his Pizarro has commanding edge, his Rheingold Alberich needs more tonal impact and intense vibrancy. His trill (as Coppélius) isn't really serviceable; on the other hand, his relatively restrained "Madamina" is the best of the humorous pieces, and few have made more of Leporello's line "Ma in Ispagna." If the Italiana in Algeri selection isn't quite his meat, he gamely makes a joke of its choppy coloratura.
Recorded in the Czech Republic, Centaur's CD showcases its soloist in solid, businesslike sound. The booklet includes friendly if factually vague notes by Powers himself and by his wife, mezzo Jennifer Larmore; they don't, however, offer a word about the chorus, which does yeoman service here and there, or American maestro Dennis Burkh, who paces the orchestra with veteran expertise.
JOHN W. FREEMAN
Christopher Maltman
"ENGLISH ORCHESTRAL SONGS" by Parry, Stanford,
Finzi and Gurney.
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, Brabbins. Texts. Hyperion CDA67065
(Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
These English orchestral songs, many of which began their lives as piano and voice compositions, seem stranded in limbo, at home in neither salon nor opera house. The English propensity for pomp and grandiosity (in full musical flower here) and the overwhelming somberness of the majority of the texts give this hybrid collection a weighty feel. Finzi's delightful cycle Let Us Garlands Bring is a long time coming at the end of the disc, although Stanford's "The Fairy Lough" and Gurney's "Spring" bring relief earlier on. (I prefer Dominick Argento's piano/voice setting of the latter text, by Thomas Nashe.)
Baritone Christopher Maltman displays a powerful instrument, managing to project over mammoth orchestrations with fairly clear diction despite the fact that he is mixed low against the orchestra, but has little subtlety or warmth, and he fails to invite the listener into his songs. The voice also has a noticeable wobble in sustained passages. The lack of variety in his sound, coupled with so many large, ponderous songs, makes for a tedious listening experience. The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra is loud and muscular, suffering occasionally from intonation problems.
J.S.L.
Isabelle Poulenard
"REICHARDT: LIEDER & SONATEN" Spadano (violin), Stewart (clavecin), Schoonderwoerd (piano). Texts and translations. Astrée E8595 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
As the first composer to set texts by Goethe, Johann Friedrich Reichardt (1752-1814) could be considered the granddaddy of the lied, but his work was overshadowed by the more deft efforts of his successors. Despite a nicely balanced program and committed performances, this all-Reichardt disc fails to register strongly. Reichardt's songs, while not unskilled, are seldom more than generally pleasant, lacking the musical depth and textual subtlety of Schubert and Schumann. Despite her tendency to wobble on sustained notes, soprano Isabelle Poulenard's dramatic conviction and gusto are unmistakable (and especially welcome given the pallor of the material). Violinist Massimo Spadano and pianist Arthur Schoonderwoerd take charge of two classically influenced sonatas for violin and piano, and clavecin player Laurent Stewart does well in his solo sonata.
J.S.L.
HISTORICAL
Charles Craig
"PUCCINI ARIAS AND FAVOURITE BALLADS" by Moore, Herbert, Bishop et al. Orchestra, Collins. 1959, 1962. No texts or translations. Testament SBT 1151
"OPERATIC ARIAS AND ITALIAN SONGS" by Verdi,
Donizetti, Tosti,
Pergolesi et al. Orchestra, Collins. 1959, 1962. No texts or
translations.
Testament SBT 1152
Charles Craig and Joan Hammond
"OPERA ARIAS AND DUETS"
by Puccini, Gounod and Verdi, sung in English. Griffith (baritone);
Royal
Philharmonic Orchestra, Tausky (1961); Philharmonia Orchestra,
Curiel (1956); Sadler's Wells Opera Orchestra, Balkwell (1960);
Sadler's Wells Opera Chorus & Orchestra, Moores (1962). No
texts or translations. Testament SBT 1153 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
Overshadowed in his own era by flashier international stars, Charles Craig was an Englishman with a robust, ringing Italianate sound, who established himself as a favorite at both Covent Garden and Sadler's Wells in the 1950s and '60s in a repertory of nearly fifty roles. If Craig occasionally lacked star-quality charisma, he made up for it in musicality and in sheer beauty and evenness of tone, convincing all the way up to high C. (Listen to his spectacular, hair-raising climax to "As from that dread pyre" from Il Trovatore, on his duets disc with Joan Hammond.)
