Prima la musica, poi le parole

Antoinette Halloran Appreciation Society

Le dirò con due parole:

Antoinette Matters.

Perhaps a few more words. I didn't mean to be a sappy cliché, I just wanted to see Antoinette's Mimi as soon as possible, so I booked for the next performance, which happened to be Valentine's Day. Even worse, I cried. But that wasn't the opera. It was Antoinette. She sang her first note through the door and — this is not artistic license — my jaw actually dropped. And I was a tearstained mess. I had crazily high expectations for her but evidently they weren't high enough. I don't know what else to say. She was incredible. How anyone could tear their eyes or ears from her I don't know, I certainly couldn't. Her "Si, mi chiamano Mimi" had me totally entranced. Early on, I thought — I want to get in as quick as I can with the rapturous applause once she's done. But by the time she finished I was hanging on her every note, oblivious to the world around, and it took somebody else's in-quick applause to bring me back to reality. That aria does not do that to me. I've seen three casts in this production and she's one of the few singers who have remembered that it's a contemporary setting and thus moved and behaved accordingly. No out of place nineteenth century gestures. And the woman can sing. She was sublime. This voice was as much a physical experience as an aural one, it enveloped me, saturated me. I'll remember this. Halfway through her aria, I had the terrifying thought that I might actually have to see it a third time. Were it cheaper, I probably would. I might anyway.

Except for a couple of drawbacks. One, it's Bohème, and I still don't like it. Two, Creepiest Rodolfo Ever. The most beautiful thing about his "Che gelida manina" was the back of Antoinette's head as he sang it to her. Otherwise it just looked like some kind of maniacal raving (Your tiny hand is frozen...in a jar in my underground laboratory). He seemed to have no concept of Rodolfo as a person; or if he did, a physical inability to express that personality. He was stiff, leering and totally charmless; his singing likewise, really. I found myself suddenly reconceiving the relationship — Mimi as the victim of a controlling, manipulative, nasty Rodolfo, who steals her key and has her trapped by the time she sings "Obbedisco, signor". It was more Bluebeard than Bohème. I wanted to stage an intervention to get her away from that man. It is to Antoinette's infinite credit that she responded so convincingly, with such gorgeousness and sincerity. She transcended him, and was believable enough for the both of them.

To my knowledge she's singing nothing else in Sydney this year. The sound you hear is my heart breaking.

Fortune smiles

Lest by my last post, you think me sharper than a serpent's tooth — this evening I am overflowing with gratitude. My fairy godmother has been hard at work, and two wishes have been granted.

The Antoinette Halloran/Rosario La Spina Puccini CD made it to iTunes today. The CD in its entirety is significantly cheaper online than in the flesh, but even so, all I wanted was Antoinette and so that's all I downloaded. Just as I expected, she's beautiful. And not just generically beautiful; Antoinette gives a series of intelligent, vivid and individualised performances. Her Mimi and her Tosca are easy to tell apart. (The Rodolfo and Cavaradossi she's paired with sound pretty identical.) Magda and Cio-Cio San are both singing of dreams, essentially, but they're very different kinds of dream and Antoinette makes the distinction clear. Every now and then, there's a turn of phrase which is quite startling in its beauty. At the end of "Si, mi chiamano Mimi", she manages the final, self-deprecating words — "Altro di me non le saprei narrare. Sono la sua vicina che la vien fuori d'ora a importunare" — without a trace of the irritating little-girlishness I've heard in others.  The climax of her "Un bel di" is quite alarmingly moving, determined optimism suddenly giving way to a savage, heartrending release of long pent-up fear and desperation. This kind of idiomatic and totally committed performance leaves recent bland releases by one or two other "stars of Opera Australia" I might mention quite in the shade. Right now her name tends to come preceded by the words "rising soprano". May she rise and rise, just as high as she wishes; should she desire it, I think she'd conquer hearts around the globe.

To the second wish. This one took a little longer in the granting.

Almost two years ago, I wrote a rambling post about the Dido operas of Cavalli and Purcell. It concluded with these words:

"I've been a fool for Purcell ever since The Fairy Queen introduced us. And, to keep this paragraph going in circles, I encountered The Fairy Queen on account of Yvonne. All of which makes me think that what I really would like is Yvonne Kenny as Purcell's Dido. Except that then, of course, you'd probably never shut me up."

Well, it looks as if you're never going to shut me up. In the course of various internet wanderings, I found this sentence at the end of Yvonne's Askonas Holt bio:

"Future engagements include Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas” for Opera Australia."

Usually if I express these wishes in writing, I figure it's a guarantee they won't be granted. This time, however, a cherished dream has come true. How cherished? Consider:

Dido's Lament was one of the very first operatic arias I came to know; when I started playing the piano again for fun, I had begun with showtunes, but when I ran out of them, I returned to "easy classics" books I'd used when I was taking lessons. Dido's Lament was one of my favourite pieces to play; all the more so when I realised it appeared on Barbara Bonney's Fairest Isle, another musical love which predates my proper conversion to opera fanaticism.

