Met Parsifal: impressions from a beginner

Metropolitan Opera House, NYC

Good Friday 13 April 2001

Role	Artist
Parsifal	Placido Domingo
Kundry	Violeta Urmana
Gurnemanz	John Tomlinson
Amfortas	Hans-Joachim Ketelsen
Klingsor	Ekkehard Wlaschiha
Esquire	Danielle de Niese
Flower maiden	Joyce Guyer
Conductor	James Levine

I attended this Met Parsifal twice, no mean feat at 5½ hours apiece. One performance was on Good Friday, the very day on which Act III is set, and this year, the 13th or black Friday as well! No bad luck ensued, ignoring my Cajun chicken sandwich in the intermission.

I was anxious to at least 'appreciate' it, even though I knew I may not 'enjoy' it in the usual opera house sense. My actual verdict (if I had one) would not matter much since (1) the opera is not on trial, (2) this 'traditional' and 'stylised' 1991 production is no longer on trial either [it does not mean you have to like it, although I did.] (3) I am new to Parsifal and (4) I am also relatively new to the later Wagner operas. Nonetheless, I will try to describe my unimportant and possibly less than accurate recollections. These views might also be of interest to other 'rookies', as well as for my own purposes in 'digesting' this enormous, epic work.

Like most Wagner stories, Parsifal has extraordinary twists and turns. It is set around the particularly Catholic ritual of displaying and revering, if not worshipping relics of the Christian past, such as fragments of the cross and the Shroud of Turin. The 'Holy Grail' was supposedly the cup used at the last supper and which, by some unwritten tradition, later caught drops of Christ's blood at the cross. I wonder that they did not use 13 separate cups at this repast, and that they used a heavy stemmed vessel as big as a bucket.

Most garish of all the illusions is Klingsor who castrated himself 'to ward off evil thoughts' so he might enter the service of the grail ... but when his second attempt is also rejected, he swears to be the enemy of the guardian order until its destruction or dispersal.

I found the long introductory music a little laborious and unapproachable. It was just one enigma in a long night at the opera. If Wagner intended it to make his audience impatient, he succeeded in my case as I just wanted to get into this wonderful journey.

The curtain rises after about 10 minutes onto a wonderful landscape of trees in the woods with a front scrim. The six or eight huge tree trunks in the foreground are repeated by others in the distance with reflections mirrored in the intervening brook.

Gurnemanz, knight of the grail, gives us fragments of the story while waiting for Kundry, Amfortas, a dead swan and finally, the nameless Parsifal who shot it with his bow and arrow. The latter looks surprisingly youthful on his entry, carrying the flimsy bow which he snaps on realising what travesty it was to kill a sacred bird.

The two hours of Act I pass unbelievably rapidly. We have learned in dribs and drabs the story about King Amfortas who was seduced by Kundry who then stole the spear on behalf of Klingsor. Amfortas' festering body wound will never heal and his life is one of misery and decline due to his moment of weakness. One last time, in great pain and weakness, he reveals the grail and performs communion to the gathered believers. A bright shaft of light beams down onto the huge chalice which lights up red in its lucent alabaster beauty. An effect of white powder falling uses some stage trick since before the descending fragments reach the singers, they vanish into thin air, as though evaporated.

The aged father Titurel calls from off-stage with encouragement. For unknown reasons we meet him next in the final scene of the opera in his coffin, dead, with the lid unceremoniously removed.

During and immediately after the grail opening, voices are heard to sing: "Enlightened through compassion, the innocent fool". To my mind, and even with the help of a German dictionary, this just does not seem to make much sense. Although it obviously refers to Parsifal, various interpretations could be made. To my mind, such ambiguous pronouncements draw attention away from the unfolding drama and towards the dramatist. The story is a mish-mash of biblical and other sources. I do not know where Sir Garwain comes from, but he sent a balsam for the king's wound.

During the wonderful march-like interlude between the two scenes of Act I there is light projected onto the scrim. In a darkened stage, the huge tree trunks slowly align, becoming parallel pillars in a stylized church, replete with beams, buttresses and wonderful ceiling oculus, rather like the Roman Pantheon, showing clear sky above. This is repeated in act III in a similar manner and as a theatrical device, it is a tour-de-force of the highest order. Having read the libretto, it is very close to the composer's specific instructions. It is hard to imagine how it could have been done prior to modern stage machinery.

Act II opens impressively with Klingsor standing on a landing at the top of a curved stone staircase in his 'magic castle'. Declaiming his bitter story, he finally calls on Kundry who is hibernating in a deep pit below. She is given instructions regarding seducing the handsome youth who was at that very moment climbing the battlement walls, in his effort to regain the Calvary spear of Amfortas. Kundry had been cursed to wander the world for all time after she laughed at Christ on the cross.

The use of a scrim causes characters at the front of the stage to appear as if they had 'black eyes' due to the incompatibility with front projection or foot lights. But it did permit amazing changes and contrasts, most notable perhaps in the shadowing from the trees, scene changes and fade-ins and outs.

The most amazing set change occurs when Klingsor orders the end of efforts to seduce Parsifal. His gay, magic realm is transformed before our eyes from floral decadent beauty to the bare remnants of a wintry garden lair. Almost instantly, plants and vines wither, while bright colours turn to shades of grey.

