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New acquisitions

The Singers: Suzanne Danco

I know absolutely nothing of Suzanne Danco, except that I'm certain I've read about her somewhere, perhaps on somebody's blog. I can't even recall what I read, whether it was just a passing mention, praise or criticism. But it must have been praise — I can't think what anybody could find to fault in singing such as this. Though I must admit that to begin with, I really wasn't certain I would enjoy this disc much at all. My first impression was of a slightly small, pale voice, rather too icy and closed-sounding for my tastes. Yes, really. That impression, however, lasted all of about twenty seconds, before the silky timbre and free flowing beauty of Suzanne Danco's singing properly revealed themselves to me, and I knew I liked her just fine.

The disc opens with Danco's beautiful rendition of Dido's lament — Purcell ought always to be sung with a Belgian accent — but the true excitement begins with the second track, Alceste's "Divinités du Styx". A huge aria, and not a huge voice, but so strikingly expressive that not an ounce of the music's intensity is lost. That high note rings out perfectly; the low-lying "Ministres de la mort" is just as perfectly controlled, coloured with a subtly menacing darkness. She's a far from obvious Violetta, lacking, as Alan Blyth's liner notes concede, the requisite Italian warmth. Still, her interpretation remains a persuasive one; and her singing supremely lovely. I don't think I've ever heard clearer Italian diction in "Ah fors'e lui".

As Manon, Micaela and Louise, however, she is ideal. In arias which could all too easily turn cloying or melodramatic — "Adieu, notre petite table", "Je dis", "Depuis le jour — she aims instead for grace and simplicity, and succeeds wonderfully. A selection of Richard Strauss Lieder follows, including a sublime "Morgen" and a charmingly carefree "Ständchen", before Debussy's "Ariettes oubliées" which conclude the disc. They are faultless, exquisite — a textbook lesson in the art of the mélodie and exactly the right finish to a truly lovely compilation.

Joan Sutherland: The Greatest Hits

Since being in Sydney, I think I've fallen for Joan about thirty times over. To think that once, back in the dark, dank bad old days, I was indifferent to her! No more. So now I'm gradually accumulating more of her recordings, and "The Greatest Hits" is my latest acquisition. In theory, I object to the title, but in truth I can think of no better way to describe it. Because basically, she sings every aria on this CD better than anybody else ever has or will. Maybe that's a little too sweeping, but not much. I'm willing to state for the record that I think her "Let the bright Seraphim" is the best rendition ever. Ever. Piccinni's "Furia di donna" is one of my new favourite things in the world. Her "Les oiseaux dans la charmille" is preposterously good. And so on. In some singers, there's a pleasure and beauty in listening to how they cope with vocal challenges. With Joanie, though, the pleasure is in the absence of any audible coping strategy, or indeed any challenge — it's all just there, the easiest thing in the world. You want that note? Fine, here it is. Higher still? Not a problem. Four and half minutes of impossible coloratura? Possibilissima. And it's all of it meaningful, interesting and thoroughly musical, with not a hint of the mechanical or soulless. She's beyond belief really.

Stephanie Blythe: Handel & Bach Arias

This must surely go down as the bargain of the year, or at least the month. Seven dollars. Seven dollars. I mean, that's a more than reasonable price for just about any half decent CD. For a CD as fantastic as this one it feels a bit like theft.

I've heard Stephanie before only in the Met broadcasts of Rodelinda and have to confess, I really had very little recollection of how she sounded. Probably since I spent the most recent Rodelinda turning unexpectedly into a Fleming Flapper. However Handel mezzo + Virgin Classics + ridiculous bargain price is more or less a guaranteed formula for happiness so I made it mine without hesitation. And I love it. Her voice is much darker and more thrilling than I'd expected. Even track one, "Ombra mai fu" (because it's actually against the law not to include this on a Handel album) was genuinely exciting. The rest of it is just as good, better even. Her diction might occasionally be a little suspect, and there is a feeling sometimes that she's holding back a bit; I can't help feeling she could open up even further, maybe cause an earthquake or two. Her "Iris, hence away" could stand to be even more forceful (and the coloratura slightly more defined) but her Cesare is excellent, in both lamenting and action hero modes. She also makes a fine, if not so individual, Cornelia, though the duet "Son nata a lagrimar" with David Daniels sounds more like her father and daughter than mother and son. The Bach half is glorious, her earthy tone and heartfelt singing entirely suited to the music. "Erbarme dich" can't help but be sublime, regardless of who's singing it, but she gives it extra, individualised beauty as well; "Von den Stricken meiner Sünden" is another particular delight. It's wonderful to hear a nice big, dark mezzo sound once in a while, and I can only imagine that in the five years since this CD, the voice has becom even more gorgeous. Next time I hear her I really must pay more attention.

