Tonight was the first time I had seen these principals in the opera. Opera San Jose has two casts for every production. Most of the time the major roles are shared between two people, and the minor roles may be assigned to only one person. For example, Khori Dastoor sang all of the Kittys, and Paul Murray sang all of the Yashvins. The part of Anna was shared by Jasmina Halimic (heard Sunday) and Jouvanca Jean-Baptiste (heard this evening); Vronsky was shared by Krassen Karagiozov and Torlef Borsting; Karenin was shared by Kirk Eichelberger and Isaiah Musik-Ayala. Years ago when I had only one season ticket, I got tired of missing some of my favorite singers, and decided that the easy way to solve that problem was to get two season tickets, one for each cast.
Jouvanca made a fine Anna Karenina, with a beautifully clear voice. Torlef (Vronsky) made an imposing figure with his full head of hair, thick beard, bushy eyebrows, and stout physique; he made me think of a Russian bear. However, his relatively lightweight tone didn't match the "Russian bear" image. He's brand-new as a resident artist, and I hope to hear him develop during his Opera San Jose career. Isaiah (Karenin) is developing. This is his second year, and he sings with a fuller, more rounded voice than I remember from last year. Alexander Boyer sang Levin (sharing the part with Michael Dailey) nicely; Tori Grayum (sharing with Bettany Coffland) made an impressive Dolly. Michael Mendelsohn was a more reserved Stiva than Christopher Bengochea, who had nearly burst with energy.
I continue to be impressed with the overall production. The 19 scene changes are handled with dispatch; the sets, even if simple, are lovely and effective -- no "weird stuff" such as the Werther that is currently running at San Francisco Opera.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Anna Karenina, Opera San Jose, Sept. 19 2010
This production is a feather in Opera San Jose's cap. Everything came together this afternoon: singers, orchestra, sets, costumes, acting were all first-rate.
With 19 or so scene changes, the sets needed to be simple. They were, but they were also effective. In the prologue, in which an accident at the train station results in the death of a railway worker, the train was simply one single bright light, framed by an Erector Set-like structure. The actual death was enacted on stage by a super jumping into a trap door on stage in front of the bright light. It wasn't a large trap door; I imagine that considerable expertise is required to jump into it without hitting your nose on the edge. The sets for interior scenes involved a minimum of furniture: a few elegant chairs; a desk to represent all of Karenin's study; for the dinner party a long table with candles and flowers was wheeled in. (All set changes took place quickly and in full view of the audience.) For outdoors scenes, a large (say 15x30) backdrop was lowered from above; park benches were supplied when necessary. Anna's suicide in front of the train was represented by her walking toward the bright headlight of the train, ultimately disappearing into the darkness beneath it. To repeat, simple, but very effective. Kudos to the set designer!
Costumes were remarkable. Again, nothing over the top, but all well-executed and entirely appropriate. The amazing thing was how many costumes there were. Anna appears in about half of the 19 scenes, and she seemed to have a new costume for each one. Vronsky had two officer uniforms, one white, one green, and elegant civilian clothes for the scenes following his resignation from the army. Even Karenin seemed to have at least three variations on ultra-formal attire.
Jasminia Halimic made a fine Anna; Kirk Eichelberger as her husband Karenin almost stole the show from her with his mellifluous bass voice. I regretted that no opportunity for applause was provided following his big aria "How strange she is tonight." He would have gotten an enthusiastic audience response. Krassen Karagiozov was somewhat stiff as Anna's lover Vronsky, perhaps reflecting his military position. Michael Dailey as Levin was fine; I think I detect an improvement in his voice since last season. Khori Dastoor (Kitty) is always delightful; Bettany Coffland was good as Dolly, and a much thinner Christopher Bengochea was an active, bouncy, almost too enthusiastic Stiva. Paul Murray, who had impressed me so much as Alidoro in last year's La Cenerentola, had a small part as Yashvin. I would have liked to have heard more of him. The orchestra was conducted by Stewart Robertson, who conducted the opera's premiere in Florida and its repeat performance in St. Louis. He guided them admirably through the "modern" music. The music itself I found to be very lovely in spots, and certainly approachable everywhere. The interlude between parts 5 and 6 is gorgeous, as is Anna's short aria in Part 1 scene 1, "I remember when he first saw you."
