Prima la musica

La traviata

I should start by raving about the heroine, but I'm not going to. Instead, I'm throwing my usual practice to the wind and starting with the tenor, because Aldo Di Toro's Alfredo has a special place in my heart. This will probably sound strange, but it was Aldo's Alfredo three years ago which made me really understand the appeal of tenors. Oh, there were a few I didn't mind, and I rather liked Ian Bostridge, but could I love them the way I loved female voices? Not a chance. I tried a few times, got halfway there, but never quite managed it. Then along came Aldo (whom I'd already heard in Fedora) and somehow his Alfredo flicked the switch. I got it. Tenors became a part of my devotions, and have remained so. Perhaps it was just good timing on his part, although I suspect it was more than that; but whatever the reason, I'm permanently indebted to Aldo for facilitating that Damascus moment.

His Alfredo on opening night swept me off my feet all over again. He's still the only tenor who has really made me feel that La traviata could just as easily be an opera about Alfredo. His acting isn't what you'd call especially naturalistic — he's a bit melodramatic, really — and yet he's so passionate and so utterly sincere that I find him completely believable. And then there is that voice. That warm, golden, knee-weakening voice. He doesn't shy away from basking in that beauty a bit, spinning out radiant, dreamy sound, but nor does he rely solely on the (sigh) radiance of his timbre to get him through. He's as attentive to the meaning of the words as he is to the gorgeousness of them, and for all the flowing silk of his phrasing, there's a engaging, spoken quality to every word he sings. Even "Libiamo" has a fresh spontaneity to it, and when he gets to that final scene, well, he just breaks your heart. 

Like Aldo, Elvira Fatykhova returns from that 2007 season. Back then, she and Aldo sang precisely one performance together — the one I saw — before Kate Ladner took over as the heroine. This time Opera Australia has wisely cast them together for the whole season. Vocally, they're pretty ideally matched. Both are graceful, delicate and relatively small-scale singers — not spinto powerhouses — and neither outsings (or outshouts) the other. These are two innately beautiful voices and the combination of them a gift for vocal fetishists.

Elvira's Violetta is all silver and pearly sheen. No coloratura passage is so intricate that she can't make light work of it, and her pianissimi must be some of the prettiest on the planet. When she floats that top note at the end of "Addio del passato", you could hear a pin drop — and you'd probably be moved to murder the fool who dropped it. Her voice is slender, not massive, but it can open up thrillingly, and even at high volume retains all its sweetness and precision. No wobbly, warbling courtesan, she; this Violetta's singing is all class. I do have to confess, however, that I find her characterisation rather too reserved. There's a slightly cool quality to her Violetta which, for me, makes her touching but not devastating — and we all know how I love to be devastated. Peter McCallum has a different take on this approach, with which many, I'm sure, will agree. It really comes down to personal taste: given my druthers, I'd just rather have a Violetta a little closer to the edge. But I don't intend to look a gift soprano in the mouth: she's still a very appealing Violetta, and her singing is surely some of the loveliest we'll hear all year.

Aldo and Elvira are between them afford more than enough pleasure for one Traviata, but Opera Australia is very generously throwing in Jonathan Summers as well, and at no extra charge. It's quite a privilege to have such an artist as our Giorgio Germont — it's a bit of a limiting role, after all, and yet with Jonathan on hand, Germont has all the force and towering dignity of a title character. He's full of rage when he comes to see Violetta, and he's not easily won over; it takes the whole of their encounter to unlock the benevolence within him, and even then, he doesn't completely unbend. His voice resounds with authority, righteous anger, and, gradually, with warmth. His loudness can be a little disconcerting when set against Aldo's and Elvira's lighter voices, but even at his blusteriest, he's never coarse — and he's always in character. At Monday's performance, he received what sounded to me like the most vociferous ovation of the evening. I don't expect that's an honour too often afforded to a Germont, but in this case it was entirely deserved.

The problem with Traviata is that absolutely all the significant solo singing is given to the three principals, and the rest of the cast is left to fight over the scraps — making it difficult for the singers in those roles to do anything hugely distinctive, except leave wanting more. Which, happily, is just what this supporting cast does. Dominica Matthews was a fine Flora three years ago, but she's even better now, with that slight edge to her voice now beautifully softened and all the more expressive. The presence of Stephen Bennett as Doctor Grenvil seems almost decadent — such a fine artist in such a tiny role — and yet, when it comes to the final act, the solemn dignity of his performance is precisely what the opera needs. Teresa La Rocca is an Annina whose twinkling clarity rivals the heroine's; in fact it wouldn't surprise me if the title role is already in her sights.

Shane Lowrencev's voice is as imposing as his height, and he does Affronted Baron better than anyone; Andrew Brunsdon is a gleeful, sneaky Gastone, who would surely twirl his moustache if it were longer. It's hard to do much more than simply name and congratulate the rest of the cast, so to Andrew Jones (d'Obigny), Jin Tea Kim (Giuseppe), Jonathan McCauley (Messenger) and Tom Hamilton — congratulations. All were good, nobody let the side down. The chorus is as excellent as ever: women resplendent in their corsets, men terribly amusing in their moustaches, and everyone singing with care and spirit. They're singers, and to a degree, actors; they're not dancers — and the space is very cramped — so one can probably forgive the silliness of gypsy/matador business at Flora's party, although surely it could be less awkwardly staged. Anyway, that's beside the point. They do everything else marvellously. 

