Intermezzo

Roberto Devereux ruffs it in Holland Park

Roberto Devereux - Opera Holland Park, 2 June 2009

Why were the Holland Park police out in force on Tuesday night? Perhaps they'd been tipped off that a duke, a dame and a queen might be lurking in the shrubbery. 

The duke was the music-loving Duke of Kent. He was joined in the stalls by Dame Joan Sutherland, whose husband Richard Bonynge was the evening's conductor. She snuck in quietly at the start, but someone clocked as she took her seat after the interval, and a few claps turned into an affectionate mass standing ovation.  The queen was Elizabeth I of England, or Elizabetta as Donizetti has her, regally portrayed by Majella Cullagh in ginger wig, windbreaker ruff and a farthingale big enough to conceal a basket of puppies. And white popsocks, but I don't think we were supposed to notice those.

Yes, Lindsay Posner has set Roberto Devereux as a Tudorbethan extravaganza in the Blackadder II style. Ruffs, doublets, breeches and thigh boots as far as the eye could see, though thankfully we were spared the codpieces. Peter McKintosh's set cleverly incorporated the auditorium's Jacobean backdrop, Holland House, behind a checkerboard floor, and Peter Mumford's flaming braziers and candles flickered atmospherically as night fell. If it hadn't been for the screaming peacocks and squealing kids competing for attention outside the tent, you could almost - almost - imagine yourself in the sort of opera house where they applaud the scenery (no names).

The high-panto flavour unfortunately underlined how Donizetti's eminently hummable tunes tend to strain against his searingly dramatic text ("you treacherous woman!" ~~pom tiddly pom~~ "I don't want tears, I want blood!"~~rum tiddly tum~~). And once they'd got over their first act nerves, the cast launched into a display of scenery chewing Joan Crawford would have been proud of. It was hard to engage with on a serious level, but I admit to finding it shamelessly enjoyable.

Whatever the doubts about the production, the musical quality was high. Richard Bonynge's steady pacing rarely dragged, and he always allowed the voices to shine through the difficult acoustic, despite the small size of some.

Majella Cullagh's secure grip of bel canto line carried her from regal authority to venomous rage. A little self-contained in the first act, she truly let rip after the interval, starting with a powerful slap to Devereux's cheek and ending with tearing off her wig to reveal the balding grey tufts of Wig#2 beneath.

Leonardo Capalbo's Devereux, though sometimes underplayed and undersung, displayed an attractive light, ringing tenor. His lack of chemistry with Yvonne Howard's dignified and gracefully-sung Sara was a major directorial weak spot. Julian Hubbard's Duca di Nottingham was capable though short on physical and vocal presence. Smaller parts were well taken, but the chorus was disappointingly weedy. It can't be easy for anyone to perform in front of THE Dame though, and I suspect all will improve as the run continues.

 

 

 

L’elisir d’amore resuscitated at the Royal Opera House

L’elisir d’amore - Royal Opera House, 12 May 2009

Only 18 months old, and already this Laurent Pelly production is looking tired. Actually, that's not quite fair. It's more that it leans too heavily on wow factor. Once you've seen the mountain of haystacks, the tenor on a tractor, the soprano on a Mobylette, and the most adorable Jack Russell ever - well, that's it really. You don't need to see it again. In 2007 I was persuaded, but second time around the sparkle of novelty has gone. Still, the fifties setting has an innocent charm, even if the relentless mugging of the cast grates after a while.

The best thing in the production by some distance is Diana Damrau's Adina (in SJP wig). Her bantering brother/sister relationship with Giuseppe Filianoti's Nemorino was beautifully handled, and sweetly touching when it melts into love. Effortless rippling coloratura topped off the silvery brilliance of her singing.

Filianoti is another question. His acting is terrific - never was there a more amiable dimwit. And he has a real rapport with Damrau. He sings cleanly I suppose, he hits the notes. But his tone is patchy, his colouring limited, and his top end is effortfully stretched, with only a spot of naughtily-interposed falsetto saving Una furtiva lagrima from crash-and-burn.

