Intermezzo

Pfitzner's Palestrina in Munich

Palestrina - Bayerische Staatsoper, Nationaltheater, Munich, 14 July 2009 

Pfitzner's Palestrina has a Munich connection - it was premiered here in 1917. Though it's rarely performed nowadays there were plenty of empty seats for this reprise of the January 2009 production. It would appear that even here a slow-moving three hour examination of the role of art in society set around the composition of a papal mass is a hard sell.

The harmonies are ear-friendly but the tunes are few. Though Wagner is the main influence and Strauss an obvious point of comparison, conductor Simone Young also draws an interesting parallel with Delius and Vaughan Williams in a programme note - nostalgia for an idealised past was not confined to Little England. 

Pfitzner, who wrote his own libretto, didn't have Wagner's instinctive flair for drama, and the unevenly-paced story plods forward in grim sequence like a police statement.  Entertainment is not its goal. The hundred minute first act is prefaced by an irrelevant sub plot and ends with an angelic visitation - like Fafner's dragon, hard to swallow however it's staged.  The second act is an over-ambitious recreation of a session of the Council of Trent - bishops and cardinals in an hour of religious chat. Even Shakespeare couldn't have made that riveting. Only in the third act - so brief it's more like a coda - does the action attain a human scale, as the elderly Palestrina is praised for saving the music of the Church from a reversion to Gregorian chant by composing his own splendid polyphonic mass.

Director Christian Stückl has grasped the nature and limitations of the work well, and sets it as a series of stylised, iconographic, largely static tableaux. He does his best to liven it up - he updates the libretto here and there, and the servants' brawl written into Act Two becomes a punch-up between the religious dignitaries (where Michael Volle as cardinal legate Giovanni Morone bashes the bishop live on stage). Unfortunately the main effect is to introduce humour where none was intended.

The main beneficiary of this revival is the music itself. Simone Young drew some splendidly light and translucent playing from the oversized orchestra, picking out lines carefully and underlining details.

It's a demanding opera to cast, a major obstacle to more frequent productions. The 25-odd named parts were inevitably filled to varying effect, but none let the side down. Munich doesn't always have the big star names, but it does have strength in depth, a handful of reliable regulars, and some canny imports. Christopher Ventris imbued Palestrina with warmth and humanity, in pointed contrast to the formality of the Church's representatives in their stylised robes and panda face paint. Falk Struckmann's blustering Borromeo and Michael Volle's sinister Morone stood out amongst the huge cast, and I was also impressed by the rich baritone of Wolfgang Koch as Luna and the crystalline soprano of Christiane Karg as Ighino.

For those who missed out, this very performance was being captured for future DVD release:

Here's Palestrina in pictures:

No place to stick a swan - Lohengrin in Vienna mit Klaus Florian Vogt

Lohengrin - Wien Staatsoper, 22 and 25 May 2008

There are two sorts of bad Wagner productions - wrong and dumb - and given the choice, I prefer the first. At least they give you something to think about. Vienna's Lohengrin, like Covent Garden's recent Parsifal, falls into the second category. Barrie Kosky has chosen to ignore brain-straining questions like, oh, what it's about, what it says about its composer and the time it was written, and what it might have to say to us. Instead he provides a backdrop of ugly and banal imagery in tarmac black and safety-jacket yellow. In essence it's a decorated concert performance, brought alive only by the most basic stagecraft and the dramatic skills of the singers.

Unnecessary details are added (what's with the omnipresent toy truck ?). Vital elements are omitted (teh swan! where is my swan!?).  Whether your swan is an actual swan or a dead cat on a stick doesn't matter too much, but the important thing is it forms a link between Lohengrin's entrance and his exit, which is also the return (and return to human life) of the true prince, Elsa's brother.

Kosky passes a gigantic yellow chain from chorus hand to hand for the entrance (a 'golden' chain, rite), but for the second appearance he has instead a suspended glass bubble (containing a singularly ugly ET/homunculus creature). Structural repetition is ignored in favour of tired theatrical effects. Sticking a toy swan in the second act's garden pool simply betrays ignorance about the purpose of the imagery.

And here's his most bizarre and pointless touch of all - Elsa is blind. This befuddled far more times than it illuminated. It's sort of fun when she can't see Ortrud and Telramund plotting right in front of her, but there are so many references to seeing things, and so many actions which are responses to what she sees, that it just doesn't make sense. Angela Denoke wisely made as little of it as she possibly could.

Having griped at length, it's an irritating production for sure, but not really an obstructive one. That's the advantage of a producer with no ideas - there's nothing to get in the way of the music.

And eyeball-searing stupidities aside, it really was a fabulous performance, both nights I saw it (yes,I needed moarrr). The one on the 22nd, the first night of this revival (and not uncoincidentally Wagner's birthday) perhaps marginally shaded it, and certainly got a more vociferous audience reaction (I lost count of the curtain calls - ten?)

Peter Schneider conducted with his customary authority and refinement. There were no cheap thrills or overplayed dramatics, just an exemplary balance and pacing. The preludes, played mostly to curtain, were in many respects the highlights of the performances, and not just because the hideous scenery was concealed. Their website claims that this is the best opera orchestra in the world, and it's impossible to disagree when they play like this.