An excellent cast, then, and it's a lucky thing they are. Elijah Moshinsky's super-lavish production is very beautiful, and it's a good, straightfoward vehicle for story and score, but it's also spectacularly conventional (and conventionally spectacular) and without a cast as vibrant as this, it would be much less interesting. As it is, the staging has its longueurs, and some of the business seems faded and wearied by the exertions of so many revivals. I'm not saying it should be mothballed just yet — it's good to have some solid pieces like this in repertory, they're an opera company's equivalent of the LBD — but I do think the production needs greater re-invigoration than this revival (rehearsed by Richard Jones) provides. Perhaps bring in Cathy Dadd next time; she worked wonders with Fidelio, after all. 

And I regret to say I'm disappointed in Philippe Auguin's conducting. He's good to his singers, I think, but beyond that I find his style less than moving. The impression I've had so far is that he's emphasising too heavily the bel canto aspects of Traviata, the rum-ti-tum and the flashy showpieces (which are nicely done), and losing the expressive, verismo side of it in the process. Yes, the opera has its roots in that earlier tradition, but it's also a gateway to a more natural and emotionally direct style, and I feel Auguin's approach needs a bit more sensual passion to really sing. 

It occurred to me somewhere along the line that Opera Australia has managed a rather neat bit of programming by schedule La traviata and Manon side by side, since in their original literary forms, one makes quite significant use of the other. In Dumas's La dame aux camélias, Armand gives Marguerite a copy of the Abbé Prévost's Manon Lescaut, and the parallels (and crucial differences) between the two women become a something of a motif. (I could claim to know this from having read the Dumas, but in fact I just remember it from Camille.) So even though La traviata makes no reference to Manon, having the operas so close together invites comparison just the same. Two scandalous yet well-intentioned heroines, two incarnations of the Parisian demi-monde, two stricken tenors, two interfering fathers, and the similarities continue.

I think Violetta and her opera still win on all counts. For all the common features in their stories, Violetta and Manon are more opposites than twins. In fact, in a sense I think each aspires to be the other — Manon starts out with simplicity and clutches at glamour, whereas Violetta abandons the high life for rural tranquillity and true love. And while Manon is undone by her own selfishness, it is Violetta's selflessness which leads her inevitably to ruin. I wonder if the fundamental difference isn't Violetta's illness. Manon is young and foolish and thinks she'll live forever; Violetta isn't that much older, but she's been forcibly reminded that she won't live forever — or even for very long. Unlike her frivolous cousin, she understands the consequences of her actions, and while the path she ultimately takes does resemble Manon's, the woman who navigates it could scarcely be more different. That's what makes her so much easier to love. Giorgio Germont has it right: she truly does deserve a better future. 

Various

I haven't done one of these for a while — you can thank Twitter for that — but it seems vaguely warranted, since I'm having one of those phases of too much to see and too little time to write about it.

• The Manon I had planned for this evening didn't eventuate — it all just got too difficult — so the proper post I hope to write about it will have to wait. Not that I imagine anyone's desperately hanging out for it, but for my own peace of mind, I like to get these things written up. Eventually. And I will see it again, if for no other reason than the second half of this Mad Scene discussion.
  
• Opening night of La traviata was predictably successful; a lovely evening of excellent singing and visual overload. I might love the production less if the cast were less effective; but here, cast and staging complement each other very nicely, and the result, while hardly revelatory, is nevertheless far from dull. 
  
• Besides, this La traviata has Aldo Di Toro as Alfredo, a performance I'm hopelessly in love with. You just have to hear him. 
  
• Speaking of tenors, I feel I owe Rosario La Spina yet another word of praise. I went to the matinée of Tosca today — my third performance so far — and he was still sounding excellent, and still doing the best work I've seen from him. I don't know if it's I or he who has changed — or a bit of both, or just the repertoire — but I hope it's permanent. I could get used to Rosario giving performances like this.
  
• What is it with me and tenors at the moment?
  
• Not just tenors, though. Today's Tosca was further confirmation that every time I see this opera (and this staging) it belongs even more to Scarpia. John Wegner is amazing. This afternoon I even stood for him.
  
• I also stood for Takesha. Until a dessicated old man behind me poked me in the back and ordered me to sit down and stop blocking his view. I don't know about you, but I really don't consider this appropriate behaviour. I wimped out and sat down again, but I'm regretting it now, and if I find myself in his vicinity again, I might be tempted to stand just for the sake of it. 

2009 in review: Opera Australia

This would usually be the post in which I handed out various laurels to the best of the past year's Opera Australia season. The problem is that this year, all of those laurels would just have to go to Peter Grimes, wouldn't they? It was truly the best of everything. So I'm opting instead for a more inclusive (and, typically, more longwinded) approach.