Klingsor now knows that the spear is lost, but, for reasons that are not clear, is also confident that Parsifal will never again find Amfortas and the grail guardians. He hurls the oversized weapon to Parsifal in one of the best stage tricks I have seen. Even a second viewing from better seats was every bit as impressive. There is a crack heard, a spark and a puff of smoke are seen and ... "buoy-yoi-yoing" the three metre spear is apparently thrown from the rear of the huge Met stage to be caught on the full by Domingo at the front of the stage. A little unnerving for patrons in the front rows, as it could have done some nasty damage if not caught in time! I learned that in fact Klingsor's spear was actually retracted in the smoke by strings pulled by stage hands while Domingo is presented with a fresh spear emerging vertically from the stage which he merely angles forward before the 'fog' clears.

We now know that Klingsor is 'done for' and Parsifal has the means to enter and even lead the brotherhood.

Act III starts on a sunny grassy verge, replete with creek and woods, sky and distant landscapes. There is even a 'mound' as ordered by the composer/librettist. The scrim showed a hint of the sunlight penetrating the thick copse of tall trees on the right side. Gurnemanz, now a hermit, is singing of the lost causes of the grail and suddenly finds Kundry apparently cold and hibernating on the forest floor. She lets out a wondrous shriek which is the first thing we know that she is in fact still alive (except for those who know she has more to sing). Once revived with some water from the rather odd looking spring, a knight appears in full armour, including full face helmet, carrying a 3 meter spear which we recognise from the last act.

A more mature looking Parsifal sings of the long fruitless journey in search of Amfortas, the castle and its knights. But Titurel the aged father of Amfortas has died, supposedly due to the son's inability to reveal the grail to the world. We are not told just who Amfortas is King of, nor why his father has apparently abdicated. Remarkably, Gurnemanz recognised Parsifal as the blameless youth who can become keeper of the grail. He determines to take him back to Amfortas to heal his wound with the instrument that created it.

Next scene we are back in the castle's stylized temple at Titurel's funeral with the prospect that the grail may be revealed one last time despite Amfortas' continuing illness and frailty. Enter Parsifal, strength replaces weakness, youth replaces age and light replaces darkness. For some reason Kundry is blessed and then drops down dead, apparently finally forgiven for giggling at JC on the cross long years earlier.

All in all, a very queer work which has an overlay of Christianity (which I find irritatingly incomplete), Teutonic mythology and just plain gory make-believe. Musically one has to concede there are no arias. But there are wonderful choruses mostly male, though there may be a children's choir off stage.

A female acquaintance said at the end: "not really a good opera for women's liberation". There is hardly a good word said about women in general although Parsifal regrets his maternal neglect at one stage if I recall correctly. Most of the women are painted in a rather negative light, nothing unusual for this and most past periods. Their main employs seem to be seduction, assault, child abuse, disrespect and witchcraft. Only Kundry features on the stage and she is one of the most esoteric characters in opera. And the music she is given by Wagner is equally shadowy and cryptic (and one of the vocal challenges of the repertory).

Not a night I wish to repeat in a hurry ... but one I am pleased to have attended nonetheless. I will leave others to describe the music, declamatory singing, orchestral playing etcetera. I just let it all wash over me and it was wonderful. Being totally different from other operas I have seen, I am not in a position analyse or judge further than this. It would be facile to say I heard bits of the Ring and Meistersinger ... and longed for a Wintersturm or Prize song. Parsifal has other gifts. With the medieval story, and a 'realistic' setting as dictated by the composer it is hard not to hark back to the Monty Pythons classics based on parallel themes (The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian).

There is a tradition at Wagner's own Bayreuth Festspeilhaus that there be no clapping during the opera, due to the 'gravity' and 'reverence' of the story, especially at the end of act I. This is ludicrous to my mind and is certainly not observed in New York. In Bayreuth and Sydney there are traditions of at least one long intermission (up to an hour) for patrons to guzzle beer and German sausage. Hardly reverent!

Some of the singing parts are not taken by the usual cast opera voices. Domingo did not have to sing any particularly high notes as far as I heard (cf Otello or Siegfried - not that Domingo sings the latter). It was more like a marathon than the Olympic hurdles. The part of Kundry was taken by Violeta Urmana, a Lithuanian mezzo soprano, yet it has apparently been sung by Gwyneth Jones and Maria Callas. This may say more about the singers than the part they were singing, but it is unusual in opera, if not unique (cf. Rosina, Adalgisa).

John Tomlinson sang a strong and sustained Gurnemanz while the King was played admirably by Hans-Joachim Ketelsen. Klingsor was again done by fine veteran Ekkehard Wlaschiha. Joyce Guyer played both first esquire (?instead of a boy soprano) and one of the excellent flower maidens (another was Danielle de Niese, strong voiced soprano from Melbourne).

James Levine and his orchestra received the most rapturous acclaim and well deserved it was. This opera makes incredible demands of all participants, but the orchestra has probably the hardest job of all.

If it comes to a theatre near you, just go see it!

comments by Andrew Byrne ..