And Klaus Florian Vogt is probably the best Lohengrin in the world. The voice has tremendous heft behind its beautiful tone, and in this very human, down to earth characterisation of Lohengrin, a great deal more variety of colour than might be apparent from the Nagano/Lehnoff version he recorded.

The role of Elsa is not a perfect glove-like fit for Angela Denoke's voice. Her first act intonation was frightening, and the high notes pushed her to the limit. But she has that vital white steel power and purity, and dramatically she didn't put a foot wrong.

Falk Struckmann gave a marvellously detailed performance as Telramund, understanding him as not just a two-dimensional bad guy, but a fundamentally honourable man transformed into the helpless tool of his own wife by his disastrous lust. Every note, every move was considered. Vienna are so lucky to have him - he has the ability to make even the most cretinous of productions appear rational and intelligent for the brief time he's on stage (casts mind back to Covent Garden's recent Parsifal, and his exemplary wooden-armed Amfortas.....)

Janina Baechle's Ortrud was mostly convincing when she shared the stage with Struckmann, but dissolved in a routine library of traffic cop signalling manoeuvres when she was left to her own devices. It's partly her size - while not quite as immobile as certain larger singers, there are some things that physically she just can't manage. She has an attractive velvety voice, but summoning the power to push it out over the orchestra tended to rob it of colour and inflection, so it was all a bit monotone.

Kwangchul Youn's King Heinrich was curiously inconsequential, despite the strength of his voice. It was largely the fault of the production, which placed everyone in modern suits. What was perhaps intended as regal detachment came across as merely businesslike.

The production did Markus Eiche's Herald no favours either. He has a warm and powerful baritone, but the part is dramatically superfluous, and Kosky made no attempt either to integrate it into the action or to make a virtue of its narrative aspect by setting it decisively apart. Like Youn, Eiche was obliged to wander in, sing his bit, and wander off again.

It was the sort of production where you take bets on when the giant spaceship is going to appear. And, yes, the final cliche hove into view above the stage shortly before the end. With anything less than the immaculate musical performance it received, this production would have the audience rolling in aisles, let alone booing. It is greatly to the credit of everyone involved in this current run that the silliness passes by almost unnoticed.

I understand Christian Thielemann has refused to conduct this production. He certainly doesn't need to explain why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leave the swan, shoot the director - Parsifal at the Royal Opera House

Parsifal - Royal Opera House, 6 December 2007

An origamied teatowel skids down a washing line and flops to the ground. I am reminded of Laurent Pelly's tittersome lines of dancing underpants in La Fille du Régiment, but no, this is Parsifal, and these are, in theory, the death throes of a wounded swan. Beyond gluing feathers to a jack russell terrier (which I wouldn't put past the ROH these days) it's the crappiest way to handle the swan issue I can possibly imagine. Sir John Tomlinson's face registers the proper shock and disgust. It is a notion typical of this production, which alternates the cheap and the ridiculous, and now and again, as here, combines them. It was the first of many moments I found myself sniggering inappropriately. The next was seconds later, as Christopher Ventris, a man with the hulking build of a Norwegian truck-pulling champion, appeared -- squeezed into stretchy green pyjamas, like a grotesquely overgrown baby ready to be put down for the night.

Parsifal is not an easy opera to stage, and it seems as if this production team barely bothered to even try. It moves through a succession of bleak and ugly tableaux where the mostly static cast simply declaim their lines downstage centre. The staging attempts little in the way of communication or contact -- when one of the cast touches or even looks at another, it's an Event. It's virtually a concert performance in (silly) costume.

But the upside of this is that the singers are mostly optimally positioned, facing the audience, and able to concentrate on the singing rather than the 'business'. And with this cast you really want to hear every word, because they are without exception fantastic. 

Starting with the Gurnemanz of Sir John Tomlinson, a characteristically detailed and generous performance that saw him in fine voice. OK, so the vibrato is on the wide side and the top rather bare, but he has all the power and fullness he needs. And he remains the finest actor on the opera stage, even when he's not singing -- his slowly unfolding realisation of the identity of the stranger in the third act was perfectly nuanced and utterly riveting. This performance just further cements his position as the Queen Mother of British opera, as loudly recognised by the audience at the curtain call.

Falk Struckmann's performance as Amfortas was hampered by a silly floor-length table leg covering one arm, which not only looked twitty, but also made disruptively loud clicking noises every time he moved. Some of his performance was a little dry, but his tortures in the presence of the Grail were alive with pain and despair, truly riveting.

The third ex-Wotan of the night was Sir Willard White as Klingsor. Not even a red velvet bathrobe and a knuckleload of pimp rings can rob him of dignity. His magic garden looked like something Captain Kirk might have landed on in 1966, complete with wobbly rocks and wacky mobiles, but the bottled energy of his performance successfully evoked his evil empire. The sheer power of his voice remains a thing of wonder.

As does Gwynne Howell's. Trussed up in a full suit of medieval armour, including full-face helmet, it's a wonder any sound escaped at all, but he made a gravely imposing Titurel.