Here are Fifty-Two Things I Loved at Opera Australia in 2009.

1. The chance to see Moffat Oxenbould's exquisite production of Madama Butterfly live in the theatre, and with the soprano for whom it was created in the title role. I could see those petals fall a hundred times and the magic wouldn't fade.

2. The palpable electricity of Cheryl Barker's final Butterfly of the season, a stunning and maybe paradoxical combination of utter abandon and gorgeous refinement. 

3. Antoinette Halloran's short notice triumph in the same role when Cheryl cancelled what turned out to be the first of three performances. Her standing ovation came a little later in the run but she deserved it for that first performance.

4. The spontaneous (and unanimous) standing ovation for Cheryl's second Butterfly. Yes, it can probably be explained by the high proportion of tourists in the audience that night, but it was still a great thing to see. 

5. The last of Cheryl's January Butterflies, before she adjourned to Paris and Antoinette officially took over. She had cancelled three times, my poor nerves were shattered; but at last, she was back, and with the considerable bonus of Jacqui Dark, filling in for Catherine Carby as Suzuki. 

6. Jonathan Summers's two fabulous entrances in Cav/Pag, first as a Mafioso Alfio and then, even better, as a haunting and darkly comedic Tonio. I didn't exactly love this double bill, but I swear there's no production so dire it can't be immediately improved by the presence of Jonathan Summers.

7. José Carbo's beautiful (but of course, much too short) appearance as Pagliacci's Silvio. I tell you, if there's one thing this season needed, it was more José. 

8. And again, from Pagliacci, Stephen Smith's strong cameo as Beppe, the first of his many bit parts in this season and an auspicious introduction.

9. Fine, one from Cavalleria Rusticana. Dominica Matthews's surprisingly convincing Lola. I wouldn't have picked Dominica for verismo repertoire and yet she absolutely made it work.

10. Emma Pearson's suitably ferocious Queen of the Night. I tried to see her a second time but (sigh) she was indisposed. So please, please, Opera Australia, bring her back soon.

11. Two lovely Paminas in Emma Matthews and Hye Seoung Kwon, each of whom brought her own brand of prettiness to the role. Objectively, I'd give Emma the victory; subjectively speaking, I preferred Hye Seoung's voice in the role.

12. Andrew Moran as a very funny Aussie Papageno. Warwick Fyfe did a fine job in the role but somehow Andrew was even more hilarious, and I'm more enamoured of his voice every time I hear it.

13. The privilege of a true dramatic soprano in our midst, in the form of Susan Bullock, a sensational Katerina in Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. 

14. All the seedy and confronting glory of aforementioned Lady M and of Francesca Zambello's excellent production. I'm still kicking myself for not making it to a second performance. 

15. Jacqui Dark's rather brave performance as Aksinya in the opera's infamous "barrel scene".

16. The overpowering sound of the AOBO as, under the leadership of Sir Richard Armstrong, it tore into Shostakovich's blazing score. Loudness of the best sort. 

17. And, of course, the very successful company début of my compatriot, heldentenor Simon O'Neill as a thoroughly slapworthy (but magnificently sung) Sergei.

18. The opportunity to finally express admiration for Elke Neidhardt. She and I have not had the best history, but I thought her work as revival director of the Moshinsky production of Werther was just superb. Loved the costumes, too. 

19. The eternally swoonworthy voice of Aldo Di Toro as the lovelorn Werther. 

20. The delightful surprise of Sarah Crane's sparkling Sophie. I adored her (and her character, who should have annoyed me) and I'm rather upset at her absence from the 2010 season. I hope she's back in 2011.

21. In a rather, shall we say, uneven production of Acis and Galatea, Shane Lowrencev's towering, raging and hilariously insatiable Polyphemus. His "O ruddier than the cherry" was my favourite part of the opera. 

22. Over the top though it may have been, Patrick Nolan's staging of Damon's "Shepherd, what art thou pursuing?" in said Acis, which piled in almost everything a director could do to outrage the easily outraged. 

23. The virtuosic grotesquerie of Kanen Breen's Sorceress in Dido and Aeneas, one of the best (and downright weirdest) performances I've seen from him.

24. Yvonne Kenny's devastating final Dido, which far outdid the other three I saw and included the most moving rendition of "When I am laid in earth" I've ever experienced. 

25. Tamara Wilson's sweet and finely wrought Aida, proof that you don't need to blast the roof off to be an idiomatic and effective Verdi soprano.

26. And speaking of idiomatic: Michael Lewis's excellent Amonasro. There's a man with Verdi in his blood. 

27. Graeme Murphy's staging of the final act of Aida. I wasn't very taken with the first half of this production, but the clearer the stage became, the better it worked, and the tomb scene was really very striking. 

28. David Parkin's return to the opera theatre stage, his first OA performance since he appeared as Sparafucile after winning Operatunity Oz. It's great to see that for once, the winner of a TV talent show has turned out to be absolutely the genuine article. 

