Prima la musica

Billet doux

Dear City Recital Hall,

Your new ticketing system isn't as pretty as the old one. The functionality is a little on the clunky side. It's prone to freeze (hint: Firefox good, Chrome bad). But it allows me to choose my own seat and even to see an image of the view from that seat. So for that, you have my gratitude and undying respect. Let's hope some of this country's other performing arts organisations will follow your example.

XXX

Sarah

And actually, while I'm at it,

Dear Australian Chamber Orchestra,

I don't love your posters. Or the titles you give to your concerts. But there's one thing about you I definitely do love. Thank you for offering under 30s tickets which are 1. a genuinely reasonable price and 2. available in all seating reserves. Let's hope some of this country's other performing arts organisations will follow your example, too.

XXX

Sarah

Five

Allow me to wish myself a slightly belated happy birthday. This blog turned five yesterday. I can't believe I've kept this up for so long. Thanks to those who've been reading from (almost) the beginning and to all those who've arrived in the years since. I have a couple of things in the works to mark the half decade, but like everything else lately, they're running slightly behind schedule. Watch this space.

Small change but good

Wandering through the Opera Australia website, as I do more often than strictly necessary, I notice a change to the so-called Radiance (what is this, the ACO?) concert. Respighi's Pini di Roma is gone. In its place, the Four Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes. Wonderful! Cheryl, Strauss and Britten all in one evening. Things are looking up. 

Die Zauberflöte

I don't mean to be so slow, things (broken modems, inherent laziness, the usual stuff) just keep getting in the way. I want to be like the New York bloggers, who have Villazon's Lucia difficulties written up almost before Anna's sung her mad scene. (Or so it seems.) But then time stretches, and stretches, and here I am almost a week later and I've managed no more than a few sentences about Die Zauberflöte. However, here I am. 

It seems only fair that, given past history, I start by saying I think Emma Matthews is a wonderful Pamina. Not that this is exactly surprising. In fact, Pamina is the one role I've most wanted to hear her sing since I've known she existed, so I'm a little bit gratified to find that it suits her as well as I'd hoped. She gets all the cheers and foot stomping when she sings the flashy coloratura but as for little me, I think she's infinitely lovelier when she's allowed to slow down and float a few pianissimi. Pamina's "Ach, ich fühl's" is one of the most difficult arias in the soprano repertoire, even though it sounds simple, and she nailed it. And she can act! I wondered, after her Lucia. But she is a vivid and charming Pamina, and delivers her dialogue as convincingly as her arias. (The singing is in German, but the dialogue is in English translation by David Freeman, who directed it, although parts of it I recognised from the old Göran Järvefelt production.) It was especially nice to hear that pretty voice of hers, constantly described (and I'm the worst offender) as crystalline, actually unleash some pretty powerful sounds, especially up top. She was beautiful. And I want her dress. 

Now, let me break with all etiquette and tradition and move directly from Pamina to the Second Lady. Catherine Carby deserves better than to be squashed into a final "and these were the bit players" paragraph. Obviously the Second Lady is far from a star part, and I'm not going to be so over the top as to claim that she turned it into one. Nevertheless, there's something slightly special about her in this role. She's hard not to watch, even when it should all be about Tamino or Papageno, and she sounds fantastic. I don't know why this still surprises me, but every time I see Catherine, she sings her first notes and I think: oh that's right, you're wonderful! And in Mozart, well, be still my beating heart. Besides which, she gets right into all the acrobatics of the production (mostly handled by the professionals, Legs on the Wall, but the singers have to do their fair share too) with real energy, which I can't help but admire. Her turn as Bellini's Romeo can't come soon enough, as far as I'm concerned.

Since the order's gone to hell now anyway, it would probably be gallant to mention the other Ladies at this point too. Which if fine, because Dominica Matthews' Third Lady was also excellent. I think Dominica has one of the most distinctive voices in the whole company: you could hear her anywhere, blind, and I doubt you'd mistake her for anyone else. That smoky contralto is all her own, and I like it a lot. Sarah Crane completes the trio nicely as a light and bright First Lady. 

A boy now. Andrew Goodwin is good, idealistic Tamino. It's a funny sort of voice, rather straight toned and with not a huge amount of resonance, but the basic sound is attractive and secure, and suits the sweet, boyish überlyrisch repertoire so well (I still remember his fabulous Fenton) that the limitations aren't too bothersome. They may be in future. But his "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön" is pretty convincing (I never believe that aria) and all in all it's a strong performance, if a bit wooden at times — his encounter with the serpent is less than exciting, because he stops grappling with it in order to sing, yet somehow survives. 

So many characters in this opera, and somehow the Queen of the Night has ended up this far down the list. No reflection on her, or the soprano singing her, the rather exciting Emma Pearson. This is Emma's OA début, but she's been working in Germany for a few years, and the gloss of European experience shows. There were a few opening night jitters, which is totally fair enough, and they didn't stop the audience going nuts for her. There's definitely something about her. She's the kind of Queen I like, with all the insane agility she needs and a full, lyric soprano to back it up, so that she actually brings some depth and personality to the role, not just glinty high Fs, and you can imagine her singing other things too. The fact that she bears a passing resemblance to a certain Natalie of our acquaintance helps as well, although maybe that was just me...

There is of course a long tradition of Papageno stealing the show (not surprising since the first Papageno was the librettist) but on this occasion, Warwick Fyfe doesn't quite manage it. He's pretty good, though, funnier than I expected, since he's always seemed a bit wooden before. But he gets into the spirit of the piece, has fun with all his updated dialogue, and gets some genuine laughs, even from me. There's so much dialogue that the singing almost seems incidental, but that's alright, because he's actually more interesting when he speaks than when he sings. I'm not sure I love the idea of Papageno as mildly offensive Aussie bloke — I prefer it when Papageno's the one truly lovable character in the opera — but I have to give Fyfe kudos for the energy he puts into it. I could do without the audience interaction in "Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen", though, but maybe I'm just old fashioned. Amy Wilkinson seems to be enjoying herself as Papagena, who throws off her crone costume to reveal a tiny denim skirt, strapped-on wings and a blonde wig — not so much caterpillar-to-butterfly as caterpillar-to-slapper, but that's in keeping with the way Papageno's presented, so it makes some kind of sense. But after Frasquita, Zerlina and now Papagena, it would be nice to hear Amy as a good girl for once, just for a change. 

