Intermezzo

Der Freischutz at the Barbican

Der Freischütz (in concert) - LSO / Davis - Barbican Hall, 19 & 21 April 2012

As a music drama, Der Freischütz is problematical, inherently fractured by the interpolated speech sections. In the theatre, the visual element provides some compensatory continuity - it's this basic structural issue as much as the content of the story that encourages contemporary directors to lard the work in Konzept. But in concert, it's almost inevitable that the talky bits come across as mere chat between numbers. The English language narration commissioned here to replace the original German dialogue only magnified that effect, breaking the spell with unfortunate regularity. And so, despite high musical values, these two performances failed to gather any real dramatic momentum.

Otello stile inglese

Otello - LSO / Davis - Barbican, 3 December 2009

You sneeze, you lose. With Torsten Kerl off sick, the pages of lastminutetenor.com yielded Simon O'Neill. Not the most obvious choice of Otello, even for a concert performance like this one. Indeed you could scour the big Wagnerian's resume and find no mention of Verdi whatsoever. But his bright, hard edged voice proved an excellent fit, and his unfamiliarity with the score was barely noticeable. Now that the role is associated more with darker baritonal tenors like Domingo, the clarity and ease of O'Neill's thrilling top notes hinted at a long-gone golden age. The short-fused Moor's temper flashes perhaps didn't spark quickly enough, but it was impossible not to be moved by Otello's final agonised moments.

The rest of the casting was just as brave, and nearly as successful. The only authentic Italian in the cast was Eufemia Tufano, an understated Emilia. Desdemona's purity and incorruptibility were perfectly evoked in the unearthly silvery soprano of Anne Schwanewilms, even if her delivery was some distance north of Italianate. The London Symphony Chorus trumped her for sheer incomprehensibility though - I didn't catch one single word of their spirited singing all night.

Gerald Finley's intelligently drawn Iago schemed with devious charm. But ultimately he lacks the fundamental heft for this role, as even a golden voice spinning meticulously-crafted phrases cannot conceal. Bantamweight tenors Allan Clayton and Ben Johnson were effective as Cassio and Roderigo, and a trio of magnificent basses - Alexander Tsymbalyuk, Matthew Rose and Lukas Jakobski - rounded off the ensemble. 

Sir Colin Davis, we were informed before the concert, has just been awarded the Queen's Medal for Music. Typically, he was keener to get on with the show than acknowledge the predictable ovation. His hard-driven first act lacked a degree of dramatic nuance - when everything's loud, fast and exciting, perversely, nothing is. But with the excess fuel burned off, a more measured approach proved infinitely more compelling. The second half in particular simmered and glowed, sweeping into blazing climaxes, yet eggshell-delicate beneath Desdemona's beautiful Willow Song. A rapturous intensity revealed so many details I'd never noticed before.

A recording will be stitched together from this performance and the repeat on 6 December. Not a purist's Otello perhaps but a vivid reminder that at 82, Sir Colin Davis is still on top of his game.

 

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Prom 50: Barenboim's Fidelio

Prom 50: Fidelio - West-Eastern Divan Orchestra / Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 22 August 2009

This Prom was, predictably, packed out. So why did the BBC need once again to occupy precious space and block people's views with yet another podium-mounted camera positioned slap bang in the middle of the arena? They already had a battery of equipment stationed at the sides, not to mention a roaming cameraman right in front of the stage for those all important up-nostril shots. The Met, the Royal Opera House and the Berlin Philharmonic, to name just a few, manage to produce professional DVDs with far less gear, all unobtrusively positioned, and without disrupting a large chunk of the audience. But then they're dedicated to music, not to viewing figures.

Year by year the Proms inches further away from its origins as a live performance festival and further towards reincarnation as a BBC-branded TV special 'filmed in front of a live audience'. At least the evening Proms concerts haven’t yet sunk to the depths of the daytime ones, where the audience are instructed not just how and when to applaud, but how loudly to chat amongst themselves to generate the prescribed ‘atmosphere’.

But back to the music. 

This concert performance was punctuated by a mostly pre-recorded English narration from Waltraud Meier as a disillusioned Leonore, some years later, a bitter and apposite reflection on the difficulty of living up to ideals. The choice of opening overture - the Leonore 3 - in itself a backward-looking summary of the opera - emphasised the point, a nostalgic evocation of a past forever lost.

The West-Eastern Divan Orchestra played incredibly well (and this is not an easy score), meeting all of Daniel Barenboim's detailed and demanding requirements, by turns dark, thrilling and joyfully defiant. Barenboim's pushing and pulling and tweaking around sometimes perplexes - but not here. It's as if he has a magic key to Beethoven's secrets. There was not one routine passage, yet everything sounded inexorably right.