29. The night when Cheryl Barker altered the staging of Manon Lescaut's "Sola, perduta, abbandonata", and then every subsequent performance she gave of it. Flawed opera, very flawed heroine, but that final scene had a raw truth to it which was heart stopping.

30. The delectable misbehaviour of Cheryl's Manon in her gilded second act: her playful trills, the spitefully held high note, eight gorgeous renditions of "In quelle trine morbide", the fabulous frock, eight different ways of enunciating "E il busto?", the look on her face when caught in the act of fleeing with her lover and the jewels. 

31. Just surrending to Cheryl's unparalleled ability to make me fall hopelessly in love with a character I thought I didn't like.

32. For good measure, two very fine tenors. Stephen Smith's Harlequin-esque Edmondo, and Jorge Lopez-Yanez's ardent Des Grieux. 

33. The total revelation that was Fidelio. Not that I was expecting to dislike it; but I never expected to love it so much. Opening night was one of the best nights I had in the opera theatre all year. 

34. Speaking of revelations and Fidelio, Peter Coleman-Wright's magnificently villainous Don Pizarro. I never knew he could be so evil, but he absolutely was, from his terrifying "Ha, welch' ein Augenblick" to the fabulous swirl of his cape when he took his final bow. 

35. Best of all, though, Lorina Gore's perfect (there's no other word!) Marzelline. I knew I liked Lorina, but it was this performance which turned me into a bona fide fan and raised my hopes for her future sky high. 

36. Still with Fidelio, Cathy Dadd's direction of this revival. It's a pretty traditional, straightforward production; a lesser talent might have fallen asleep at the wheel, but Dadd kept the show as vivid and compelling as could be. 

37. My Emma Matthews epiphany, which was sparked by her new CD but consolidated by her exquisite Giulietta in I Capuleti e i Montecchi. It turned out she'd been ill and apparently not at her best on opening night, but I must have had my diva goggles (or auditory equivalent) on because I loved her. 

38. Aldo Di Toro's return as Tebaldo, after missing opening night. A surprisingly three-dimensional characterisation and, of course, sublimely sung. Can't wait for his Elvino in Sonnambula. 

39. And yes, believe it or not, Orpha Phelan's rather bleak and jagged production of Capuleti. I might be in the minority but I liked it a lot. It might not have been visually beautiful, but in its own jagged way, it seemed to highlight the beauty of the score.

40. Anthony Warlow's Ko-Ko in The Mikado. Despite all my arms-folded resistance to the supposed charms of Gilbert and Sullivan, I couldn't help but warm to him. I know others thought much less of him, but ever contrary, I finally began to understand his appeal.

41. Warwick Fyfe's revelatory Poo-Bah. Hands down the most impressive thing I've seen him do, and I don't mean that as faint praise. He was completely ideal for the role, both vocally and temperamentally. I was terribly impressed. 

42. The high camp of Kanen Breen's Nanki-Poo. It's always fun seeing Kanen in a role where he gets to show off his gift for physical comedy.

43. Jim Sharman's delightful framing device for his production of Cosi fan tutte, the Japanese wedding. I especially liked the immaculately pair of wedding planners; having the newlyweds dance during "Soave sia il vento" was also a lovely touch. 

44. And, of course, the colour co-ordinated confetti.

45. Rachelle Durkin's simple, sincere and very touching "Per pietà". 

46. Tiffany Speight's show stealing striptease for Despina's "Una donna". I'm still keen to hear Tiffany in a less soubrettish role, but in the meantime, she's a pretty amazing maid. 

47. Neil Armfield's and Peter Carroll's extraordinary conception and expansion of the role of Dr Crabbe in Peter Grimes. 

48. David Corcoran's fantastically well sung Bob Boles. Another burgeoning star for whom I have very high hopes.

49. The succession of jaw-dropping moments which was opening night of Grimes. 

50. The unique spirit which developed among the audiences for Grimes, a sort of solidarity and fraternal feeling borne of an extraordinary shared experience. I've never felt anything like it and for all I know, I may never feel it again.

51. Similarly, the way in which we all responded to that experience, both in conversation and in writing; the speechlessness which turned into an inability to stop talking about it. Very few productions, after all, could produce a collective response quite like this. 

52. The darkened pit.

And now that that's all done and dusted, here are the Peter Grimes laurels. 

My soprano of the year is Susan Gritton. I've heard Susan in various repertoire over the years and generally quite liked her, but her Ellen Orford flicked a switch. She was shattering and sublime in that role, and now with every single piece of music I hear her sing, I fall in love all over again. There's no question that we have the late Richard Hickox to thank for her presence in Grimes, and she's truly one of the most precious gifts he left us. I hope and pray we'll see her back here one day.

My baritone of the year is of course Peter Coleman-Wright, and I also want to name him as my revelation of the year. Maybe that's a strange thing to say about a singer I've been listening to on a daily basis for a couple of years, but this was the year in which he won my devotion in his own right, and not just by association. Plus, his Balstrode was just astonishingly beautiful. I'll never forget the way he fidgeted with suppressed rage as the villagers closed in on Ellen, or the look he threw her as he joined the mob on their way to the hut, or the sublime way he sang in that third act scene. And so many more moments, but I should stop.