Combattimento

I feel moved to declare once again my extravagant adoration of Patrizia Ciofi. To think that when I first became aware of the Patrizia Ciofi blog, I thought surely she couldn't be so amazing as to merit all that devotion and effort. Well, of course, some people are that amazing and Patrizia is among them. And I'd feel far prouder of myself if I could say that the first moment I heard I knew she was brilliant but alas, it would be a lie. I bought that René Jacobs Figaro for Véronique and Angelika and because it was beautifully packaged and because the opera section at Echo Records (as it was then) was so small I felt obliged to buy everything in it. And because it had such gushing reviews that I wanted on that bandwagon ASAP. And I loved it for mostly the same reasons, and because it's incredibly good. But Patrizia? I thought she was great, but it was the other girls I listened out for. Then, of course,  I discovered Amor e gelosia and was lost for good. Her Vivaldi motets are even more dangerously addictive — a fact testified to by the fact that I'm currently sharing trans-Tasman custody of that CD, because I got somebody else hooked on it as well. (We need to remember that there are other CDs in the world, I said one day. I don't want other CDs, said she. I want the Yellow CD.)

And now she's turned up on Combattimento which despite the equal billing on the cover is essentially a Rolando Villazon recital disc. Arias and duets of Monteverdi. I don't know about you, but those words coupled with Patrizia's name had me swooning before I'd heard a note. Then, of course, I listened to it and discovered she appears on just three tracks. Oh, but what she does with those three tracks. Rolando is fantastic, admittedly, and far more at home in Monteverdi than I'd expected. But Patrizia is another league altogether — indeed another galaxy. Electrifying and perfect — it's the kind of singing to literally stop you in your tracks. Clearly it's she who should have had the lion's share of the programme. As good as he is, I think Rolando does need the presence of the other singers on the disc (Patrizia and another tenor, Topi Lehtipuu) to keep things sufficiently varied and interesting. Whereas I've not the slightest doubt that Patrizia could manage that all on her own. She's spectacular.

Three

Veronique

What is it, exactly, about Véronique Gens? It's hardly what you'd call a voluminous or voluptuous voice. The beauty is far subtler. When I listened to her Mozart arias for the first time I thought at first it had not made a huge impression, there seemed too little to hold on to. But when it finished I pressed play again. And again. And began to think, if I could only listen to this for all of my life, I don't think I would complain. The aristocratic gloss, exquisite restraint and unfailing good taste of her singing aren't the kinds of qualities which necessarily evoke immediate, immoderate adoration. They didn't in me, and it's no secret that such adoration is a particular talent of mine. But once she'd taken hold of me even slightly, she was impossible to shake. More than anything else, what strikes me about Véronique is her ability to sound absolutely and utterly in her element in every single thing she sings. Be it Handel, Mozart, Poulenc, Charpentier, Lully or Debussy, she manages to make every part of her repertoire sound like the one kind of music she was Born to Sing. Her "Nuit d'étoiles" seemed to me an unbeatably perfect match of song and singer and then along came "Tragédiennes" and I had exactly the same thought. Hers is a voice, I think, of deceptive simplicity, imbued with far more colours and a far greater range of expression than might, in those first few moments, seem possible. Then you hear her sing "Le papillon et la fleur" and make of that one "Ah!" a whole mille-feuille of varied emotion and there's no doubting the infinite richness of this voice.