The soloists were on this occasion simply outshone by the orchestra. John Tomlinson came out best as a convincing Rocco, an involuntary wobble here and there only adding to the impression of age and inconstancy.

Leonore, as I have previously observed, is not the greatest showcase for Waltraud Meier's vocal skills, lying in her least comfortable range and making unfulfillable demands on her agility. Her pitch was often wildly off but at least her earnest intensity was some compensation, and her dramatic presence is undeniable. She cut a chic figure in a white taffeta wrapover ensemble-thingy, and like her contemporary Renee Fleming, seems able to spin the wheel of time in reverse. A flattering new dark pixie haircut complemented her smooth-browed peachy complexion.

Simon O'Neill made a brilliant start with an arresting, needle sharp “Gott, welch Dunkel hier!”, but his big voice doesn't manoeuvre easily around Florestan's rapid lines. When things sped up, he trailed in the orchestra's wake, chasing the notes at the expense of the text.

Gerd Grochowski's Don Pizarro and Viktor Rud's Don Fernando were efficiently sung, but lacking in the necessary authority and presence. Adriana Kučerová's Marzelline and Stephen Rügamer's Jacquino were again efficient, but simply anonymous.

The best singing of the evening came from the back of the hall as the sterling BBC Singers and Geoffrey Mitchell Choir delivered the prisoners' chorus with an intensity and commitment that was often lacking at the front.

 

 

swansong

Lohengrin - Royal Opera House, 16 May 2009

Last night saw the final performance of Lohengrin at Covent Garden. It was my third visit of the run, so there's not much remaining unsaid. Though being very close to the stage this time, I did notice that what we all thought was sand strewn across the stage actually bears a closer resemblance to ready-grated parmesan cheese, or the stuff you put in the bottom of a hamster's bedding to soak up the wee. Diva litter?

The knight in a nightie was Simon O'Neill, clearly more relaxed than he was first time round. He delivered a first and second act of some beauty, his tone more open and varied than on his debut. Unfortunately fatigue or phlegm or something set in for Act Three, and it was a far bumpier ride. But he got the biggest ovation, and deserved it.

Edith Haller was also excellent, with none of the tremulousness of her first night performance remaining. Only the colossal strain of her exposed high note in the second act again let her down.

Petra Lang's fabulously detailed Ortrud was nearly matched by Gerd Grochowski's Telramund for dramatic impact. Any other time they could be accused of scenery-chewing, but in this listless production, they provide the only signs of life.

But the real reason I decided to return again was to hear Semyon Bychkov's magnificent conducting one more time, with its remarkable flow and detail. Although the brass weren't flawless on this occasion, Bychkov conjured thrilling fanfares out of them, and the unity and lyricism of the strings and woodwinds cast an Italianate glow. His reading has gathered pace throughout the run, and was dramatically all the better for it - none of the first night's dragging moments.

Bychkov recently recorded Lohengrin with some of the same cast - an SACD that despite its hefty price tag might be worth checking out.

The orchestra clearly love him, as they demonstrated with their applause at the beginning and end of the third act. 

A pit-side photo-tribute:

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Another knight at Covent Garden

Lohengrin - Royal Opera House, 5 May 2009

I knew this production wasn't going to be any livelier a second time round than it had been last week, but at least the evening started with a bit of excitement. As I was coming out of the lift at Covent Garden tube, a couple of hefty pork-faced blokes shoved past me and grabbed another hefty pork-faced bloke. "Police!" "Against the wall!" OK, so it's not quite The Wire, but you don't see a real live arrest every day round here.

My spirits were raised even further when I spotted Klaus Florian Vogt on his way in through the stage door. Sadly it turned out he was only on cover duty. The scheduled Lohengrin, Simon O'Neill, was in the rudest of health for his role debut. His vocal stamina couldn't be faulted, and he managed a degree of physical movement beyond the wildest fantasies of his co-knight Johan Botha. Smaller man-bewbs too.

Personally I didn't care for O'Neill's bright, piercing tenor in this role, but he could undeniably hit all the notes, and he drilled them to the back of the auditorium effortlessly. His phrasing was less convincing, most egregiously in his emphatic underlining of the verb in bin Lohengrin genannt (at this point I thought of Klaus Florian Vogt sipping tea and doing crosswords down in the bowels and wept a little tear). He suffered even more than the rest of the cast from the general lack of physical direction. Certainly an effective performance, but lacking in insight - my general feeling was that he needs more time - and guidance - to build a coherent idea of this role in a way that works for him.