Naturally Mark Wigglesworth, Neil Armfield, Ralph Myers and Damien Cooper all take out their respective categories. I've never witnessed such a powerful and triumphant creative collaboration, and people who have been attending OA performances for decades longer than I have have said the same thing. Every facet of Grimes was just so right, from the pit to the stage to the morning sun coming through the skylights. I wish I could say more but, well, see #51 above — it's either astonished silence or endless praise.

So I come to my tenor of the year and, more importantly, my singer of the year. Who else could it be but Stuart Skelton? I had started anticipating his Grimes before it was even announced. Then he sang it in London and the critics (and audiences) went crazy. And finally, here he was in Sydney and he exceeded every expectations. I've been over this before, and since there are only so many ways to put it, I won't repeat myself too much now. But Stuart's Grimes was a treasure, a terror and, I think, a life-altering experience. I shan't ever forget it, and I know for a fact I'm far from alone in that. 

Werther

I really had very little idea what to expect from Opera Australia's Werther — it's not an opera I'm hugely familiar with, and it was very hard to tell much about the production beyond the promise of frocks by Leona Edmiston, in honour of which I pointedly wore my watermelon coloured Leona Edmiston tights. But I arrived in a good mood, predisposed to enjoy myself, and I was not disappointed. In fact I had a wonderful time. 

The mere fact that the production is in modern dress is, I suppose, enough to put some people off, but in all honesty, this didn't seem to me a particularly feather-ruffling modernisation. I actually thought it worked very well indeed, and it looked fantastic — it's such a refreshing change to see people on stage in genuinely and recognisably modern dress, rather than the dated attempts at same in something like OA's Simon Philips Bohème, and they're set against a series of striking, sparsely furnished sets. I especially liked the set for Act I, a curious indoor-outdoor blend, with a fresh green lawn framed by massive and ornate doorframes. Le Bailli has more children than Captain Von Trapp but they're not quite so cloying — at least not in this production, where they more or less act like real children. The youngest girl is very good at being adorable, and the third eldest (after Charlotte and Sophie) even better at looking sour — something used to interesting effect in the third act. The staging is pretty straightforward for the most part, although it takes an interesting turn in Act III, when Charlotte, having been obliged to send Albert's pistols to Werther, tries repeatedly to leave her dinner party, only to be blocked by a series of ghostly and malicious party guests who seat themselves solemnly around her table, ready for the most joyless, funereal Christmas party ever. The children are herded off, with the exception of the sour girl, who sits on the couch, isolated from the party and begins to sob. It's weird, but curiously effective — a memorable way of conveying the absolute horror of Charlotte's situation, forced to celebrate in the knowledge that the man she loves is at that moment committing a miserable suicide.

Not having the premiere or intervening revivals of this production, I have no way of knowing how much of this revival is Moshinsky's concept and how much is the work of the revival director, one Elke Neidhardt. But I certainly cannot imagine Elke kowtowing to another director's vision at the expense of her own, so I suspect it is as much her production as his by now, and that everything that's there is there because she wanted it there, regardless of who had the original idea. In any case, what I have to declare without further ado, in case it isn't already clear, is that I think Elke Neidhardt has done a fantastic job with this Werther. I realise that I may have given the impression of a personal vendetta against Elke, since I rubbished both her Tannhäuser and her Don Giovanni, but I've been trying not to close my mind entirely, and this Werther, even if it isn't hers from the ground up, definitely helps to keep it open. 

The only issue I have, and it's something which troubled me in her Don Giovanni, too, although it's not nearly so troublesome here, is that she seems to excel in directing the concept but to fall down a little in directing people. In both Don Giovanni and Werther we have an utterly modern setting, but the people who inhabit it still frequently act like they were in a totally traditional production — you could roll the sets and costumes back a century and their gestures and expressions would mostly not be out of place. However, it's hardly a serious crime: after all, there's really not much you can do to take the Romantic melodrama out of this opera, certainly not without crushing its soul. Because the melodrama, the sentimentality, the excess of it is all part of its charm. At least, that's my feeling: I have a soft spot for Massenet, and I love his over the top tendencies. Thais is still on my wishlist.

One of this production's chief joys, of course, is the fabulous Aldo di Toro in the title role. I have a slight feeling of possessiveness towards Aldo, for the simple fact that I managed to see him (only just) before his Opera Australia début. I proceeded to make promises left, right and centre that that début (Alfredo in La traviata) would be a triumph and, thank heavens, it was. Now he is our beautiful Werther. His voice may not be huge, but it is absolutely delicious, and he sings with such genuine artistry and sensitivity that he is impossible to resist. His "Pourquoi me réveiller" is fantastic, naturally, but so too is his soliloquy after bidding farewell to Charlotte, not to mention a haunting death scene — including one of the more spectacular stage falls I've ever seen. Inevitably there are a few giggles, as Werther takes an awfully long time to die, but it's nevertheless a moving scene. (It might also be worth noting that the prolonged death is not really Massenet's fault. Goethe's Werther takes a full twelve hours to die, so the opera in fact accelerates things quite drastically.)

