Intermezzo

The Tsarina's Slippers at the Royal Opera House

Cherevichki / The Tsarina's Slippers - Royal Opera House, 20 November 2009

The Royal Opera House have chosen to bestow upon their new production of Tchaikovsky's Черевички (Cherevichki or Tcherevichki) an appropriately Royal title - The Tsarina's Slippers - in place of The Little Shoes, as it's usually known in English. Me I prefer the punchier and more accurate Little Boots, but sadly that one is already taken.

Francesca Zambello's folksy production with its mostly-Russian cast is intermittently entertaining but I spent much of its three hours looking at my watch and dreaming of crisps.

The opera's lack of momentum, which must play a part in the relative rarity of performances, can't be blamed entirely on the director though. Tchaikovsky doesn't seem to care much for his central story in which Vakula, a simple village smith, enlists the Devil's aid to procure a pair of the Tsarina's fancy boots, the only way he can win the heart of a vain village girl. He seems more interested in Vakula's witchy mother and her gruesome suitors, not to mention the numerous opportunities to slip in a quick ballet.

However enchanting some of these diversionary episodes are, they all fragment the story to the point where it's hard to care less about any of the characters. You could wander out for ten minutes and not really miss anything (a point to bear in mind when the BBC broadcast this over Xmas). The inevitable cuts don't help either. Why keep in all the royal minister's endless windbagging, but cut out the Cossacks' entrance to court, which explains how Vakula gets in to see the Tsarina?

For all the Royal Opera's attempts to sell this opera as Tchaikovsky's hidden comic side, it's telling that Vakula's longest and most effective scene is not some festive fairytale nonsense, but the one where he's contemplating suicide at the water's edge.

Two things hold this production together. The first is Alexander Polianichko's marvellous conducting. He doesn't just display the music, he conducts the whole opera with a splendid ear for drama and support for the singers. Inevitably some colour and detail is sacrificed for pace, but I think it's the right choice. The other is the design. Mikhail Mokrov's charmingly naive sets and Tatiana Noginova's traditionally-inspired costumes fill the stage with busy colour, though at the expense sometimes of any clear idea of location.

Apart from that, it's a collection of set pieces, some more successful than others, with the highlights coming from the Royal Ballet's contributions. Alastair Marriott went with a traditionally-styled pastiche that fits the production like a glove. His perfectly-judged idiomatic choreography includes an underwater nymph dance, a royal ball and a couple of delightful pas de deux, Gary Avis lofting tiny Mara Galeazzi with a grace and purity of line that made an affecting contrast to the riotous clamour of the village peasantry. A huge hairy dancing bear in pointe shoes (we guessed Bennet Gartside from the size) added more colour to the grand party finale.

The biggest applause of the night went deservedly to the team of spectacular high-kicking Cossack dancers who emerged from beneath the skirts of a giant golden Tsarina effigy  - their chapkas and p0rn 'taches cunningly concealing the fact they come from Nottingham.

The singing was Russian through and through, full of heart and gusto. Not a lot of finesse though. The likeable Vsevolod Grivnov had to work hard to be heard, but his lyrical tenor made Vakula the pick of the bunch. Olga Guryakova's powerful but wayward soprano made it only too clear that the part of the shoe-loving Oxana is not an easy sing. At least the petulant charm that enraptures Vakula came more easily than the notes.

Maxim Mikhailov was desperately underpowered as the Devil, as none of his tail-twirling antics could conceal - was his prosthetic piggy snout a problem perhaps?  Larissa Diadkova's mumsy witch Solokha would put the wind up no-one. At this stage in her long career she sounds more timeworn than her remarkably smooth brow might suggest, but that's no handicap in this part. The one unequivocally successful non-dancing scene ended in a quartet with her four lovers concealed in coal sacks - some splendid deep Russian voices especially from Vladimir Matorin as Chub.

The vocal shortcomings might have been less obvious if the singers had been better directed. But it appeared everyone had been choreographed into position and left to their own devices, leaving the task of entertaining the audience to the scenery. It almost worked.

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Venezuelan invasion begins - Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra hit London

Orquesta Sinfónica Simón Bolívar / Dudamel - Royal Festival Hall, 14 April 2009 

After their amazing, unforgettable 2007 Proms concert, Gustavo Dudamel and the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra were back in town to light up the South Bank for the first night of a short residency.

They'd won the game as soon as they stepped on stage, judging by the applause. It's an enormous band - twelve double basses, at least forty violins - but they all squeezed on somehow.

Bartók's Concerto for Orchestra was the opener, a clever choice that demonstrates clearly that the orchestra can handle more than just fiesta music, as well as providing plenty of individual chances to shine. The woodwinds were particularly impressive, their unerringly accurate intonation a rare delight south of the river, but the whole orchestra was immaculately-drilled. The size of the band provides a depth and richness of sound few conventional symphony orchestras can match, but it could also prove unwieldy. Not so in the expert hands of Gustavo Dudamel - even the quicksilver twists and turns of the last movement were crisp and fleet.