The rest of the cast seemed more relaxed than they had on the first night, and every one of them sang better. Although Edith Haller was often a little flat, she sang with better control and more confidence, and clearly had greater rapport with O'Neill than Botha.

Petra Lang's performance was reined in a little, and all the better for it. And in her near-silent first act she provided an object lesson in how to create a character without singing a note. Her long second act scene with Gerd Grochowski's brilliantly dim-witted, besotted Telramund was easily the most dramatically engaging part of the evening.

Only Kwangchul Youn disappointed, sounding older and tireder than I've ever heard him before - illness, perhaps?

The chorus were more polished than they had been on the first night, let down only by a slightly underpowered first act (I wonder how much of this was simply down to their position, miles upstage), and particularly rousing as they crowded the front of the stage in the last act.

But once again the real stars of the evening were the orchestra, sounding even better than they had on opening night, all blips ironed out. The strings glowed and shimmered with the rare unity of purpose so essential to Lohengrin's dense textures. Semyon Bychkov's reading was more embedded in the drama this time round, more flexible and daring, less slavishly tied to the score. Dripping with sweat by the end, he quite rightly got the biggest ovation of the night.

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Barenboim and West-Eastern Divan Orchestra end their summer in Paris

 West-Eastern Divan Orchestra / Barenboim / Meier / O'Neill / Pape - Salle Pleyel, Paris, 25 August 2008

Schoenberg Variations for Orchestra, Op.31
Wagner Die Walküre, Act I

Just a few days after the Barenboim/Divan Proms, I was in Paris for second helpings - quite literally in the case of the Schoenberg Orchestral Variations, a repeat of the lush, expansive London performance. 

The Parisian audience, totally starved of music for the last month (when they say everything shuts down in Paris in August, they mean it), lapped it up. Despite charging double the regular Salle Pleyel prices (and ouch, that rampant Euro really hurts these days), the concert was a sell-out. A long and over-optimistic returns queue snaked across the entrance as I arrived. A few enterprising punters even waved banknotes hopefully at the incoming ticket holders. Was it really just because there was nothing else on that night? Or had it become, despite low-key publicity, a bit of an Occasion? It was reported that Barenboim had paid Sarko a visit earlier in the day, an encouraging sign. Can you imagine Gordon 'Arctic Monkeys' Brown owning up to having even heard of Daniel Barenboim?

Barenboim's Wagner is of course legendary, and I'm sure Die Walküre and its starry trio of soloists were the main attraction of the evening for many.

Although this was a concert performance, there were no seats and no scores for the singers.

Of the three, Waltraud Meier proved most able to take advantage of this, ignore the surroundings and throw herself into her role, despite the conductor's podium separating her from her Siegmund, Simon O'Neill.  Her ever-unpredictable intonation firmed up as she progressed, and her voice seemed as agelessly smooth as her forehead (compare and contrast if you will with a violinist half her age, left).

O'Neill's sound, clean and hard-edged, is not the biggest voice, but it cut through the orchestra like a laser. A long-breathed "Wälse!" that left him purple-faced was one of several moments that tested his limits, and he looked less at ease with the compromises of the concert format than Meier.  Good Wagnerian tenors are in short supply, and he's definitely in the top drawer. But I find the voice simply efficient, like bleach scouring a blocked drain, and hard to warm to.

Rene Pape was his usual laconic self. Added to this, the part of Hunding lies a little low for him, so it was a less than jaw-dropping performance, but the natural beauty of his voice shone through.

Almost inevitably though, Barenboim was the real star, teasing a thrilling performance from the orchestra, even if it lacked a little of the weight and refinement customary in his Wagner.

I don't think I've ever heard applause quite as shattering and prolonged as what followed. There was an almost instant standing ovation, and few audience members left, even though Barenboim took his time going round each orchestra member thanking them individually. He hugged, he kissed, he shook hands. Another first - I've never seen him smile so genuinely or respond so warmly as he did to the young musicians of the orchestra.

There was to be no encore though - just a speech (in perfect French).

Barenboim started by explaining his extended individual congratulations - it was because it was their "last concert". Leader Michael Barenboim almost jumped out of his seat, then sank back as his father corrected himself "that is, the last concert of the summer".

He went on to say that each musician had shown enormous courage in coming to play in the orchestra.

"It's not a political project, but a third way. We think only that there's no military solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. We want to learn to live together".