Intermezzo

La Ceci vs. JDF - who's the coloraturest ?

Bootlegs hit planet opera!

A YouTube gem - Cecilia Bartoli and Juan Diego Flórez  - whose skillz are maddest?

On the tables: Ah non potrian resistere + Cessa di più resistere + Non più mesta

Cecilia Bartoli breathes life into Clari

Clari - Opernhaus Zürich, 29 May 2008 

(Go here for loads more photos, including curtain call.)

Fromental Halévy's Clari was in its day little more than a showcase for legendary 19th century diva Maria Malibran. The resuscitation of this almost beyond-obscure opera - its first since its 1828 debut - is down to Cecilia Bartoli's ongoing interest in Malibran's repertoire.

Produced for the Théâtre Italien, the home of Italian opera in Paris, and unlike Halévy's better-known La Juive, it respects the prevailing house style with a massive stylistic debt to Rossini.

Of course, as ever, we must bow down to la Ceci for locating this morsel and cranking the mighty wheels that have transformed it from score to show. But make no mistake, this is no lost masterpiece. The style may be Rossini's, but Clari displays little of the maestro's inventiveness, or his melodic gifts. The plot is slim, the libretto borderline cringemaking. It's amenable enough, but even so, it's no surprise that this is its first revival. It requires a mezzo of superhuman abilities and three good octaves to display its one redeeming virtue, a number of spectacular arias. Step forward Cecilia Bartoli.

This Clari's other saving grace is a flamboyant production, effervescent with wit, courtesy of producers Leiser and Caurier, and the talented cast and technical crew. The intelligence, artistry and craftsmanship behind this show flatter Halévy's modest offering almost beyond belief. Technically it's an opera semi seria, but most of the seria is wisely sacrificed in favour of comic momentum, the libretto's bald spots creatively combed over with sumptuous sets and arresting stage business.

The story in brief - Clari is the tale of an innocent peasant girl. Seduced and promised marriage by a louche Duke, she finds herself his kept woman instead. A play staged at her birthday party seems to her to echo her predicament, and makes her realise the shame and distress her father must be suffering. She leaves the Duke and returns to her parents in the country. The Duke meanwhile realises he truly loves her. He follows her and reaffirms his promise of marriage, and everyone lives happily ever after.

And here's how Leiser and Caurier attack it, with Zurich Opera's own photos. Act I begins with the Duke, a moustached and suspiciously camp playboy in tennis whites and glitter hairgel, preparing for Clari's birthday. This guy has cash, and he's spent it on a couple of supersized lime Florence Knoll settees and a corridor full of Matisses and Picassos.

Uniformed in bumblebee stripes, the servants Germano and Bettina rehearse the play they plan to present at the party, and the Duke shows everyone the whopping great scarf-sized diamond necklace he plans to give to Clari.

Off they troll, leaving the stage to Clari. How many divas could pull off a sparkly blue knitted suit with matching shoes and pillbox? Bartoli, in a surprisingly flattering blonde wig, just about manages it, a mere micron away from tranny airhostess. She reminisces about her old life in the country. A tragic aria, beautifully sung of course, but dramatically ohso dull, is subverted by the preposterous slide illustrations that appear framed behind her like thought bubbles.   

The Duke re-enters, now in a hideous gold lame suit and white robe. He tries to interest Clari in some romantic action, but she's starting to have doubts.

The wall behind them rises to reveal a room full of party guests. Some truly fabulous fifties and sixties style costumery here - sourced from vintage suppliers, or faithfully recreated? Who knows. Lucky chorus, anyway.

Clari has changed into a pink prom dress, an iconic complement to la Ceci's figure and personality. And matching shoes - Rene Caovilla? - I couldn't quite catch the sole logo, even with opera glasses. The room's main decoration is a gigantic incongruous King Kong head, studiously ignored by all present.

The servants' play begins. A poor country girl is whisked away to a Duke's castle, while back home, her father laments. It's the 19th c equivalent of reality TV, and even Clari can see the Lesson to be learnt here. She throws herself weeping on the servant acting the father's part, to everyone's surprise. Then she scales the King Kong, which, mysteriously, slides slowly forward. So it's not just a useless piece of ugly furniture after all! Act I ends with her standing on King Kong's shoulder.