Michèle Losier is a happy discovery as Charlotte. In fact it is slightly odd to think that she replaces Pamela Helen Stephen in the role: as happy as I undoubtedly would have been to hear Pamela in the role (I'm a fan, though I know others aren't) I have difficulty imagining her in the role as envisioned here. Michèle plays a youthful, slightly fidgety Charlotte, clutching at chairs and fussing with cutlery when faced with difficult situations. Though only months go by, she seems visibly to age as she passes from the end of adolescence into her socially prudent marriage: the radiant, fluttery girl of the first act is barely recognisable in the pale, elegant society hostess of the third. She's lovely in those early scenes, but her best moments come towards the end. Her voice opens up brilliantly in her "Qui m'aurait dit la place...Va! laisse couler mes larmes" and in the surrounding scenes — a dark, exciting mezzo with a good solid lower register and plenty of colour. She's pretty devastating in the final scene, too, the last shreds of self-containment giving way to palpable terror. 

I've already mentioned in passing how delighted I was with Sarah Crane as Sophie. I've read mention in several places of Sophie as one of those typically annoying soubrettes in which opera abounds, and while I can see that she could be, that really wasn't my impression of Sarah's Sophie. Yes, she's endlessly cheerful and not massively perceptive, but to me she just seemed like a rather charming teenager. Her mooning over Schmidt is a bit overplayed, perhaps, but otherwise I liked her a lot. And I loved her singing. This is (for me) a new development: I've heard Sarah in several other roles, but she's never made a significant impression on me until now. Her voice seems more secure and distinctive now and has more of a silvery sheen than I remembered. She trips lightly through Sophie's very French coloratura, her high notes sparkle and she seems genuinely to be having fun with the music. More than that, I can't say, but I'm definitely listening to Sarah Crane with renewed interest. 

My other favourite is lovely Stephen Bennett as Le Bailli. Lately, every time I've heard Stephen, I've wished we could hear him in something a bit more substantial; this role gives us that chance to some extent, at least in terms of character development, and he lives up to my hopes. He's a totally lovable father figure, his stage presence just radiating paternal benevolence, and there's an engaging twinkle in his eye and in his voice. His French diction is superb, to my ears some of the best of the evening, and his smooth, rich bass is a constant pleasure. Andrew Schroeder sings real authority and style as Albert, though it's a pity this production seems determined to pigeonhole him as an irredeemable square — he could probably have pulled off something a bit more complex, though. He's excellent, though, and for some reason kept reminding me of Peter Coleman-Wright, which can only be a good thing.

Best of the rest is probably Stephen Smith as Schmidt. Stephen is in just about every production this year (well, seven of them) so I'm going to run out of things to say about him, but, as in Pagliacci, he turns a jocular cameo into a miniature star turn, and shows off both a charming sense of humour and a promising tenor voice. Even these brief appearances suggest he's a strong actor as well as a singer, so it will be interesting to see him take on something meatier in the future. David Thelander is entertaining, if a bit more on the generic side, as his drinking buddy Johann. Jodie McGuren and Andrew Brunsdon are very cute as the beatniks Kätchen and Bruhlmann. There's also a collection of actors, roped in to play Albert's entourage, imagined in this modern setting as an assortment of Beautiful People whose acceptance of Charlotte is superficial, and among whom Charlotte is increasingly uneasy. 

Emmanuel Plasson leads what sounds to me a very Massenet, very French performance, not shying away from romantic excess but not overdoing it either. The orchestral preludes and interludes are evocative and nicely paced, particularly at the point of Charlotte's dour Christmas party, and the saxophone solo in Charlotte's "Qui m'aurait dit" is beautifully played.

I'm not going to claim this as an earth shattering revelation, but that's hardly the point anyway. It was just a truly engaging and enjoyable night of opera. Perhaps not everybody will like the production, but there's enough excellent singing in this Werther to cover a multitude of perceived directorial sins. It's a shame audiences have been so small, at least on the two nights I attended, but such is life — the name Massenet is evidently only a guaranteed drawcard when followed by the name Manon. And Manon certainly has her appeal; but I quite like her younger brother, too, and judging by the vocal ovation from the tiny opening night audience, so do many others. 

Looking forward

I need something to write about in these barren six weeks while waiting for Opera Australia to come back to Sydney, so here it is. A series of posts in anticipation the 2008 season, show by show —thoughts, hopes, predictions and so on. So, without further ado —

La bohème

Right. When it comes to Bohème, I have absolutely no right to feel jaded. True, it's boringly popular but nevertheless, I've only ever seen it once. But maybe the jadedness of seasoned fanatics has infected me, or maybe I'm just not very nice — the prospect of La bohème does not, in and of itself, excite me hugely. I'm not a great fan of Opera Australia's production (my one and only Bohème was in Sydney in September 2005) but even the world's most exciting and wonderful production probably wouldn't stir my blood too much.