My only reservation about today's opera was the architecture of the work. There are 19 scenes, none of them very long, some of them very short. That is something of an echo of Russian opera, think Boris Godunov and Khovanschina, which also consist of a number of scenes that don't particularly flow into one another. The effect in Anna Karenina of the small scenes is that hardly any of them have the time to develop an arc; no time to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Characters come on stage, present practically a snapshot of the action, and then it's time for the next scene. The librettist has been very faithful to the novel, to the extent of including Tolstoy's Part 8 as an anticlimactic final scene following Anna's suicide. I ruminate about a different approach, using Carmen as a model. The original Carmen is a very short novella; nevertheless the librettists not only threw out characters (such as Carmen's husband, whom Don Jose also killed), but added Micaela and completely changed Carmen's murder. And he got four acts out of it, each with a beginning, middle, and end. Could something similar be done with Anna Karenina? Or would you need something the size of the entire Der Ring des Nibelungen?
But tackling any such problem with the architecture is not within the scope of an opera company that chooses to perform the work. Opera San Jose has done a magnificent job of presenting the opera as written, and the results should encourage other companies to take it on.
With 19 or so scene changes, the sets needed to be simple. They were, but they were also effective. In the prologue, in which an accident at the train station results in the death of a railway worker, the train was simply one single bright light, framed by an Erector Set-like structure. The actual death was enacted on stage by a super jumping into a trap door on stage in front of the bright light. It wasn't a large trap door; I imagine that considerable expertise is required to jump into it without hitting your nose on the edge. The sets for interior scenes involved a minimum of furniture: a few elegant chairs; a desk to represent all of Karenin's study; for the dinner party a long table with candles and flowers was wheeled in. (All set changes took place quickly and in full view of the audience.) For outdoors scenes, a large (say 15x30) backdrop was lowered from above; park benches were supplied when necessary. Anna's suicide in front of the train was represented by her walking toward the bright headlight of the train, ultimately disappearing into the darkness beneath it. To repeat, simple, but very effective. Kudos to the set designer!
Costumes were remarkable. Again, nothing over the top, but all well-executed and entirely appropriate. The amazing thing was how many costumes there were. Anna appears in about half of the 19 scenes, and she seemed to have a new costume for each one. Vronsky had two officer uniforms, one white, one green, and elegant civilian clothes for the scenes following his resignation from the army. Even Karenin seemed to have at least three variations on ultra-formal attire.
Jasminia Halimic made a fine Anna; Kirk Eichelberger as her husband Karenin almost stole the show from her with his mellifluous bass voice. I regretted that no opportunity for applause was provided following his big aria "How strange she is tonight." He would have gotten an enthusiastic audience response. Krassen Karagiozov was somewhat stiff as Anna's lover Vronsky, perhaps reflecting his military position. Michael Dailey as Levin was fine; I think I detect an improvement in his voice since last season. Khori Dastoor (Kitty) is always delightful; Bettany Coffland was good as Dolly, and a much thinner Christopher Bengochea was an active, bouncy, almost too enthusiastic Stiva. Paul Murray, who had impressed me so much as Alidoro in last year's La Cenerentola, had a small part as Yashvin. I would have liked to have heard more of him. The orchestra was conducted by Stewart Robertson, who conducted the opera's premiere in Florida and its repeat performance in St. Louis. He guided them admirably through the "modern" music. The music itself I found to be very lovely in spots, and certainly approachable everywhere. The interlude between parts 5 and 6 is gorgeous, as is Anna's short aria in Part 1 scene 1, "I remember when he first saw you."
My only reservation about today's opera was the architecture of the work. There are 19 scenes, none of them very long, some of them very short. That is something of an echo of Russian opera, think Boris Godunov and Khovanschina, which also consist of a number of scenes that don't particularly flow into one another. The effect in Anna Karenina of the small scenes is that hardly any of them have the time to develop an arc; no time to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Characters come on stage, present practically a snapshot of the action, and then it's time for the next scene. The librettist has been very faithful to the novel, to the extent of including Tolstoy's Part 8 as an anticlimactic final scene following Anna's suicide. I ruminate about a different approach, using Carmen as a model. The original Carmen is a very short novella; nevertheless the librettists not only threw out characters (such as Carmen's husband, whom Don Jose also killed), but added Micaela and completely changed Carmen's murder. And he got four acts out of it, each with a beginning, middle, and end. Could something similar be done with Anna Karenina? Or would you need something the size of the entire Der Ring des Nibelungen?
But tackling any such problem with the architecture is not within the scope of an opera company that chooses to perform the work. Opera San Jose has done a magnificent job of presenting the opera as written, and the results should encourage other companies to take it on.