What about the rest? Thankfully Simone Alaimo's well-practiced Dulcamara was the real thing - I suspect in spite of the direction rather than because of it. I couldn't see why the lovely Adina would fall for Anthony Michaels-Moore's stiff and formal Belcore though. A little more oily charm was needed. Eri Nakamura had enough stage presence to make Giannetta's two minutes of glory memorable.

I'm not sure what conductor Bruno Campanella was aiming for. Clean, vibrato-free playing was combined with slowish, sometimes sluggish pacing - was he simply being considerate of certain singers? At least the pit/stage co-ordination was as accurate as we can hope for, and we were spared the ghastly village band sound favoured by many visiting conductors.

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Cecilia Bartoli - the credit crunch diva

Cecilia Bartoli / Sergio Ciomei "Soirée Rossiniana" - Barbican, 17 December 2008

Rossini La regata veneziana - Three songs in Venetian dialect;  Bellini L’Abbandono, Il fervido desiderio, Vaga Luna, La Farfalletta, Dolente immagine,  Malinconia, ninfa gentile, Ma rendi pur contento;  Rossini Or che di fiori adorno, Beltà crudele, Canzonetta spagnuola, La danza;  Donizetti Il barcaiolo, Amore e morte, La conocchia, Me voglio fà‘na casa;  Rossini Ariette à l’ancienne, L’Orpheline du Tyrol, La grande coquette;  Viardot Havanaise, Hai luli!;  García Yo que soy contrabandista;  Malibran Rataplan

Encores:  Ernesto de Curtis Ti voglio tanto bene;  Montsalvatge Canto Negro;  Ernesto de Curtis Non ti scordar di me

This is fast becoming a regular annual date. If it's December, it must be Cecilia Bartoli time at the Barbican.

With no new album to promote this year, she chose instead a selection of salon music that she's sung for years. Her frocks too were old favourites - for the second half the thrifty Ceci wore the same red dress as last year, and before the break the same design in blue. And why not? Getting more from ur couture is a lesson every diva should learn in these creditcrunchy times.

Her accompaniment was economical as well - just the sweet cuddly pianist Sergio Ciomei. Did she bring her own sandwiches too? A flourish of twinkly diamonds proved she's hardly down to her last pennies though.

The songs were drawn largely from Rossini's Péchés de vieillesse, a huge collection of piano and vocal music he wrote after retiring from opera. (The piano works too will surprise anyone who thinks they 'know' Rossini - many have moments of greater 'orchestral' invention than the often hurriedly-written operas). Mr and Mrs Rossini hosted sparkling soirées where they would regale lucky guests with this music in a convivial atmosphere of food, drink and song. 

The songs may not be of the very first rank: as with bel canto opera, the texts often let them down and the harmonic progression can be pedestrian. But La Ceci treated every one like a favourite child, with love and tenderness, its character proudly displayed, its flaws utterly denied. Beaming at the audience, sensitive to every slight lapse in attention, every degree of response, she radiated the sheer joy of performing.

The electrifying coloratura of songs like La farfalletta and the tarantella La danza predictably generated the most ecstatic audience response. Cecilia Bartoli still has no peer in this - the grace, the agility, the effortlessness are beyond mere mortals.

But in dramatic narrative like the three songs of La regata veneziana, where a gondolier's girlfriend urges him to race victory, she did more - totally inhabiting the songs - she was that girl at the canalside, egging him on. And all without any unmusical effects - the line was beautiful and musically shaped.

Humour is perhaps her greatest strength. Not many classical musicians can make songs funny - even when they're written with that purpose in mind. But La Ceci's naturally sunny personality combines with wit and timing to devastating effect. Could there be anything sillier than the rolled Rs of Malibran's Rataplan? And could anyone else make them sound like the crowning peak of comedic genius?

Although she (sweetly) checked her running order with a piano-top copy of the same programme that was handed out free to the audience, her preparation was immaculate, and made everything sound like the innovation of a moment. As Sir John Tomlinson once said about rehearsing, "get it right until you can't get it wrong" and anything is possible.