Sarastro! I nearly forgot. Daniel Sumegi does wise and powerful well. His dialogue goes a little bit over the top but he definitely looks the part, and more or less sounds it, although he did sound a bit wobbly and woolly here and there. Still, he's got those growly low notes, and he's believable as the benevolent ruler. The bass whose voice I really liked, however, was Stephen Bennett as the Speaker: now that's a sound I could have listened to for much longer. Kanen Breen is excellent and slimy as Monostatos, and it's always enjoyable when he gets a chance to show off his own talent for physical theatre. Who am I forgetting? Andrew Brunsdon and Richard Alexander are good as the Two Armadillos. (I mean Armed Men, of course, but they look like armadillos.) And Graeme Macfarlane is his usual stylish self (I love Graeme Macfarlane forever, on account of his Goro) as the Priest. 

The three boys are what they are, boy sopranos, and you (probably) know how I feel about boy sopranos. But at least they're not sickly sweet, and as boy sopranos go, they're probably fine — but give me three completely un-gamine women any time. 

The production is fine. It could be better. But it could also be much worse, so I shan't complain too loudly. David Freeman just seems to have too many ideas. Some of them are great, some are okay, some just fall flat. Unless I've completely misunderstood, the idea is that the whole story is the creation of the Three Boys, who are just three human boys rather than genuine spirit guides. They're actually the first people you see, zipping through the forest on scooters during the overture. Later they reappear in their pyjamas, and by the time everyone's greeting the light of day, they're dressed for school, boaters and all. Quite a clever concept, in its way, but in its execution it's a bit superficial and family-friendly for my tastes. The involvement of Legs on the Wall is one of the production's selling points, and the contortionists do bring a nice hint of circus mystique, but at the same time, there seems very little sense that they're actually crucial to the production: they seem more like an "oh, wouldn't this be neat!" afterthought. Their representation of the trial by fire looks more like street theatre than scary Masonic test. So it's a bit of a mixed bag production, but it has its share of magic. And I do like the dragon. 

As for the conducting, the less said, the better, I fear. Opening night was not great. Thank god for good singing, because what was happening down in the pit was rather less stellar. This was a big début for Ollivier-Philippe Cunéo, I think, so I'm hoping he'll get a bit more energy and personality to him as the season progresses. Meanwhile, what I heard last week was rather on the leaden side, unfocused and too quiet. I know it's a horrible, horrible pit, but I'm sure I've heard more sound than that coming out of it. But I do feel bad, saying these things about a young artist with all kinds of time and opportunity ahead of him, especially when, just by virtue of being a conductor, he possesses a talent to which I could never hope to aspire. Here's hoping he can, and will, be better than this. 

February and March bring me two more chances to find out, although, let's face it, that's not the reason I'm returning. In normal circumstances, I doubt I'd need to see this even a second time. But there's a second cast I want to see: in particular, Hye Seoung Kwon as Pamina and Andrew Moran as Papageno. And between now and then, I also need to hear the rather fascinating Emma Pearson again. So three it is. Appropriate, actually, given the opera. 

Various

• As you have no doubt already read, Opera Australia has announced the framework for its search for a new artistic leader, beginning with a review of the whole structure of its artistic management. SMH article here, full press release here.

• Inevitably, said press release has not gone down well among the dissidents. A letter from Fiona Janes to board chair Ziggy Switkowski has been leaked to Crikey. The full text is only available to subscribers, but wanderer, bless him, has posted it at I am a liminal being, along with a few pithy interjections. [I would only add that, regardless of Yvonne Kenny's allegiances, perceived or real, if we agree that Australia's national opera company should consult some of the country's most distinguished singers in determining its artistic future, then surely leaving her out of the process would be absurd. Also, I'd like to say that Neil Armfield isn't just Adrian's favourite director. He's also mine!]
• Changing the subject almost completely, a few brief words (more to follow) about Die Zauberflöte, which opened last night. First of all, Catherine Carby is a star! Second, Emma Pearson definitely has my attention, and I will be back a little later in the run to see what her very intriguing Queen of the Night is like once the nerves have abated. Third, I knew Emma Matthews would make more sense as Pamina than in her Joan Sutherland parts — this is the most I've ever enjoyed her, she was gorgeous. And finally, Catherine Carby is a star! (And she was singing Second Lady, for heaven's sake, so obviously she made quite an impression on me.)

Cav/Pag

You see, I promised you I'd post about something other than Butterfly. And so I shall. A million years ago (actually, just a bit more than a week ago, but it feels like longer) I was at opening night of Opera Australia's revival of Cav & Pag. And for various reasons, it has taken me until now to write anything about it. Chief among those reasons being, I suspect, plain old boredom. This was not exactly a fascinating night in the theatre.

It could have been. These are soap opera operas, after all. Abandoned women, faithless men, love, honour, duty, illicit affairs and illegitimate children, all kinds of fun stuff. And lots of big, fiery music to sing. Or not. This must have been my first complete Cavalleria (it actually isn't, but never mind) because I simply did not expect it to take such a very long time to get started. It's not that the opening scenes are lacking in beauty but the experience was far from electrifying. And even once the action proper got going, it wasn't quite the blazing row I was expecting. Pagliacci had a bit more energy to it, but some of the Cavalleria sleepiness seeped in nonetheless, and the production lost momentum just where you'd expect it to be gaining it: Tonio's Prologue was riveting, but by the time everyone started getting stabbed, the tension had dissipated. I giggled (sorry), yawned, and went home.

So, thank god for Jonathan Summers, is all I can say. If anything could tempt me back to this show, it would be his performances in both operas. He only has to stride on stage in Cavalleria and the show is his, and his singing is hands down the most interesting in the opera. Surely Santuzza, not Alfio, should be the one you're cheering for? Nicole Youl is sweet, but maybe a bit too sweet for Santuzza: as the timid outcast she was reasonably convincing, but once she got fired up, it didn't really make sense anymore — she just seemed like a needy meddler, not a tragic heroine, and — is this a terrible thing to say? — you could understand why Turiddu might want rid.