He drove Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony relentlessly.  It was exciting, edge-of-seat stuff, but at the same time I would have appreciated more subtlety here and there - the first movement's woodwind slivers airier, like glints of light on water, the brass fanfares more stately and monumental. The potential is there, and these musicians have grasped the most important lesson of all, which is how to listen and how to play as part of a greater whole. All they need now is the age and experience to hone their talents to the final degree.

The standing ovation erupted on the last note, maybe even before, and the lights dipped for a quick onstage costume change. Off came the DJs, on went the famed Venezuela jackets, and they launched into their party-piece Ginastera and Bernstein, complete with dancing violinists, twirling horns, and recklessly juggled drum sticks. The audience went wild, and wilder still as jackets were daintily removed and flung out into eagerly awaiting hands.

This orchestra doesn't produce the most refined playing you'll ever hear, but that's so far from the point it's irrelevant. What it does - and what no other orchestra right now seems able to do - is simply to bring people together in the joy of music. Simple, but not easy, and nobody does it better.

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Mariinsky's Queen of Spades at the Barbican

Queen of Spades - Mariinsky Theatre / Gergiev - Barbican, 30 January 2009

The Mariinsky Theatre scored an undisputed away win with the first opera of their three-night Barbican residency. 

And a two-fingered salute to those who whine that Gergiev doesn't rehearse enough.

Maybe he didn't rehearse this at all - I don't know - with his non-stop schedule it's hard to see how he could fit much in. But 'enough' rehearsal is however much the ensemble in question need to achieve the required results. With a competent orchestra who know the work, are nurtured in the same traditions as the conductor, and appreciate that half the joy of music-making is those unexpected moments of inspiration, then maybe rehearsals can be shelved altogether. It helps of course that Tchaikovsky's Queen of Spades is a Mariinsky staple. But this was no warhorse plod, it was a faultless and minutely-detailed performance, fresh and alive.

The Barbican has a notoriously lousy acoustic, but Gergiev's LSO job has taught him how to work it. You could believe it was the best concert hall in the world, so perfect was the balance between the lusciously warm Mariinsky strings, the dazzling brass and whispering winds. And with the singers lined up out of sight in front of him, there must have been some kind of ESP at play - no slips, no imbalances. No wallowing either. Gergiev's pace was brisk and his accents decisive, sugar-free romance that displayed the full palette of Tchaikovsky's remarkable orchestral colouring.

Last week most of the cast were performing the opera in the Mariinsky Theatre itself. They brought all the physical expressivity of their staged performance to this no-scores-required concert version, and the drama came alive in a way it rarely does in the concert hall. Not one performance was less than strong, and some were very good indeed.  

Larissa Diadkova simply *is* the Countess, grand but vulnerable, burdened by her terrible secret, conveying with the twist of a note the omnipresent fear of death lurking beneath the silver-spoon graciousness. With the nostalgic reverie of her Grétry aria she held the audience spellbound.

Vladimir Galusin is a sort of Russian Domingo with a dark, baritonal quality beneath his bright ringing tones, and he gave an intense and powerful performance as Herman. I didn't quite buy the transition from lovelorn innocent to manic gambler, but I think that's as much Tchaikovsky's fault as any singer's, and a problem that disappears in a good staging.

The noble baritone of Alexey Markov produced the most purely beautiful singing of the night in the short part of Yeletsky. And Kristina Kapustinskaya, doubling up as Polina and Milovzor, should be on everyone's watch list - an outstanding smoky-timbred mezzo with a haunting quality that stops you in your tracks.

The quality of the chorus was underlined when Viktor Antipenko stepped up out of the ranks to perform the small roles of Master of Ceremonies and Chaplitsky. Many opera houses would be happy to have a clear big voiced tenor like that singing their leads.

But all this would have been as nothing without Gergiev, who feels this music in his bones and transmitted it through his fluttering fingertips. 

 

 

Vlad hair day

Iolanta - LPO / Jurowski - Royal Festival Hall, 25 October 2008

How many conductors can tether their hair in a Queen Victoria bun and still look cool? How many would even try? How many have enough hair, come to that? In Vladimir Jurowski's case, it simply adds to his swami-like aura of inscrutability. Sigh. A few dirty looks were directed at the women who yelled "I love you!" as he left the stage, but I understand.

Since Opera Holland Park tackled it this summer, Iolanta has been growing on me. It has its draggy bits and its derivative bits, and any story about a blind princess who gains sight through the power of love and self-awareness is undeniably on the silly side. But there are moments of real invention, starting with the rugged chromaticism of the overture, and it builds into a compelling whole. (There's a 1955 Russian recording available on last.fm - not exactly brilliant, but at least it's free).