Il Trovatore Thursday 4th April 2001

Il Trovatore Thursday 4th April 2001

The week I arrived in New York the final performance of Acis and Galatea under Jane Glover's baton was on the same night as the last Trovatore at the Met, next door. For no particularly good reason, I ended up at the Met and will have to regret missing Acis & Galatea.

This was a REALLY strange Trovatore. I sat next to a woman who had seen every Met production of the opera since the war and she was shocked as each crazy scene unfolded in this 'alternative' show. Her face lit up as, in one of the breaks, I asked about Bjorling and Merrill in the roles. And she had actually met Jan Peerce personally! (And his name is pronounced J-A-N as in the month).

But back to the production, or should I say the lack of it? We were introduced to two huge swinging flats intersecting centre stage. One was white with dark clouds above while the other was dark with light clouds. An angulated return allowed the quite useful device of having two people visible on stage but each out of each other's sight. [This is also used by MAD comic in the 'spy versus spy' section, just before one blows the head off the unsuspecting other, around the corner.] At least twice in the opera this is used to advantage - first when Leonora mistakes Di Luna for Manrico in the dark. In the monastery scene they also placed the men around the corner from each other, thus they were visible from the audience but not to each other.

The soprano was wonderful African American, Michele Crider. She had a bit of a beat in the voice but an accurate coloratura and perhaps a high, slightly sharp high 'D' when called on. [Her Amalia in Masked Ball the following week was even more suited to her ample dramatic voice.]

The surprise of the night was Russian Irina Mishura as Azucena. She was credible, consistent and vocally marvellous. She has already done Amneris and would be an asset to any company lucky enough to secure her services.

The men were not as impressive. Richard Margison started weakly. Off stage in his serenade he sounded hoarse and dry. But once warmed into this difficult part, he coped with 'Ah si ben mio' and just one verse of 'Di quella pira', with two high syllables ... the second clipped short. I was told that this show stopper was originally sung a few weeks ago from some sort of trapeze! There was apparently also a dramatic but near slap-stick entrance which had been 'cut' by the last performance of the current season which started in December with a different cast.

Valery Alexeev was an adequate DiLuna but somehow did not shine or go the extra mile. Carlo Rizzi seemed to take some parts faster and declined to allow the rubato needed to make the baritone's 'Il balen ..' more than workaday and adequate which is was.

Comparisons are odious, but Dennis O'Neil and Ian Vayne were streets ahead with Simone Young in Sydney last January. She insisted on two verses of everything!

They utilised no fewer than three different moons. One was large, red and round, more like Jupiter close-up. Another was a classic, cheesy ¼ moon appearing brighter than the clouds, and evidently BELOW them! A very queer look indeed! An extraordinary touch was, rather than an anvil, we saw an enormous suspended crucible of molten bronze high above the chorus. It was lowered at the end of the chorus to splatter white hot liquid into a hole in the stage.

Extraordinary! But to little dramatic effect, apart from drawing attention to the producers. It is easy to understand a small gipsy band beating some horse's hooves into shape, but smelting their own alloy is hardly credible! But this is opera!

The set for Di Luna's camp in Act III was a long banquet table across the stage cutting it into two with a swirling tiled red and white floor which was used throughout. It was more like a circus than the field of battle. And behind were three lines of hanging objects - quite mysterious - like a clothes line.

Updated and stylised opera. So 'anything goes'. But it failed to catch on. I rather liked the touch of Azucena clutching, fondling and finally hanging a framed picture of her long deceased mother in her 'stride la vampa' scene. Others I spoke to found it trite and unnecessary.

The Metropolitan season book states that this production is by Graham Vick and sets by Paul Brown. For some reason, neither name appears in the program. I wonder if changes after the opening involved these personalities distancing themselves from the current show. However noble the attempt at artistic heights, this production has little merit to my mind. Does it detract from the Verdi? If a majority think so then it should not be revived.

comments by Andrew Byrne .. (Sydney physician visiting New York)

Faust - Gounod - Sydney Opera House Feb 2001

Faust - Gounod - Sydney Opera House Feb 2001

Dear Colleagues,

What a spectacular show the Sydney holiday crowds were treated to! Gounod's Faust is a long and truly 'grand' opera and Ian Judge's production takes us on the ill-fated journey of the Devil in an original and stylish manner. Vinson Cole opened this production 4 years ago and it is hard to imagine anyone else doing it better. He is aloof yet the committed hedonist. He seems to use head and chest registers interchangeably, sometimes 'Italianate', sometimes more French-sounding with his totally reliable tenor line. He portrays the philosophical yet avid suitor in marvellous contrast to Siebel (Donna-Maree Dunlop), the youthful and doomed admirer of Marguerite (Patricia Racette). Yet almost everyone is doomed in this opera as I lost count of the corpses by the curtain.

Bruce Martin's booming Mefisto was the highlight of the evening and as confident 'master-of-ceremonies' he gave the most memorable of stage performances. The surprise of the night was Anthony Schroeder's Valentin. He sang with a crisp, high, accurate baritone and after a slightly nervous launch, sang a magnificent show-stopping 'Avant de quitter ces lieux'. His martial scenes and final stop-start death scene were also moving and creditable.