Aida, San Francisco Opera, Sept. 16 2010
San Francisco Opera either sold or discarded their prior Aida production, so they needed to create a new one. In a world of extravagant Aida productions, this one is far more modest, perhaps reflecting the budget-conscious times. The primary visual element was the side curtains that could be drawn across the stage, from either side. The edges were 30° from vertical, so that when left and right curtains were both drawn toward the center, the gap between them formed roughly a teepee shape. Said curtains were some variant of blue-green in color, and decorated with scribbles vaguely reminiscent of hieroglyphs. Beyond that there were painted drops, and occasionally some steps. Act 1 scene 2 featured a pyramid of steps, with a very lifelike statue on top. For Act 2 scene 2, the triumphal procession, there were some steps for the trumpeters to stand on, and elaborately decorated chairs for Amneris and her father the King of Egypt to sit in (at the front of the stage, blocking my view of much of the dancing), and lots of people. No elephants, but they mocked up an elephant: Radames entered standing on a platform carried by several men, while other men carried a fabric-covered structure representing the head of the elephant, complete with a trunk that a puppeteer waved back and forth. Other men carried two gigantic tusks, while still others carried "flags" in the shape of the elephant's ears. The entire elephant, save the tusks, was a light blue-green. For the final scene in which Radames and Aida suffocate in the vault, the side curtains were drawn partway onto the stage and Radames descended from high above in a steel shark cage, open on the side toward the audience. Radames clearly had a safety belt, as it took him an untoward amount of time to get unhooked from it so that he could step out of the cage. Aida of course emerged from the wings. Basically the production was true to the text, nothing at all outrageous, and couldn't have cost a great deal of money.
The outstaning performer for me was Marco Vortogna as Amonasro. He had a superb voice and was fully involved in his character. The only downside was his costume. Another reviewer compared it to Papageno's. The bulk of the costume was geometrically-patterned pantaloons, with furs (think coyote, not mink) draped over his torso. Yes, he's not dressed as the King of Ethiopia, but neither was he dressed in simple rags. Perhaps it's a beat-up version of what someone think that exotic Ethiopians wear. The big name in the performance was Dolora Zajick as Amneris. I think she saved herself for her Act 4 confrontation with Radames, which merited a "wow!" from me at the scene change; for the prior three acts, she was good but not spectacular. Micaela Carosi was adequate as Aida. Her high point was being heard over all of the assembled forces at the conclusion of Act 2. Marcelo Giordani sang well as Radames but could take acting lessons from our Amonasro. Also notable was Christian Van Horn as the King of Egypt, with a wonderful but not overpowering bass voice. You can catch a superb clip of him rehearsing the part of Karenin in Anna Karenina on YouTube. He also runs an interesting blog at christianvanhorn.tumblr.com.
The outstaning performer for me was Marco Vortogna as Amonasro. He had a superb voice and was fully involved in his character. The only downside was his costume. Another reviewer compared it to Papageno's. The bulk of the costume was geometrically-patterned pantaloons, with furs (think coyote, not mink) draped over his torso. Yes, he's not dressed as the King of Ethiopia, but neither was he dressed in simple rags. Perhaps it's a beat-up version of what someone think that exotic Ethiopians wear. The big name in the performance was Dolora Zajick as Amneris. I think she saved herself for her Act 4 confrontation with Radames, which merited a "wow!" from me at the scene change; for the prior three acts, she was good but not spectacular. Micaela Carosi was adequate as Aida. Her high point was being heard over all of the assembled forces at the conclusion of Act 2. Marcelo Giordani sang well as Radames but could take acting lessons from our Amonasro. Also notable was Christian Van Horn as the King of Egypt, with a wonderful but not overpowering bass voice. You can catch a superb clip of him rehearsing the part of Karenin in Anna Karenina on YouTube. He also runs an interesting blog at christianvanhorn.tumblr.com.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
La Traviata, Fremont Opera, Aug. 27 2010
Fremont Opera is a new (2007) small regional opera company that concentrates on semi-staged productions of the most-standard operatic repertoire. I missed their first production, of La Boheme, but did get to their second production, Barber of Seville, two years ago. I still talk about it. "Semi-staged" meant that there were furniture and costumes and acting, just no sets—a far cry from a "concert performance." And the singing and the acting and the directing were first-rate. With a performance like that, who needed sets? Especially when the absence of sets leaves them with enough budget to hire a full-size orchestra.