Janet

Janet Baker has unexpectedly become something of a guardian angel for my big overseas move. Where a normal person might have photos from home, I have LP covers on my wall to keep me company. Joanie surrounded by purple on her Handel album, a couple of Elisabeth, one of Régine - but my favourite is Janet. There's something deeply reassuring about Janet watching over me. Her singing has a similar quality. At work I played her Kindertotenlieder. These have to be some of the most unbearably devastating texts any person could ever be asked to sing and frankly I'm at a loss as to how anyone manages to get through them. They're hard to get through in one piece as a listener too - and yet when it's Janet, her natural warmth and groundedness provide enough comfort to mitigate the despair. With Janet there to look after you, you can never feel entirely torn to shreds.

Anna

Anya, I surrender. It's impossible not to love you. The Russian Album is a perfect choice, worth more than the last two (three if you count "Violetta" as a solo album which I don't) combined. No more The Next Big Soprano recording obligatory arias, now she is securely herself singing music she can and does truly own. And when she starts hitting the German pop charts, bicycling to interviews and giving out soundbites like "Justin Timberlake is too young for me" I'm afraid I can't help myself. She's irresistible.

Better late than never

After six weeks without a computer to call my own and the inevitably fiendish withdrawal symptoms associated, I'm the now the proud mother of a cute and silver little laptop. So whether you want me or not, I'm (theoretically) back to blogging with my normal frequency and in much less of a hurry.

Also in the late to the party file:

• Though I won't be there to enjoy it, I'm thrilled to see that NZ Opera is continuing with its exciting and cutting-edge programming policies. This year's line-up features the appallingly under-known twentieth century work Turandot alongside an obscure but worthy bel canto gem, the rarely performed Lucia di Lammermoor. Goodness me. Of slightly more genuine interest is their concert performance of Fidelio, featuring two NZ  favourites of mine, Simon O'Neill and the incomparable Madeleine Pierard as Florestan and Marzelline. And as Leonore, somebody whose name all American (and other) readers of this blog will surely recognise. Erika Sunnegardh. Very interesting. Now if Karita substitutes at the last minute I might consider a flight across the Tasman...
• Anna Leese, already patently on the yellow brick road to superstardom has been even further fast-tracked with one of those Chorus Line (or Sunnegardh!) style moments, substituting at short notice for an injured Nuccia Focile as Musetta at Covent Garden, and triumphing of course. Actually the person listed above her in Askonas Holt's soprano list had a similar big break (in fact she had three similar big breaks which suggests Borgia blood to me...)
• Thirdly, I know she's not opera but I suspect she shares some of the same fanatics: I've at long last discovered the joy which is Audra McDonald. Build a Bridge is a tour de force. Own it just for Rufus Wainwright's "Damned Ladies". How can you fail to love a song with Katya Kabanova in it?
• And then there's this. Which is odd for any number of reasons, but for me it's particularly strange to see myself mentioned (if not by name) by Norman Lebrecht. Though we all know there are any number of names which could have been far more meaningfully substituted for Renée's. In any case, bizarre.

Two words

About time.

Mathy Awards

Originally I hadn't planned to go to the finals of the Mathy Awards (read more here) but in the end I changed my mind at the last minute. And after four failed attempts at buying a ticket, I managed to get one at the venue just as the chimes began to signal it was time to go in. Three baritones, one bass baritone, one mezzo. Not a tenor or soprano in sight. Well, why not? Tenors I can live without and baritones are always more interesting in person than on paper. Mezzos, of course, are a more or less guaranteed pleasure.

And so it was. Each of them sang two selections, one operatic and one not, both with orchestra. My psychic powers were at work, it seems — before any of them had sung a note, I looked at the programme and picked Duncan Rock as the winner. Based on nothing other than repertoire — it seemed likely to me, somehow, that Finzi and Mozart would prove a winning combination. Which it did. That said, however, once the singing began he wasn't at all my first choice. The Finzi ("Fear no more the heat o' the sun", naturally) was fine, as Finzi goes; and so too, I suppose, was the inevitable Catalogue Aria - except that he seemed to sing it to a Donna Elvira who was both the height and mental age of a four-year old. But I found more thrills and more beauty elsewhere. Michael Lampard, for instance, whose rich, flowing baritone made his "Pieta, rispetto, amore" quite wonderful despite obvious nerves and a somewhat stiff stage presence. And mezzo Lauren Easton who managed what none of the others did — taking a standard aria we'd all heard a million times and making it her own. Her "Una voce poco fa" might have had a few rough edges, and the odd ornament which didn't quite pan out, but she sang it with freshness and panache, helped out by a naturally beautiful instrument, a light and airy mezzo full of sunshine.