In the program of Italian arias and songs (SBT 1152), Craig presents vigorous, emotionally committed renditions of such beloved warhorses as "La donna è mobile" and "Una furtiva lagrima," though his self-conscious histrionics at the end of "Vesti la giubba" turn an otherwise moving portrayal into camp. The fourteen Italian songs include a lively "Marechiare" and an under-tempo but lovely "Tre giorni son che Nina." Craig's Italian diction, though percussive at times, is remarkably intelligible. Paradoxically, he seems more comfortable singing in Italian than in his native tongue. (Compare his "Che gelida manina" on the Puccini disc with "Your tiny hand is frozen" on the duets disc.) In the "favourite ballads" on SBT 1151, it sounds as if English were Craig's second language, sometimes to unintentionally comic effect.
Joan Hammond, Craig's partner on SBT 1153, was also a bright light on the English opera scene around mid-century. Hammond fares slightly better singing Italian opera in English than does Craig, possibly because her voice is less naturally Italianate than his. Hammond's sound here (a few years past its prime) has a tendency to be wobbly and shrill, and her legato is a sometime thing, but her clear dramatic sense emerges consistently. Hammond's rendition of "O my beloved father" from Gianni Schicchi, which sold more than one million copies, displays some distinctive musical choices, and she creates some sparks with Craig in the first-act love duet from Tosca and the garden duet from Faust. Still, Craig emerges as the superior artist, with his combination of consistently smooth, full-throated singing and communicative skill.
The discs all lack texts and translations, though, oddly, there are short English summaries of the Italian songs. There is no credit for the orchestra on the two solo discs (or for the chorus in several of the English ballads). At times the orchestra is mixed too low, denying Craig a good cushion of support, but conductor Michael Collins appears to be a sensitive accompanist. The digital transfer in all three cases is very successful -- noise level is almost nonexistent.
J.S.L.
Tito Schipa
"COMPLETE VICTOR RECORDINGS (1922-25)" 23 songs, 12 arias, 7 duets with Bori. No texts. Romophone 82014 (Harmonia Mundi, dist.)
For a tenor without singular high or low notes, in fact without a great deal in between, Schipa certainly made a name for himself. He did it with a blend, both instinctive and gracefully clever, of bel canto poise, intimate emotional projection and verbal shading. Though his slender voice carried well in live concerts, he was a prototype of the "radio tenor," ideally suited to the microphone; and though he sang and recorded prolifically, scarcely one of his discs smacks of routine. Romophone's anthology carries two of the "previously unpublished" variety, and they sound just as good as his others.
Schipa was only human, and therein lies a certain charm. In two November 1925 takes of "Una furtiva lagrima," one of the most familiar arias in the tenor literature, he can't get the rhythm right on "giovani" in the line "Quelle festose giovani"; and in the duets with Lucrezia Bori, there are arbitrary tempo shifts all over the place, unrelated to the classic definition of rubato as elasticity within a fixed basic tempo.
That said, he remains one of the most restrained and musically correct of tenors, at no cost of the expressiveness that most of his colleagues purchased more dearly. For all the apparent limitation and sameness of tone, his singing is always interesting, inventive and communicative, even after a couple of whole CDs. Some of his finishing touches, such as the Neapolitan "blue notes" in Costa's "Napolitanata," are individual and miraculously subtle. The popular material shows boundless joie de vivre, the opera selections -- especially those from Mignon and Werther -- gentle compassion, elegant taste, soulful inwardness.
Romophone's reputation for superior dubbings of historical material is upheld by this twin-CD release. There are plentiful Schipa CDs on the market, and his voice, which was a dream to record, sounds good on most of them; but Ward Marston's engineering on these complete Victors, all recorded in the U.S. between 1922 and '25, is as smooth and even as anything to be heard anywhere. The acoustical sides have, if anything, more immediate presence than the electrical. The presentation, strictly chronological and properly documented, needs to be excused a few bloopers in its printed notes. The recital ends with the famous Schipa-Bori death scene from La Bohème, both pristine and melodramatic, then a sublimely lyrical "Pourquoi me réveiller" and a radiant Lakmé aria; who could ask for anything more?
J.W.F.
photo of Veronique Gens by Stephane De Bourgies, © Virgin Classics 1999