Speaking of whom: Dennis O'Neill divides me in half. I like to hear him sing. He's still one of the strongest and most stylish tenors at the company's disposal. I don't like to watch him sing. He doesn't move. There's no character development. A couple of arm flailing gestures and not much more, unless (as in Otello) the director has forced him into it. And if OA is going to keep casting him — and for all his dramatic shortcomings, I guess they should — it needs to be in roles in which he is at least vaguely convincing. Turiddu the supercool soldier, who leaves a trail of broken hearts in his wake? Please.

But a big thumbs up for the two mezzos of the piece. My mania for Jacqueline Dark is well established, so of course I was very happy to hear her as Mamma Lucia. She was surprisingly convincing as a decrepit old woman, vocally as well as physically — which actually just makes me that much keener to see her in a glamour part for once. The real surprise, though, was Dominica Matthews' fabulous Lola. No wonder Turiddu preferred her to Santuzza. I wouldn't necessarily have picked her voice as ideally suited to this kind of repertoire, but in fact she was wonderful, all husky tone and dangerous allure. And against a backdrop of Sicilian black, that red hair! What a thrill.

Broken record time, I'm afraid, but the star of Pagliacci is once again, yes, Jonathan Summers. You could go home satisfied after his Prologue. What else do you need? Maybe it's not the most luxuriant voice in the world these days, but its slender, growling quality is exactly what I like. He's a brilliantly paradoxical Tonio, menacing and yet sympathetic — not somebody you'd want to meet in a dark alley, but when he's being mercilessly mocked by Nedda, she, not he, is the villain, and you (or at least, I) can't help but like him. Likewise as he gives the drama its final flourish. He frames the opera, and so it becomes his opera. If it were all Tonio and no Nedda, I'd be back in a flash.

Dennis O'Neill's Canio is much like his Turiddu, except with a different jacket. The happy coincidence is that here, his dull stage presence is not entirely unsuited to the character. The scenes of adulation from the crowd are a bit hard to buy, but as the jealous husband with a young wife, he's reasonably convincing. He sings gorgeously of course, and has his rightful moment in the spotlight with "Vesti la giubba". Amelia Farrugia is a wicked, feline Nedda, quite fun to watch (and she looks very pretty) but disappointingly shallow — Nedda's petulant frustration with life never seems to give way to any more genuine emotion, even as she's planning her getaway with Silvio. But it's nice to hear her really sing in the middle of her voice, which hasn't happened much. Her upper register is still where all the colour (and money) is, but this at least was an improvement on her Rosina in Barbiere, who seemed to disappear every time the coloratura died down.

José Carbo is his usual magnificent self (I bet I've written exactly those words before) as Silvio. If only he had more to sing. But what he does sing is beautiful, and his sincerity to some extent makes up for Nedda's superficiality. He also does admirable double duty as a stagehand. And there's a bit of a star turn by Stephen Smith, whose slender but stylish tenor, striking physique (Teddy-philes will be happy) and irresistible comic energy have probably already gained him a bit of a following. 

I know, or at least, I presume, that Maestro Licata has this kind of repertoire in his blood. And to be fair, it was pretty Italian sounding. It would want to be. But the whole performance did seem a bit leaden, somehow: sundrenched to the point of lethargy. Then again, that impression probably owed something to the dullness of the goings-on onstage. I think we could have done with a bit more urgency, both in the pit and above it.

Season updates

Opera Australia has announced the lineup of conductors scheduled to undertake the engagements which were to have been Richard Hickox's during the upcoming season. Sir Richard Armstrong, already in town to conduct the company's new production of Aida, will now also conduct Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk as well as the Radiance concert. Emmanuel Plasson takes over Massenet's Werther. In Melbourne, Jari Hämäläinen will conduct the autumn season of The Magic Flute. Conducting duties for Jim Sharman's new production of Cosi fan tutte will be shared by two Young Artist progamme alumni, Ollivier-Philippe Cunéo and Simon Hewett. Britten's Peter Grimes will be in the safe hands of Mark Wigglesworth, making his Opera Australia début. 

In addition, Pamela Helen Stephen has, quite understandably, withdrawn from the role of Charlotte in Werther. She'll be replaced by Canadian mezzo-soprano Michèle Losier.

Some interesting news there, and some exciting names. No word yet on a permanent replacement for Richard Hickox as Musical Director, so speculation continues. Suggestions, anyone? 

Butterfly Diaries, Part V

(Yes, I know, troppo Butterfly. But this is it until March, and there are other posts coming, so pazienza!)

I have been feeling a little like Cio-Cio San herself, waiting and waiting and waiting, enduring disappointments and still hoping, con sicura fede and against all reason, that the adored one might come back. Unlike Cio-Cio San, however, mine is no tragedy. Proprio nel punto che ognun diceva: piangi e dispera — just at the moment when everyone said: cry and despair — our prima donna triumphed over illness and did return. They all said I was crazy for booking for so many performances. They were right, but so was I. I could have given this final matinée a miss, but I didn't. I was there, so was she, all was right in the world.

And yet, it wouldn't be the same without somebody cancelling, and so, alas, Catherine Carby obliged. I say alas, but this cancellation too came equipped with silver lining, in the shape of the always gorgeous Jacqueline Dark. I couldn't believe my luck. Anybody sitting in the stalls who let their gaze wander to my loge seat may have witnessed some slightly odd behaviour, as I stifled my squeaks of joy. Cheryl singing! And an unexpected chance to hear Jacqui Dark! Evidently those three cancellations earned me enough diva karma credit for a pretty substantial reward, and this was it.

The last vestiges of Cheryl's indisposition may still have been lurking in the shadows, but not with enough malice to make any difference. I've heard her sing through or immediately after illness several times, and it never seems to be much of a problem — I can't recall ever having heard her sound anything other than absolutely rock solid and secure. Actually, this may just have been my favourite of her three January Butterflies — or would be, if I was at all capable of choosing a favourite. That probably has something to do with my front-of-loge seat as well, always a good place to be. The glow of triumphant return (and my consequent euphoria) helped too. In fact, somebody clapped briefly at a pause in her first scene. A novice, getting ahead of his or herself? Or someone like me, saying welcome back? Probably the former, but I like to think it was the latter.