However. All that said, I am looking forward to this and will probably see it twice at least. Most of the principal cast changes halfway through and each cast has in it one singer I love. In the first cast, Aldo di Toro sings Rodolfo. It's still relatively rare (though a bit more frequent than it used to be) for me to go nuts for a tenor but I am mad about Aldo. He is the sort of singer who will take "Che gelida manina", which somehow never quite penetrates my evidently cold, cold heart, and make it do what it's meant to. And when he says "Come vivo? Vivo!" I might actually take him seriously and not think (as I tend to) stop avoiding the question, Rodolfo.

And from February 9th, Antoinette Halloran sings Mimi. And I have a growing suspicion that this will be a Special Event. This won't, I'm sure, be a mousy, sweet-as-pie Mimi. Antoinette's far more interesting and alluring than that. Besides which, I'm starting to think she really has one of the most interesting female voices in the company. I can't believe she doesn't feature more heavily next year. I will probably say this several times in the coming year.

So naturally I'm a bit upset that Aldo and Antoinette don't coincide, even for a night. At least in Traviata, which had a similar cast change, there was a one night overlap, where Best Violetta (Elvira Fatykhova) sang with Best Alfredo (Aldo di Toro) — the night I chose to go, and I was not disappointed. However, such is life. Aldo's Mimi is Hye Seoung Kwon, evidently one of the company's golden children as she turns up everywhere. She will, I'm sure be a lovely Mimi, though perhaps more on the above-mentioned sweet-as-pie side, without Antoinette's scintillating sex appeal. And Antoinette's Rodolfo is, as far as I'm concerned, an unknown quantity — Warren Mok. However, his website claims he's Asia's leading tenor and his resumé lists plenty of impressive companies, so I guess he can be trusted.

Amelia Farrugia and Taryn Fiebig share the leather pants role of Musetta. I tend to think of Amelia as slightly better suited but, then again, I've never heard Taryn for more than a few minutes at a time, so it's hard to know. Both have relatively pretty, sparkly tops and reasonable agility, which helps for Musetta. My concern with Amelia is her lower register; with Taryn, it's her Italian, which sounded frankly odd in her Trittico appearances. A couple of my favourite boys show up among Rodolfo's Merrie Band — José Carbo is half of Marcello and Jud Arthur is half of Colline, as he was the last time I saw it. There's another casting wish: I'd love to see Jud Arthur in a medium-to-large sized role for once. Bartolo was good, but I think he could go even bigger than that. I speak partly from patriotism (he's from my hometown) but mostly from the fact that every time I hear him, I want to hear more, and he's never in a role which allows it. Meanwhile, if he's going to keep singing Colline (which he does supremely well) I wish they'd let him wear a slightly less silly costume.

Two conductors as well. Giovanni Reggioli conducted the four performances of Falstaff I saw in February 2006, which were mostly pretty great. And I'm a fan of Tom Woods after my Streetcar marathon, not least because at the insights afternoon beforehand, he appeared to share a little of my ambivalence about the quality of the music. Which is a little more interesting in the man conducting its Australian première than in a rambling blogger.

Speaking of which, I think at this point I'll bring this particular ramble to a close. But to anyone reading (yes, both of you) — any thoughts to add about this Bohème? Anyone who heard Warren Mok's Calaf and can promise great things from his Rodolfo? Fans of the production? All comments welcome, as always.

La traviata II

My cunning plan was perhaps not quite so cunning. I returned to La traviata on Wednesday night, having waited patiently until Aldo di Toro was back as Alfredo. I was avoiding Rosario La Spina. But now I think I should have been a little braver, and given myself at least one more chance to behold the vocal loveliness of Elvira Fatykhova's Violetta. She's gone now; and I'm afraid her replacement leaves quite a lot to be desired. It's true Kate Ladner gives a spirited performance. Her characterisation is reasonably strong — the drawback being that that characterisation in no way resembles Violetta. It's one part tavern wench, three parts Manon Lescaut and lacking the heart of either. Vocally she's at her best in her mostly attractive, if undistinctive, middle; the top is squally and stretched, the coloratura blurry. Act I was basically fine until the closing scena which veered ever further off the rails, culminating in a seriously ill-considered swing at the high E-flat in "Sempre libera", followed, as the curtain was dropped and raised immediately to allow Violetta to implicitly acknowledge the audience, by an equally ill-considered swig of champagne from the bottle.  At that point I lost all sympathy for Kate's Violetta, and it never returned — she became a secondary character in an opera about Alfredo.