So when I found out that the winner of this year's Irene Dalis Vocal Competition, Danielle Talamantes, would be singing in this summer's semi-staged production of La Traviata, I jumped at the chance. What's more, Scott Bearden, winner of last year's Irene Dalis Vocal Competition, would be singing Gi0rgio Germont. I was early enough to snag front-row seats.
No sets, no curtain; the performance started with the conductor, Violetta, and her maid walking onto the darkened stage and assuming their positions, Violetta on a backless sofa. During the prelude, Violetta slowly awakes, coughs, and changes from her nightgown into her party dress, and when the music picks up, Act I proper is launched. Talamantes has a nice voice, perhaps a shade darker than what I was expecting in a Violetta, and lacking the exceptional energy and vivacity of the party girl that is Violetta. Her Alfredo, Benjamin Bunsold, was someone I don't remember having seen before. He's quite a striking young man, but he seemed not to have much control over his voice, and to have something stuck in his throat that rendered his voice rough and harsh in the lower register and verging on squeaky in the upper register. Fremont Opera likes to take advantage of the "balconies" that overlook the stage. During her "Ah forse lui" and "Sempre libera," sang his "Amor e palpito" interjections first from offstage, and then from the overlook.
The singers must have been given a pep talk during the first intermission. Bunsold's voice had improved remarkably, and he delivered an acceptable cavatina. But after being interrupted by the maid, he strode off the stage, omitting the powerful cabaletto. A bit later we were treated to the finest voice of the evening, Scott Bearden's Giorgio Germont, enjoyable in all respects save one: much of the time he appeared to be singing to a much larger house than the 405-seat Jackson Theatre. He has, or can have, a big voice that I hope stands him in good stead elsewhere. Interestingly, the director had him wear a clerical collar—based, I presume, on his lines "It is God, my child, who inspires these words that a father speaks" and "One day heaven will reward you for those tears." It gives him religious in addition to parental authority, not to mention vocal authority. His "Di Provenza" was tender and loving.
Having cut Alfredo's cabaletto from the beginning of scene 1, I was wondering whether the chorus of gypsies and chorus of matadors (and attendant dancers) in Flora's party might be cut as well, but they weren't. There was only one (masked) matador, who danced with two women; at the end he removed his mask, revealing himself to be—Alfredo! Which was a perfect setup for the chorus's ejaculation of "Alfredo! ... Voi!" ("Alfredo! ... You!"). At the end, when the elder Germont chastises his son for insulting a woman, he does so not from the party floor, but from the overlook.
Act III brings us of course to Violetta's deathbed, around dawn. As an example of how well a semi-staged performance can be done, when Violetta asks Annina to open the shutters and let in some light, the maid goes up to the edge of the stage, reaches up her arms, and draws apart the imaginary shutters—and the spotlight bathes her in light. Predictable, yes, but very effective. One measure of the effectiveness of a La Traviata is whether any eyes are moistened when she expires. It's rare, but it can happen. For a moment earlier in the act, I thought we might get there, but no.
For me, the standouts were two: Scott Bearden's Giorgio Germont, and the acting. For a small company that will give only two performances of this masterwork, they must have spent a lot of time rehearsing not just the singing but the acting as well. There was a lot of acting, and it was done very well. The orchestra played reasonably well, none of the horn bobbles that marred The Legend of the Ring, but they lacked the vivacity that is called for at some points.
Bottom line: enjoyable, glad I went, yet no comparison to the Barber of Seville of two years ago. But I'll certainly plan to see their next production (disregarding distractions such as Fremont Opera goes Bollywood), whenever it is.
So when I found out that the winner of this year's Irene Dalis Vocal Competition, Danielle Talamantes, would be singing in this summer's semi-staged production of La Traviata, I jumped at the chance. What's more, Scott Bearden, winner of last year's Irene Dalis Vocal Competition, would be singing Gi0rgio Germont. I was early enough to snag front-row seats.
No sets, no curtain; the performance started with the conductor, Violetta, and her maid walking onto the darkened stage and assuming their positions, Violetta on a backless sofa. During the prelude, Violetta slowly awakes, coughs, and changes from her nightgown into her party dress, and when the music picks up, Act I proper is launched. Talamantes has a nice voice, perhaps a shade darker than what I was expecting in a Violetta, and lacking the exceptional energy and vivacity of the party girl that is Violetta. Her Alfredo, Benjamin Bunsold, was someone I don't remember having seen before. He's quite a striking young man, but he seemed not to have much control over his voice, and to have something stuck in his throat that rendered his voice rough and harsh in the lower register and verging on squeaky in the upper register. Fremont Opera likes to take advantage of the "balconies" that overlook the stage. During her "Ah forse lui" and "Sempre libera," sang his "Amor e palpito" interjections first from offstage, and then from the overlook.