I will bore myself, as well as anyone still reading, if I attempt yet again to detail her triumph in this role. The point has been made enough times, and not only by me. But it is such a joy to witness artistry at this level, to see a singer in such utter command of every aspect — musical, dramatic, just plain physical — of her role. Watching Antoinette, as a relatively new Butterfly, find her way to a personal triumph, brought home to me once again just how phenomenally demanding Butterfly is for a soprano. A performance like Cheryl's, on the other hand, could almost make you forget that — she seems to thrive on the very aspects of it which seems most exhausting, and the harder it gets, the brighter she shines.

I'm learning to accept that I'll never do justice to Cheryl's Butterfly — or my own response to it — by throwing adjectives at it. Not that I won't stop trying — you don't get off that easily, I'm afraid — but the happy truth of that matter is that it will never work. And it shouldn't. That's what so thrilling and so joyous about this particular singer and her effect on me — as terribly cliché as it is, they're beyond words. All I can do is clutch at straws — gestures, phrases, colours — and say: I really love this.

I really love, for instance, the stillness and self containment of her Cio-Cio San, even at her bubbliest. She captures all the ardency of a besotted teenager without ignoring or masking the serious, adult emotional capacity which will gradually overtake her. I really love her ability to sculpt a natural, engaging and very believable Cio-Cio San while still committing beautifully to the ritualistic aspects of the production, the gestures and the dream/dance sequence, the bowing and so on. I really love the way, as she sings "e starem zitti come topolini ad aspettar", she mimes mouse ears in time with the music. I really love the giggles she stifles during Yamadori's visit.

And I feel like a bad person for dwelling so much on the acting and saying so little about the singing, but it's all tied up together. The commitment and beauty of her Butterfly is apparent in every facet, in her characterisation, in her every move and glance — and in the way she sings it, in the colours of her voice, in its limitlessness, in its startling power, in its rose petal loveliness, in those little turns of phrase, a word here, a note there, the big moments I brace myself for (Ah! M'ha scordata?) and the quiet moments that break my heart (un po' per celia) and all the infinite variety in between. You see what happens when I try to put her voice into words? Sentence structure breaks down, incoherence (more than usual) wins.

Which seems as good a point as any to take myself firmly in hand, and stop. Thank you, Izaghi and Izanami, Sarundasico and Kami, for allowing our Butterfly to return, if only for one afternoon, and for allowing me to be there. Now we can wish her a bon voyage and a magnificent success in Paris, and I can float back down to non-Butterfly earth for a while, until her final four performances in March. Time to remember what else the world has to offer.

Butterfly Diaries, Part IV: Illustrated Edition

1. An offer

A bad thing has happened, but you, yes you, may benefit from my misfortune. Last week I returned to the box office to book for Madama Butterfly on the 7th of March. All seemed well. Then I got home, looked at the thing, and realised what I had in my hand was a ticket for Madama Butterfly on the 7th of February. Alas, alack. Did I misspeak? Did the box office make an error? Either way, I know from past experience that they won't consider exchanging it, and anyway, I've already re-booked for the right date. Which means I have a ticket going spare — the 7th of February is a performance by Antoinette Halloran and Rosario La Spina, and having already seen Antoinette (three times!) in Cheryl's place, I no longer need to go again during her scheduled season. 

The ticket is for C-reserve, seat C12 in the stalls. No surtitle view, but acoustically pretty excellent, and you'll be in exactly the right spot to appreciate the full force of Antoinette's "Un bel di". If you're in Sydney and you'd like it, send me an email and we'll figure something out. As a Saturday night C-reserve ticket, it cost me $106, but I think we can work out a pretty nice deal — I'd just like it to go to a good home. 

2. 09-01-09, 14-01-09 FOURTH & FIFTH PERFORMANCES

Two more Butterflies, two more Cheryl Barker cancellations, two more appearances by Antoinette. What a good thing it's so impossible to be mad at Cheryl Barker. I'm frustrated by the situation, but not by her — painful as her absences are, in the end, I'm pleased she's doing whatever she deems necessary to look after that precious voice. And if there's an element of supercautiousness, on account of her upcoming Parisian début, well, that's fine too. I forgive and forgive, and keep crossing my fingers that she might just make it to the matinée on Saturday, her last scheduled performance this month. And meanwhile, let's just hope she returns in March ready to blaze through her final performances. 

Of Antoinette's three performances so far, I'd say her first was her best. On the 9th her voice was still sounding a bit ragged from the demands she'd placed on it in the previous performance. Wednesday's was somewhere in the middle. Vocally, she's best at the extremes, the high, soaring passages and big, low chest voice. In the middle, a little less secure, but we make allowances, because what a role for anyone to sing. She remains a fine actress, a charming Butterfly, especially in the first act, where she is all youthful excitability. Her own personal take on the role is coming through more clearly with each performance, although so too is a slight tendency to perhaps (for my tastes, anyway) overdo the giggly exuberance just a little. There's a serious and formal side to Cio-Cio San too, after all, but that's something Antoinette has plenty of time and world to grow into. 

Julian Gavin remains our almost lovely Pinkerton, and with Cheryl not around, I actually take the time to watch him a bit more than usual. He's pretty good at finding three dimensions in a character who could just about get away with one, and that bright, secure voice makes him easier still to indulge. I'm more taken with Graeme Macfarlane's Goro all the time, too. Whereas I'm starting to wish Barry Ryan's Sharpless had just a bit more presence and a more benevolent air — maybe it's just me, but I like to feel that he's really on Butterfly's side, as far as possible, rather than that he's just taking care of business as painlessly as he can manage. Wednesday's performance was an especially moving one for Suzuki, Catherine seemed quite genuinely distraught by the end. 

That said, it was also the only one I've remained dry-eyed throughout, but that's more to do with my frustration at diva cancellation than the performance per se — and it received a pretty substantial standing ovation, much to my surprise, so what do I know? 

So now there's only Saturday's matinée left, and then I'm Butterfly-free until March. I'm doing my level best to expect Antoinette to sing. If Cheryl happens to appear, well, what a bonus that would be. All this uncertainty wreaks havoc on my poor nerves, though. It's terribly traumatic, not knowing until the very last moment. 