Outshining all the singers by a mile, however, was the sublime Sydney Symphony under the evidently immortal Richard Bonynge. Never having heard the orchestra before this, I wasn't at all prepared for the staggeringly beautiful sound they made. It was hard not to be distracted by them: in fact I have to confess that I scarely listened to a word of  James Homann's "Why do the nations" which began the evening, so enraptured was I by the sound coming from behind him. After that I made a conscious effort to give the singers their fair share of attention but it wasn't always easy.

There was another distraction too: said maestro's wife. Yes, Joanie was there. The finalists sang Happy Birthday to her, the Conservatorium made her a Life Member and she in turn presented one of the many awards given at the end of the evening. She spoke briefly too, as down to earth and wonderful as ever. I can't help but agree with what Stuart Maunder, compere for the evening suggested — that the lack of sopranos in the final was acknowledgement from on high that this year, her territory was not to be encroached upon. Though of course the truth is that you could have a final full of Australia's Future Lucias di Lammermoor and still not one of 'em would come close to Joanie.

More CDs

Renée Fleming - Homage

For the first thirty seconds or so I was wondering what the hell she was doing but then good old recognisable Renée reappeared and won me over once again. The packaging for this CD is horrific but just don't look at it. Listen instead. And yes, there are some questionable choices here and surely only the most devoted of fans will approve of every aspect of the recording but all in all it's a success. Including "O légère hirondelle" which La Cieca brutalised weeks ago. What I love about Renée is how completely and overwhelmingly Renée she is. She's always herself. And when she sings, there's probably more of her there than anything else, composer included. Which I daresay makes this album concept her cleverest in a while, because it's allowed, indeed obliged, to be a shameless diva vehicle. The overpowering Renée-ness which can make her Handel CD a bit of a challenge is precisely what makes Homage such a heartwarming pleasure.

Bryn Terfel - Tutto Mozart

I assumed a Bryn Terfel Mozart disc would be yawn-inducingly standard. "Madamina", "Deh vieni alla finestra", "Se vuol ballare" etc etc. Not so. It isn't just "all Mozart", it's "all of Mozart" — arias, songs, duets, insertion arias and oddities. There's even some meowing. He sounds absolutely beautiful but more importantly, he manages to make a desperately predictable album concept genuinely interesting. It's the only Bryn CD I've ever been tempted to own. (Duets with Cecilia excluded).

Anne Sofie von Otter - I Let The Music Speak

Yes, the Abba album. I haven't gone and bought it, don't worry. And I probably won't. But if you're wondering, my advice is — try it. It's weird but it's not bad and you need to hear the bonus track. I've long believed that Anne Sofie can do no wrong and this is proof of it — it could have been an unmitigated disaster but I don't actually think that it is. Even if it were, though, surely by now she's given us enough utter glory to have earned the right to record an oddity or two. The title track is pretty lovely, too, by the way. But again, the bonus track... fabulous.

Operatunity Oz / Rigoletto

Now, Operatunity Oz is something I ought to write more about than I'm actually going to: what it really deserved was to be blogged as it happened, but it's too late for that now. But the winner, bass David Parkin, was pretty easy to pick right from the beginning. My personal favourite among the six finalists, tenor (and surely one of the nicest people in the world) Roy Best, was a runner up; soprano Emily Burke was the other. I think the competition went exactly the way it ought to. Despite my incredibly conspicuous bias towards female voices (or perhaps because of it) none of the three sopranos to make the final impressed me hugely: none of them had that thing, whatever it is, that makes a girl like me smile and swoon and spend a million dollars on tickets. Roy did though, at least a little bit. David Parkin was always at an advantage on account of having such a rare voice - in an early audition, when conductor and panelist Richard Gill had him boom out a few lines of Magic Flute dialogue, it was clear he had serious promise. The voice, the look, the physical presence and the acting ability. There was also a wildcard among the six, John Roehrig, a plumber with an infectious love of singing but basically no musical training who, as appealing as he was, was ultimately more than anything else an advertisement for the necessity of a musical education. What the panel managed to do with him in the short time they had was incredible. Particularly amazing was the way in which the one and only Yvonne transformed his "E lucevan le stelle" — a testament perhaps more even to her own mindblowing to talent than to Roehrig's potential, but then I would say that. 