The singers must have been given a pep talk during the first intermission. Bunsold's voice had improved remarkably, and he delivered an acceptable cavatina. But after being interrupted by the maid, he strode off the stage, omitting the powerful cabaletto. A bit later we were treated to the finest voice of the evening, Scott Bearden's Giorgio Germont, enjoyable in all respects save one: much of the time he appeared to be singing to a much larger house than the 405-seat Jackson Theatre. He has, or can have, a big voice that I hope stands him in good stead elsewhere. Interestingly, the director had him wear a clerical collar—based, I presume, on his lines "It is God, my child, who inspires these words that a father speaks" and "One day heaven will reward you for those tears." It gives him religious in addition to parental authority, not to mention vocal authority. His "Di Provenza" was tender and loving.
Having cut Alfredo's cabaletto from the beginning of scene 1, I was wondering whether the chorus of gypsies and chorus of matadors (and attendant dancers) in Flora's party might be cut as well, but they weren't. There was only one (masked) matador, who danced with two women; at the end he removed his mask, revealing himself to be—Alfredo! Which was a perfect setup for the chorus's ejaculation of "Alfredo! ... Voi!" ("Alfredo! ... You!"). At the end, when the elder Germont chastises his son for insulting a woman, he does so not from the party floor, but from the overlook.
Act III brings us of course to Violetta's deathbed, around dawn. As an example of how well a semi-staged performance can be done, when Violetta asks Annina to open the shutters and let in some light, the maid goes up to the edge of the stage, reaches up her arms, and draws apart the imaginary shutters—and the spotlight bathes her in light. Predictable, yes, but very effective. One measure of the effectiveness of a La Traviata is whether any eyes are moistened when she expires. It's rare, but it can happen. For a moment earlier in the act, I thought we might get there, but no.
For me, the standouts were two: Scott Bearden's Giorgio Germont, and the acting. For a small company that will give only two performances of this masterwork, they must have spent a lot of time rehearsing not just the singing but the acting as well. There was a lot of acting, and it was done very well. The orchestra played reasonably well, none of the horn bobbles that marred The Legend of the Ring, but they lacked the vivacity that is called for at some points.
Bottom line: enjoyable, glad I went, yet no comparison to the Barber of Seville of two years ago. But I'll certainly plan to see their next production (disregarding distractions such as Fremont Opera goes Bollywood), whenever it is.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Lucia di Lammermoor, Festival Opera, Aug. 10 2010
Festival Opera (Walnut Creek) presented Donizetti's great tragedy with two of my favorite singers, Kirk Eichelberger as Raimundo and Brian Leerhuber as Enrico. Also featured were some names new to me: Angela Cadelago as Lucia, Thomas Glenn as Edgardo, and Michael Foreman as Arturo. Kirk was, as always, superb. Unfortunately the director cut his scene with Lucia after Enrico departs following his Act 2 “Se tradirmi.” But he shone particularly well in his big aria following Lucia's mad scene. Brian's voice was as good as I remembered from his years at Opera San Jose. Patrice Houston (Alisa) is also an Opera San Jose alumna, and she made me wish that I had paid more attention to her during those years.
Angela Cadelago sounded a bit underpowered for this role; I wonder whether Rosina might be more her speed. Thomas Glenn was adequate though not outstanding. The part of Arturo, pitched as high as it is, sounds out of place amidst all the other powerful characters; he has the same handicap as Don Ottavio. But Michael Foreman certainly cut a dashing figure onstage.
The sets were nothing spectacular (two flanking “stained glass windows”, a mound of rocks in the background for the first and last scenes, and the requisite staircase for the wedding scene), but the costumes did catch my eye -- very well done. Stage direction left something to be desired: Kirk seemed to be at loose ends as to what to do with himself, which is certainly not characteristic of him. The program notes say that “Mark Foehringer makes his debut as stage director with this production,” so maybe we can be forgiving and hope for better his next time out.
Angela Cadelago sounded a bit underpowered for this role; I wonder whether Rosina might be more her speed. Thomas Glenn was adequate though not outstanding. The part of Arturo, pitched as high as it is, sounds out of place amidst all the other powerful characters; he has the same handicap as Don Ottavio. But Michael Foreman certainly cut a dashing figure onstage.