3. Santé

 

For our prima donna, on the eve of her Parisian début. Get well soon, for les grenouilles if not for us. But that matinée would be nice. 

Deborah Riedel

I've just had an email from Opera Australia with the very sad news that the soprano Deborah Riedel has passed away today at Sydney's Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. What a bolt from the blue — I saw Deborah just months ago, in her capacity as judge of the Mathy Awards. My thoughts are with her family, friends and colleagues at this very difficult time. Adrian Collette has announced that Opera Australia will dedicate opening night of The Magic Flute to Deborah's memory.

See also:
The Australian | Stage Noise (Diana Simmonds) | The Morning After (Chris Boyd) | I am a liminal being (wanderer) | Opera Australia press release | Melba Recordings | Deborah's biography at Arts Management [PDF] 

Butterfly Diaries, Part III

06-01-09 THIRD PERFORMANCE

It was all well and good preparing myself for Cheryl to cancel on night two, but having been wrong once, it didn't occur to me that it might be good psychological insurance to repeat the process until I was about fifteen metres from the theatre. Thus, not surprisingly, since it's the way these things always work, this was the night I was right. I scanned my cast list as a matter of course, and my initial, idiotic reaction was "why haven't they listed Cio-Cio San?". Then my brain caught up with me and pointed out that yes, they had listed her, she just wasn't being sung by Cheryl.

Sigh. I was a little disappointed, but, believe it or not, not heartbroken. For various reasons. One, because it was still in the back of my mind that she might cancel, so I was readyish; two, because there are still plenty of chances to hear her in the role; and three, because I'd actually ever so slightly hoped that this would happen. Yes, really. You see, Antoinette Halloran is scheduled to take over at the end of this month and for all of February. I like Antoinette Halloran a lot. And so, despite being booked to see Cheryl's Butterfly more times than any sensible person should see anyone's Butterfly in close succession, I still wasn't going to miss the chance to hear Antoinette take it on. So I was prepared to pay for yet another ticket and see yet another performance in order to do so; but it had occured to me that it would save money and help prevent Butterfly fatigue if Antoinette just happened to sing one of Cheryl's performances. And that's exactly what happened.

So I shrugged off my disappointment at the absence of Cheryl and turned my thoughts to the imminent joy of Antoinette. I've had a curious relationship with Antoinette's voice of late, but there is something about her I can't resist, even if I have occasional doubts about her. I had reasonably high hopes for her Butterfly: it's a role she's sung before, she'd already taken over at least two performances in the Melbourne season last month, and it's only a couple of weeks until her scheduled debut here. 

Usually, if I'm faced with a last minute substitution for somebody I really wanted to hear, it takes me an act or so to reconcile myself to the change. This time, though, my genuine happiness at the opportunity to hear Antoinette ahead of schedule already put her at a distinct advantage. And her performance, I'm very happy to say, continued the good work. She was absolutely beautiful. I wondered if I could love another Cio-Cio San so soon after Cheryl. With her first notes and first glance, Antoinette showed me I could. 

Perhaps she doesn't have the role under her skin quite yet, but nobody would expect her to. Nevertheless she gave an engaging, moving portrayal, as vivid in her own way as Cheryl's or anybody's. In her facial expressions, and in the first act especially, Antoinette did seem, consciously or unconsciously, to be channelling her immediate predecessor, but not in a way that came across as deliberate imitation. The character became more her own as the evening progressed, and grew into quite a different creature, a younger, more openly ardent Cio-Cio San. Vocally, the first act was her best, with the long and gruelling second act a bit less secure, although not without its thrills and moments of loveliness. No doubt one day, when she too has sung Butterfly a million times (and I daresay she shall) she'll master the art of pacing herself, but the sheer exuberance of her performance did a lot to compensate for occasionally uneven singing. 

Nerd that I am, I couldn't help playing spot the difference, noting which bits of stage business were changed and which were common to both. I saw that Antoinette knelt to scatter her flowers, rather than gliding about the stage. Also that, where Cheryl actually picks the child up and swings him about while singing, Antoinette left him on the ground and held his hand — and fair enough too, I couldn't believe it when Cheryl kept singing under the weight of a six year old in motion. Other tiny details too, but so trivial as to make the preceding points seem vastly significant. 

Julian Gavin gave what sounded to me his best performance yet. Or maybe it was just that I was in my most acoustically advantageous seat so far, right at the front of the loge. Either way, this was the night which really made me sit up and listen to his voice and think how fortunate we are to have such an attractive and secure voice in this role. My affection for Catherine Carby continues to grow. Roll on, I Capuleti — I sense a Sternstunde coming on. 

One final point, while I'm thinking of it — I very much like the way Shao-Chia Lü has been beginning each performance. Much like Simon Hewett in Otello (and he was following Simone Young's lead in doing so), there is no initial applause for the conductor's entrance. He sneaks into the pit ahead of time, and only steps up to the podium as the lights are going down, just in time to start the performance with a bang. It worked a treat in Otello, with its opening storm; Butterfly hasn't just a turbulent beginning, but the effect is equally striking. A few tourists at the second performance wrecked it by applauding once the orchestra had started, but they were silenced reasonably quickly, and otherwise it's worked well. 

And thus, with the above, I bring myself at long last up to date. Tomorrow night is my fourth. I'm afraid I can neither promise nor threaten to keep on posting about every singly performance. I mightn't have the stamina, and you certainly could be forgiven for giving up on me until I find another topic. We shall see. In the meantime, there's a Cav/Pag opening on Saturday, so the advent of a non Butterfly post is closer than you think. 

Butterfly Diaries, Part II

03-01-09 SECOND PERFORMANCE

This performance was not a part of my initial massive ticket purchase (for reasons which I'm sure seemed utterly logical at the time, but which escape me now) so I was punished with a seat in Row U of the stalls. In such a little theatre, Row U is still not exactly the middle of nowhere, however it is behind the overhang of the gallery, which means the acoustic is especially poor, even by Opera Theatre standards. Orchestra? What orchestra? I exaggerate, but not by as much as I like. I was definitely confirmed in my aversion to such faraway seats. Front row or loge for me, thank you very much.