Purcell is among my favourite composers.

The reason I really started loving Purcell was the DVD of the ENO's Fairy Queen, starring Yvonne, which I loved so much I structured a semester long research paper around it.

One of the many reasons I really started loving Yvonne was, therefore, Purcell.

I'd rank Dido and Aeneas among my top five favourite operas.

I adore the character of Dido in any incarnation, musical or otherwise.

I already know Yvonne makes an astounding Dido. She is Cavalli's Didone. (I'm no longer anything like as indifferent to Cavalli's opera as I was when I wrote the above-linked post.) And I'm prepared to state, as somebody who is only about five recordings short of owning her complete recorded output, that her Didone is quite possibly the best recording she has ever made — electrifying, musically glorious and completely devastating. She inhabits that character with majesty, grace and breathtaking emotional intensity. If she brings that same glorious power to Purcell's Dido, then forget funeral pyres — she'll set the stage alight.

That makes two wishes. According to tradition, that leaves me with a third. I'll make it this — that the above news is linked to these paragraphs, from a recent article about Philip Picket, currently at the Perth International Arts Festival with the New London Consort:

"Pickett's research into music of the pre-classical period has led to some fascinating collaborations. With Peter Holman, a Purcell specialist, he has created a full-evening version of Dido and Aeneas.

The best-known version of the opera is that performed at Josias Priest's school for young gentlewomen in 1689 or 1690: a little masterpiece lasting about an hour. Pickett and Holman have reconstructed performances given in 1700 at Lincoln's Inn Theatre in London, which had extra music by the theatre's music director John Eccles. It included, for example, a prologue for Mars and Peace, a whole scene for the witches, trumpets, and all the spectacle of 18th-century opera.

"It's a full-length evening with a big orchestra, and it's very theatrical indeed," Pickett says. "Rather than being a gentle court masque, it's much more like our idea of an opera, with a lot of colour and drama. It's incredibly vivid.

"You can't appreciate some of these early works unless you hear them in different ways. They were performed in different ways almost every time they were performed. There was no such thing as one set way."

The opera has been performed in concert and will be fully staged by director Jonathan Miller for the Chelsea Festival in London in June. Pickett says there is talk of a possible tour of Dido to Australia in 2009."

I live in hope. And in the meantime, am very, very, very happy.

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.

Stellar

The puns are irresistible — as Stella-for-star in Opera Australia's Streetcar, Antoinette Halloran is just that. A star. Or rather, a star. Just Google antoinette halloran streetcar and on the very first page, you'll see all the raves. "The standout performance was Antoinette Halloran's." "The star of the show is undoubtedly Antoinette Halloran." "Antoinette Halloran is outstanding." You'll also see my words: "Antoinette Halloran is a revelation."

All of it true. Alongside three singers with well-established and glittering international careers, Antoinette — whose name still seems always to come prefaced with the words "rising soprano" — not only holds her own but creates perhaps the biggest sensation of the four of them. No mean feat when you've Teddy in his shirtlessness to compete with. She is helped somewhat, it's true, by Previn's writing for Stella, which is among the most immediately appealing music in the opera. Elizabeth Futral, for whom the role was written, also steals the show on Deutsche Grammophon's recording of the premiere.

Nevertheless, that only goes so far. What makes Antoinette's performance special is Antoinette herself. Her Stella is a tour de force, vividly characterised and stunningly well sung. She breezes through Previn's challenging music as if to the manner born, combining a crystal clear upper register with a wealth of darker, more sensuous colours. Sweet yet strong, just like Stella. In "I can hardly stand it" she moves between radiant, youthful adoration and a more explicit and adult longing; the raw power with which she imbues the word "wild" is startling. The brief Act Three duet with Stanley is another memorably gorgeous moment, her phrasing fluent and persuasive — the moving way she sings "she's my sister" sticks in my mind still. Her acting is likewise persuasive. There's a look she throws Blanche just before "I can hardly stand it", when Blanche deems it a relief that Stanley is "on the road a lot", which on its own says as much as the aria which follows. The cinematic Stella of Kim Hunter was a slightly childish, simple figure, not hugely endearing; but Antoinette brings such humanity and compassion to the role as to make Stella touchingly sympathetic.

I said she was a revelation, and so she is — certainly to me. Her voice was not what I expected; it was better, stronger and more interesting than I had imagined. Though I'd seen her once before (in Sweeney Todd) I really wasn't sure what to anticipate from her Stella. So it has been a delight to discover such an excellent performance. And such a complete performance, as exciting theatrically as vocally. This star doesn't merely twinkle; she scintillates. Brava, Antoinette.