The sets were nothing spectacular (two flanking “stained glass windows”, a mound of rocks in the background for the first and last scenes, and the requisite staircase for the wedding scene), but the costumes did catch my eye -- very well done. Stage direction left something to be desired: Kirk seemed to be at loose ends as to what to do with himself, which is certainly not characteristic of him. The program notes say that “Mark Foehringer makes his debut as stage director with this production,” so maybe we can be forgiving and hope for better his next time out.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
L'Elisir d'Amore, Merola, August 7 2010
San Francisco Opera's Merola program presented Donizetti's The Elixir of Love on four consecutive evenings at the Cowell Theater at Ft. Mason. One cast performed on Thursday and Saturday and another cast performed on Friday and Sunday. As principals, we heard singers whom we had not heard at the summer concert three weeks ago; the summer concert singers formed the chorus.
The staging was a combination of “local color” and already-tired concept. In the self-referential vein described in Gödel, Escher, Bach, the opera was presented as though it were a rehearsal of The Elixir of Love at Ft. Mason, with a director's chair for Adina, a closet full of stage props (Nemorino must be the props boy), and a stage and proscenium set well back from the edge of the actual stage. I saw the same idea some months ago in a Met HD broadcast of La Sonnambula. It didn't work then and it didn't work now. But this time the concept didn't intrude excessively on the action; for the most part it was as if the action took place in front of whatever the set happened to be. One interesting twist was that while the score calls for Adina to be reading the legend of Tristan and Isolde, here Adina carried around the score of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde.
The role of Adina was sung by Nadine Sierra, whom I wouldn't mind seeing again. It took her a while to get up to speed, but once there she displayed a lovely voice fully capable of handling the intricacies of the part. Daniel Montenegro as Nemorino, Thomas Florio as Dulcamara, and Benjamin Covey as Belcore were not as impressive. Hye Jung Lee (Gianetta) had a squeaky little voice that did not appeal. As mentioned earlier, several fine singers from the summer concert performed in the chorus. I listened hard to try to pick out Kevin Thompson's superb bass, but was unable to do so.
We signed up for front row seats, as is our wont, and got more than we bargained for. The Cowell Theater does not have an official orchestra pit; they removed the seats in rows A and B and put the musicians there. In particular, the oboist (Patricia Mitchell?) sat right next to the folded-up seats of row C, so we in row D were close enough that we could easily have reached out and touched her. (But we did have a nice conversation.) I feared that the aural perspective might be pretty strange, but instead I got a feel for what the sound must be like on the conductor's podium: music to the left, music to the right, super-stereo. And they did not overwhelm the singers. I was also able to make a brief acquaintance with the bassoonist Rufus David Olivier, son of San Francisco Opera's principal bassoonist Rufus Olivier, whom I know slightly through some bassoon-playing friends. (RDO is also a member of the SF Opera orchestra.) His introduction to the big aria, Una furtiva lagrima, was nicely done.
It was not only summer in San Francisco, it was summer in San Francisco on the waterfront at 8pm. The thermometer in the car read 57° when we left the car to go to the theater, and it was 57° when we returned. Brrrrr!
The staging was a combination of “local color” and already-tired concept. In the self-referential vein described in Gödel, Escher, Bach, the opera was presented as though it were a rehearsal of The Elixir of Love at Ft. Mason, with a director's chair for Adina, a closet full of stage props (Nemorino must be the props boy), and a stage and proscenium set well back from the edge of the actual stage. I saw the same idea some months ago in a Met HD broadcast of La Sonnambula. It didn't work then and it didn't work now. But this time the concept didn't intrude excessively on the action; for the most part it was as if the action took place in front of whatever the set happened to be. One interesting twist was that while the score calls for Adina to be reading the legend of Tristan and Isolde, here Adina carried around the score of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde.
The role of Adina was sung by Nadine Sierra, whom I wouldn't mind seeing again. It took her a while to get up to speed, but once there she displayed a lovely voice fully capable of handling the intricacies of the part. Daniel Montenegro as Nemorino, Thomas Florio as Dulcamara, and Benjamin Covey as Belcore were not as impressive. Hye Jung Lee (Gianetta) had a squeaky little voice that did not appeal. As mentioned earlier, several fine singers from the summer concert performed in the chorus. I listened hard to try to pick out Kevin Thompson's superb bass, but was unable to do so.