After opening night, I had managed to convince myself (almost) that Cheryl would cancel. No definite reason for this, really, just a surreptitious cough or two and a vague sense that I'd been hearing, say, 97.6% instead of 100. In fact I'd done such a good job of convincing myself that I arrived at the theatre pretty much expecting to hear Antoinette Halloran instead. Which would have been fine — I'm booked for enough performances to compensate the loss of Cheryl in one of them — but, as it happened, she didn't cancel, and so just having her there was a bonus of sorts. 

I'm not used to seeing or hearing Cheryl from so far away, but in the big scheme of things, it hardly matters — far or near, she's still the same beautiful singer, and her commitment, charisma and oh that voice carry far, far beyond the first few rows. In fact it's probably healthy for me to be reminded of that once in while, and to have my focus broadened a bit. I think she was even lovelier than on opening night. I think. I don't know, because I can only just hold on to my last smidgen of impartiality long enough to get my grown up reviews written, and then all that goes to hell and my brain works along the lines of: Is Cheryl, Is Good. If pushed, I could probably suggest that the voice was softer and shinier than it had been in previous performance, that it flowed a little more freely, but really, we're talking about degrees of gorgeousness, and what's the point? She's Cheryl. She's Cheryl. (I'm sorry. I know I'm terribly over the top. But if I can't vent it here, then where?)

Meanwhile everybody else was much as they had been on opening night, no major changes, positive or negative. And why would you change anything? Which is not to say that this is the Most Perfect Butterfly In The World...Ever! but it's actually not far from it, in a restrained sort of way. I can't think what could be improved. Excellent principal cast, fine support from the bit players, stunning voices in the two roles which absolutely require them and, as a bonus, from Suzuki as well. As for the production, for once I really hope that Opera Australia does maintain its habit of keeping productions in the repertory for decades, because I can't see any pressing need to replace this one. I wouldn't mind seeing a version of John Bell's production for Oz Opera expanded to take advantage of the Opera Theatre's facilities, but even so, I don't want us losing Moffatt Oxenbould's production any time so. The Copley Lucia and the Cox Ballo can go (please) but not this. 

The rest you know already. They sang, they bowed, she bowed and the audience rose as one. For reasons likely more touristic than musical, but whatever the motive, the end result is the same and I'm happy. True, the performance in and of itself wasn't quite at the earth shattering, mind bending, scream eliciting standard which your usual standing ovation might require. I adored it but had no expectation of standing for it. However, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a gorgeous soprano in possession of phenomenal talent must deserve a standing ovation, just because she does. 

Butterfly Diaries, Part I

30-12-08 OPENING NIGHT

Apparently OA's season opens earlier every year, so that the 2009 season managed to open two days before the end of 2008. I suspect this was at least partly to allow Cheryl Barker a reasonable number of performances before she jets off to Paris to be their (B-cast!) Butterfly. (And may we take a moment to applaud a soprano who finishes up in Sydney on January 17th and has her first Parisian performance on the 31st, meaning less than two weeks rehearsal time for a Robert Wilson production. Yes, I know, she's sung in it before, but still. Anyway, sorry, too much parenthesis too soon. Back to business.)

Cheryl is our Butterfly, and what more is there to say? She owns this role. The (sadly now apparently abandoned) International Cheryl Barker Association website lists fifteen seasons of this opera in her performance history, in a variety of productions in both hemispheres. Opera Australia's drop dead gorgeous production was created for her and she's captured on the DVD of same, as well as a DVD of the aforementioned Robert Wilson Blue Butterfly. Of course, sheer repetition does not in itself equal magnificent role ownership, but you only have to see or hear her in the role for five or ten minutes to realise she's a very special Cio-Cio San. And look, I know, I'm me, and I think she's a very special everything. But you could be the most objective observer in the world and I suspect you'd still have to concede that she's an important and wonderfully successful intepreter of this role. 

What I like about Cheryl's Butterfly is, oh, everything, but in particular I like that, while it is something like her sixteenth Butterfly, I can't detect any signs of fatigue. Her wealth of experience shows itself in how extraordinary well she clearly understands the character, and the revelatory world of details which that knowledge brings out, sometimes I think almost unconsciously. But she doesn't coast through the role, it isn't singing by numbers, she isn't on autopilot — and lord knows, she could be forgiven if every now and then she was, just a little. For heaven's sake, she's Cheryl Barker, singing Butterfly. She could sing it in her sleep and even if she did, she'd still probably be fascinating — it's just the way she is.

And I love the details. There's a lot of Butterfly ahead of me still, so I'll try to pace myself and save a few points for later. The one I want to mention immediately, however, is the magic she works with the Warhorse of Warhorses, her "Un bel di". It's the eternal problem with big hit arias like this ("O mio babbino caro" suffers the same fate) that it's hard sometimes — for an audience and for singers too, I think — to appreciate them only in terms of their immediate context, to remain in engaged opera mode rather than switching into concert mode. "Un bel di" is so familiar that it would be easy enough to sit back and enjoy it as a favourite aria, rather than paying as much attention to what it's saying as you have to the preceding dialogue. Cheryl fixes that. Her "Un bel di" is quite extraordinarily conversational. There's very little standing at the front of the stage, gazing into the distance; instead, she remembers at every point that it's to Suzuki that she's saying all of this. Yes, it's an affirmation to herself as well, but it's not a soliloquy. Cheryl sings it in a fantastically attentive, responsive manner, the way you might expect her to sing it if the text were set as flat recitative instead. In doing so she refocuses your attention (or a good deal of it, anyway) on what's actually going on, both in the aria and in Butterfly's head. It's a BIG aria no matter which way you look at it, and even the most standandsingish performance is still going to pack a fair punch, but for my tastes, it's Cheryl's approach I find the most moving. 