Like Cole, Patricia Racette has sung great roles at the Met in New York and her many qualities shone in Faust. Like most great divas, she warmed up and following a good first half with more-than-adequate Jewel Song, she developed into a power house of vocal stamina at the same time as her persona declined through despair, madness and death. She interacted wonderfully with her stage colleagues and was totally believable in this rather unbelievable conservative Catholic role.

Emmanuel Plasson's conducting was intense and particular from what I could glean at the end of Row F. He had the orchestra sounding in top form with tempi which were sympathetic to my ear. The wonderful waltzes, choruses (the final one taken in the auditorium boxes) and rather odd introductory piece give plenty of scope for the pit to show their wares. The violin is as exposed as it ever gets at the end of 'Salut demeur et chaste' - the splendid singing being matched with the highest quality orchestral playing.

The chorus was used by Ian Judge to great effect as bright faces in the gloom (Nigel Levings' classy job lighting this show). They were also fast movers in the ballroom scene. Standing stock still with wet umbrellas seemed a little odd at the end but the sound of rain before the final applause broke the dreadful tension of the night's calamitous carnage on stage.

comments by Andrew Byrne ..

Otello with Bergonzi - a sad event indeed.

Carnegie Hall

Wednesday 3rd May 2000

A sad event indeed. Carlo Bergonzi's late return to the stage as the Moor in Otello was unedifying. This may be the first serious error of judgement for the wonderful Eve Queller whose 'risk taking' is legendary as leader of the Opera Orchestra of New York.

Having sung pitiably in Acts I and II, which were run together, the 75 year old hopeful retired 'indisposed'. Bergonzi's voice had some pleasant middle register notes but highs and lows were not comfortable and in some cases completely inaudible. The 'Esultate ..' was flawed only because he chose to sing the final ornament which simply did not come off. Another high note cracked in the next scene while one long, held high note was almost a whole semi-tone flat. Several notes in 'Ora e per sempre addio..' were then simply sung an octave lower to avoid the high parts. As if using a 'crystal set', he clutched his left ear before each high note or phrase, only then to sing most of them quite flat. It was undignified and painful.

After an over-long intermission, Carlo Bergonzi was replaced by Antonio Barasorda who sang beautifully. He clearly knew the part, casting aside the music stand and just delivering Otello as the part should be sung. He had apparently sung in Tosca, Carmen and Turandot at the City Opera in the early 1990s according to a local I spoke to.

Kallen Esperian as Desdemona was simply impeccable. Her performance was stylish and graceful. Iago was to have been Leo Nucci but Alberto Gazale sang at short notice in his absence, singing well and possibly receiving the biggest ovation. Jianyi Zhang was also a fine Cassio. The supporting singers, chorus, children and orchestra were all 'first class'.

The orchestra played well and there were several innovations with the trumpets marking the return of the messenger from Venice played from the auditorium, left, right and rear. The rustic villagers' and children's chorus in honour of Desdemona was played to the accompaniment of 3 'strummed strings': a guitar and two other banjo or ukulele-type instruments.

But the night was auspicious in several other respects. All three of the 'three tenors' appeared for the event and occupied a box. Domingo had sung Sigmund the night before. They were all rehearsing a Met Gala of one act each from Carmen, Andrea Chenier and Turandot. Pavarotti sat at the back, chatting didactically to Carreras during the long intermission. After the announcement before act 3, they all left but Domingo returned to join his partner in their original seats. I was told that Licia Albanese, Aprile Millo, Anna Moffo and Lucine Amara were also in the audience.

I would commend this attempt, but suggest that the ends of careers often coincide with the beginnings of others. There will probably be more pluses than minuses from the night's debacle.

Comments by Andrew Byrne ..

La Clemenza di Tito at the NYCO - a magnificent evening in every respect

New York City Opera

Sat 15th April 2000

Role	Artist
Tito	Mark A. Thomsen
Sesto	Lorraine Hunt Lieberson
Vitellia	Marie Plette
Publio	Jake Gardner
Servilia	Tracy Dahl
Annio	Laura Tucker

La Clemenza di Tito at the NYCO was a magnificent evening in every respect. The voices and orchestra did the piece justice, while the production was at once sympathetic and æsthetic.

The set was a typical fenestrated Roman red-brick wall 'ruin' as back-drop with a full-width raised walkway behind a well trodden lawn and prominent paved podium. The costumes and (very) few props were European 18th century.

How Titus got his reputation for mercy is a mystery. He reigned for only 2 years and was previously notorious for his cruelty in the war with the Jews, killing up to 500 hostages every day in the siege of Jerusalem, according to Christopher Jones in the program notes. His reign also saw the eruption of Vesuvius (hardly of his doing!) and a huge fire on the Capitol destroyed the Temple of Jupiter and other major buildings. There was also a major plague in Rome - from which Titus himself also succumbed.

It is said that Domitian, his younger brother and successor, was so despised during his 15 year reign that memories of ANY previous emperor would have been held fonder. Needless to say, Jewish historians was not as kind to Titus, having destroyed the Second Temple.

'La Clemenza' has a surfeit of soprano voices with both Sesto and Annio being written for castrati. Titus is a challenging, high tenor role. It has more demands and fewer rewards than Don Ottavio, for instance. For other male voices, there is only one aria and short concerted pieces for Publio, the sole baritone.