Act II is set in a hyper-real and timeless hospital waiting room, complete with institutional chairs, water fountain, and coffee machine. Pyjama-clad oldsters wander in and out. Nurses sit behind a window. Clari's behaviour at the party has embarrassed the Duke, and he leaves her here under Germano and Bettina's observation to detox or rehab or whatever.

Everyone leaves Clari except Bettina, who falls asleep. Alone, Clari despairs of her situation. This is the only truly tragic section of the production, and to be honest, it drags just a weeny bit. The only moments of light relief are a clever touch where a nurse behind the window appears to be playing the harp (which is actually being played in the pit), and Clari's suicide attempt, an attempted injection from a half-gallon syringe.

Clari seizes her opportunity and sneaks out. Germano returns, Bettina wakes. Where is Clari? Bettina was supposed to be watching her. Panic! When the Duke finds she's gone, he decides he really loves her after all, and he'll follow her and find her. Aaahhh.

Act III opens with that surefire crowd pleaser, a real car. Less risky than animals, less overdone than underpants. A good old fashioned coup de théâtre. Coated in sand, it rolls in front of the deliberately crudely-painted mountain backdrop, carrying the Duke and the faithful Germano and Bettina. The Duke is now in a floor length white fur-collared coat. Pure Gunter Sachs 1968, and utterly fabulous.

The Duke sings about how much he loves and misses Clari. This is such a tricksy JDF-test of an aria, and so brilliantly sung by John Osborn, that it almost threatens to upstage everything Clari's done so far. But not quite.

Off rolls the car, and a swift scene change reveals two grim, cell-like rooms. On the left, welly-clad peasants sing their love of the country life. On the right is a kitchen housing Clari's parents. Mother watches the cooking. Father watches TV, with a pig asleep at his side. The peasants leave and the parents bemoan Clari's fate. Clari appears in wellies and overall, and reveals herself to her surprised mother.

She hides from her father, but when she hears he's about to hang himself out of shame, she rushes out and stops him. The Duke and his retinue arrive, and the Duke seals his favourable intentions towards Clari with a suitcase of money offered to the grateful parents (not in the libretto, but a splendidly cynical touch).

A screen with a cutout heart descends. Clari steps through the heart and sings behind a cardboard cut out bride and groom. The Duke appears and embraces her. Curtain and screen draw back to reveal a stage full of happy peasants and - cutout cows! So Clari must be Swiss! For many in the Zurich audience, this is the happiest part of the happy ending.

Musically and dramatically, this was a performance of incredibly high standards, capped by Bartoli's effortless perfection in the title role and conductor Adam Fischer's empathetic response to her featherweight pianissimos and daring rubato. Warm and engaging, her comic turn never overstepped into buffoonery.

As the Duke, John Osborn's brilliant coloratura and no-stretch high notes made his difficult part sound easy. Eva Liebau's silvery bell-like soprano made for an enchanting Bettina. With stout support from Oliver Widmer as Germano, Carlos Chausson as Clari's father, and Stefania Kaluza as her mother, it was impossible to pick fault with any performance on stage, and the cast quite rightly got numerous curtain calls and (unusually for Zurich) a standing ovation.

The woodwind intonation could have been more accurate - a lot more accurate - but at least Orchestra Scintilla (Zurich Opera's specialist period ensemble) played with verve and enthusiasm, and Fischer never allowed the pace to flag.

lt was one of the best nights I've experienced all year, and a perfect demonstration of just what can be achieved when first rate talents are applied to second rate material. Despite this, I can't see Clari making its way into the repertoire - no-one less than Bartoli could at present do credit to the title role, and this has to be the definitive production. But wouldn't it be wonderful if one of the smaller houses could take this production (and Bartoli) up? It certainly deserves to be seen by more than the four housefuls who caught it in Zurich.

Thanks to the generosity and common sense of Zurich Opera House, I got loads of curtain call and other non-performance pics - find here.

Cecilia Bartoli returns to London

The Barbican have just announced some additional dates in their Great Performers 2008/9 season, including a visit from Cecilia Bartoli on 17 December.

Yes, OK, it's ten months away, but tickets will go quickly for this one, so best to get in while you can.

Full details and booking for all concerts here.

Back 4 Moar - Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican - again

Cecilia Bartoli - Barbican, 21 December 2007

If Cecilia Bartoli can manage two nights at the Barbican, then so can I. Her visits to London are so rare, it would have been a crime not to.

