Prima la musica, poi le parole

Tales from the Song Quest

Where oh where do I even start to begin? I have ten thousand things to say, and all of them want said immediately, but clearly that's impossible: so we'll just proceed at a leisurely, chronological pace, shall we?

Act One

Queen St.

There were no performances to attend on Wednesday, my first full day in Auckland, so I spent it shopping. Yes, that kind of shopping. I started at one end of Queen St., with Real Groovy, faced the Borders monster at lunchtime, and spent a leisurely mid-afternoon at the beautiful Marbecks classical store. I bought fourteen CDs in about four hours. Apparently that's quite a lot. (I suppose it is. I bought twenty one in three weeks in Melbourne. But never mind.) Anyway, I've got fourteen lovely new children now. An Yvonne compilation, her English songs, her Christmas CD, Kalman's Csardasfürstin and Lennox Berkeley's A Dinner Engagement, in both of which she stars; the incomparable Véronique Gens' Berlioz CD; Isabel Bayrakdarian's CD of Pauline Viardot-Garcia songs (somebody picked up my telepathic vibes!); Renata, Birgit, Franco Jussi & co in Turandot; Debbie Voigt's Obsessions ($12 thankyou very much!); Cecilia's Armida under lovely Nikolaus Harnoncourt; Arcadian Duets (you were right about the cadenza Gregory!); Elisabeth Schwarzkopf having her way with Mozart Lieder; Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's Bach Cantatas; and Les fantaisies de Patricia Petibon which you- yes all of you- need to own.

I could pay quite lengthy tribute here to the classical CD stores/sections of Auckland (particularly the wonderful man who served me at Marbecks, who I had fabulous discussions with about all my purchases) but I know that 99.9% of you couldn't care less, so let's move on...

Avant de quitter ces lieux..

The plane to Auckland and the Song Quest leaves tomorrow morning. My bag is packed, with at least five potential Song Quest-attending outfits. I've loaded the Not an iPod up with all the music I might need: three and half hours of Yvonne, four and a half of Grace, plenty of Anna, Renata, Kiri et al, and a healthy serving of Judy, Dusty and Marlene as well. Molto Agitato is in my bag.  I know which CD shops I have to hit while I'm there. I've determined as far as possible that there are no other events worthy of my attention, save perhaps a free lunchtime recital at the public library. The art gallery's not showing anything Victorian, so I won't be visiting. So all I have to say is: best of luck to all six of the Song Quest finalists. I can't wait to hear them all. I've a feeling it's going to be a wonderful night.

And with that, I shall depart. I'm not a big fan of internet cafés, so you mightn't hear from me until I return on Saturday. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves. I mean it: I hand the reins of the blog - or the comments at any rate - to anyone who'd like them. Amusez-vous bien!

Full of Grace

It seemed a little dishonest, somehow, that I was so terribly excited about Grace Bumbry coming to judge the Song Quest and yet had essentially very little idea of her as a singer. I'd seen her 'Great Voices'  Lieder recital on TV (and loved her) but still, what I was mostly excited about was the chance to see a Real Live Star in person.  I thought I ought to buy a CD or two, and make my giddiness legitimate. So I finally got myself organised last week and bought this: four and a half hours worth of Grace's early recordings. Handel, Gluck, Verdi, Schubert, Brahms, Bizet and more - it's all here. 'Good,' I thought. 'At least now I'll know what she sounds like.'

What I didn't bargain for, of course, is the fact that The Woman is A Miracle. My god but she can sing! One of the most gorgeous, rich, warm voices I've ever heard. Dramatic and thrilling and always always beautiful. It's addictive. I tell you, had it not been for the Cesare inspired resurgence of my Yvonne obsession, I'd have spent this past week listening exclusively to Grace. As it is, I've been more less alternating the two. And if I had to listen only to Grace for the rest of my life, I've no doubt I could cope. Not only because she's beautiful, but because the voice is so rich, so capable of variety, so full of everything you could ask for that I really believe she could cater for every musical need. It seems impossible that one woman could sing such a wide variety of music and never once falter. The Handel is as fabulous as the Verdi, the Wagner as beautiful as the Wolf. And it's a nourishing voice: listening to a CD is like having the best meal you could imagine. Of course, this does also mean I get hungry. She's an addiction. Already, I find myself feeling the need for some Grace: and I know nobody else will do.

So lord knows how on earth I'm going to cope now with being in her presence. It would have been bad enough anyway, but now that I'm becoming a fully fledged devotee... I might just burst. Especially since it won't just be at the Song Quest finals that I'll see her. She's giving a series of masterclasses while she's here. They're open to the public, entry is free, and I'm going to the Auckland one and the Dunedin one. They're each three hours long. Six hours in close proximity to la mia Grace. I may not emerge alive. But at least I'll die happy.