From its short introductory piece to its amazing and rhythmic ending this opera is full of innovation. I once disliked opera seria, but now I hear things that make me believe that Wagner, Rossini and others took cues from this consummate example. Although Clemenza has fallen from an early favour with the public, it clearly brought some new blood to the composers who followed. It is as though Mozart knew he would soon be dead within months and 'more of the same' would simply not do.

Listen to the woodwinds! Hear the 'syncopation' effect of the last moments of the opera. Marvel at the what might be the orchestral precursors of the Rossinian patters. Listen to the range of voice required for the rôles. Despite a generally low tessitura, Vitellia has notes up to a D. Witness the staggering dramatic effects of frustration, indecision and conflicts of love, friendship and duty which are so reflected in the music.

But I digress. People know 'Parto, parto ..' and the first act duet but this opera is full of other melodies to take home, some being very complex and 'long line', the more so in Act II. This may have allowed Bellini and Rossini to make the melodic innovations they did.

Marie Plette sang a suitably schizophrenic Vitellia and Sesto was played with panache by Lorraine Hunt Lieberson. Mark Thomsen was a commanding emperor, if imperfect vocally. Tracy Dahl and Laura Tucker also sang well. Jake Gardner as Publio was also good, but he just did not have enough music to sing.

The orchestra was small as befits the period, with the benefit (one assumes) of the newly installed State Theater "enhancement" (is it amplification?) which was not obtrusive to my ear. In place of a harpsichord there appeared to be a grand piano. The volume was more than adequate with sympathetic tempi from mæstro Harry Bicket.

There was then the biggest ovation I have heard in NYC for quite some time with repeated bravos and even standing ovations from some. Remarkable too, was the appearance in the curtain calls of a production representative (was it Stephen Wadsworth the director?). I have never seen this done before at the END of a season!

comments by Andrew Byrne ..

PS - after I posted a shortened version of this 'review' on a popular internet list to my surprise, I received by reply the following note from the director: "Hi there Dr. Byrne, City Opera passed on your internet report of LA CLEMENZA DI TITO to me last night, and I thought I'd let you know that yes, indeed, that WAS Stephen Wadsworth who took a bow with the company. And we are glad you enjoyed it. Best, Stephen Wadsworth"

Idomeneo, an opera seria by WA Mozart

Sydney Opera House

Fri 11 Feb 2000

Dear Colleagues,

I have a confession to make. I walked out at half time. Yes, despite a competent orchestra, a world-class conductor (Christopher Hogwood), a world famous opera which does not need my approval (Idomeneo), excellent principal roles and a 'lovely' traditional production, I just had to go.

The audience included Joan Sutherland (a one-time Elettra), Richard Bonynge, their fine friend Chester, Bronwyn Bishop our minister for the Queen's Navy, Donald McDonald, Olympics festival organizer, Adrian Colette, opera general manager as well as a coterie of hangers-on. But I could not bear another minute.

It started at 7pm and was diabolical. Even with a large papered audience it was still 3/4 full on a Friday night which not a good sign for the budget. I sat next to a young English tourist for whom it was his first exposure to opera. He may never return to the opera house so long and 'difficult' was the night. What a pity he could not see the beautiful Pearlfishers for which there were no seats to be had this week.

I used to classify Idomeneo with Clemenza di Tito but they are chalk and chinoiserie. One is Mozart's debt to the past and the other is his gift to the future. And I am the first to admit that my patience ends at archaeology. Those who stayed for the rest of the performance deserved everything they got (and I am sure it was fine).

[Outside the theatre tonight was the opening salvo of the Sydney Mardi Gras, held on the steps of the opera house, quite a contrast to what was going on within. A free drag show, à la belle étoile!]

At least in act one, I can report that Deborah Riedel sang Elettra well, as did Emma Matthews and Kirsti Harms as Ilia and Idamante. John Mark Ainsley was an elegant Idomeneo. Jaewoo Kim sang Arbace with conviction. The chorus, Trojans and Cretans, were excellent, yet the night did not catch on for me so I hastened to our local Italian restaurant for consolation and sustenance.

By 9.30pm I was enjoying a bowl of sweet potato gnocchi with chicken and Gorgonzola washed down with a fine Vernaccia in Victoria Street.

By the way, I heard the Pearlfishers again this week and American tenor David Miller again sang and acted to the highest calibre. He made an intriguing change at the very end of 'Je crois ententre' in which he left out the final highest phrase, replacing it with one single legato note which seemed to go on to eternity. He must not have felt confident with the written notes, although his opening night had been flawless. It must be one of the most difficult arias ever written for the tenor voice. This ending was in no way inferior and it was just one change in a tighter and more held-together performance of this rarely heard opera.

Is my prejudice (or petticoat) showing? See you at the Met Ring in April.

Comments by Andrew Byrne ..

Met Lucia in the original key plays to empty seats.

Lucia di Lammermoor. 5 Oct 1999, Lincoln Center.

Lucia di Lammermoor. 'Original 1835 version'.