That's it in an entirely inadequate nutshell. But it's enough to lead up to the main thing I want to write about, which is Rigoletto. Being the Mozart-Handel-Strauss girl I am, I'm very good at neglecting the Italian repertoire. The Met broadcast with Anna Netrebko was the first time I'd heard Rigoletto from start to finish, and my trip to Rigoletto on October 24th was my first time seeing it live. And I mightn't have gone under normal circumstances — but this particular performance was the one which marked the culmination/prize of Operatunity. David Parkin, as the winner, sang Sparafucile; Roy and Emily, as runners-up, sang the Duke and Gilda respectively in Act Three. In the stalls, dozens of family members, a shouting and supportive audience and five beaming proud panelists  — Richard Gill, Yvonne of course, vocal coach par excellence Anna Connolly, the fabulously sharptongued director Elke Neidhardt, and soprano Antoinette Halloran (who, if she has the voice to match, must be Australia's answer to Anna Moffo.)

Because of the special nature of this Rigoletto I have to deal with in two halves. So. The Operatunity half first. David was absolutely a success. My cheap-as-they-come seat meant I couldn't see him during most of his first appearance but I could certainly hear him and there was no doubt he proved himself entirely worthy of his prize. You can't judge a singer in this situation by the usual standards, of course; you can't expect a world-class Sparafucile from someone who's never sung opera on stage in his life. But for what it was, it was pretty damn good. Roy's turn in Act Three was something I was particularly anticipating and he was wonderful, negotiating "La donna e mobile" with far more swagger than, just a few weeks earlier, anyone would ever have expected of him. Emily Burke's nerves were evident but in the end she basically pulled it off, and my sympathies were with her — Gilda's final act must be hard enough for any soprano, but to be obliged to do it without the psychological preparation of the rest of the opera must make it even more difficult.

And now to the rest of the cast. This far removed from the performance there's only so much I can remember. I know that Warwick Fyfe in the title role took some time to convince me but did eventually do so, especially once he started getting properly vengeful. Somehow I'd missed the fact that Dunedin's Own Jud Arthur was even in the cast — it wasn't until I'd spent a minute or so thinking, isn't this Monterone brilliant that I realised it was him, sounding just fantastic and looking quite terrifying. Singing Maddalena was the always wonderful Roxane Hislop, whose dark and (this is probably a strange word to choose but never mind) curvacious mezzo I absolutely love — and lord knows I've had plenty of chances to appreciate it, since she appeared in both Il signor Bruschino and Falstaff. But as the Duke, Rosario La Spina disappointed me even more than he did at the OA anniversary gala — the voice is undeniably attractive, but the further it's pushed (and he certainly does push it) the more he sounds to me like a Neapolitan street singer or a crossover star out of his element. I believe he was once a Ten Tenor. This doesn't surprise me at all. By the end of Act One I couldn't wait till the final act, when we'd get Roy instead and with him, a bit more grit and, to my tastes, a much more attractive timbre.

But what I'm working up to, in typically longwinded fashion, is, of course, a soprano. Natalie Jones. Number one candidate for my local diva. I saw Natalie as Musetta here last year, and she was excellent. All the same I was unprepared for the vocal splendour of her Gilda, strong and secure but still girlishly silvered, with a rainbow of colours at her disposal and a very respectable trill to boot. These days I feel like I've exhausted my standard soprano vocabulary somewhat — I'll need a good deal more Natalie before I can choose some words individually suited to her. Thankfully, with a little patient, this shan't be too difficult a task. Next year she's Morgana, Blonde, and Casilda in (sigh) The Gondoliers. Given that in the first two she's singing opposite Emma Matthews, I'm all for encouraging a Bordoni/Cuzzoni-style feud between the two. I know whose side I'd be cheering for in the ensuing catfight but, alas, I fear Opera Australia is unlikely to programme Bononcini any time soon. Never mind — there's a new Natalie in my musical life and she's brilliant.