Same show as before, even the same frock, but no encore of Yo que soy contrabandista. The voice, lighter and even more flexible. Presumably she'd cast off the cold announced before the earlier show.

To assert that much of the 'Malibran' material is second rate is correct, but kind of beside the point. As is claiming that we'll never know what her voice sounded like. This tour is about experiencing a great performer at the height of her powers, one who captures the music with fluency and generosity of spirit, and in that Bartoli has captured the essence of the legendary Maria Malibran.

Cecilia Bartoli dazzles at the Barbican

Cecilia Bartoli/ Orchestra La Scintilla Zürich - Barbican, 19 December 2007

We were told pre-concert not to expect too much. Cecilia Bartoli was recovering from a cold and flu. Was it just a ploy to dampen expectations? Because apart from the tiniest settling-in, her entire performance was as close to perfection as it gets, her fabulous triple-octave voice under immaculate control. Although I love her baroque work too, the romantic style she focussed on tonight seems more tailored to her generous and exuberant personality. Whether steeped in pathos or bathed in joy, every song was delivered at peak intensity. It's a high-risk strategy, and at times she skated dangerously close to self-parody, but never quite crossed that line.

Incidentally, in the audience was Vivienne Westwood, resplendent in apricot coat and matching hair. She's designed frocks for Bartoli in the past, but tonight's spectacular red silk strapless gown with beaded embellishment and trailing hem came from Nina Ricci.

Everything she sang was taken from her recent Malibran recording. There's some phenomenally technically difficult stuff in there, and I don't think anyone would have been too disappointed if she'd not matched up. The surprise was that, if anything, she was even more impressive in person, with a richer palette, greater vitality, a more daring fioritura. She tossed off the triple back flips and headspins of the finale from Rossini's La Cenerentola with easy-peasy grace and phenomenal accuracy, but was just as impressive with the dramatic intensity of Mendelssohn's Infelice (which incidentally she has rescued from obscurity for this recording).

And some credit is also due to La Scintilla, the period instrument ensemble from the Zürich opera house orchestra. Not only did they accompany Bartoli, conductorless, most sensitively, but their instrumental interludes in between her arias were a cut above what's often provided at this sort of concert. 

OK, so they sped up during their crescendos and slowed down in the diminuendoes, but at least they achieved some consistent dynamic variation, something very hard to do without a conductor. And they played with a real joy and relish for what they were doing.

The encores seemed a little calculated, but were no worse for it. For the first, Rataplan from Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment, a drummer magically appeared to accompany Bartoli.

And for the second, Manuel Garcia's Yo que soy contrabandista from El Poeta Calculista, there was a whole band of Spanish flamenco players waiting in the wings to take the orchestra's place for a few minutes.

Arm-twisted by a standing ovation to provide a third encore, Bartoli reprised Non piu mesta from La Cenerentola - but extemporised differently from the first time, and quite brilliantly. I shall find out tomorrow night if Magdalena Kožená (at the Royal Opera House) can provide quite the same sparkle to it - but somehow I doubt it.

Barbican programme notes here

The full programme:
Manuel de Populo Vicente Garcia Overture from 'La figlia dell'aria'; 'E non lo vedo...Son regina' Semiramide's recitative and romanza from 'La figlia dell'aria'
Giuseppe Persiani 'Cari giorni' Ines's introduction and romanza from 'Ines de Castro'
Mendelssohn Scherzo from Octet in G minor op. 20 (arr. for orchestra); 'Infelice' scene and aria for voice, violin solo and orchestra (1834 London version)
Rossini Tempest from 'Il Barbiere di Siviglia'; 'Naqui all'affanno...non piu mesta' Angelina's scene and rondo from 'La Cenerentola'
Donizetti Andante and sostenuto from Concertino for Clarinet in B flat
Rossini 'Assisa al pie d'un salice' Desdemona's Willow Song and Prayer from 'Otello'; Overture from 'Il Signor Bruschino'
Michael William Balfe 'Yon moon o'er the mountains' Isoline's ballad from 'The Maid of Artois'
Hummel Tyrolean Air with Variations
Charles-Auguste de Bériot Andante tranquillo from Violin Concerto No 7 in op. 76
Bellini 'Ah, non credea mirarti...Ah, non giunge' Amina's Aria and cabaletta from 'La Sonnambula'