Ashton - Roberto Frontali
Raimondo - Paul Plishka
Lucia - Andrea Rost
Edgardo - Frank Lepardo
Arturo - Matthew Polenzani
c. - Charles Mackerras

There were no bagpipes but this 'authentic' Lucia might have been improved by the addition of a helping of haggis. This version was inspired by years of research by Charles Mackerras, 'American born of Australian parents' according to the program notes. I suspect the decision was born of a disdain for the New York opera audience, a fatal flaw in a person of the theatre. And there were LOTS of empty seats - in every section. Not as bad as Moses und Aron, though. I wonder if Ruth Anne Swenson will sing to empty seats in her 'regular rendition' in November with 'incorrect' keys?

The opera was a continuing disappointment with every high note for soprano omitted. While the harpist had found some extra ornamentation and some music I had not heard before, she omitted the last and most difficult final bars of Lucia's entrance to the fountain scene. So much for 'originality'! The 'triple cadenza' at the end of the fountain scene was included in both Sutherland recordings although she rarely did it all on stage.

Reams were written in the New York Times and the night's program about the justification for performing Lucia without the high notes. Mackerras writes that the traditional cadenza in the Mad Scene was 'completely anachronistic' and that the original 'dying fall' is much more 'touching and appropriate'. It was stated that the flute obbligato would be replaced by the rarely heard 'glass harmonica' but it sure sounded like a flute to me. I could not hear any glass harmonica although I sat in row 3 of the orchestra. It was said that these were Donizetti's original keys and that the arias would sound much more immediate and exciting. They did sound good, but all the more getting us ready for the climax which, of course, never came. It reminded me of the last dress rehearsal I ever went to, Sutherland's last Sydney Lucia in which she also omitted the high notes (to conserve the voice for opening night, on which she gave us, as always, the full magilla).

There were fine performances however. Frank Lepardo, American tenor who I first heard over a decade ago in Cosi fan Tutte in Florence (with Bartoli and Mehta), saved this show from total embarrassment. He sang with confidence, power, accuracy and great beauty. His tomb scene was deservedly cheered. There were shades of Jan Peerce who I only heard on 78s.

Roberto Frontali also proved to be an excellent singer, taking risks, complex turns and accidentals at times. Mercifully, the fabulous storm scene had been reinstated and the duet for baritone and tenor was about as good as opera gets. No omitted notes here, and the tympani sounded like an earthquake.
Matthew Polenzani sang well as the ill-fated groom. He fulfilled that promise from his Almaviva at NYCO last year. He has a crisp, confident ringing tenor which should go a long way.

It was almost disappointing that Miss Rost sang so well since, after ornamented, tuneful music that we all know so well, she consistently faded away, even turned around and departing the stage while we were still expecting a thrilling high D or E flat. Try to imagine the end of the Mad Scene with no applause from the Met audience! The music just went on after an embarrassing pause. A devastated and 'winded' audience tried to cope with this calculated let-down. We were then served 'Spargi d'amoro ...' which, though well, or even excitingly sung, ended on an absent note swallowed somewhere instead of the E flat (or D flat) that we have always been used to.

Rost has a capable and piercing voice as also shown by her recordings. She can project a high tessitura into this vast Met house with ease. Her E flats on recording sound full and crisp. She acts tolerably although she is still light years away from the Callas/Sutherland legacy.

Paul Plishka deserves comment. It would be unfair not to start by acknowledging the 33 years of unbroken service this marvellous big baritone (sometime bass) has given the Met. But as Raimondo he only approached greatness occasionally. He looks like a Halloween monster with black holes for eyes. The voice has developed a wide wobble which he commendably controls where possible. On exposed notes, however, it is just ugly and it may be time for him to step aside for a younger artist. It must be said that he has the only voice at the Met that I have ever heard with an echo repeat.

It was a strange manoeuvre of this conductor to draw attention to himself and reduce one of the great operas almost to the banal in the process. I believe in musical archaeology but it does not belong in the mainstream theatre at our expense. My sympathy went to young folk in the theatre hearing the opera for the first time. They may never bother with Lucia again - and just wonder at why people go wild over this show.
The production used combinations of two set designs appropriate to Scotland. A massive rough sedimentary rock escarpment contrasted well with gilded Gothic 'Tudor' interiors including massive stained glass windows. The costumes were traditional style.


Lucia will always remain one of my favourite pieces, despite its detractors' claims of kitsch; formulae; high notes and orchestral simplicity ... it will ever be a vehicle for great artists.


Charles Mackerras has lost points in my little book for his killjoy actions.
　

comments by Andrew Byrne ..
currently visiting New York, on usual email.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dr Andrew Byrne,
General Practitioner, Drug and Alcohol,
75 Redfern Street,
Redfern,
New South Wales, 2016,
Australia
Tel (61 - 2) 9319 5524 Fax 9318 0631
Email ajbyrne@ozemail.com.au
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author of: "Methadone in the Treatment of
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Cenerentola with Cecelia Bartoli

Review the Metropolitan Opera premiere of La Cenerentola (Cinderella) by Rossini. Thursday 16th October, 1997.

The Met has pulled out all the stops for this one. And it is the first time they have done the opera. The New York Times had a two page article describing the Bartoli phenomenon and warning of regular cancellations, limited repertoire and limited size of the voice.

A fabulous cast was mustered and a new production/design team who had not worked at the Metropolitan previously. And the night did not disappoint.