Don Carlo

I'm torn between two Verdians, feeling like a fool: Sondra Radvanovsky and Violeta Urmana were both wonderful in this afternoon's Don Carlo broadcast. It took me a moment or three to warm to Urmana's Eboli - the Veil Song was fine but didn't really interest me much - but by the time we got to 'O don fatale' I was hers. And Sondra Radvanovksy: what class! I didn't pay much attention to her Elena in Vespri (which feels like years ago) but this time around I was ready for her and she was great. A few less-than-secure passage perhaps but so appealing and so shimmeringly beautiful. Months ago Trrill's Grisi Pasta (which appears have quasi-returned, incidentally) reviewed her and suggested describing her voice as 'prismatic'. (Update: No she didn't! She said it about Victoria Litherland! Still works-ish though) I think that's exactly right, and there's really nothing I could add.

Richard Margison's Don Carlo was alright, I guess. I mean, he made a nice enough sound. But sometimes it sounded to me more like he was singing jazz standards than Verdi. Besides, I'm a pronunciation pedant (when it suits), and a singer who pronounces 'casto' as 'cawsto' loses a lot of credibility. Dwayne Croft as Rodrigo was fantastic, however, and Ferruccio Furlanetto's Filippo was an absolute triumph - to think that just last week I praising his Don Basilio! However, I simply cannot stand Samuel Ramey. Perhaps - surely - he sounds better in the house; but I just can't think of any reason why I should have to listen to him. He wobbles away so much you'd think he was Bert Lahr in The Wizard of Oz. I know he's a legend, and I know he hasn't always sounded this way (he's fine in the Solti Figaro) but the fact remains that as he is now, I don't want to hear him. Anyway, he was the only aspect of this Don Carlo which I didn't enjoy. Everyone else was either very good or absolutely fantastic- and the orchestra under Fabio Luisi definitely falls into the latter category. It staggers me to think anyone would want to leave before the end of this: I didn't even stand up, let alone leave the room, for the full 4 1/2 hours, intervals included.

Yvonne Kenny in Egitto

Some truths:

-Anything by Handel is in itself enough to make me pretty happy.
-A Handel opera makes me very happy indeed.
-Giulio Cesare is particularly full of fabulousness.
-Yvonne Kenny by herself is enough to make me weak at the knees.
-Yvonne Kenny singing Handel is already almost too much to bear.
-Yvonne Kenny singing Cleopatra: I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die.

My Yvonne. She was a miracle and a joy to behold. Perfectly, irresistably beautiful to listen to and to watch. Never have I been so thankful for the convention of the da capo aria: the more repeats the better, I say. I'd gladly listen to Yvonne sing 'Piangero la sorte mia' for the rest of my life: although it's so upsetting I probably wouldn't survive very long. And her ornaments make another case for the merits of the da capo: it's truly remarkable what this woman's voice can do. Besides which, the voice itself is so naturally gorgeous that if she just stood there and sang a single note for the full three and half hours, she'd still blow everyone else off the stage. Singing - and Handel singing especially - seems as natural to this woman as speaking, or as breathing. If ever I met her, I think I'd half expect her to speak with harpsichord continuo.

Without question, she's the best-sounding thing on stage in this production. Countertenor Graham Pushee is a magnificent and charismatic Cesare (note to Mezzogregory: if Yvonne hadn't been present, I'd be rhapsodising about Pushee right now). But even he is well and truly in the Shadow of Yvonne - now there's a shadow I'd sing 'Ombra mai fu' to. Tolomeo is fun to watch if not so great to hear. The rest of them, well, they're fine. But there's a reason the audience starts yelling and stomping their feet when Yvonne steps forward. I'd have been tempted to do the same were I not lovelorn and helpless.

I could go on like this forever but we'd never get anywhere (and no matter how many words I wrote, you'd still have to see the aria-sung-in-milk-bath to appreciate it). There's a proper review here, with which I agree on more or less every point. As for me, I'm going to go and watch the edited highlights (ie Cleopatra's ten thousand arias) once again.

PS. Thank heavens for real reviewers. Here, in simple language, are the words I've somehow never been able to put together:

"Yvonne Kenny is a wonderful singer, with a pliable, shimmering tone, a technique that allows her to sing at many dynamic levels from ppp to ff, and an intelligence and way with text that is underlined with absolute commitment. " (Robert Levine, reviewing Yvonne's Great Operatic Arias CD at Classics Today)

As T.S. Eliot wouldn't say: that is it, exactly. That's exactly what I meant.

(Although, of course, there's more. There always is..)

The Goddess sings Cleopatra...

...I'll be back once I've recovered

Before I go to supplicate myself once more at the altar of The Divine Yvonne (of which more in a day or two), there are a few things which need said.

- I miss Trrill! Even when it went for days without being updated, it was a comfort to visit, see the red and white stripes, read the posts I'd already read a dozen times. When there was a new post, it was guaranteed to be something fabulous. And now I'm supposed to do without? Is the world ending? Sieglinde, thank god, has reappeared after a frightening week of silence, but mio caro Fanatico hasn't written for more than a week and I worry.