Who, by the way, I'm just madly in love with. Still. Aldo Di Toro and his spun-gold timbre are as magnetic and as magical as ever. It actually wouldn't matter who his Violetta was; his Alfredo is so alive, so touching and sincere, he would shine regardless. The elegance of his singing astounds me, every moment in exquisite taste but never mannered for a moment. Forceful in the climaxes but never ever forced; in quieter moments he is radiant — I keep coming back to images of light and gold, I can't think of anything else. His phrasing could have you convinced that he'd just had the thought in that moment — Verdi and Piave don't exist, the words and music are all just the spontaneous expression of the man on stage. Every emotion is infectious — his smitten affection for Violetta, his excruciating heartbreak at her departure and his total breakdown at her death. What makes this irresistible stage presence a particular delight is that it's matched to voice which is special in its own right. He'd be just as easy to fall far on record as on stage I think, and I hope he gets a chance soon to prove just that. He's my candidate for Australia's new Favourite Tenor. Later this year he sings Nemorino in Adelaide and if it weren't for the appalling timing (it conflicts more or less directly with Streetcar) I'd seriously consider being there. Take a moment to consider this, if you will — me, considering travelling for a tenor. What's happening?

The question now is whether to return or not. I probably will — Aldo is reason enough for that. There's also the conducting of Tom Woods, who has taken over from Giovanni Reggioli and who draws an altogether fierier and more cohesive performance from the orchestra. I still wish Violetta could be allowed to take "Addio del passato" at a slightly more self-indulgent pace, however — both sopranos have been denied the chance to really wallow, at a point were 'twere no bad thing to do so. Especially in Elvira's case, where I'd happily have lived a lifetime in those pianissimi. And you know, I want to go back for Kate as well. Lord knows I don't like being unkind to sopranos. I'll welcome a chance to change my tune, even a little, because sopranos are sopranos after all, and I'm me. That said, I'm still reserving all my sighs and swoons for lovely Aldo. Maybe I'll even get up the nerve to embarrass myself at the stage door; despite what you might think, I'm actually terribly reluctant about that sort of thing — but we'll see.  

La traviata

Hear that sound? It's me, sighing with relief. Lately I've been telling anyone who'd listen how wonderful I was certain Aldo di Toro would be as Alfredo in Opera Australia's La traviata. His first perfomance was last night — I was there, and am delighted and, as I say, very relieved to report that I stand by every word of my hype. He was glorious, more so than even I was prepared for. His voice is gorgeous, sort of golden and bright, rising to the climaxes with unforced passion, melting and sweet in lyrical passages. He sings with with equal attention to the musical line and to the text, so expressively and thoughtfully that he even succeeded in making the seriously overexposed "Libiamo" sound fresh and spontaneous. From the moment of his first entrance, every gesture, every action, every glance and every word spoke of sincere adoration and real devotion, of a good heart and sensitive nature. His Alfredo was an innocent and a romantic, with eyes only for his Violetta; unfailingly sympathetic even as he threw the money at her and tried to scorn her, when it was obvious all her felt for her was love. For me he was centre of this Traviata, not something I've ever felt about an Alfredo before. I can't say enough about him but this will have to suffice for now.

Violetta was Elvira Fatykhova, who sang the role for NZ Opera last year — now I see why the reviews there were so positive. She's really quite exquisite. Having heard her sing the Act I closing scene at the New Year's Gala, I assumed it would be there that her Violetta would shine brightest. But for all the crystalline coloratura, it was really in the second and third acts that she was at her loveliest. "Addio del passato" — which, admittedly, I adore pretty much regardless of the singer — was transcendent and fragile, more impressive in its quiet way than any of the Act I fireworks. In particular the pianissimo high A's... oh my. Two little moments of utter perfection. And yet — I can't believe I'm daring to say this — I couldn't shake the feeling that there was a slight something missing from her performance. She looks, sounds and acts the part wonderfully, but it remains just that: a part, a performance, a piece of fiction. My ultimate impression was of A Soprano Singing Violetta rather than simply a Violetta. However, it happens that this particular soprano sang Violetta gorgeously, so I'm hardly complaining.

In the opera's only other meaty role, Warwick Fyfe was paternal, wooden and a bit of a bore as Giorgio Germont. He sings with impressive power, certainly, and the audience obviously thought he was fantastic. Personally I was exasperated by his stiff stage presence and unvarying vocal expression. I can forgive less than stellar acting for a truly glorious voice, but as he doesn't really have one of those either, I'm afraid I was a bit disappointed. Among the smaller roles, I thought the terrifyingly tall Baron Duphol of Shane Lowrencev was probably most striking. Rosemarie Arthars was as convincing an Annina as it's possible to be in such a thankless role; Dominica Matthews was a spirited but slighly metallic Flora. Traviata gives the chorus plenty of opportunities to be brilliant as well, and brilliant they certainly were. Which brings me to one slight oddity of the night — when it came to curtain call time, only those singers who appeared in the final act took a bow. No sign of the chorus, of Flora, or the Baron or anyone except Violetta, Alfredo, Giorgio, Annina and the doctor. Am I missing something, or is this very strange?

Anyway this is a lovely Traviata, proof that a good old fashioned conventional production isn't necessarily boring or trite. There's not a wisp of anything controversial here, just gorgeous sets and costumes and a straightforward production which allows all the wonderful things about the opera to show themselves off unhindered. Not that I would mind seeing something controversial; but there's nothing wrong with traditional when it's done properly — and in this case it absolutely is.