The show had been marketed heavily as the only night of the season which was more expensive, being billed as a 'Gala benefit'. Even Pavarotti in Turandot is regular price ($US24 - $125). Every ticket had its face value plus a 'contribution'. For enthusiasts with the really big money, $700 allowed one to sit in the best 'orchestra' seats and to attend a fully catered sit-down supper with the cast in the circle foyer facing Broadway. I was told that the flower arrangements on each table cost over $200. They certainly looked spectacular, the tables all set with cutlery, crockery and glassware and hundreds of matching reproduction gilded Chippendale chinoiserie chairs looked very at home in this temple of 1960s taste.

That the interval audience was compressed into half the usual space mattered not to the management. You pay for the opera, not the intervals!

The orchestra is always well received here and with James Levine at the helm there is a veritable fan club in evidence. He took the overture (a typical rollicking Rossini jewel) andante until the accelerando came at such a pace it was hard to imagine how everyone would keep up. But they did and it was quite extraordinary at such a cracking pace. The synfonia contains tricks of the instruments, tempi and melodies galore, yielding a round of delight from the audience.

The production's design was based on a vertical thick stripe decor coloured bright blue. The curtains, backdrop, walls and hangings were in a similar vein. A pervading decay was most evident in a smashed mirror, peeling wall-paper, cracked walls and especially effective in a leaking ceiling during the second act storm scene. Bartoli as Cinderella, the disgraced daughter cum servant, ran from place to place with buckets and bowls, finally handing the master an umbrella which was then struck by lightning. Clever stage effects had flames shoot up from several other parts of the interiors simultaneously. The smoking remnants of the umbrella offered little protection to a deflated and soggy Don Magnifico.

Two features of the old Cinderella story are not to be found in the opera libretto. But this is New York and anything and everything goes. In front of the curtain was a line of party shoes, à la Mrs Marcos. These were skillfully scattered by Cenerentola on the Prince's arrival. [It is actually a bracelet which the prince matches to identify his sweetheat in the opera.] The end of the first act party scene saw numerous huge gilded clockfaces showing midnight through doorways - and these were featured on the (free) programmes for the entire Fall season. There were no pumpkins but this was pantomime fantasy at its best.

We were given the first hint of clever stagecraft when Don Magnifico describes his dream of a winged donkey landing on a church steeple. The set duly parts at one of the settlement cracks revealing a cartoon donkey settling onto a picture book bell tower.

It would take pages to tell of all the theatrical tricks at play here: a noose net for the family caught in Alidoro's web; a 2 metre high wedding cake; a collapsing couch, doors to nowhere; flying 'tardis' box to spirit Cinderella away; chorus appearing from floor-boards, chimney and false doors; very-bad-taste sisters' costumes to win prizes.

So how was the singing? Well, quite extraordinary, really. Though not being possessed of a huge voice, Cecilia Bartoli was able to husband her resources efficiently, focus her characterisation and project in a way which was remarkable. There was not a hint of bellow or strain and she connected with the whole audience of almost 4000.

Her colleagues - friends and foes - all sang with equal style and musicality. Alidoro, the master of ceremonies was played by Michele Pertusi, Don Magnifico by Simone Alaimo, Dandini by Alessandro Corbelli, Prince Ramira by Ramón Vargas. Vargas, with a facile if slightly dry tenor, was incomparable in the most florid passages and it is indeed remarkable that he can sing such diverse rôles as he does.

Despite the appearance of Lucia and Barber of Seville, it is claimed that James Levine has steered the Met away from the bel canto repertoire. The Bartoli factor steered him back. And here is complex, light but intense bel canto at its best, as Sydney audiences know.
This was a night to remember, and possibly even to write home about!

from: Andrew Byrne, presently visiting New York.

Madama Butterfly

Opera Australia, Sydney Opera House

Thurs 19th June 1997

Role	Artist
Pinkerton	Jay Hunter Morris
Sharpless	David McNicoll
Cio-cio-san	Cheryl Barker
Suzuki	Ingrid Silveus
Cond.	Patrick Summers

I personally disliked almost everything about this opera performance. The previous AO production was absolutely traditional, closely following the very detailed instructions given by Puccini and his librettist. It was highly regarded and had a very long run at the various Australian opera houses in which it played for over a decade. While fresh from a distance one could understand that parts of it were tattered and threadbare close-up.

So the new production had to be different. It had to suit the music and yet not distract.

It was certainly different. It contained almost nothing Japanese. There were no natural traditional Asian materials, fabrics, flowers, vistas or colours. No cane, bamboo or paper ornaments. Japanese do not insult easily, but the clumsy attempts at western impressions of the sunrise empire might have offended purists, just as the opera itself again puts America into a sorry light. Recycled staging ideas were aplenty.

Beginning from the top: the conductor commencing proceedings un-announced (cf. Otello), pond surrounding stage (cf. Tristan), paddling servants (Midsummer night's dream), draw-bridges (cf. Hoffmann), dressed, on-stage stage hands (cf. Bohème), silk ribbon dance (cf. Turandot), stars above set (cf. Tosca, and why did they move?), Tussaud-like framed figures (cf. Aida and others), vertical sliding screens (cf Ruddigore, Miss Saigon). Butterfly's entrance was no procession, except vocally. The death scene was also a major let down for me. The dagger did not seem to make its mark and Pinkerton, though heard, was not evidenced by anything but a nylon curtain blowing in the breeze (cf. Otello act III). Even Butterfly's flag was the post-war rising sun ensign.