Anyone who's ever nit-picked her recordings needs to get out more. Heard live, her charisma and spontaneous joy and embedded musicality create an experience 1000% greater than any recording. She simply personifies the argument that in the face of CDs, DVDs, films, downloads, streaming, whatever - live performance will never die.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Juan Diego Florez weaves a phlegmish tapestry

Juan Diego Flórez / Rizzi / Orchestra of Welsh National Opera - Barbican, 12 July 2008

Bellini Norma: Sinfonia
Bellini I Puritani: Ah te, o cara
Rossini Semiramide: Sinfonia
Rossini La Donna del lago: Tu sorda a miei lamenti
Rossini William Tell: Overture
Rossini William Tell: Asile héréditaire
Donizetti Lucrezia Borgia: Partir degg’io, T’amo qual s’ama un angelo
Donizetti Don Pasquale: Sinfonia
Donizetti La favorite : La maîtresse du roi
Donizetti La fille du régiment: Sinfonia
Donizetti La fille du régiment: Amici miei

Juan Diego Flórez - half man, half cheese, half toothpaste, and tonight, for one night only, half phlegm.

It all started off so well. The hall was packed to the rafters, with the audience including Barbican regular Dame Vivienne Westwood, resplendent in grey marl sack dress with matching knee socks and beanie over her long apricot hair.

JDF was in fine voice for the first half, with an ever-increasing range of colour now appearing in his laser-bright sound. The breath control was immaculate, the long final lines of Asile héréditaire floated out on an invisible support. Like the old skool, he seems to have gills for lungs. Nothing moves, nothing sounds, he just inhales as if by magic. Only a more contained posture and a faintly rough halo to his tone hinted at any problem - and even then, I assumed he was just being a bit slow to warm-up.

And with Carlo Rizzi's WNO Orchestra behind (JDF's backing band moves up a class each time I see him), even the usually grin'n'bear it inter-aria overtures were delivered with a style that would have outclassed a lesser tenor.

But he began to slip in earnest at the start of the all-Donizetti second half. When he clutched his throat at the end of Partir degg’io and looked up puppy-eyed at Rizzi, I assumed it was just penalty box theatrics to explain a little novelty intonation that cropped up here and there.

But when he failed to reappear on stage after the orchestra's Don Pasquale overture, it was clear that something more serious was up. Eventually Rizzi was called off the stage, and we sat waiting for a good five minutes wondering what was going on.

They reappeared eventually, and JDF explained that he had a frog in his throat, 'a little phlegm', but that he'd try and carry on without 'you know' (looking at the front row and making a spraying gesture, to much laughter). 

As he soldiered on with La maîtresse du roi, the raspy edge and hollow lower notes proved the problem was serious. What's more, it seemed to drain Flórez of energy.

Part of the joy of any JDF performance is the enthusiasm and love of the music that radiates from him like sunbeams. But here, suddenly he looked as if he wanted to go home right now, not a minute later. He managed to struggle through somehow, and return for Amici miei - money notes intact, but understandably ragged in places elsewhere.

After that, I really didn't expect anything more, though I'm sure I wasn't the only person willing the poor sick lamb to belt out a few encores regardless of any medical issues.

So I was surprised when he returned on stage after a massive ovation to announce that they'd prepared something from L'Elisir d'Amore 'with lots of decorations, like the CD'  but couldn't manage it - so instead they'd do the cabaletta of Cessa di più resistere from Il Barbiere di Siviglia  - because it has 'lots of coloraturas' and we wouldn't notice any mistakes (!) - and maybe something else too later. JDF said he'd been in a hot shower, and apologised again to the front row for the 'various fluids' that might land (more lols). He tried hard, but it was far from his finest performance of this testing piece, so it was no surprise we never got the second encore.

I can't help but be disappointed that it wasn't quite the phenomenal recital I expected, but credit is due to Juan Diego Flórez for trying his best not to disappoint his audience. Meanwhile, here's hoping JDF wraps up warm and doesn't snog any germy sopranos before Matilde di Shabran opens at the Royal Opera House in October.