Part of Jurowski's Revealing Tchaikovsky series, this concert performance of Iolanta was staffed mostly by well-drilled Russian imports. Not only did all but one do their stuff without a score, but they even managed a little stage business in the postage-stamp space between the violins and the podium.

Jurowski's balletically airy reading took time to warm up. But it eventually touched the heart with King Rene's arioso. Sergei Aleksashkin's noble, timeworn bass was so committed it deserved nothing less than complete attention.

The tenor Yevgeny Shapovalov as Iolanta's suitor Count Vaudemont had a mixed night, hitting his first top Bflat in falsetto, but he went for bust after that, with a heroic ring and bags of passion.

Tatiana Monogarova was appealing but a little chilly in the title role - I was more impressed by the sprightly and silvery Ekaterina Lekhina in the much smaller part of Brigitta.

Rodion Pogossov's delivery of Robert's aria almost inevitably suffered in comparison to Hvorostovsky's magnificent encore, still fresh in the mind from last week, but like Alexandra Durseneva (Martha), Maxim Mikhailov (Bertrand) and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (Ibn-Hakia), his performance was committed and hard to criticise.

The only (minor) disappointment was the small Moscow Conservatory Chamber Choir, whose sound simply didn't carry to where I was sitting - whether this is down to them or to the horrendous acoustics of the Royal Festival Hall is hard to tell.

Jurowski's lean, mean Tchaikovsky clearly has some appeal. Despite the relative unfamiliarity of the work and the soloists, there was a pretty good turnout for this. I wonder if the 2 for 1 ticket offer helped?

 

 

 

Here Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon tackle Iolanta and Robert's duet:

Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Evgeny Kissin do it Russian style

Dmitri Hvorostovsky / Evgeny Kissin  - Barbican, 16 October 2008

Wassiliy Kandinsky: Russian Scene (Sunday)

Dmitri Hvorostovsky's Barbican programme tonight was the same one I heard him perform in Edinburgh a couple of months ago, all from the more distant corners of the Russian repertoire. A not insignificant change of pianist though, with Evgeny Kissin joining him in London. As they stood, bathing in the warm welcome with their blousy black shirts, cheesy grins and curious hairdos, only the presence of the piano indicated that this was a recital not a hairdressing competition. 

The all-Tchaikovsky first half was frankly a bit of a disappointment. Hvorostovsky, though good, was not at his best. He looked and sounded anxious and challenged. Straining at the top, parched at the bottom, he approximated the most distant notes.  He improved as he went on, but there was no question that this was not the standard we had seen in Edinburgh - though here too there was vigorous applause between all the songs.

Kissin, on the other hand, was a revelation. Often justly criticised for thumping, here he was a sensitive and accomodating partner. And needless to say, he breezed through the many technical challenges. I've long admired his Shostakovich, so perhaps it's the old cliche, Russians play Russian best.

The second half, as in Edinburgh, was shared between Medtner and Rachmaninov.  Both demand much virtuoso pianism, a sort of river of shimmering semiquavers that the song line floats serenely above. Again Kissin impressed with his ease and sensitivity.

Hvorostovsky, meanwhile, was transformed, his full, rich, burnished tone back in place, as if the first half was just some bizarre aberration. I don't know, perhaps he was simply holding himself back, storing up ammo for the full second half attack. He moved more freely, he sang more openly, he hit every single note cleanly. And when he sang, we heard Goethe and Pushkin's wonderful poetry and could overlook Medtner's rather derivative settings. Pulling off a few miraculously-sustained final notes turned the audience into putty. And I know that's kind of a cheap trick, but that doesn't mean it's an easy one - it's gobsmackingly impressive in the flesh. 

Whatever the sins of the first half, the capacity audience didn't mind, or more likely didn't notice, and two encores were gratefully received.

The first, something I didn't know and didn't quite catch, meant 'Sounds of the Night', and was more of the same. The second, Robert's aria from Tchaikovsky's Iolanta, was the standout of the night, Hvorostovsky sounding totally at home in its simple, direct idiom.

I hadn't appreciated that poor Hvorostovsky was working on his birthday (46 today!) until he was presented with a bouquet and - a Barbican first I think - a birthday balloon.  

 

 

Swanning around for Halloween

Yay for seasonally inappropriate programming!

Despite being gifted a name like Vlad, Maestro Jurowski  and his OAE accomplices will be coaxing the bats from the rafters of the Royal Festival Hall this Halloween with the late-nite sounds of, er ......Swan Lake. Coupled with the equally scary Romeo & Juliet.

Do they not have Halloween in Russia, or wut? Mr Pumpkinhead is not amused, though Mr Tchaikovsky is grateful for the exposure.

For anyone who finds Halloween always a trick and never a treat, the concert is a bargain alternative, with tickets at just £8 for an hour of live music (starting 10pm) plus DJ sets. More and booking details here.