Moving on, only because I think I must rather than because I feel much inclined to, a fair share of the praise ought to be heaped on Catherine Carby as well, our lovely Suzuki. Excuse me, but shouldn't Catherine be receiving far glitterier star treatment from this company? Oh, yes, she's had a few plum roles recently, I won't deny that, but all the same I can't shake the feeling that her brilliance still isn't being taken advantage of as fully as it might. The same is true of her Suzuki as was true of her Kristina — she sings her first lines, and if it weren't for the presence of a Cheryl Barker waiting in the wings, I would be happy to hear her as the star of the show. At least we had that chance in Don Giovanni, but what I'm ever more eagerly anticipating is her Romeo in I Capuleti. Just quietly, I think she might just blow Emma right out of the water. Not that it's a competition. Her Suzuki, meanwhile, is fabulous — she is the latest in a long line of mezzos (Christa Ludwig, for one) to make you really, really wish that Puccini had given her an aria. Anyway, she makes the most of what she's given and is a total and utter delight, even if Puccini (and this role) is not perhaps her most obvious repertoire. But she's Catherine, and I'm keen to hear her in absolutely anything she chooses to sing. (Yes, you see, I really do notice the other singers, even when Cheryl's about.)

Was I supposed to mention Pinkerton before Suzuki? Never mind. Nobody likes him, so nobody will mind. Except I have to confess, I don't really hate Pinkerton, at least not as a general rule. Like Don Ottavio, he's one of those characters constantly mentioned in reviews as having been made "surprisingly sympathetic" by a particular singer — to the point that I start to wonder if it might be time to accept that the character himself is actually more sympathetic than we've given him credit for. Although, in Pinkerton's case, not much more. At best, he's still an inconsiderate fool. At worst, he's total scum. Julian Gavin is closer to the former. What scumminess he possessed was ameliorated, for me at any rate, by the palpable sincerity with which Gavin imbued Pinkerton's descriptions of Butterfly — he really is completely head over heels for her, even if it's not exactly love. For a day or two at least, he's as much in her power as she is in his, and that makes at least a little bit of a difference. Of course, it's always easier to feel sympathy for a beautifully sung Pinkerton. He seemed a bit cautious on opening night, and there were a couple of unsettling swoops and scoops, but ultimately the care he took was a positive thing — we heard a Pinkerton full of light and shade, with graceful turns of phrase and dynamic variations, not just a relentless Italian bellower. It's not exactly the three-dimensional portrayal of Cheryl's Butterfly, but then, it's not as if the role offers much possibility of that. 

Is my post longer than the libretto yet? I'm afraid to check, in case it is, so will plunge ahead and, in my usual callous way, dash off all the male cameos with three or four words apiece, or something like that. You can't resist Graeme Macfarlane. He's the ultimate Goro. He's on the DVD too, which leads me to suspect he may have a lifetime monopoly on the part, like John Bolton Wood as Benoit/Alcindoro in La bohème. Anyway, Goro is just as Cio-Cio San says, "un uom cattivo", but as Graeme flits and scurries about the stage, making mischief at every turn, you can't help but like him. My other favourite is Jud Arthur's bright orange Bonze, fabulously demonic in voice and appearance — and he handles that brandishing stick of his like a pro. Barry Ryan is a good, solid Sharpless. Not as sympathetic as Richard Stilwell on the DVD, who manages to make the Consul not only likeable but surprisingly complex, but he does his job well. Luke Gabbedy struts for all he's worth as Yamadori, and strikes the right balance between handsome and preposterous — you can understand why everyone thinks Butterfly should be tempted, but also why she's obviously not — but his voice doesn't always have quite as much presence as he does. Andrew Moran is still a voice whose progress I'm keen to follow, and his brief turn as the Imperial Commissioner does nothing to change that, but it's hardly a role about which much can be said, good or bad. 

We're very fortunate in our conductor, Shao-Chia Lü, who leads a fabulously idiomatic sort of performance, all bright strings and surging emotion. Not crash bang loud, but not impossibly tiny and subtle either — just right, said Goldilocks. He helps lift the sound of the orchestra as far out of that abysmal pit as it's likely to get, for which I'm thankful. 

My final words for tonight — congratulations on reading this far, both of you — must be for the production. I am madly in love with this production. I have been since I watched that DVD and declared it the Most Beautiful Thing In The World Ever. Drastic reaction, yes, and clearly hyperbole, but you get my drift. It's not what you'd call revolutionary. But it's also a fair distance from conventional. Aesthetically it's quite possibly the most gorgeous production the company has in its repertory — among the tourist audience especially, there are audible gasps when the stars come out, or petals begin to fall, and I still get goosebumps every time Butterfly sheds one her deep pink (unmarried) kimono to reveal the blue (married) beneath. I could rhapsodize over the production almost as much as I could over Cheryl herself — and you know by now that that's a lot — so once again, I'll shut myself up, and add only that I think Moffatt Oxenbould, who created this work of art, is a wonderful and very clever man. Puccini ain't bad either.

Renée

I have a huge affection for Renée Fleming, for various reasons, and not always for her singing. Vocally, she and I have good weeks and bad weeks. I still think her disc of Mozart arias is one of the best Mozart aria discs ever recorded. I adore her in her capacity as Met in HD hostess with the mostess. But then again, I really really was not impressed with her latest recording of the Four Last Songs, despite all the gushing it has garnered from critics. So it's safe to say I've not been in the best mood with Renée lately.

With perfect timing, however, she's turned up to make me change my mind yet again. I happened across an interview on Ovation (I have cable TV now, temporarily) and she won me over in about ten seconds flat. Just as she does every time I see her interviewed. Because, however much I might question the decisions she makes, I can't question her intelligence or her passion for the art. Maybe she doesn't sing to everybody's tastes, but tihs is one seriously smart, articulate woman, utterly engaged with the music she sings and all the thought behind and around it. So if the decisions she ultimately makes don't appeal to me, well, fine, but I have to respect them when they come from such a person. When a soprano is asked "to whom do you listen, whom do you admire?" and the first names which spring to her mind are Magda Olivero and Rosanna Carteri, it's hard not to be impressed.

And also there is the singing. Which, despite those Four Last Songs, still has the capacity to be appallingly gorgeous. The interview was followed by a clip from her Tatyana at the Met. My jaw dropped. I mean, I had read all the praise for it, but still, this was amazing. Enough to make me feel I might need to own that DVD very soon. Then tonight, I managed to turn the radio on just in time for the final scene of Thais and once again, she had me in throes of delight. I suppose I'll never reach the point of loving her irrationally in every note and every role she sings but when it's the right music and the right emotion and that voice, she's perfection, and even changeable little me can't resist that. 