 And here is a vid of JDF singing Cessa di più resistere in healthier times:
 

Bloody Natalie Dessay in San Francisco's Lucia di Lammermoor

Just a quickie from the openimg night of Lucia di Lammermoor at the San Francisco Opera, where after a wobbly start Natalie Dessay stormed through the title role, every note in place, with exquisite poise and total control. If she (surprisingly) wasn't 100% convincing dramatically, that was down to the production, curiously static, rather undirected, set entirely on a heather carpeted 'Scottish moor' that looked more like the rough end of a car park. Jean-Yves Ossonce's sluggish pacing hardly helped. Giuseppe Filianoti as Edgardo pushed like he was about to lay an egg, sounding severely strained and compressed rather too often, but his tail-wagging enthusiasm lifted the production every time he came on stage.

An entertaining evening, but with nothing else up to La Nata's standard, it made me appreciate just how good David Alden's much less starry recent production at the ENO really was. Full report and pictures later.

La Fille du regiment battles through at Holland Park

La Fille du Régiment  - Opera Holland Park, 4 June 2008

Opera Holland Park - now with wings for added protection. As you can just about see on the right of the pic above, this year's canopy improvements include side panels - in case we ever get any sun? They were no barrier to the small tweety birds that rocketed over the orchestra's heads from time to time. But, seated at the side, I was grateful to be shielded from a chilly breeze. 

It doesn't seem that long since La Fille was entertaining us at Covent Garden. William Kerley's production for OHP is necessarily less ambitious and less reliant on extraneous visual jokes. Stripped back to the direct humour of the music and libretto, it's an altogether less slapstick proposition.  With a vaguely period setting that made sensible use of the natural backdrop of Holland House, and set elements cunningly concealed in giant wooden triangles (above), to be whipped out at the appropriate moment, the plight of Marie is clearly placed at the centre of the action.

Hye-Youn Lee was a great find for the title role. Petite and spunky, she rattled effortlessly through the coloratura in a clear girlish tone. Accuracy seemed to be her main goal, and she could do with a bit more light and shade in the voice, but she at least had a surer grip of the French language than most other cast members.

Luciano Botelho could body-double for Juan Diego Flórez, and he has the same attractive ring to his voice. He did make the role of Tonio sound like the hard work it undoubtedly is, with a couple of his high C's in Ah! Mes amis shooting wide, but I wondered if this was simply nerves. (Perhaps he just needed a beer or two?)

Graeme Broadbent didn't seem sure whether he was George Clooney or Basil Fawlty, but he sang Sulpice with heart and conviction. Sarah Pring's Marquise de Birkenfeld was maybe a little too sympathetically drawn - more pompousness at the start would have made her revelation more affecting - but she sang attractively. But some of the best singing of the night came from the chorus, especially the men of the regiment, rousing and immaculately schooled.

The orchestra, under Robert Dean, played with tremendous verve and enthusiasm. Not everyone could keep up with the cracking pace, and there were a few ensemble issues from time to time, but they didn't reallly cloud the performance. That was left to the Holland Park peacocks, who joined the performance at start of Act II and lingered with Wagnerian persistence. May I suggest the OHP management check out the toy catalogues?

 

 

Off her head - English Touring Opera's Anna Bolena

Anna Bolena - English Touring Opera, Hackney Empire, 13 March 2008

Who goes to the opera? English Touring Opera certainly attract a more varied audience than the Royal Opera House does, including the local couple sat next to me who normally visit Hackney Empire 'just for the panto' but thought they'd give opera a try. It's a superb venue for opera on this scale, with great acoustics and sightlines -- and they allow you to take drinks in, always a bonus.

Tonight's show, Donizetti's Anna Bolena, was the first of English Touring Opera's spring season. It was an ambitious choice. Although the story, a dolled-up liberty-taking version of Anne Boleyn's last days, is well-known, Donizetti's opera is not. I don't think it's been performed in London for years -- I've certainly never seen it. And being Donizetti, it requires awe-inspiringly hawt singing skillz to grapple with the gymnastic vocal lines.