The draining of the canals after the 'petal' diaspora misfired badly. Although there was nothing visible, much of the audience was reminded of the pissoir from the sound of the on-stage plumbing.

But what was new? The voices, or absence thereof in the case of the men. The visiting tenor had a big write up in the press. Like an alarm clock, his top was intact and exciting. What they did not tell us was that there was a weak mid-voice. Sharpless was also new to me - he sang quietly so as not to attract attention. I made a point of sitting in the front circle.

Only the ladies could really be heard from my position. Cheryl Barker's Butterfly was vocally superb. She took all the hard options, holding notes, avoiding breathes and injecting feeling and pathos into her hopeless state in this relentless plot.

Ingrid Silveus was equally moving as the ever-trusting handmaiden, Suzuki.

Patrick Summers, much as we appreciate his returns to Australia, was over indulgent with the tempo. One by one on opening night, the principal singers struggled, and failed to keep up with his unrealistic pace. This is so unnecessary in an opera where accuracy and poise matter. Individual orchestra members are often exposed in intimate moments and they played well and with due deference to this important music.

The audience response was rapturous and I was not in the majority in my flat feeling at the end. So much the reviewer's lot!

This production will improve with time. For my money it would be hard to do anything which would be to its detriment. It is a great advertisement for the concert performance when you run out of original and pertinent ideas to support the opera libretto.

Comments by Andrew Byrne ..

The Dangerous Liaisons - San Francisco Opera

The Dangerous Liaisons: Opera by Conrad Susa, libretto by Philip Littell.

Review by Andrew Byrne

San Francisco is privileged to have an opera company of a standard higher than one might expect for the size of the city. In some years it vies for a place in the top few in the world. Despite reputed financial troubles the cast lists read like a who's who of world opera in the 1990s with an ambitious season heavily subscribed. This included the newly commissioned American opera, The Dangerous Liaisons, music by Conrad Susa, libretto by Philip Littell.

The world première production uses the book's French setting and period (c.1780), a time of decadence and excess for some. By contrast, the production shows none of this, everything having a purpose towards the finale's terrible humiliation. Though in English, surtitles ensured the 3000-plus audience kept abreast of the story's intricacies. The scenery was by back-projection of woods, cloisters, pavilions, rich interiors and other fantasies, augmented by large lateral mirrors, at times fenestrated with translucent hanging panels. This allowed smooth scene changes as well as clever conjoint scenes where parties dictate and receive correspondence simultaneously. The ornate period costumes are richly coloured and the few necessary props of chairs, writing tables, keys and most important, beds, are continental inspired.

The wicked weaver of the web of deceit is the Marquise de Merteuil, played with regal duplicity by Frederica von Stade. Her character development is as complex as her vocal lines and she was equal to both demands. Her final return is most moving. In pink and red, with mirrors now swung inwards, she has survived humiliation and smallpox and her punishment is to live. Her final declamation is most appropriate for a story revolving around inappropriate and excessive appetites: I'm hungry! reminiscent of Bernstein's Candide: Any questions?!

The evil Cassanova figure of Visconte de Valmont is most ably played by Thomas Hampson, now a much sought-after singer on several continents. Successively four women are seduced by him: complete with bedroom scenes for three! He is given some beautiful music, as well as some poetry of substance which he combines in a credible characterisation.

As Madame de Tourvel, the rejected but only real lover, Renée Fleming was most exciting singing her exacting vocal lines in a high tessitura.

The young music teacher and paramour, who is 'friend', rival and finally the successful dueller over de Valmont, is played by Australian, David Hobson, making his international debut. Although two-timing like everybody else, his yearnings and regrets had the sincere conviction called for. He had much worthwhile music to sing and did it ample justice. More use could perhaps have been made of his unique, seamless coloratura abilities considering the part was actually written for him.

Judith Frost, Johanna Meier, Mary Mills, Elizabeth Bishop and Laura Claycomb made up the coterie involved in this romantic blackmail.

The musical score was imaginative, sympathetic and often tuneful. There was a mix of modern with clever use of formal quasi-baroque passages when the story line required. In raucous and raunchy sections, Susa has the orchestra doing some unconventional but effective manoeuvres. The storm scene also employs original orchestration, culminating in a clever dripping rhythm as the chateau's drainage dominates the wind and rain. Under Donald Runnicles' baton, the orchestra is one of the most disciplined I have heard.

Dangerous Liaisons is an ideal vehicle for an opera, with great opportunities for emotional sentiment, both for solo and concerted pieces. Philip Littell, succeeds in getting the story across, though not always in the most beautiful English. In his choice of words, he often avoids French or Latin derivatives, preferring less sympathetic Teutonic forms which sound wrong in this setting. A joy of writing in English is its vast vocabulary. He also needs to rework some parts such as de Danceny's repeated refrain, I want to love your whole, earning a distracting giggle from those prone. Words such as superfluous are best avoided in song. All considered, the poet does create art from all these variables.

Is this a new opera for the repertoire? Perhaps. All may judge when the video and sound track are released later in the year.