-Maria Guleghina Is Fabulous. I've finally finished watching my Nabucco DVD - or at least the edited highlights thereof- and I love her to pieces. Throwing herself about the stage, looking manic, snarling and growling and throwing in those frightening-as-hell high notes - it's all just brilliant. Gwyn Hughes Jones is very nice, Wendy White is as cute as a button and lovely sounding but there's no doubt it's All About Maria. She's electrifying. And when she comes on at the end to take her bow, and covers her ears at the thundering applause and the shouts and cheers - has there ever been a better curtain call gesture?

(I'm also very excited about Grace Bumbry and this 3 CD set, but that deserves a post of its own.)

Lamento

Che farò senza Grisi Pasta?
Dove andrò senza la mia Assoluta?
Grisi Pasta!... Oh Dio! Rispondi!
lo son pure il tuo fedel!
Grisi Pasta... Ah! non m'avanza
Più soccorso, più speranza,
Né dal mondo, né dal ciel!

Il Barbiere di Siviglia

Seems I like Barbiere more than I thought! Not quite sure where this idea that didn't came from. Probably the preponderance of male roles. And Rossini can get a little tiring in his constant Rossininess. But this afternoon's Met broadcast of Barbiere was great fun. Everybody singing well and enjoying themselves, which helps a lot in something like this. I only wish I could have seen as well as heard it: it's frustrating listening to a comedy, and hearing the audience laugh and laugh, with no idea of what on earth is happening on stage. Nevertheless, there were a few moments when even without visual aids, I was laughing. And I guess I know it better than I thought, as I managed to more or less keep track of the plot without a libretto to follow. Although I'm still a little unclear as to how they manage to get Don Basilio to go along with the scarlet fever ploy.

The singing was great.  Katarina Karnéus (who I was particularly interested to hear after Amanda's recital review at Household Opera) was not exactly your typical Rosina. For one she sounded about 20 years older than you'd expect from Rosina. It wasn't that the voice sounded too old, but as a character, she sounded much too mature and knowing: more like the Marschallin than a mischievous Spanish girl. But leaving that quibble aside, I liked her a lot. I didn't think I necessarily would at the beginning - her 'Una voce poco fa' was all over the show and didn't do a great deal for me. But by the time we came to 'Dunque io son' she seemed much more settled and sounded absolutely gorgeous. The boys were uniformly good, and all excellent comedians. Matthew Polenzani made an elegant and lyrical Almaviva, and cracked me up in the singing lesson scene. Franco Vassalio was a wonderful Figaro - hard to believe his Met début was only a week previous to this performance. Ferruccio Furlanetto's Don Basilio was brilliant in 'La calunnia', and Carlos Chausson was a surprisingly appealing Don Bartolo. Perhaps the best compliment I can give all these boys is the very fact that, listening without a libretto and being the novice that I am when it comes to the male voice, I had absolutely no difficulty telling who was singing when, and gained enough of an individual impression of each to able to write about them all here without a problem.

It was a very nice Barbiere indeed. I can never feel entirely happy at the end of this one: I can't help but think of what lies in store for Rosina. But I have to say that Rossini does his absolute best to help us forget the future: the Count is so sympathetic, and the conclusion so joyous, it's hard to imagine anything but a happily ever after life for all concerned.

These Frenchwomen..

I tell you, they'll be the death of me. My love affair with Véronique Gens continues. Returning that Mozart CD to the library is going to be a heartwrenching experience. I can only hope that I'll find a copy during my upcoming stay in Auckland. (I know I can buy it online, but I like instant gratification.) To keep me going in the meantime, I have managed to lay my hands on a copy of her Chants d'Auvergne. Oh Naxos, I have never loved you as I do at this moment. The CD, as expected, is impossibly beautiful. Surely anything as good as this must be illegal, or immoral, or something. I simply can't imagine that there could exist a better recording of these songs than this. I know that saying so marks me as a detestable, ignorant teenybopper - but I can't help it.

And then there's my darling Natalie Dessay, who was on TV on Tuesday evening as Ophélie in Ambroise Thomas' Hamlet. I can't really offer you an opinion on the opera itself: I think Chabrier was right when he said "There are three kinds of music: good, bad, and that of Ambroise Thomas."(Unless, as my Bloomsbury opera dictionary claims, Berlioz said it.) I can tell you that - just as there's too much Hamlet in the play - there was too much Thomas Hampson. Sounding fine, I suppose, but nothing like as gorgeous as he was in Macbeth. Besides, Hamlet as a character just plain bothers me. Which helped José van Dam's already somewhat sympathetic Claudius seem almost jolly. Michelle de Young was a lovely Queen Gertrude, although in the end not a hugely memorable one. But my Natalie was incredible. I do think the voice can grow a little white at moments, but they're fleeting moments: 99% of the time she's just ravishing. After Hamlet's endless whining monologues and general princely angst, she was a ray of gorgeous - if melancholy - sunshine. And Ophélie's fifteen minute mad scene brought the house down, as it ought to have. No other moment in this production came near to the emotion and poignancy as Natalie's Ophélie finally drowned: she was, in a word, perfect. The opera ought to have quit while it was ahead and ended there; surely that would be better than the truly silly ending it does have, wherein Hamlet lives and becomes king, and Gertrude goes to a convent. I mean, honestly...