And it got some fantastic vocal performances. The audience favourite was Luciano Botelho, playing Riccardo (Lord Percy), Anna's fictional lost love who returns from exile only to fall into King Henry's trap implicating the pair of them in false accusations of adultery. He threw himself into the part with a winning verve, pinging off multiple top notes with JDF-style ease in his appealing light, lamby tones. He could be forgiven for tiring a little at the end after such a spectacular display.

In some ways the most strongly drawn relationship in the production was the one between Riccardo and his best mate (also Anne's brother) Rochefort, played to great effect by the gritty bass baritone Jonathan Pugsley.

Julie Unwin rose to the daunting challenge of the title role with a golden tone and terrific technique. She concentrated hard on the nailing the vocal acrobatics, which may have inhibited her acting a bit, but ensured she was pretty much spot on throughout. No doubt she will loosen up as the tour progresses. Her final mad scene was much less cautiously played, convincing without going over the top.

Julia Riley shone just as brightly as Jane Seymour, here an unwitting pawn in Anne's downfall. Her singing was lustrous, and her sheer spunk energised every scene she was in, a great advantage in this largely static production.

ETO productions don't run to large budgets or complicated sets, but the two-level scaffold framework with its sliding panels of tapestry-like screens was enough to evoke something of a Tudor atmosphere while providing essential places for conspirators to lurk and plot.

The lush velvet costumes provided further period flavour, though a golden codpiece opportunity was overlooked in favour of kitting all the men out in puffy hose. And there were plenty of heaving bosoms for the ladies -- uncoincidentally just like Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson in The Other Boleyn Girl posters currently plastered all over London.

If there were a couple of elements of the production I didn't quite follow - mainly the addition of the (non-singing) Mary Tudor and Cranmer, this reflects my lack of historical knowledge as much as anything else.

Another bleeding diva - Lucia di Lammermoor at ENO

Lucia di Lammermoor - English National Opera, 22 February 2008

It seems you just can't end an opera in London these days without some diva in a bloodstained nightie snogging a corpse. But while David McVicar's t1ts'n'todgers Salome at the Royal Opera House provokes, David Alden's Lucia di Lammermoor at the ENO has the endearing battiness of an early Kate Bush video.

It's set in an austere baronial pile in some buttoned-up Victorian-ish Scotland where you wear underwear beneath your underwear. Everyone looks as if they've just received some very bad news, and everything is the colour of porridge or granite. Portraits of tightlipped ancestors crop up again and again to show that no-one here can break free of their family ties, or their past.

The dark and brooding Enrico (Mark Stone) is the lord and master of all, including his younger sister, Lucia (a disturbingly child-like Anna Christy). He plays with his childhood toys, then he plays with her as if she were just another toy, undressing her, tying her up and groping her. No wonder when hairy Highlander Edgardo (Barry Banks) swings his sporran her way she falls for him, even though he's Enrico's sworn enemy. It must be the kilt that does it.

But for all the imagined psychological background, there's little in the way of menace. This is gothic melodrama, not Hammer horror. Lucia's bobbing crinoline and oversized bloomers suggest an Oscar night with Bjork rather than a passion-trigger, and Enrico's bullying and incestuous urges are swiftly reined in by his practicality and sense of propriety. Besides, with the chorus swarming through the windows and over the furniture every five minutes, no-one's ever alone.

The doll-like Anna Christy rose above the burden of her pantaloons to make a sweet and affecting Lucia, never more so than in her final blood drenched mad scene, piercing a hole through the heart with her laser-pure tones. Her coloratura was accurately pitched and acrobatically precise, and only a meanie could object to the five seconds of slurry trilling that flawed an otherwise brilliant performance.

Mark Stone's panto swagger was tempered with humanity, a softer side that made his final remorse all the more convincing. A dry sound crept in here and there as he pushed his voice out into the mighty Coliseum, but mostly his singing was plummy and incisive.