We signed up for front row seats, as is our wont, and got more than we bargained for. The Cowell Theater does not have an official orchestra pit; they removed the seats in rows A and B and put the musicians there. In particular, the oboist (Patricia Mitchell?) sat right next to the folded-up seats of row C, so we in row D were close enough that we could easily have reached out and touched her. (But we did have a nice conversation.) I feared that the aural perspective might be pretty strange, but instead I got a feel for what the sound must be like on the conductor's podium: music to the left, music to the right, super-stereo. And they did not overwhelm the singers. I was also able to make a brief acquaintance with the bassoonist Rufus David Olivier, son of San Francisco Opera's principal bassoonist Rufus Olivier, whom I know slightly through some bassoon-playing friends. (RDO is also a member of the SF Opera orchestra.) His introduction to the big aria, Una furtiva lagrima, was nicely done.
It was not only summer in San Francisco, it was summer in San Francisco on the waterfront at 8pm. The thermometer in the car read 57° when we left the car to go to the theater, and it was 57° when we returned. Brrrrr!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Legend of the Ring, Berkeley Opera, July 31 2010
What? Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen in 3½ hours? How do you do that? With massive cuts: drastically reduced lusting of Albrerich for the Rhinemaidens, no Donner, no discourse on Freia's golden apples, no Mime, no Erda; no Friedmund darf ich nicht heissen or Der Männer Sippe or Winterstürme or Du bist der Lenz, a highly compressed argument between Wotan and Fricka, a snippet of Wotan's monologue, a highly compressed Todesverkundigung, no Walkürenritt (no Valkyries other than Brünnhilde), no Leb' wohl; no "twenty questions" between Mime and the Wanderer, no Alberich-Wotan confrontation, no forest murmurs, no Erda, no "das ist kein Mann," no reluctance by Brünnhilde to fall in love with Siegfried; no Norns, no Waltraute, no Hagen's Watch, no Hagen's call to the vassals, no scene between Siegfried and the Rhinemaidens, no Siegfried's Funeral Music, and a drastically reduced Immolation Scene. It's the story of The Ring, stripped down to its bare essentials, and it still takes 3 hr 45 min start to finish including one intermission. It helps you realize that The Ring is as big as it is because it needs to be as big as it is.
You also do it with a serious reduction in performing forces: Brünnhilde doubles as Wellgunde, Wotan/Wanderer as Gunther, Alberich as Fasolt, Siegfried as Froh and Siegmund, etc. The orchestra isn't much larger than the Pocket Philharmonic: three violas (right: no violins), two cellos, two basses, one flute, one clarinet, one trumpet, three horns, one trombone, one percussionist, and an electronic piano for a harp. (They still managed to slip a Wagner tuba in amongst the horns.) Despite the small size, volume of sound was never a problem, though it might have been if Siegfried's Funeral Music had not been cut. A front row center seat may have helped also.
And you conduct with passion. The orchestra played their hearts out, with lots of enthusiasm, though not with the technical skill that I'm accustomed to hearing at Berkeley Opera. As the horns entered in the Rheingold prelude, I was afraid that it might turn into a looong evening in the theater. But anything that the orchestra lacked, the singers more than made up for. Marie Plette in particular was simply outstanding. She got to wear the most hats of anyone: Woglinde, Freia, Sieglinde, Woodbird, and Gutrune. And every time, in every role, hers was a voice to reckon with. Richard Paul Fink, perhaps the world's reigning Alberich, finally got a chance to sing Wotan. He was fine, but maybe he should stick with Alberich. That role was taken by Bojan Knezevic, rather impressively. Another highlight was Stephen Rumph as Loge: one of the youngest people on stage, he sang without the whiny tone that I so often hear in Loge, and he was a very dynamic onstage presence, always in motion, as you might expect of a flickering flame. Jay Hunter Morris certainly had the pipes as Siegmund and Siegfried, and made a good Froh as well. Dean Peterson lacked the ultimate vocal heft that makes for a great Fafner or Hunding or Hagen. I thought more highly of Christine Springer as Brünnhilde than did my companions, but that's faint praise. I was wishing for another Marie Plette in that role.
