Lohengrin - Salle Pleyel, Paris, 5 February 2008
Jaap van Zweden / Klaus Florian Vogt / Anne Schwanewilms / Netherlands Radio Choir / Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch Orkest
Wagner is no less popular in Paris than anywhere else, so it was a bit surprising to see a couple of hundred empty seats at this concert performance of Lohengrin. Of course the Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch Orkest is hardly a name to draw a crowd, and it was a wet, wet night.
But the 8pm start (or more accurately, the 12.30am finish) seemed to be the root of most grumbles on the night. Several people left (reluctantly) at the intervals, more (irritatingly) during the quietest parts of the last act, and there was a mad dash for the doors at the end.
The Salle Pleyel is a starchy, institutional-looking cavern with a correspondingly big, boomy acoustic. The empty seats must have accentuated this. The hall is noted for the projection it can bring to even the smallest of ensembles. Stick 200-odd musicians on stage and imagine how that effect is magnified. Not quite surround-sound, but I was in the middle of the stalls and could close my eyes and imagine I was in the centre of an orchestra pit. It made this the perfect venue to experience Lohengrin, which really benefits texturally more from the dense tapestry rather than the filgree web approach.
The Nederlands Radio Filharmonisch may not be the most refined of orchestras, but their energy and enthusiasm go a long way, and they were focussed and attentive towards conductor Jaap von Zweden, a small purposeful-looking man resembling a stray Nibelung.
They tore into the Vorspiel like wild dogs on a rabbit, an indication of what was to come. Shimmeringly radiant strings be damned, brute strength seemed to be the template. Like many in the audience, I was taken aback by the sheer force of their delivery, magnified by Jaap von Zweden's megadecibel Motorhead dynamics. This was one night when I wouldn't have noticed if any mobile phones went off. My neighbours' conversations were completely inaudible beneath the wall of sound.
But it was a power harnessed with great discipline, not an uncontrolled rampage. He was attentive to the demands of the score, and could turn the volume right down too. Crucially, he controlled the orchestral balance, and never drowned out the singers, even the delicate-voiced Anne Schwanewilms.
The exceptional all-round quality of the singing was the real highlight of this concert though. No Wagnerian elephants bellowing at each other across the vast plains of the stage tonight. Their classic concert positioning in front of the orchestra permitted greater subtlety for one thing.
Klaus Florian Vogt's unusual combination of strength and purity makes him surely the greatest Lohengrin around right now. It's a role he's so familiar with that he was the only one of tonight's cast who performed without a score.
His charismatic performance, unwaveringly direct and honest, flawlessly precise, was simply astounding, and the stadium-sized cheer he got at the end was no surprise. Definitely worth a visit to Vienna for in May.
Anne Schwanewilms gave me some doubts to begin with. It took her a long, long time to settle in and stop pecking cautiously at notes before landing on them. But she has a sweet, silvery innocence to her voice that makes her a delightfully girlish Elsa, even if her diction is not as clear as it might be.
Her deep red velvet frock lent a bit of medieval flavour amongst all the tailcoats, but what was with the 1€ plastic butterfly clip in her hair? Why do so many singers wear these gorgeous, pricy dresses, then go and pluck their hair accessories from the bargain bin at Douglas?
Eike Wilm Schulte and Marianne Cornetti were the bad guys, Telramund and Ortrud, and a very effective couple they made. Physically as well as vocally they were perfectly (mis)matched - I would love to see these two together on stage.
Schulte was a bit shouty, which at times rather obscured otherwise very fine singing. Maybe he thought he needed to throw his voice over the orchestra, but Zweden was in fact hugely considerate of his singers, and I didn't notice any overwhelming orchestral waves.
With her Cruella de Vil dip-dyed hair - blonde at the front, flaming red at the back - and her swirling black velvet cloak, Cornetti looked more sinister than she sounded.
A wide vibrato took a while to settle, but it was her Italianate delivery, unexpected in this part and initially jarring, which proved one of the most inspired and revelatory aspects of her casting. Richly dramatic, powerful yet polished to a dark sheen, it was stunningly effective laid next to Anne Schwanewilms' ethereal lustre.
Ronnie Johansen as King Heinrich and Geert Smits as the Herald proved competent and reliable, if not as dazzling as the rest of the cast. And the Netherlands Radio Choir, all 100-ish of them, provided an incredibly high standard of support all round, with a power to match the orchestra's and an assured, accurate delivery. Presumably they had a five hour road trip straight after the concert; there was a fleet of Dutch coaches with engines running outside the Salle Pleyel when I emerged at half past midnight.
As mentioned earlier, there's a full video recording available here of the same concert as given in Amsterdam a couple of days earlier. It doesn't have the overwhelming visceral force of the live experience that makes me soooooooo glad I got to see the real thing, but at least it gives a good idea of how incredible the singing was.
Sometimes it's the background that makes the picture.....^ and v .....
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