Barry Banks displayed a firm, ringing tenor, if a little pinched at the start, and great breath control given the amount of racing around he had to do. It was a surprisingly unsympathetic characterisation, a coarse and hairy oaf who shoved Lucia around and pinned her roughly to the floor, making him simply the least repellent of the men who want to brutalise and dominate her. 

Dwayne Jones made the best of a difficult job with Arturo, oddly presented here as a foppish southern gentleman type from another era, in immaculate white suit and cigarette holder. His voice was assured and flexible, and I think should make a good job of Edgardo when he takes the part over for a couple of nights later in the run.

Clive Bayley was a competent and effective Raimondo, fully recovered after a disastrous opening night in which he lost his voice and had to mime while understudy Paul Whelan sang the part from the wings.

In the pit, Paul Daniel's spunky and decisive conducting was barely compromised by slow tempos here and there. At least this enabled the singers to enunciate clearly. It was the first time in many ENO visits I've barely needed to check the surtitles.

A glass harmonica replaced the more usual flute accompaniment for Lucia's mad scene, in line with Donizetti's original intentions. At first fascinating - it's a more effective texture than the flute alongside the soprano voice - its needling dog whistle overtones soon started to raise my blood pressure. I realised why it was said in the nineteenth century to drive people mad.

This brief irritation aside, it was an enthralling and brilliantly performed production that raises the bar for the rest of the ENO season.

Hay there it's L'Elisir d'Amore at Covent Garden

L'Elisir d'Amore - Royal Opera House, 13 November 2007

In the wake of Rolando Villazón's sicknote to London, could any replacement hope to fill his glossy botines adequately?

Stefano Secco was originally booked as the second stringer Nemorino, and although he doesn't have Villazón's bushbaby charisma (or vocal resources), he does at least share a touching vulnerability which makes it easy to see why he was originally cast. He makes us root for his Nemorino, the ingenuous optimist punching above his weight in his pursuit of the capricious Adina. It's a characterisation that helps accommodate certain of his vocal shortcomings - strain at the top, excessive bleatiness, a tendency to swallow rather than float the pianissimos. It can't conceal the fact though that much of the time, especially at the start, his voice simply wasn't quite big enough.

It was a problem sporadically shared by Aleksandra Kurzak (Adina), though in her case I wondered if she was simply husbanding her resources to make sure she didn't give out before the end. Certainly everything else was exquisite, from the top to bottom bell-like tone to the needle-sharp coloratura. In this production, she's a foxy minx with a soft centre, a part Kurzak wiggled into with the born-to-it sauce of the young Claudia Cardinale. She may not be 100% the finished article yet, but with a virtual block booking at the Royal Opera House for the next couple of years, we will have plenty more opportunities to see how she develops.

The other characters took us further into the realms of slapstick. Paolo Gavanelli's colossal Dulcamara was half Tony Soprano and half Sir Les Patterson, but that huge voice had a natural ease. Ludovic Tézier's Belcore strutted and posed like a wind-up toy soldier, his baritone lightweight but firmly placed and elegant.

Director Laurent Pelly places them in a romanticised fifties Italian village. The stage is for most of the time filled with giant haystacks (no, not that one, though it's an idea, isn't it?) constantly clambered over by the cast, or else a scruffy roadside cafe backing on to an unsanitary-looking washroom. Ancient scooters and Ozzie the jack russell terrier complete the rural idyll, home-made sprigged cotton frocks and flat caps colour the scene.

His cinematic inspiration is emphasised by the screen-like framing of the proscenium arch, the hyper-realism of the sets and the cunning disguise of walls -- the background field recedes into the horizon, and the set appears to continue right out beyond the wings. It's a neat distancing device that brings the rather improbable story up to date but at the same time places it in a fictional world that doesn't over-stretch our credulity. 

The chorus, as ever in Pelly productions, were more than just singing bystanders. I think he has a secret rule that no-one can stand still for longer than three seconds. Everyone was forever on the move, pinpoint-choreographed, so the action never seemed to flag.

Mikko Franck maintained a comparably cracking pace with his modest forces. It may not be the greatest orchestral showcase, but you'd soon notice if the band started to sag -- and this one didn't.