Upstanding

I was all set to grumble about tonight's audience for Butterfly. Nine billion throats cleared, at least three sets of people who clattered out before it was over, a whining child, laughter in the sad bits, a couple in front of me who arrived after interval and spent the rest of the night falling asleep on each other and the place crawling with tourists. However, I take it all back. I am immensely proud of tonight's audience. 

Because we stood. For Cheryl. Not for the whole cast. For Cheryl, alone on the stage, as she took her final bow. And it was a proper standing ovation, too, none of this half-hearted straggling, a few people standing because they want and everyone else following suite because they think they ought. She stepped forward and within two seconds, the entire audience was on its feet. And I've racked my brain trying to think if I've ever seen this happen here before, and do you know what? I haven't. Emma got a scattered standing ovation for her Lucia, but some of those people were just caught out on the way to catch their buses. I gave Cheryl a standing ovation of one from my loge for one of her Otellos, and four or five of us stood for her on opening night. And that's it. 

In San Francisco everyone stood on every night I attended, apparently as a matter of course. Here, it isn't like that. They barely let you finish clapping before the house lights go up and you're swept out the door. So this was a bit special. Congratulations, audience. All is forgiven. You have excellent taste.

(And yes, I've got myself all out of order. Real(ish) post on Butterfly coming soon. Well, sooner than Pinkerton at any rate.)

CB

It's the post which should write itself, but which nonetheless never seems to get written. I was going to write it after my first Arabella. Then after my last. Then during Otello, then during The Makropulos Secret. Then Christmas Eve, Butterfly Eve, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day. Something always got in the way — holidays, cable TV and that creeping fear of sappy self indulgence. However, enough is enough. The festivities are done with, the TV is switched off and if I'm self indulgent and sappy, well, you're used to that by now. 

I want to write about Cheryl Barker. And yes, I know, I've said it all (and you've heard it all) many times before. Perhaps not all, though. 

Cheryl Barker has been for me a remarkable phenomenon. Almost without my notice, she has framed my Australian operatic experience from its infancy. While I fixated, besotted, on the other one, she was nevertheless there. I blush to confess — though I have done so before — that my first feelings towards her were quite opposite to what they are now. Before I had heard her sing a note, I decided I Did Not Like Her. To me she was the soprano who cancelled without notice her appearance in Opera Australia's 50th anniversary gala and the soprano who seemed to poised to usurp the honour of Australia's prima donna. Such petty biases on my part are beyond foolish, and I have always known it and always succumbed to them — my only defence is that I usually recover.

And so I did with Cheryl. I went grumbling to her Rusalka and emerged beaming. My mutterings about the preferential treatment she was receiving — role after role after role, every one a plum — turned to rejoicing. Slowly at first. Glorious as her Rusalka was, it was in her Giorgetta (in Il tabarro) that the initial, crucial moment arrived. Running into the theatre two minutes late, I was ushered up to E-reserve to await the interval, when I'd be seated properly. I sank, exhausted, into my seat and was thrust immediately into that gem of an opera, and before I knew it, she hit me between the eyes. For the first time ever, she sang a phrase and I thought: that is such a Cheryl kind of sound. And it brought tears to my eyes.

Still, it was only a beginning, not an all conquering thunderclap. But she stayed with me, and I felt compelled to see her again. And then again, on my twenty-third birthday. Only this time, she cancelled. I was crushed — and now I knew I was hooked. I bought the CDs — all two of them — and counted the hours to her next appearance, in the unwittingly hilarious Don John of Austria. By the end of the year, all hope for my sanity had evaporated. I was her fan. I was mad about her. 

So naturally, I waited to see if I would get over it. I am very very good at losing my heart to sopranos, but they are so lovable, and there are so many to love, that total constancy can be difficult. Besides which, she hardly seemed my type. The voices I've gone mad for in the past have been, almost without exception, silvery Mozart sopranos and silken Handel mezzos. What was I doing listening daily to a Butterfly, a Tosca, a Katya Kabanova?

To be honest, I still don't have an answer to that. Although, as we've seen, her repertoire has turned out to encompass some of the music and heroines closest to my heart. She's even begun establishing herself as Australia's next important Strauss soprano. In fact, whatever my preconceptions, it's pretty blindingly obvious that she is exactly my type. I keep waiting for the shine to wear off but it never does — I get as ridiculously excited about her voice now as ever, and maybe even more so. It isn't something that can be rationally explained in terms of sonic quality, of technical skill, of this or that kind of artistry. In all those field, she is superb by any standards, but that special thing that makes a person go mad for a singer — it isn't to be put into words, despite being in many ways the whole foundation of this blog.

If you've stuck with (or discovered) this blog during the past year, then you know what's happened since. You've read my outpouring heres, as I attended performance after performance — all I missed was one matinée of Otello — and trawled through the thesaurus for new ways to say "beautiful". I could happily retrace the magnificence of all those evenings, but I shan't inflict that upon you yet again. But isn't it incredible — and aren't we spoilt rotten — that within the space of ten months, in our very own city, we've seen one fabulous singer take on such a varied and demanding series of roles, and triumph in them so captivatingly? Arabella, Desdemona, Emilia Marty and now Cio-Cio San, all within less than a year and each sufficient on its own to delight the heart of a devotee such as myself. 

Some, no doubt, will say she has been given too much, that her prominence here is now too great. I used to feel the same way about another soprano, before the wind started to change. When it comes to Cheryl, however, such considerations are nothing to me. I feel like the proverbial kid in a candy store, faced with an array of operatic prospects almost too mouthwatering to believe, and the promise of more and more and more to come. And unlike that kid, my particular indulgence never leaves me feeling ill, no matter how much I seem to overdo it. What Cheryl leaves me feeling is happy, stupidly happy. A thousand other adjectives as well, but above it all, it's happiness I think of when I think of Cheryl. 

I declared 2007 the Year of Cheryl, and so felt obliged to restrain myself from doing the same thing again for 2008. In fact, it looks as if, for the indefinite future, every year will be the Year of Cheryl, at least in my world. It's a prospect which, like every note she sings, has me grinning like an idiot. A sappy, self indulgent idiot who has gone on at preposterous length — but I'm afraid I can't help it, and nor do I want to. Cheryl Barker is a joy and a privilege to behold and I thank my lucky stars I have so many opportunities to do so. A little adoring excess is the least I can do.