The staging was done with lots of projections, on screens to the left and right of the center where most of the action takes place. Most effective was the series of images that represented various stages of the descent into Nibelheim. There were a very few props in the center, primarily a white box that Alberich can crouch behind as he turns himself into a serpent and then a toad, and which Brünnhilde can ascend for the Todesverkundigung. There are also two fancy black leather "waiting room" chairs; Brünnhilde is put to sleep with her torso on one chair and her legs on the other, while Loge reclines on the white box. Stage direction was perhaps at its most effective near the end of Walküre Act I: as Siegmund and Sieglinde ramp up their passion, Wotan and Brünnhilde appear stage left and look on approvingly–and then Fricka enters upstage and is shocked! shocked! when Siegmund and Sieglinde kiss. Somewhat jarring was the Woodbird near the end of Siegfried. Marie Plette was wearing a woman's suit style of dress with a pillbox hat adorned with feathers, and she carried a cell phone, which she apparently used to relay a play-by-play report of the battle between Siegfried and Fafner. She even used it to take a picture of the victor. Cute, but just a bit “out there.”
There is also some sort of talisman, a T in a circle with a semicircular tab hanging from the right side of the T, looking sort of like a hood ornament. It got passed from character to character, and at times was stuck into a receiving slot in the white box. Its significance escaped me.
Overall, very enjoyable. I don't particularly feel the need to catch one of the remaining performances, but I'll certainly look forward to the next time that Berkeley Opera (presumably they will have assumed their new name of West Edge Opera by then) performs Legend of the Ring.
You also do it with a serious reduction in performing forces: Brünnhilde doubles as Wellgunde, Wotan/Wanderer as Gunther, Alberich as Fasolt, Siegfried as Froh and Siegmund, etc. The orchestra isn't much larger than the Pocket Philharmonic: three violas (right: no violins), two cellos, two basses, one flute, one clarinet, one trumpet, three horns, one trombone, one percussionist, and an electronic piano for a harp. (They still managed to slip a Wagner tuba in amongst the horns.) Despite the small size, volume of sound was never a problem, though it might have been if Siegfried's Funeral Music had not been cut. A front row center seat may have helped also.
And you conduct with passion. The orchestra played their hearts out, with lots of enthusiasm, though not with the technical skill that I'm accustomed to hearing at Berkeley Opera. As the horns entered in the Rheingold prelude, I was afraid that it might turn into a looong evening in the theater. But anything that the orchestra lacked, the singers more than made up for. Marie Plette in particular was simply outstanding. She got to wear the most hats of anyone: Woglinde, Freia, Sieglinde, Woodbird, and Gutrune. And every time, in every role, hers was a voice to reckon with. Richard Paul Fink, perhaps the world's reigning Alberich, finally got a chance to sing Wotan. He was fine, but maybe he should stick with Alberich. That role was taken by Bojan Knezevic, rather impressively. Another highlight was Stephen Rumph as Loge: one of the youngest people on stage, he sang without the whiny tone that I so often hear in Loge, and he was a very dynamic onstage presence, always in motion, as you might expect of a flickering flame. Jay Hunter Morris certainly had the pipes as Siegmund and Siegfried, and made a good Froh as well. Dean Peterson lacked the ultimate vocal heft that makes for a great Fafner or Hunding or Hagen. I thought more highly of Christine Springer as Brünnhilde than did my companions, but that's faint praise. I was wishing for another Marie Plette in that role.
The staging was done with lots of projections, on screens to the left and right of the center where most of the action takes place. Most effective was the series of images that represented various stages of the descent into Nibelheim. There were a very few props in the center, primarily a white box that Alberich can crouch behind as he turns himself into a serpent and then a toad, and which Brünnhilde can ascend for the Todesverkundigung. There are also two fancy black leather "waiting room" chairs; Brünnhilde is put to sleep with her torso on one chair and her legs on the other, while Loge reclines on the white box. Stage direction was perhaps at its most effective near the end of Walküre Act I: as Siegmund and Sieglinde ramp up their passion, Wotan and Brünnhilde appear stage left and look on approvingly–and then Fricka enters upstage and is shocked! shocked! when Siegmund and Sieglinde kiss. Somewhat jarring was the Woodbird near the end of Siegfried. Marie Plette was wearing a woman's suit style of dress with a pillbox hat adorned with feathers, and she carried a cell phone, which she apparently used to relay a play-by-play report of the battle between Siegfried and Fafner. She even used it to take a picture of the victor. Cute, but just a bit “out there.”
There is also some sort of talisman, a T in a circle with a semicircular tab hanging from the right side of the T, looking sort of like a hood ornament. It got passed from character to character, and at times was stuck into a receiving slot in the white box. Its significance escaped me.
Overall, very enjoyable. I don't particularly feel the need to catch one of the remaining performances, but I'll certainly look forward to the next time that Berkeley Opera (presumably they will have assumed their new name of West Edge Opera by then) performs Legend of the Ring.
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