Christopher Ventris might have been forgiven for fading into the background amongst all these elder statesmen of opera, but instead he proved a commanding stage presence, vocally and dramatically. Restricted of gesture, his Parsifal was a serene and self-contained character. I could have done with some more contrast between the impetuous youth of the first two acts and the enlightened knight of the third, but it wouldn't have sat well in this arid production. He sang wonderfully throughout, secure and well-placed, not a hint of strain or even effort.

Any dramatics in the production were left to Petra Lang's Kundry. Her eye-rolling and grimacing struck a somewhat false note, but her voice was fabulous -- bright, plummily full, with none of the screechiness often found in singers of this role.

Some of the smaller parts were less successful, but the Flower Maidens, cryptically marooned on the floor in chaste nightgowns, sang beautifully, if without any convincing sensual allure.   

Conductor Bernard Haitink was in many ways the real star of the show. He tortoised through the Vorspiel, and generally took it slow, but the reward was an account of gravity and serenity, no histrionics in sight. The Royal Opera House Orchestra played with great finesse, some ugly brass sounds here and there aside, with some wonderful timpani work in particular. Crucially, Haitink achieved balance, an orchestral equilibrium that made his subtly nuanced shifts as powerful as big dramatic gestures. A production this silly on the visuals needed nothing less on the musical side to make it work.

Thielemann's Ring - Bayreuth comes to Luxembourg

Orchester der Bayreuther Festspiele/Thielemann - Philharmonie Luxembourg, 25 November 2007

Discussion of the Bayreuth festival tends to centre on the wrangling Wagner clan or the latest and silliest production Konzept. It's easy to forget that behind (or more correctly, directly underneath) every performance is the festival's own orchestra, a busman's holiday for some of Germany's top orchestral players.

They made a rare venture outside their Bavarian burrow for the closing concert of the 2007 Luxembourg Festival, a programme of Ring extracts, together with maestro/blogger Christian Thielemann, who conducted the festival's recent, highly-praised Ring cycle, and three members of that Ring cast - Endrik Wottrich (Siegmund), Kwangchul Youn (Hunding) and Falk Struckmann (Wotan) - as pictured above - and another Bayreuth veteran, soprano Evelyn Herlitzius.

Because it was my first visit, I arrived early to take a look around the venue, Luxembourg's Philharmonie, which is rather inconveniently situated on a six lane motorway at the edge of town, neighboured by corporate HQs and chain hotels.

It looks rather like a giant radiator with its carapace of narrow white columns.

Inside are more columns, mystifyingly spotless (how do you get a duster up there.....?).

The concert hall itself sits in the centre of the cage, an angular white block spectacularly lit in pinks and oranges, accessed by sweeping ramps.

The French influence shows in the fabulous bars dotted around the perimeter - no cheese'n'onion crisps here, instead twinkling champagne flutes and tiny plates of multicoloured macaroons.

After the surgical styling of the exterior, the traditional dark wood panelling of the concert hall itself comes as a surprise. Columns of artily-lit boxes are set around the sides, the lower ones projecting precariously. I sat right at the front of the stalls. Here's the hall just before the concert:

Act 1 of Die Walküre (or most of it anyway) formed the first half of the programme. The opening bars of the Vorspiel immediately thrilled with their insistent advances and retreats, Thielemann sweeping from mouselike pianissimos to earsplitting thunder and back again in an instant. The orchestra must know this back to front by now, and they were on marvellous form, intensely focused, responding as one to Thielemann's highly detailed interpretation. Horns snarled, strings glowed in this energetic and powerful account.

In the face of an orchestral performance this exhilarating, the singers (good as they were) seemed almost a distraction. As they were parked mid stage rather than stage front, I couldn't see much of them from my front corner seat, but they came over very clearly.

Kwangchul Youn made a powerful and authoritative Hunding, though without the resonance or menace that made Stephen Milling's recent Covent Garden performance so memorable. Endrik Wottrich has an interesting, metallic voice - smallish but incredibly well-projected - but he sounded strained for much of the performance. Evelyn Herlitzius's Sieglinde was rather uneven technically, with a loose vibrato and some stress at the top, but she convinced dramatically, compensating for a certain reserve in Wottrich's Siegmund.

We then skipped a chunk of Walküre to end the lengthy first half of the concert with Falk Struckmann delivering Wotan's Abschied in a rather dry style that contrasted dramatically with the turbulence Thielemann was wringing from the orchestra.

After swift refuelling on crémant and macaroons came a shorter second half  - basically all the best bits of the last act of Götterdämmerung. Of the singers, only Evelyn Herlitzius returned, this time to play Brünnhilde, refrocked from her sparkly orange ballgown of the first half into a slinky black velvet number. Here she seemed more comfortable and secure, but again the real drama was coming from the men in frack, and it was more of a pleasure simply to swim in the orchestra's surging swell.

On this showing, Katharina Wagner has been smart to hitch her Bayreuth takeover campaign to Thielemann's coat tails - it's hard to imagine any other conductor today pulling together a Ring with quite this blend of passion and expertise.

The end:

and the standing ovation: