Prima la musica, poi le parole

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This is has just been posted on Opera Australia's YouTube channel, and deserves to be shared as widely as possible. Susan Gritton sings Ellen's Embroidery aria.

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Still getting there with Grimes, I'm afraid. My reviews for The Opera Critic and NZ Opera News are done — and in one case published — but I still need to regroup before writing about it all over again. So here, to keep us all going, is a video of our beautiful Ellen Orford, Susan Gritton, being beautiful in Handel. It's an aria from a performance of his Samson, filmed just a couple of months ago during this year's Proms. And it's another reason why Peter Grimes is unmissable: I mean, who could resist hearing this woman sing Ellen's Embroidery aria? Enjoy. 

 

Guardami

I'm quite good at buying opera DVDs. I am less talented at actually watching them. Lately, however, prompted by an influx of new acquisitions and the demise of practically all quality television, I've been working through the backlog. Work is hardly the word for it. Opera on DVD is my friend.

L'Italiana in Algieri was my first. Slightly odd production, not unattractive but not spectacularly charming either. Kooky furniture strewn across a rather vast and barren stage, probably not the most hospitable set in which to sing. Not that you'd know it, because Jennifer Larmore is magnificent and hilarious. Sometimes Jennifer looks like Catherine Zeta Jones. Here she's more reminiscent of Dawn French taking off Catherine Zeta Jones. And in the midst of all the comedy, she just happens to be able to sing the hell out of the role: stunning. Her male co-stars are variously delightful: Bruce Ford very little and cute (and virtuosic to boot) as her Lindoro, Simone Alaimo stuffy and slightly mad as Mustafa and best of all, Alessandro Corbelli an irresistible Taddeo — barely recognisable as the portly, bald Suplice of Laurent Pelly's La fille du régiment. 

Sticking with TDK (there was a sale...I may have gone a little mad) I also enjoyed the Jonathan Miller production of Le nozze di Figaro from Florence. It's the kind of production which reminds how good straight but lively traditionalism can be, especially with an engaging and vocally strong cast. Patrizia Ciofi is, as we know, an ideal Susanna, especially if you go as mad for that peculiarly lovely voice of hers as I do, and she keeps the offputting facial expressions to a minimum. Eteri Gvazava is a subtle and heartbreaking Countess, one in whom you can still see the Rosina of a few years ago. Giorgio Surian is less distinctive as Figaro, but good, solid fun just the same, and Lucio Gallo is an excellent Count. But the surprise for me was Giovanna Donadini, a Marcellina who actually made me laugh out loud.

Just one more will be enough for now, so I might as well stick to my TDK haul. Another Mozart, but different every respect: the 2003 Salzburg Festival production of La clemenza di Tito. In a sense, I can review this simply by listing the cast. Michael Schade, Vesselina Kasarova, Dorothea Röschmann, Elina Garanca, Barbara Bonney and Luca Pisaroni. Led by Nikolaus Harnoncourt. And it's (musically) just as fantastic as the names suggest: maybe more so. My admiration for Dorothea Röschmann grows and grows, and the transformation from radiant Pamina to complicated Countess to this ferocious, seductive Vitellia is a bit mindblowing. Vesselina is captivating and drop dead gorgeous, something which comes across much better on film than in photos. Elina's Annio is velvety perfection, and Barbara Bonney as Servilia? That's luxury casting and then some. Surrounded by so many fascinating women, Michael Schade nevertheless lives up to his title role status, with a compellingly neurotic Tito. His singing is superb, soft edged and smooth yet full of electricity, and dramatically he achieves the near impossible, turning an unbelievable character into a believable one. The fractured, occasionally explicit modern staging won't be to everybody's tastes, but it has a certain appeal; and however you feel about the liberties taken, I think you have to admire the extent to which this production injects some kind of life and recognisable human feeling into what can so easily be a dreary, static piece of emperor-worship.

Advent

Having done this two years in a row, it would seem a shame to let it drop. So here, once again, is your all-at-once video advent calendar. 

December 1st — Freudig

December 2nd — Libiamo 

December 3rd — Goodbye

December 4th — Lightning 

December 5th — Divine

December 6th — Rest

December 7th — Glitter

December 8th — Ave

December 9th — Ava

December 10th — Rosy

December 11th — Salut

December 12th — Wonderful

December 13th — Golden 

December 14th — Hopsasa

December 15th — Piacer

December 16th — Dud

December 17th — Ombre

December 18th — Factotum

December 19th — Eight

December 20th — Duet

December 21st — Music

December 22nd — Trinity

December 23rd — Lily

December 24th — Orana

And for the day itself? It could only be Judy. Happy Christmas.

Candy store

The delightful CaroNome of Score Desk has brought something marvellous to my attention. What I don't understand is why it's not being blogged about everywhere. It's the brand new and remarkable Met Player. A database — which they promise is growing — of Met performances available on demand, both audio and video. The last two seasons of HD broadcasts are there, as are dozens of older performances: some available on DVD, some, like the Renée/Bryn/Cecilia (!) Figaro — a performance whose existence tormented me for years — not. And there's a wealth of archival audio. I spent several happy hours on Saturday night in the incomparable company of George London, Eleanor Steber and Lisa della Casa, in a Don Giovanni which had me in awe of all three of them. (But especially Lisa della Casa. Something may be brewing here.)

Needless to say, I've signed up for a monthly subscription. Yes, US$14.99 these days is roughly equivalent to AUD$1million, but what do I care? If it's out there, I want it. Especially now that, after two years of pain, I finally have a broadband connection worthy of the name.

The only challenge is where in the world to start? The Figaro, obviously. I have my eye on Renée's Onegin too. What else? What do you think?

Tubular belles

What is a long weekend for, if not for sinking happily into the tar pit that is YouTube? And what is a blog for, if not for pulling you down there with me? An assortment of video treasures I can't help but share. (My apologies for the atrocious title, but once it had occured to me, I couldn't shake it.)

I started out trying to watch as many renditions of Desdemona's Willow Song as I could find. Evidently I am a masochist — this aria makes a mess of me every single time. A couple are audio only, but no less devastating for that — Anna Moffo is so delicately perfect you can practically see her anyway and, in her own way, Maria Callas kind of renders visuals unnecessary too. Lovely Barbara Frittoli (long time girl crush of the one and only vf) is another heartbreaker. Renée is surprisingly out there and powerful in concert at the Chatelet, despite wearing a truly inexplicable amount of clothing. (I heard her again tonight, on the Met broadcast of Otello and, well, there's no other way to put it — I burst into tears like a toddler.) But nobody, chez YouTube at least, can touch Mirella. Nobody else's high A# stabs me quite so painfully. I have perhaps mentioned my foolish habit of listening to Mirella sing this aria on my iPod, meaning that I find myself suddenly staring intently at the ceiling in public places, so as not to make a weeping fool of myself. And she's upsetting enough with audio only, but watching her makes it much worse. [Postscript: I just found Renata's. So maybe I'll declare a tie.]

Speaking of Mirella triumphans — I followed my Willow Song kick with a "Con onor muore" kick, and Mirella wins again. Not without stiff competition, though. Victoria de los Angeles is small and sweet but steely and determined. Renata is my first ever Butterfly (actually that's not true, but it might as well be), though it's a shame this clip doesn't actually include those opening words — everybody else I've heard sings them, but Renata speaks them in that distinctive, sonorous voice of hers and it's completely chilling. Anna Moffo makes another appearance, this time with visuals. But Cristina Gallardo-Domas is a rather frayed disappointment, and while I don't suppose she can be blamed for the weird death throes (yes, we get it, she's dying like a real butterfly, enough already) they're still offputting. Getting back to Mirella, though — I can't believe I'd never seen this before. It's unlike all the other deaths of Butterfly. She makes him watch. This took me entirely by surprising and it's quite beautiful while at the same time totally horrifying. (Speaking of horrifying  — forgive me, Gert, but I'm really not sure about the facial hair Placido is sporting there.)

So after all the above, I needed more Mirella. (I always Need More Mirella. It's a good rule for life.) I love this excerpt from her film of La traviata. The extreme close up of her eyes is a bit strange, but it also highlights just what a powerful actress she is — all the emotions you hear in her voice, you see in those eyes. In an odd sort of way, I also love this, from Act One of Fedora. Apparently Mirella breaks embargoes as well as hearts: that clip marks the first time I've heard even a note of Fedora since June 2006.  Above all, I love her Tatyana (Part One and Part Two). This is a revelation to me, but really shouldn't be — it's from the gala re-opening of the Zurich opera house, a concert I grew up watching. And yet I've very little recollection of this. There is a possibility it was on occasion fast forwarded (which is evil, I agree, but I wasn't the one holding the remote, I swear). Anyway I find it totally spellbinding. And there's no staging, no props or costumes. Just Mirella and the music and that's all you need.

Who else? This month, as noted, is All About Arabella for me. And believe it or not, not just Cheryl's Arabella. Karita is her glamorous, fascinating self here (with Thomas Hampson, endeavouring to deserve her) and here (with Barbara Bonney, looking like Le Petit Prince). I mean, she's clearly not trying to be a 19 year old Arabella, but who cares? It's not exactly a conventional staging in any other respect either. An old favourite of mine is Renata's "Voi lo sapete" — she's radiantly beautiful, her singing is sublime, but what it's really all about is that wail at the end, which has to be heard to be believed. There is the inimitable magic of Beverly Sills — in magnificent duet with Carol Burnett (both of them in top form), a totally age inappropriate and totally amazing Daughter of the Regiment and, maybe best of all, on the Muppet Show (Pigoletto, of course). Another more recent wonder, likewise full of sunshine — Glorious Joyce, as an unbelievably beautiful Rosina. And as my parting gift, though I've no doubt linked to it before, here's this. One of my favouritest things ever, and likely to stay in your head for hours if not days.

A/V

I've been watching DVDs this week. Not buying them, but watching them.

La fille du régiment

My favourite so far, without a doubt. Patrizia Ciofi as Marie and Juan Diego Florez as Tonio. Apart from a few clips of the Covent Garden production which I watched on YouTube, half a dozen renditions of "Salut à la France" and of course the tenor's high Cs, I admit not having been hugely familiar with this opera. It's rather more beautiful than I think I expected, not just unendingly frivolous and fluffy. The update to WWII seems to work pretty well; it's unintrusive at least and thankfully comes without dark undertones. I'm already an avowed adorer of Patrizia Ciofi and yet her gorgeousness here took me by a little by surprise; it's an unusual voice, to be sure, but as I've said before, addictive. Her singing lesson is a riot — that sometimes rather white tone she has is well suited to singing atrociously flat, and she sounds absolutely appalling until suddenly, seemingly by accident, she hits a glorious note which eventually blossoms into cascading coloratura. And then there's Juan Diego — what could little me possibly add to all that's been said about him in this role, and in that aria? But he is adorable and magnificent. He encores "Pour mon âme", of course, and it's even better the second time. What's so charming is that the encore comes not from a need to show off or bask in applause, but from a truly humble, obliging spirit — this is what the audience dearly wants, and deserves, and so it's what they receive. Francesca Franci turns in a rather fabulous performance as the Marquise as well. Actually it's all pretty fantastic. And now the fact that next year I'll get to watch the cinema broadcast of the Met production, with Juan Diego again and Natalie, is even more exciting than it was. If that's possible.

Le nozze di Figaro
I've also seen the first half of the frankly odd Salzburg Figaro, part of the M22 Mozart marathon. It's Figaro as a drama. Conventional but hugely oversized sets which make the singers look like dolls in a dolls house, and an invented, mute, dancing "Cherubim" (who's dressed like Cherubino but with wings) who comes and messes invisibly with everybody's minds and movements. Cherubino (Christine Schäfer dressed like a Von Trapp child) is the outlet for the Countess' pent-up longings and Susanna's as well; he's kissed deeply by them both, and more besides. Susanna is Anna Netrebko at her most engaging and truly lovely; her darkish sound isn't necessarily what you'd always want from a Susanna but for this conception of the character, it's ideal. Dorothea Röschmann's Countess brings me closer to understanding Maury's passion for her than anything else I've heard her in has, her singing building in intensity until, by the time she's barring the door, she's thrillingly fierce and wonderful. She makes heartbreakingly clear the real sadness and isolation Rosina feels, something which has always upset me and endeared the Countess to me. It really isn't very long since she was being wooed by an apparently unswervingly devoted admirer and now that's all gone; the tricks she plays with Susanna aren't just a diversion, they're all she can think of doing in a hopeless attempt to win back her earlier bliss — and even at the finale, when she's theoretically one, it's blindindly obvious that nothing has changed for good and she'll be singing "Porgi, amor" again before she knows it. Anyway, that's just me getting sidetracked; the point is, even in a fun Figaro, a miserable Countess appeals to me in a cathartic sort of way, and Dorothea is devastating. One other pleasing point — Marie McLaughlin's Marcellina, cast here not as a comical old bat from whom Figaro should rightly run a mile from marrying, but instead as a rather soignée woman of a certain age not without her attractions. This is definitely not a Figaro for everybody but it's oddly compelling.

Agrippina
I shouldn't include this as I only managed about twenty minutes. The orchestra sounds quite good. Most of the singers are terrifyingly miscast. The male roles have all been assigned to tenors and basses ("for verisimilitude" blah blah blah) which sounds weird anyway but especially so when accompanied by period orchestra. Added to which, the men all sing as if they've wandered in from a neighbouring Puccini opera; and even in Puccini their pitch issues would probably still be troubling. Barbara Daniels sings the title role and is actually quite good — I'm impressed that she can be convincing in both Handel and as Minnie in Fanciulla (not that I've seen her in the latter). In the recits she's really rather fabulous; come the first aria, though, and she's alright, but a few little cracks show themselves, including an upper register which doesn't exactly exist. I gave up. And went on to...

La cenerentola
1982 Ponnelle film from La Scala. Frederica von Stade, to state the obvious, is radiant perfection as Angiolina. Her stepsisters are flamboyantly wicked. And I've been obliged to revise my opinion of Francisco Araiza a bit. I've only ever seen him as a gormless and wooden Tamino (on the film with the divine Lucia as Pamina) but as Don Ramiro I quite like him and he sounds quite glorious. (When did I become so enthusiastic about tenors?) It's a typical kind of Ponnelle film, deliberately stagey but still utilising the advantages which this medium has over a stage production — close-ups, characters singing directly to the camera and so on. As is also typical of Ponnelle, it's beautiful.

Die Zauberflöte
I was only able to see the first half before I had to go home. This one is from the Met, during the early nineties. Araiza again, gormless again. Luciana Serra a somewhat scary Queen. Kurt Moll godly as Sarastro. But the point of it all? Kathleen Battle as a transcendent Pamina. Totally sweet and charming, and in phenomenal voice. She brings tears to my eyes. I love her. End of story. I will try and watch the rest tomorrow.

[The key to all this free of charge viewing? Late shift in a classical music section with almost no customers. Without DVDs to watch I'd lose my mind.]

My new favourite Puccini opera

Indirectly, Madama Butterfly was the opera which introduced me to opera. In 2003 it was to be my first ever real experience of live opera. I was not a fanatic at the time. It was in preparing for that production, with a nice Decca Puccini compilation, that I became one. But Butterfly itself was sort of incidental; the music made no great impression on me, Cio-Cio San didn't appeal, and I moved on and have never felt very tempted to return to it.

However, things change. Or rather, divas change them. I fooled you with the first paragraph; this is, in fact, pretty much another post about Cheryl Barker. Cheryl, who has filled the last few weeks with more Puccini than I'd had in the whole lifetime preceding them. Cheryl, who is such perfection in Puccini that I thrill to it as to Mozart or Handel. Cheryl, who has brought me back, in glorious fashion, to Madama Butterfly.

She's filmed it twice. Once in Robert Wilson blue, once in pretty pinks and reds for Opera Australia. I bought the latter and it's a revelation. I love the music. It fascinates me as much as La bohème bores me. Inspired, perhaps, by the exotic setting and highly charged plot, Puccini seems to create a far more multicoloured, expressive and evocative sound world in Japan than he did in Paris. Where La bohème plods, Butterfly enchants. At least it does me. That's helped by Moffatt Oxenbould's simple and beautiful production, one of the prettiest I've seen emerge from Opera Australia.

And I've had my preconceptions of Cio-Cio San smashed to smithereens. I've thought of her as irritatingly fragile, a boring, blank naive victim. Cheryl is none of those things. Her Cio-Cio San is bright and passionate, with a vivid sense of humour. Innocent, yes, but not an idiot. She's thought about life, made a decision and stuck with it. Most strikingly of all, she is, until everything falls apart, genuinely happy. When she smiles, she's not pathetic — you don't pity her, you just smile along with her, because her joy is infectious. Even her suicide, while devastating, is somehow a positive decision; neither that action, nor the woman herself, can be dismissed as Tragic Heroine and nothing more because whatever she is, she isn't tragic.

How much of this is down to Cheryl and how much to the character as written, I'm not sure. There was surprises for me in the libretto. Butterfly's resistance to Yamadori, for instance, is full of wit and humour, which I hadn't realised; I just expected virtuous vows of fidelity and childish obstinance. The unmistakeable Cheryl Barker Touch plays its part too, though, a special talent for intensity without cliché; she's thoroughly, thrillingly operatic without ever resorting to stock gestures or vocal tricks. Even "Un bel di" seems less of a warhorse in her care; she sings it simply and believably, to herself and to Suzuki, not as a party piece for the audience, all distant gazes and sweeping gestures. She's in outrageously good voice throughout, scaling the heights with glossy ease and fifty million expressive colours.

Pinkerton, by the way, isn't a revelation. He's a bastard. There are plenty of reviews which mention "unusually sympathetic" Pinkertons, but Jay Hunter Morris isn't one of them. Which is fine. True, he's convincingly remorseful in the final act but it isn't really enough to make up for what came before, nor is he three dimensional enough to care much about either way. Nicely sung for the most part, if a bit on the brutal side. Douglas McNicol's Sharpless is the Nicer American and a genuinely interesting character. Best of all (apart from Butterfly herself, obviously) is Ingrid Silvaeus' engaging and richly sung Suzuki, making the mother of all thankless mezzo roles seem in fact rather rewarding.

The question now is, is it Butterfly the character I've fallen for, or Butterfly the opera? Will my newfound affection endure with a different soprano in the role? I'm actually pretty sure it will. There was so much to love in this film, and while a lot of it was Cheryl based, a lot wasn't. I'll be testing the theory shortly; I've also bought a copy of Karajan's Butterfly on Decca, featuring my adored Mirella Freni and an all star cast. It's all looking rosy.

Elektra

Another bargain priced DVD is in my clutches — Götz Friedrich's wonderfully disturbing film of Elektra. Lately I've had more than one conversation which involved someone telling me I really must see this film. Now I have, and they were all right.

Would you believe it, this was my introduction to Leonie Rysanek. Previously I have known her only by formidable reputation. She lives up to it, and then some. I was ready for something pretty powerful, but I was still taken aback by just how ferociously she inhabits this role (or does it inhabit her?). The first shot of Elektra is quite extraordinary; she seems barely human. Just her sheer lack of inhibition is on its own worthy of applause. But what makes her performance for me is that she doesn't just set the dial to monstrous and stay put. Sometimes she looks like Linda Blair grown up, hideous, manic and evil; but at other moments she's a bit more Mrs Rochester, pale shadows of former beauty and majesty flickeringly apparent. Her voice, too, is multifaceted. At her most terrifying, it's a voice sheer fury and vengeance, incredible but with nothing much beautiful about it; but in other moment that rage gives way to something ever so slightly softer, her sound blooms and gains a little in colour and personability. Personable? Elektra? Apparently so. You can't just write her off as hideous and inhuman; Leonie won't let you, and her performance is all the more (sorry — can't resist) electrifying for it.

And that would be enough but there's Astrid Varnay too. Not sure I know what to say about her. Her Klytämnestra is unlike anything I've heard or seen before. This is not a statement of adoration but certainly one of utter amazement. She's nightmarish, grotesque. Her singing is bonechilling. I'm amazed it's possible to watch Astrid and Leonie sharing a screen without one's head exploding. Catarina Ligendza's Chrysothemis doesn't do much to help the mood of horror and lurid evil either. From a distance she looks almost like she might offer a bit of pretty, blonde relief but no. In her own, slightly less creature-feature way, she too is disturbing and disturbed and hard to watch without squirming a little. When Orest finally arrives, in the form of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, he brings not only hope to Elektra but musical respite. After so much huge soprano singing, his delicate, grounded baritone is a thing of surprising beauty, a voice of (comparative) sanity and the closest thing this opera has to a moment of tranquillity. He also does a wholly admirable job of remaining pokerfaced and heroic-looking while Elektra expounds at great length on her joy (if that's something she still experiences) at his return.

It's relentless, horrific and absolutely brilliant — an amazing film of a pretty amazing opera. Now if I'm honest, of course, this isn't really the side of Strauss which I fell in love with. It will be no surprise if I say that it's Strauss in Rosenkavalier and Capriccio mode which appeals most readily to my sensibilities. Still, Big Scary Strauss has its attractions, and it doesn't come much Bigger or Scarier than this.

Just one further thought...

I'm afraid the one brought the other irresistibly to mind.  

Giulio Cesare

A couple of months ago, I managed to lay my hands on a copy of the now famous Glyndebourne Giulio Cesare (the Bollywoodesque one) at an idiotically low price. I don't buy much opera on DVD, partly because much of it is still relatively expensive and partly because since becoming a responsible billpaying inhabitant of an expensive city with an opera house, I don't really buy that much of anything that isn't either edible or a ticket. (I suppose in desperate circumstances, the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.) Anyway, as I say, this particular DVD was not expensive so I made it mine. And intended to write about it then, but never did; so now that I'm running out of present moment subjects to write on, I might as well write about the past.

My favourite thing about this Cesare might seem stupidly obvious — it reminded me that this is an opera about its title character. More often perhaps than I should admit, I've accidentally called this opera Cleopatra, because that's who it's always revolved around for me, for more reasons than one. (Though the one's a rather major one.) But Sarah Connolly is so powerful as Cesare, so strangely attractive, and sings so fantastically that my focus shifted. She starts strongly and proceeds to get electrifyingly better throughout.

The production of course is pretty fabulous. The references to Bollywood seem slightly misleading to me — that's there, naturally, but there's a whole lot more besides. Egypt becomes a picturesque outpost of the British Empire, complete with Sesto the budding soldier. And Sesto, being sung by Angelika Kirchschlager, is absolutely adorable, a nervous young man with, yes, a bit of a mother fixation, who commits himself to a murder which is totally against his character. One of the most incredible moments in the whole opera comes when Tolomeo finally lies dead before him. He is totally shellshocked, disgusted. While he stares, unseeing, into space, his mother smears his face with Tolomeo's blood. It's a disturbing moment and a very affecting one. Proof, too, that Angelika's supreme command of pants roles goes beyond boyish Cherubino antics.

Blah blah blah...we all know who everybody went wild about after this Cesare opened. Danielle de Niese. Not hard to see why: she sings, she dances, she's unfathomably gorgeous. The very model of a modern Cleopatra. Very sensibly, the transformation of her Cleopatra is not the about-face from scheming nymphette to honourable, devoted companion that you might see elsewhere. Here, Cleopatra grows up, certainly; abandons her earlier plot and learns to act selflessly. But it's nevertheless still completely evident by the end that this woman still has plenty of havoc to wreak. She's matured, yes but reformed? No. She does a stellar job vocally, too. And yet, I confess, I was not entirely enthralled. Something, somewhere, rang a little false for me. Perhaps it's supposed to; but it just felt at times a bit too much like The Danielle Show. I also wasn't entirely enraptured by her singing, for reasons inarticulable this far removed.

The more I think back on this Cesare, the more I appreciate how brilliant it actually is. The kind of show that makes me want to sit here and lists its million little clevernesses and beauties — but they'd lose everything in the telling, at least they would if told by me. One especial treat, however, needs to be pointed out. The reviews will tell you how well Danielle dances, but believe me, she has nothing on Rachid Ben Abdeslam, whose Nireno totally steals the show with his "Chi perde un momento" — has to be seen to be believed. As, indeed, does the whole thing. Definitely worth your while.

P.S. — A Note on the Perils of Handel

When I watched this DVD, I turned all the lights out to heighten the effect. They were out in the rest of the house too. Evidently this gave the impression that nobody was home. Which I know because during Cleopatra's "Se pieta", somebody tried (and failed) to climb in my bathroom window. (Don't worry. There was no face to face encounter. Just a noise, and then a note from the landlord in all the letterboxes the next morning, warning about intruders who had climbing up drainpipes and through windows to rob apartments in my complex. Oh, the risks one takes for the baroque.)

Tribute

Tonight's viewing — VAI's Anna Moffo: A Tribute. And it really is a tribute, the best possible kind. Just Anna, looking gorgeous and singing beautifully. Some the excerpts from the Bell Telephone Hour I've already seen but Anna is ever fresh, a Violetta par excellence and the least innocent Zerlina ever, so sophisticated and seductive that it's she who makes her Don Giovanni (the excellent if somewhat simian George London) seem an easily swayed peasant. The Act One finale from La bohème is here twice, and I'd seen neither. Both are with Richard Tucker, one in colour from 1961 and one in black and white from 1963 and in both she is, well, as lovely as she always is. The 1963 one wins out in the end, helped by an even more touchingly detailed characterisation and a rather more flattering costume — nothing makes a case for modern dress productions like the sight of beautiful Anna obliged to wear a mass of matronly tartan taffeta.

Perhaps even better than the Bell Telephone Hour extracts, however, are the excerpts from her films of La traviata and Lucia di Lammermoor. Admittedly they're a little on the disembodied side. All the same the girl can act and the camera, of course, loves her to an insane degree. Her "see how crazy I am" eyes, with their oh-so-nineteenth-century mascara, make for a Mad Scene somewhere halfway between Joanie* and Natalie Dessay, darker and more convincing than the former but still rather more picturesque and less harrowing than the latter's outstanding performances. From Traviata we have the confrontation with Germont père (Gino Bechi) which is maybe my favourite part of the opera. Again, Anna is an ideal Violetta. Why I don't yet own the whole film of this I'm not sure — I remember a night once long ago, in the wake of the much lauded Angela Gheorghiu Traviata video, despairing that Anna never filmed it, then discovering she had. I ought to have bought it then; it will have to wait now for a more affluent moment. But never mind. I have this tribute to be going on with and it's absolutely worthy of her. If only VAI had the rights to her La Serva Padrona, though, where she's so hilarious and so impossibly perfect it almost hurts.

*Did I mention, Joan Sutherland is guest of honour at this Opera Australia Gala I'm seeing next week? They're celebrating her 80th as well. I get to be in the same theatre as Joan Sutherland. Terribly exciting, this.

Wie gut Sie ist

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf is gone at 90 and I'm caught completely off guard. I knew of her before I knew properly of opera. From an internet café in Sydney I've neither time, nor am I in the right state of mind, to write something, so instead I'm reposting this, which I wrote on the 14th of January this year.

Among my Christmas presents was an EMI Classic Archive DVD of performances by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Irmgard Seefried and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. The Fischer-Dieskau (Mahler) I haven't watched yet, Irmgard is very good in Strauss Lieder though even the effusive liner notes by André Tubeuf concede she was not captured at her prime - but Elisabeth was the reason I was given the DVD, and it's Elisabeth I want to talk about.

The performance presented here is the Rosenkavalier Act I finale: "Kann mich auch an ein Mädel erinnern" and so on. Certainly my favourite part of the opera: better, even, (if only just) than that trio; in fact, one of my favourite operatic moments anywhere. What I'd forgotten until I played this DVD for the first time is that it's this very same film - or at least, the excerpt which comes as a bonus sample on the Régine Crespin DVD from the same series - which constituted my Rosenkavalier epiphany. I'd heard it and seen it before, I already was beginning to fall the Marschallin, but it wasn't until I saw Elisabeth look into the camera and sing those seven words, "Die Zeit, die ist ein sonderbar Ding" that I felt this was something very special: and by this, I mean not just the monologue, but the Marschallin, Der Rosenkavalier and Richard Strauss in general - all of which loves continue to the present day.

The extract in full lives up to the revelatory promise of the few minutes I saw back then. This is not the colour film she made later. It's black and white, Charles Mackerras conducts, her rather lumpish Octavian is Hertha Töpper. Töpper is not a convincing Octavian to me: awkward in all the wrong ways, vocally fine but uncompelling, but she's almost irrelevant: it's Elisabeth's moment to shine and she's radiant. This is a spellbinding performance: an actress mouthing to Elisabeth's voice could not manage a more believable or touching interpretation. She strikes the perfect balance between tenderness and aristocratic reserve, something which comes across in her gestures and facial expressions and, of course, in her voice as well. She sings sweetly, gracefully: the Marschallin we hear at every moment matches perfectly the Marschallin we see. Elisabeth is often reproached for affected, mannered singing, but whatever one's feelings on that point, it's difficult to manage any such charges being levelled at this stunning performance.

I actually watched this a little while ago, but was reminded of it tonight by a couple of the comments left on this post at Vissi D'Amore. A commenter there mentions never having really "got" Elisabeth. I know she presents difficulties. I can hear them. I can't claim to love everything I've heard from her. But I do love her. I'm lucky, I think, in that I came to Elisabeth, and fell for Elisabeth, before I knew there was anything to "get". She was one of the first sopranos I latched on to when my proper devotion to opera was beginning: her disc of operetta arias charmed and delighted me, and by the time I finished watching her self-portrait documentary, I was ensnared for good. Only later did I start to read what others had said about her, about the complaints some had made. So I can see both sides of it: but I remain firmly in the pro-Elisabeth camp.

This evening I've been listening to her in operetta: Die Lustige Witwe and Die Fledermaus. It occured to me just a few hours ago that I hadn't listened to her Hanna since the day I bought the CD. Which sounds unforgivably terrible, I know, but there's a reason. I bought that recording partly on account of Elisabeth - but partly also to prepare for the performance of The Merry Widow I was about to see in Melbourne. In the end, I didn't prepare, and didn't listen to it again before the performance. And you know what happened next. Hanna Glawari took on a different significance for me and I'd all but forgotten I had Elisabeth singing it too. She recorded Hanna twice: it's the earlier one I have, from 1953. I love her sense of style, and her sense of humour. Her Rosalinde in Die Fledermaus is more wonderful still. Die Fledermaus holds a very special place in my heart. It's been a while since I've heard this one, too - or indeed any of my several Fledermice - but I still feel like I know every inch of it. I can't call Elisabeth my favourite Rosalinde - that has to be Lucia - but I do think that of all the Rosalindes I've heard, she more than anybody sounds the part. I adore the Viennese sparkle which she brings to her singing. Spontaneity is not a word which springs to mind when speaking of Elisabeth but nevertheless it's what I hear in this performance: something bright and lively - if subtly so - which I find terribly attractive. She makes me laugh as Rosalinde. Not all sopranos in comedy manage that.

It was Elisabeth's 90th birthday last month. So, a belated Herzlichen Glückwünsch zum Geburtstag to Walter Legge's better half, to the beautiful Elisabeth. Hoch soll sie leben.

Venus de Melbourne

I leave tomorrow (today in fact) for Australia to see Yvonne Kenny's A Touch of Venus. And yes, I know, I've only just been away and I travel far too much but remember, London was unplanned. Whereas this trip has been on the cards for almost a year. Time flies. I'm not gone for long, just ten days, and you'll probably hear from me sooner than that anyway because as we know, it's difficult for me to keep my mouth shut or typing fingers still after one of Yvonne's triumphs. But given that I'm more of a YouTube fiend with each day that passes, this is as good an excuse as any to direct you to a few (alright, more than a few) bits of filmed brilliance.

• Beverly Sills on the Muppet Show. Several hilarious videos of Beverly (not to mention Miss Piggy) being utterly fabulous: watch 'em all.
• And, slightly more serious, Beverly with an incredible "O luce di quest'anima".
• More Natalie, bien sûr: Ah, quelle triste destinée. Obsessed? Moi?
• Patricia Petibon: Les filles de Cadix. As the caption says, insane performance. No point trying to explain this. I doubt there is an explanation. I bought this recital on DVD some time ago and I've never written anything about it because the whole thing as is wonderfully insane as this clip, more or less. I adore the woman but she probably isn't for everyone.
• For Michael, Dunedin's leading Vivaldian: here's our adored Sandrine. If I ever needed a reason to have Sandrine's CD of Vivaldi motets as well as Patrizia Ciofi's this is well and truly it.
• My beloved Kathy, beautiful as ever in "Una voce poco fa".

And after profiting so much from other people's YouTube efforts I feel obliged to contribute another little something so here it is. Lucia Popp, divine as Arabella, "Er ist der Richtige nicht für mich". Julie Kaufmann is Zdenka. Apologies for not including the full duet but if the clip was much longer I wouldn't have had time to upload it. Anyway enjoy.

Lucia lucente

If just once in the two years (and four months) I've been writing this blog, you've found even one second of pleasure, it is to Lucia Popp that your gratitude is ultimately due. Lucia is my operatic mother; if there had been no her, there would be no me, or at least no me the opera devotee. So it's not just your gratitude (if you feel any) that's due to her, but mine as well.

And with all of that already set in stone, last night I experienced her at the absolute top of her game, almost too exquisite to be believed: and I say almost because when it's Lucia we're dealing with, no level of excellence can truly surprise. The performance in question is her Susanna, in a 1980 Le nozze di Figaro filmed in Paris and evidently released in Japan. Lucia recorded Susanna a couple of years later and that performance is itself gorgeous enough; but the atmosphere of a live performance, and the opportunity to see and not just hear, add a million layers of loveliness. Sweet and sparkling, but strong-minded and canny as well, her Susanna is effortlessly the heart of the opera, and could remain so with just a fraction of the stage-time. Naturally it goes without saying that she her singing is straight from heaven, so terribly beautiful that she'd break your heart, were she not so busy swelling it with love and joy. Unsurpringly, her "Deh vieni" is quite literally a show-stopper.

Though not, it has to be said, the only one. Though in my eyes the brightest, Lucia is not the only star in this production. José van Dam is her rather wonderful Figaro, possessed of a kind of careless elegance which has him at times a more naturally noble figure than the Count himself. No peasant servant he, and his warm and graceful way with both text and music is a joy to behold. Cherubino is Frederica von Stade — what more can I say? She's all one could ask and more besides, adorable and shy and, oh yes, vocally magnificent. The applause and shouts for both her arias is near deafening and must add a good few minutes to the running time. Gabriel Bacquier makes a (mostly) amiable kind of lecher as Almaviva and Kurt Moll is at his growly teddy-bear best as Bartolo. And just when you think Act I has been so full of brilliance there can't be anything left in the magic bag: along comes Act II and with it, the sublime Contessa of Gundula Janowitz, serene and regal but with a twinkle in her eye that recalls her days in Seville. Audience reaction to her "Dove sono" is so passionate and so prolonged she's obliged to return and bow not once but twice before the opera can continue. She's heartbreakingly beautiful in the serious moments and a charming comedienne as well — I think she won me over for good when she rushed to let her suspicious husband into her room, humming to herself in a hilarious attempt to feign nonchalance. Adorable isn't a word I necessarily immediately associate with Contessa Almaviva but in this case it's the right one.

The rest were excellent too. However, this DVD came from House of Opera and only those principals I've named are credited on the label. So the identities Marcellina, Barbarina, Don Curzio and Antonio remain a mystery to me: but they were all very good indeed. Truly a delight from top to bottom. And you know, though I'm grateful she's surrounded by such a worthy and dreamy cast, Lucia as Susanna would have been more than enough on her own. This must surely rank among her best performances; certainly it's one of the best I've experienced, on a level with her to-die-for Sophie. She's really just irresistably gorgeous. I adore Lucia unconditionally and, thank god, she's been in my life basically since I was born, so that I've never had to go to the trouble of discovering her. But if I had to discover her now, I'd say this Susanna would be a brilliant way of doing so.

Celebration

Forget In Search of Mozart. Even though it's really just a glorified sampler, the Mozart year celebration you want to see is not a documentary but rather, DG's Amadeus, a generous selection of arias excerpted from their current and upcoming Mozart DVD releases. Doesn't matter how fabulous any documentary is, nothing captures and celebrates the miracle of Mozart like the music itself: and a clutch of gorgeous sopranos to sing it doesn't hurt either.

Oh, and gorgeous bass-baritones. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as Count Almaviva. I've seen this one already but had forgotten his smooth, vampirish charm here. No wonder Susanna's confused "- we get "Crudel! Perchè finora" here, Mirella as cute-as-a-button as ever. From the same Figaro there's Maria Ewing, looking disconcertingly like a 14 year old boy and sounding disconcertingly unlike a 14 year old boy - indeed, unlike any kind of Cherubino. But as somebody who actually enjoyed her Salome on film, I cherish a (very) slightly soft spot for Maria.

Plenty of hits from Don Giovanni, too. From a 1954 film, there's Wilhelm Furtwängler leading a dark, brooding overture; I rather wish the arias presented had come from the same film, which includes two performances I'd love to see: Cesare Siepi in the title role and Lisa della Casa (with whom, yes, I know, I really ought to be acquainted by now) as Donna Elvira. Donna Elvira, as it happens, makes no appearances in the extracts here, unfortunately enough. However there's Bryn doing is Terfelmost best as the Don - this is now the fourth Bryn Terfel "La ci darem la mano" I have on DVD, and La Fleming with a strangely consonantless but also surprisingly exciting "Or sai chi l'onore".

I'll front up now and say that I haven't watched everything on this sampler yet; and because I'm me what I have watched is mostly sopranos. You probably figured as much anyway. So nothing to say for Francisco Araiza's Belmonte (I only hope it's marginally less ineffectual than his Tamino) but Edita Gruberova's "Martern aller Arten" is nicely fierce. My heart as you know belongs to a rather more fragile Konstanze, but there's something to be said for the spitfire approach. Actually there's more Edita Gruberova on this DVD than anything else, not just the Entführung aria but also "Der Hölle Rache" and "Per pietà". The former I watched, though I've been watching that Zauberflöte video since I was very small, mostly to see the silent but still show-stealing Lucia Popp (who also steals the show retrospectively as the greatest sternflammende Königin ever ever). The latter I haven't seen yet; I will eventually, I suppose. Generally I try to behave myself and be open to nine million and one interpretations of an aria because, after all, that's only sensible. With "Per pietà" it's harder: Yvonne's recording of it is unlike almost anything I've heard, musical or otherwise. One of her very finest moments and lord knows, I've got a million moments to compare. But I digress.

No. Actually I don't digress, because looking at the DVD booklet I see that the next item I watched last night was "Nel sen mi palpita" from Mitridate, re di Ponto, sung of course by Yvonne Kenny. It's Aspasia's second aria, a quick little scene of emotional terror which foreshadows her slightly longer and slightly madder third aria, "Nel grave tormento". I'm glad this was chosen to represent the aria: Yvonne's Aspasia is unquestionably the centre of the film, and this excerpt shows her vocal capabilities off nicely - not to mention her considerable talent for looking utterly and gorgeously deranged. Still, I think that all in all, her final aria, "Pallid'ombre, che scorgete" would have made an even better representative for the opera as a whole: while all the music in the opera is skilfull and impressive in the extreme, this is one of the rare moments where it really begins to break free from opera seria convention and give a true hint of the genius to come: of women like Elvira, Anna, the Contessa. Aspasia's earlier arias are all full of acrobatics and stratospheric high notes; this one is much lower and much slower, still virtuosic but demanding a very different, type of virtuosity, something more dramatic and deeply felt. But I'll admit it's not as immediately visually exciting as "Nel sen mi palpita": just (once the distracting little boy soprano is out of shot) the camera slowly circling, then closing in on, Aspasia, who remains so still and expressionless that the effect is almost hypnotic. And here's I've gone and got started on Mitridate once again, because I can't help myself - and can't wait to own it on DVD rather than slightly faded VHS.

Amadeus finishes up with the Introitus from the Requiem, Leonard Bernstein conducting, Marie McLaughlin the soprano soloist. The perfect finish, and especially this selection, which is all Mozart - no Süssmayr.

What. A. Man. This sampler, ninety minutes of bliss and only the tiniest fraction of the incredible gifts this person lavished upon the world before flying away again. Quite ridiculous.

Mitridate, re di Ponto

Jean-Pierre Ponnelle's 1987 film of Mozart's Mitridate, re di Ponto numbers not just among my favourite operatic films but among my favourite films in any genre. It's a scintillating, haunting bit of cinema, opera seria played out as stiflingly as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; it also contains what I consider - and surely I, of all people, should know - one of Yvonne Kenny's finest achievements. Several times I've attempted to review it: technical glitches and frustration with my inability to capture my own fascination with the film have prevented me from ever doing so. Now, however, like so many of Ponnelle's wonderful opera films, Mitridate has been released on DVD by Deutsche Grammophon (my copy is a pre-loved VHS) and as such, has received a brand-new review, which one of my fabulous Perth-based guardian angel correspondents directed me to this afternoon.

Apart from the fact that it's in French, it's more or less the review I've wanted all this time to write: Benoît Berger and I are of one mind. Let me show you (though if you can you really should read the French instead of my inevitably flawed translation.)

For instance:

But what is it that's so exceptional about this Mitridate? To begin with, an aesthetic which breathes new life into the splendours of the Italian Baroque. The decor is simple, brilliantly and grandly unambiguous: Vicenza’s Teatro Olimpico. No need for anything extra in this setting, the formidable atmosphere of the location does everything. There's an imposing grandeur to it. At once palace, temple, altar, focused by the camera, scrutinized down to every last column, it's quite simply a delight. But - Ponnelle's master-stroke – that splendour never smacks of "over-decoration" à la Zeffirelli, an oppressive overload of images! No! Even the naïveté of the painted backdrops at the beginning works in favour of the concept, its quasi-archaeological dimension. Magnificent, I tell you.

And on Nikolaus Harnoncourt:

[He] attacks this “adolescent” (hard to believe) music head on, brutalises it, assaults it (the beginning of the final recitative, Figlio non piu), almost violates it in order to extract jewels of dramatic intensity, moments of unexpected coarseness; tawny, weathered colours. Once again, incredible! Right from the overture it's a river of lava which sweeps us up, a searing, incandescent current, a ground-swell carrying with it all the scoria of sharp-edged but superb orchestra. In this production, the whole score passes through a filter of tremendous drama; even the introduction to the Act II Aspasia/Sifare duet oozes with tragedy, passion...even the arias given to Ismene, so pale and polite, add something!

So far, so good. And then this:

But above all this disc offers a definitive interpretation, an interpretation with a capital “I” which sends packing all Aspasias past and present and surely destroys for good the plans of all those to come. For Yvonne Kenny IS Aspasia, quite simply, and no more need be said. She inhabits the character to her very fingertips, with her powerful, dark-hued voice and that commanding yet spirited virtuosity which we've heard from her since her Lucio Silla and her Entführung with the same conductor. It's at once brilliantly personal, human, fully-embodied... for me there's really nobody but Moser (on the live recording with Hager) to whom she can be compared. Like her, she's feminine, a woman who loves and who suffers, an impassioned tragedienne. Like her, she carries her heart within the cavities of her larynx. Like her, she knows what it is to sing with a sound imbued with physicality. Like her, in short, she is able to verge on hysteria without becoming ridiculous, balancing on the edge of an abyss of passions without ever capitulating. Glo-ri-ous!

Words such as these do my soul good. I've lost all credibility, I know: even if I was capable of saying things like this, who'd believe me? But if I could say anything, this (minus the Edda Moser comparisons, obviously) is what I'd say.

As is this:

But don't listen to me. No words will ever do justice to the grandeur of this production, which is more than theatre, more than music, more than an opera, because it's all of this at once and more besides. Grab it now. Watch, listen...even better, hear! Hear what nobody has ever made you hear in this work. Open your ears, your eyes, and most of all your heart! Love, and death as well, undiluted, fiery emotions, a tragic and compelling humanity, all of Mozart is contained within this DVD case. What are you still doing here? Go!

Precisely. This film is a masterpiece. See it.

Strauss, Poulenc, Poulenc

This weekend I've watched again the video of Der Rosenkavalier with Gwyneth Jones, Brigitte Fassbaender, Lucia Popp and Kurt Moll. Deutsche Grammophon has released this on DVD now, which DVD I'll need to own, if for no other reason than that the sound quality will surely be better than it is on this now ageing tape. Sound quality notwithstanding, though, it's a glorious Rosenkavalier. Hard to know who to watch, when you have Brigitte and Lucia and Gwyneth and Kurt all there at once. I'm very fond of all four. Of course, Lucia is of extreme importance to me. But much as I love and adore her, I struggle to believe anyone could feel capable of leaving Gwyneth Jones' Marschallin. I doubt I could. 

Then there was the online broadcast, courtesy of ABC Classic FM, of Opera Australia's "Love in Two Acts". An odd experience, this. I don't know which night it was recorded. There were no convenient mistakes or mishaps to allow me to identify one performance or another, though I do know it wasn't opening night. I tend to think it was the third or the fourth. It doesn't matter hugely I suppose. In any case, it was strange to hear. Both in the Rossini and in the Poulenc: everything so familiar, and yet slightly different, because the microphones are just where the audience isn't. So, for instance, when Elle sings turned toward the mantlepiece, what was distant in the theatre is disconcertingly closed: apparently there's a microphone upstage. Conversely, her electrifying fortissimo passages lose something in translation, sound a little duller and quieter than they were in person.  All the voices, in both pieces, sounded closer and more immediate than they ever would or could in the theatre. In Il Signor Bruschino the closed-miked effect of it is a boon to Kanen Breen, whose voice never quite projected sufficiently. You wouldn't know it here. And in La voix humaine, well, will you allow me to say something perhaps a little mad? There were times when that immediacy was rather like hearing a voice on the telephone. You see what I mean? Listening to it in this way, one might imagine oneself on the other end of the phone call. Seeing it in the theatre, the audience can only ever observe; hearing it via speakers, the perspective becomes a little more mobile. She isn't just saying these things to somebody else any more: she may just be saying them to you. Besides all that, there were other advantages to simply hearing it. It was excellent to have confirmed what I already knew: that her performance stands strong on its own, apart from all the theatrical interpretation by the director and apart from Yvonne's own (considerable) visual appeal as a performer. There was plenty added by the experience of watching this opera live, but with all of it stripped away, nothing is lost. Had I come to this broadcast without knowledge of the production, I would have been just as shaken by it - and just as enamoured of her.

On Monday night, more Poulenc, in the shape of Les Dialogues des Carmélites on the Arts Channel. The music of La voix humaine has become so entrenched in me that there was a somewhat comforting familiarity in this, though I'd never heard a note of it until then. This was a stunning production from L'Opéra du Rhin, Anne-Sophie Schmidt captivatingly fragile as Blanche de la Force. The fabulous Patricia Petibon made a charming Soeur Constance - the Maria von Trapp of the Carmelites - and proved she can do drama as well as comedy, though it's still the latter in which she she truly shines. A few years ago, you know, I assumed I was unshakeably old-fashioned: I'd never have imagined myself as entralled by Poulenc as I've become. It's yet another happiness for which thanks are due to my diva, who introduced us, after all.

Nothing for me to add

Yvonne reviews herself in Der Schauspieldirektor:

 

Don Giovanni

Last night when I wasn't writing about Fidelio, I was watching another DVD, the recent TDK release of Don Giovanni from the Wiener Staatsoper. The cast is excellent, the sets and costumes a treat but the shining star is Riccardo Muti. I like this man a lot. Fiery, intense, Italianate Mozart - it's perfect. When I saw Don Giovanni in Wellington and Auckland, I had the feeling something was lacking in the orchestra and now I know, what I wanted was this. I don't know how many times I've heard that overture now but he has me still finding new things in it. I love Nikolaus Harnoncourt dearly, but when it comes to this opera, I'd choose Muti in a heartbeat.

Now to that excellent cast. Allow me to step out of character for a moment and give first mention to the beautiful - and beautifully-named - Ildebrando d'Arcangelo. Yes, a boy. Yes, a Leporello. What a Leporello. Magnetic, energetic and elegantly sung - quite irresistible. Adorably comical as Arlecchino in the beginning, dramatically believable by the time he's under the table shouting "Dite di no!". Carlos Alvarez is a marvellous Don Giovanni - I really do prefer an older Giovanni, and Carlos is just right. The costuming (which moves from 16th through to 19th century dress) means he looks significantly younger and more vital by the very end - just at the point he's heading off to Hell. The upright (physically if not morally)and bewigged figure of the first scenes looks more like Cavaradossi by the end, and similarly his performance intensifies, warms up, as the opera progresses. Michael Schade does little to overcome the useless aura of Don Ottavio, and the production doesn't give him much help either, but his subtly shaded and silky vocalism is appealing, I must say.

Anna Caterina Antonacci gives a heated performance as Donna Elvira. She sounded fine, mostly - but I just kept wishing her singing could reach the same intensity as her dramatic performance. Adrianne Pieczonka is a lovely Donna Anna, creamly and lyrical. Maybe a touch too light in 'Or sai chi l'onore' but 'Non mi dir' was excellent. (A question, incidentally: "Non sedur la mia costanza del sensibil mio core" or just "Non sedur la costanza etc."? I've heard both but the first seems odd to me.) And the fabulous Angelika Kirchschlager is just that as Zerlina. Cute-as-a-button but with a thankfully grown-up and non soubrettish voice; I think she might possess the "peasant warmth" William Dart felt lacking in Ali McGregor. As I've mentioned before, I'm not hugely keen on Zerlina, but Angelika makes as good a case for her as anyone. She's well matched to Lorenzo Regazzo's Masetto (and I wish I could say more about him but I'm afraid I just can't remember anything).

The production I'm ambivalent about. It's certainly gorgeous. For most of the characters,the costumes, as I said, begin in the 16th century and move through to the 19th, and they're all extravagant and beautiful. Donna Anna chases after Giovanni looking like Tudor royalty; Donna Elvira enters dressed like a man, and ends up dressed more like a Manet. But whether all this really achieves anything, I'm not sure. I wonder at any production which apparently requires such detailed explanation in the notes; and I do tend to think that the best way to make the point about a work's timelessness or universality or whatever is to let it stand and allow the audience to make that discovery. However, as I say, it's a very attractive production. And, costuming gimickry aside, it is effective theatre. I have little hope for Don Ottavio and Donna Anna's marriage by the end - and I'm glad about that, because I don't think there is much hope for it; Donna Elvira's decision to enter a convent is convincing rather than comedic - also good; and altogether it's an entertaining but suitably dark Don Giovanni - dramma giocoso just the way I like it.

(P.S. Speaking of Mozart - sort of - I'm excited and very flattered to see I've been added to the blogroll of la belle Canadienne, aka soprano Erin Wall. Erin is currently in my favourite city (Paris) singing one of my favourite Mozart women (Fiordiligi) in one of my favourite places in the world (the Palais Garnier) alongside one of my favourite singers ever (the divine Barbara Bonney). She also happens to maintain one of my very favourite blogs, and if you haven't been there yet, go now. Highly highly recommended.)

 

Fidelio

I'm not sure quite how this happened, but somehow the Deutsche Grammophon Fidelio DVD, featuring the divine Karita Mattila, sat unopened in my house for several months before I got around to watching it. Very odd. And even that was some time ago - and I haven't watched it again since - but still, I ought to say something.

Karita is somebody I think is absolutely wonderful, and to whom I very rarely listen. I only own one CD, her fabulous 40th birthday concert in Finland. She goes from 'Dich teure Halle' through to 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend', with some Sibelius and some J. Strauss II thrown in. Everything performed to perfection (though she's really not an Adele) and the programme holds together very well. Besides, anyone who wears a pink and black polka dot dress on their album cover wins my admiration. Other than that, I've spent two weeks in the company of her German Romantic Arias CD, which I borrowed from the library; and heard to her in the Met broadcast of Kat'a Kabanova (while sitting in a hotel carpark in Nelson, in summer, with all the windows rolled up - but that's another story) - and nothing else. Until this Fidelio.

It was also my very first Fidelio. I knew a couple of the arias - 'Abscheulicher' via Kirsten Flagstad, and 'O wär ich schon' which somehow - and I can't actually figure out exactly how - I seem to have known since childhood. But it's always been something I never quite felt I had the energy for. I'm really terribly lazy, you know - I'm still that way about Wagner, even though he rewards me fabulously when I do make the effort.

Anyway, I watched the DVD and I liked it very much. Karita is a miracle. I've read so many people waxing so very lyrical over her, and while I've never had any trouble believing them, it was still nice to witness the Wunder myself. She's a joy to watch and to hear and a seriously convincing boy - in fact so convincing that by the time Leonore revealed herself, I was having about as much trouble believing it as poor little Marzelline. Who I thought was very prettily sung by a rather sweet Jennifer Welch-Babidge. She also made a nice vocal contrast with Karita, the two easily discernable in the ensembles. Ben Heppner is excellent, if not quite the dramatic whirlwind which is La Mattila; René Pape's compelling Rocco impressed me even more. And I think the updated production is effective. It's not in your face or terribly pretentious, it's just there - you can think about all the deeper meanings and thought-provoking-ness of it, or you can not, and just enjoy a good-looking and always interesting production - it works both ways.

Magic Flute

A couple of weeks ago a DVD arrived for me from Premiere Opera: a 1986 Magic Flute from the Sydney Opera House, with - yes - Yvonne Kenny as Pamina. I haven't reviewed it yet and now I don't have to! The excellent Rosel Labone, rising NZ opera singer and frequent commenter here, has seen it recently too, so I asked what she thought - and her response was so wonderful I'm giving it its own post. Voilà:

"Well... the Oz production was a pretty standard (if not a little pedestrian) stab at things, in my opinion. Now I'm not saying a measured take on Mozart is necessarily a bad thing; I think an ounce of prevention is often the best approach to these things. I can't bear post-modern retellings that try to insinuate something subequatorial into every phrase and offhand remark, every nuance of the music. Mozart seems to always grab the short straw when it comes to this kind of direction, possibly because many directors like to draw on the all too believably human aspects of his characters and themes. In general, I like to encounter a production that is innovative in all the right places and offers me a unique view, but still maintains the integrity of the composer and their intentions. Some of the most effective productions are those that get out of the way and let the music communicate, and sometimes, though not always, this can mean very simple or traditional, or stark-looking, staging, stripping things back to their bare bones, so as not to detract but merely enhance the heart of the work.
There is nothing wrong with innovative and effective, yet simple, staging. If the performances themselves have conservative leanings, things can start to become problematic. Let me make myself clear on this point. By no means do I think that performances should be overtly “stagy:” I define conservative acting as that which is not committed enough to make an unflinching connection with the audience. This was a quibble I had with NZ Opera's "Giovanni," and it came to the fore in this production too.

This "Flute" looked a little dated, unsurprising as it was a child of the '80s (oh, they had designers then!)When a mulleted Tamino stepped out onstage, I didn't hold out much hope for things aesthetically improving. But, as I'm sure you're aware by seeing many actors stuck in bad productions, good performances can redeem pretty much anything, even hair crimes. So I waited. And the Tamino wasn't that bad. Really. But the whole thing felt a little...stiff. Most certainly, I was missing the German language. It didn’t really bother me too much that the Papageno bore a striking resemblance to the crocodile hunter circa 1993. And it wasn't that anyone wasn't acting in a dramatic sense, but that was the problem; it felt too acted, too distanced, not real enough. I know there are arguments about and preferences for emblematic vs. realistic acting, especially in the static form of opera, but I personally feel that this “lack of connection” between performer and audience, still unsettlingly prevalent in opera productions, is yet another obstacle to overcome in the battle for the art form to remain relevant to many. Of course, a recorded performance is completely different from what a live audience would be experiencing. I had a discussion once which illustrates my point, where a cast member in an opera production made the comment about another cast member: "her acting looks really good from the audience."
Afraid I have to say that although Yvonne Kenny was vocally very much on top of things, to me at this stage in her obviously young career her artistry was still developing, meaning her holistic approach to the art form... but I'm sure that you completely missed this when watching, Sarah, and I don't want to spoil her performance for you, so ignore me!!! Though I've yet to share your adoration, I realise you are far, far gone into the realms of diva worship and won't be returning anytime soon!

The Kath Battle/Met production looked beautiful but it did chuck everything in with the sink... as a result, it occasionally lost focus (it’s a bit like Giovanni in that way; it’s hard to stage it successfully, there’s so many directions you can take the work,  so much thematic richness, you can either give all of them cursory attention or focus on two or three, so certain areas inevitably always fall short.) But the best Flute I experienced on video by a mile was a semi - staged production from 1995 for the Amsterdam festival, conducted by John Eliot Gardiner, with a largely Nordic/German cast. I returned the video without writing any details of who they were, and as they were largely not well known, I can’t recall names. But they just GOT this stuff. I found the only trio of ladies that I've actually warmed to so far, and the production also boasted the most spectacular Konigin of any I've encountered. It proved my point about the big M; staging be damned (though I liked the minimal approach here,) it's all in the performances, in getting inside the music, and in how involved, in a real way, the players are. The Pamina blew both my socks off; such an unaffected, natural performance, yet with the vital edge of a young woman experiencing her first real pain. The sublime expression of the nobility of the human spirit, “In diesen heil’gen Hallen,” was beautifully taken. The razor-sharp orchestra presented excellent teamwork, and Mozart specialist Gardiner kept things going along at a corking pace.
There is no doubt in my mind how much capacity this art form still has to evoke, to connect. In such wonders as Cecilia Bartoli, even the most blaze opera goer will be recharged by seeing the new things that can still come out of old art; finding things they never knew were there in the music before, experiencing the new life that’s been breathed into it - even music as well-loved and listened to as Mozart. We need more performers who can make music LIVE."

There you go. So nice for a change to have an objective review of something on this blog. Grazie mille Rosel!

If you were wondering: I agree with the above review on more or less every point. (Papageno really does look like the Crocodile Hunter - I thought exactly the same thing.) We exclude, of course, the comments about Yvonne - but it's quite possible that if I was in any state to watch and listen to her in a cool, detached manner, I might feel the same way about her too. As it is I honestly don't know what my objective opinion would be. When Yvonne is on stage all I know is - Yvonne. So everything she says, does and sings is, by definition, throw-myself-off-a-bridge perfect. And I really do mean everything. I'm utterly enchanted, for instance, by Yvonne's shall we say distinctive way of speaking dialogue. Yvonne can make the most florid Handel coloratura sound like natural speech but for some reason doesn't achieve quite the same feat with actual speech. She's adorably mannered and stage-y, emphasising every third or fourth word and sometimes sounding more like a foreign speaker with an excellent accent (oh Yvonne's accent has a music all of its own..) In fact much of the time it seems she speaks dialogue in musical rather than spoken phrases (I've sometimes thought the same about Greta Garbo). Doesn't make for the most naturalistic acting but for one such as I, so inescapably under her spell, it just adds to the magic.

I only want to add one thing more, and that's a mention of the Queen of the Night in this production, Christa Leahmann. I enjoyed her immensely and I know that I shouldn't have. It can't happen too often, I imagine, that the soprano singing the Königin is actually old enough to be Pamina's mother, but I'd wager this time she was. She's terrifying too, visually and vocally. Will she hit those high notes? Did she in fact hit them? Hard to say. And she skips over a lot of the coloratura rather than attempt to sing it accurately - she's obviously focusing on those Fs to come. So as I say, not the sort of Königin one's supposed to think too highly of perhaps but I loved her. She looked like a particularly sturdy - and particularly ferocious - Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, resplendent in midnight blue and powdered wig - and though she wasn't always making the most beautiful sounds, she was brilliant to watch.

Aspasia, Regina del mio cor

I feel as if I haven't written anything for ages... it hasn't in fact been very long, but my last two posts have been rather functional. Actually before I go any further, I do have something else functional to mention: Dunedin readers should be aware that they can now pick up a free copy of New Zealand's brand new classical music magazine, Music Matters, from the table inside the entrance to the University Book Shop. Issues 1 and 2 are both there, so come and grab one. It's fabulous!

But moving on. My chief distraction from blogging this week has been multiple viewings of a new DVD: Mozart's Mitridate, re di Ponto, aka There's Something About Aspasia. This is fabulous stuff. Aspasia's engaged to Daddy (Mitridate). Everyone thinks Daddy's dead. So both of Daddy's sons go after her. Then Daddy comes back, gets it wrong, accuses her semi-unjustly and yells at her far too much for most of the opera, then in the final minutes, sees the error of his ways, turns clement à la Tito, and drops dead. And everyone lives happily ever after (assuming, of course, that they're going to beat the Romans.)

One of the many wonderful things about Mozart is that even at fourteen, writing the most standard opera seria possible, composing arias not according to character or emotion but according to the talents his singers wanted to show off, is still pretty damned fabulous. No, of course it's not Figaro but it's still great music - and what's wrong with focusing on the singers for once. And in fact, it's not as boring and plotless and emptily florid as some reviewers would have you believe. The opening bars of Aspasia's "Nel sen mi palpita", for instance, are an urgent, pulsating outpouring of anguish - the ridiculously difficult coloratura is there too, but not to the exclusion of some degree of real feeling.

Rockwell Blake in the title role is disturbingly vocally brilliant. He's not beautiful, but then neither is his character. But he holds notes so long you start to shift uncomfortably in your seat, and with this pained, angry tone which can almost become difficult to listen to - but it's exhilarating. And loud! One can see how he comes to wield such physical and psychological power over his sons. Those sons, incidentally - Sifare and Farnace - are taken by a mezzo and a soprano respectively: Ashley Putnam and Brenda Boozer. These days I wouldn't be troubled at all by countertenors in those roles, but I'd still (just because I'm me) rather have them played by girls. Brenda Boozer's lecherous Farnace is not exactly stunningly sung. Yes, it's treacherous music - but she's the one up there doing it. Ashley Putnam is much better: Sifare was originally a heroic castrato role, so as you can imagine, his arias are showstoppers- happily, Ashley is entirely up to them. Her acting seems to have come from the Brigitte Fassbaender School of Boyish Enthusiasm, but she calms down after a while, and her scenes with Aspasia are positively electric.

Of course, this electricity does have a little something to do with the incredible presence and allure of the Aspasia - sung, of course, by Yvonne Kenny. In her hands, Aspasia becomes unquestionably the heart, soul and moral centre of the opera. The arias themselves are admittedly mostly about virtuosity. Not that that's anything to be sniffed at - I for one am a fool for a virtuoso. Once she gets going, and the runs and the trills and the fiendish acrobatics start, there's not much point pretending that it's about Aspasia's emotional journey: we're watching Yvonne Kenny sing the hell out of some fabulous music. But there are other ways of creating a genuine, human character. Her expression in the recitativi for instance, is incredible. On the point of drinking the poison so delightfully thrown to her by Mitridate, she is stopped by her lover Sifare. "You're safe!" she says. But it's not a sudden triumphant declaration of joy, and she doesn't forget what she was just about to do. Rather, she half-whispers the line, hardly moves, remains disoriented. After all, this woman has just spent 8 minutes and 19 seconds on her knees, convincing herself to commit suicide. It's not the sort of thing you can forget in a second, even if your beloved has come to save you. It's only one brief moment, but things like this do make a difference, I think, and they're part of the reason Yvonne's Aspasia makes such a strong character. There's also the fact that she's a natural and graceful actress. With just a few gestures and expressions, she can set and control the mood of the whole stage, and everyone on it. Even with a less than fabulous love interest (I'm thinking of Jerry Hadley in her Idomeneo) she has the ability to create the necessary romantic tension within herself, and to transmit that to whomever she happens to be singing with. Plus on top of all that, she's got a voice to die for, high notes so beautiful and so perfect you (or rather, I) can feel them.

Obviously I bought this for Yvonne, and I still think she's its biggest selling point. But then, I just like to see my darling girl showing just how impossibly talented and gorgeous she is. But even for those not psychotic about her, there's one track which I think could not fail to knock your socks off: Aspasia and Sifare's duet, "Se viver non degg'io". Just when you think it's fabulous enough, they exchange a look, brace themselves, and throw themselves into the most mindblowing cadenza you could imagine. It's enough to leave one quite breathless.

Elle est dangereuse, elle est belle

Before I do anything else, I must say thankyou to all my Wagnerian 'aunts and uncles' for their responses to my Walküre induced epiphany. Your comments and advice have been beyond fascinating; I shall try to absorb all you've told me and apply it to whatever Wagnerian purchases I make. Though it might have to wait a little while - but I'll be in Wellington in a month and will no doubt be unable to resist the siren song of Parsons' classical section. Although to be honest, I probably shouldn't be spending money on anything - I've just forked out more than I care to think about to get myself to Auckland - yes, Auckland - for a third Don Giovanni.

That said, however, I've been shopping this afternoon. I didn't particularly intend to, I just went into Disk Den to fill in time. I looked at their CDs - nothing new - and was ready to go, when I turned towards the DVDs. And saw this:

The Gracious One herself. In Carmen. In 1967. With Mirella. I had no idea this was on DVD; I had no idea this existed, full stop. There was, naturally, no way I was leaving the shop without it.

I've just now finished watching and it is a work of art. Quite incredible. Grace is just out of this world, sounding (and looking) fatally beautiful. She's an utterly convincing Carmen, and sings with such fire that she makes even the most over-familiar parts of the opera seem new. I tell you, the way that velvet voice wraps around you - she's a dangerous girl. In Mirella Freni she has the loveliest imaginable Betty to her Veronica. Such a powerful performance as Grace's could easily mean she was the star even in her absence; but the fact is that Mirella's Micaela makes one forget Carmen - and everybody else - entirely. On paper, I think Micaela reads like a bit of a boring goody two shoes, but in Mirella's hands she's sweet and passionate - and not very nicely treated either. Nevertheless, she's better off without Don José. What a whinger. No, I'm afraid I really had no sympathy for him. Partly because the character doesn't appeal to me. Partly because Jon Vickers irritates me. I've no rational, justifiable explanation for this - he just does. He annoys me as himself, speaking about Maria Callas on the Golden Voices of the Century video; he annoys me in his photo in this year's Met Diary; and he annoys me as Don José. And sadly, while he sings very well, it's not enough to win me over, even temporarily. It can be done - Thomas Hampson's Macbeth convinced me to try and be kinder to him - but not in this case. I much prefered Justino Diaz as Escamillo, and I don't blame Carmen for doing the same.

The film itself is excellent too. It's not quite a cinematic treatment, not quite a filmed stage performance - somewhere in the middle. There's no audience, but we see the orchestra - under Maestro Karajan - for all the preludes and entr'actes. Anyway, it's beautifully and inventively filmed, and in 38 years it hasn't dated one little bit - quite an achievement. There's only one tiny little issue. I don't think much of the opera itself. Odd, perhaps, but true. This is not, incidentally, a side effect of my developing Wagnerian leanings - it's just never appealed to me. One of the very first operatic purchases I ever made was a $3 Carmen highlights disc with Jennifer Larmore in the title role (and Angela Gheorghiu as Micaela, now that I think about it). It was worth having for Jennifer, with whom I was besotted at the time, but the rest did nothing for me, and that doesn't look like changing anytime soon.  I can honestly say that when it comes to Bizet, I far prefer his Orientalist one-acter Djamileh to anything else, Carmen included. I may just be the only person ever to claim such a preference. Tant mieux.

This Carmen wasn't my only discovery today either. Browsing at the library, I looked to see which other Don Giovanni sets they had - and lo and behold, I found this! Véronique Gens sings Donna Elvira - that's all I needed to know. It's at home with me now. Even if it's terrible - and I doubt it will be - Véronique will be Véronique, and all will be well. I also borrowed Angela Gheorghiu's new Puccini CD. It's so beautifully packaged that I'm tempted by it every time I see it at Real Groovy... but packaging is (mostly) not the best basis for choosing a CD, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to listen to it without buying it. Will it be the enchanting Angela of La Rondine? Or the near-unlistenable Angela of her first solo CD? Or something else entirely. We shall see.

The Merry Widow

San Francisco's Opera's 2002 production of The Merry Widow, which I now own on DVD, has a problem: It's Just. Not. Funny. It is, however, gorgeous.

The sets and costumes are gorgeous. Yvonne Kenny is a stunning Hanna, irresistible from the first. Angelika Kirchschlager is a cute-as-a-button coquette. Bo Skovhus is an absolute scream, and vocally to die for. He's also an excellent actor, comic and serious. As actresses, Yvonne and Angelika make wonderful opera singers: but in their own hammy way they're as delightful as Bo. But oh dear, the dialogue they're all forced to speak leaves something to be desired. Angelika saves her dreadful lines with her unspeakably adorable lilting intonation; Bo makes the character of Danilo so convincing and appealing that it doesn't matter what he's saying; Yvonne walks in beauty like the night, and just the fact that she's speaking is enough for me - it mightn't be for others. Nobody else in the cast does a bad job either. But without this illustrious trio, they'd have had a hard - if not impossible - job keeping things going. Never mind: I bought it for Yvonne and got Bo and Angelika as a bonus. The rest is neither here not there.

And of course, there's the music, so surrounded by dialogue you might forget it was there, were it not for the fact that it's fabulous. I might have issues with the dialogue, but the singing was first rate. Corner me, and I'll admit: Yvonne's Hanna in Melbourne last December was even better sung. But that doesn't mean she's not breathtaking here. The Act I duet with Danilo, the Act II finale, the famous duet at the end (no titles because it's an English translation and I'm too lazy to find their German equivalents) - and everything else besides - it's all just heaven. Her middle register especially seems to improve with age, and there's a warm, seductively beautiful tone which just send shivers down my spine. The metal in her high notes mightn't be to everyone's tastes, but I could eat it for breakfast.

As for Bo Skovhus, let's just say that if his leading lady had been anyone else, he would quite likely have stolen the show and my heart. Fabulously dark, rich voice. Any heavier and it might have been too much, but as it was it was perfect. And he makes such an absolutely appealing Danilo: imagine an exuberant version of James Garner in Victor/Victoria. Angelika Kirchschlager's sweetly full-voiced Valencienne is no less magnificent. She spends far too much time speaking and not enough singing: but when she does sing, she's (as Lofti Mansouri says in the little documentary extra) enchanting.

The rest of the cast performs very well vocally, though there's nobody to match the three above. Gregory Turay's Camille is above average if unmemorable; the chorus gives its all to the wonderful set piece finales, and the orchestra is sparkling and exuberant. Add to this strong base the three glorious performances described above and musically, there's every reason to be happy - in this respect, if in no other, it's absolutely a success.

Spree

Patience, it would seem, is a virtue I do not possess (not that I ever thought otherwise.) We will get the Met broadcast Tosca here eventually, but not for more than a month. And I was already missing my dear Maria von Hindenburg (aka La Guleghina). So I managed to acquire temporarily a DVD of her La Scala Tosca to keep me going. Thankfully things were a little more seaworthy than the recent performance Sieglinde laments.

You're right, it's scandalous that I should choose such a creature as my very first Tosca ever. But let's be honest: I wasn't watching this for an introduction to Tosca so much as a continuation of my acquaintance with Maria. And in that respect it was absolutely a success. I adore her still. 'Vissi d'arte' was not, shall we say, a shining moment, but I've never loved it too dearly anyway; for this particular Tosca I was much more interested in the high dramatics, the running, stabbing, jumping off buildings side of it all; and more than that, in some nice reckless singing from Maria. She delivered, and I was glad. And on Monday - oh agony, oh ecstasy - my Nabucco DVD arrives.

And speaking of uncharacteristic attractions: looks like I've gone and fallen for José Cura. The eagle-eyed might have picked this a few weeks ago, when I was rather taken by his appearances in a couple of Verdi galas. Well, this afternoon I went on a library spree, and among my haul was Mr Cura's Puccini arias. I'm really not supposed to swoon for tenors but it was really quite unavoidable. Unexpected, too, despite my earlier interest in him. I put the CD because I figured that, among the four I borrowed today, it was the least likely to distract me while I wrote something here. I was mistaken. And unable even to consider writing anything until he was finished. It's all just so very rich and beautiful. And so interesting too: for once, even in the big hits, I'm not just hearing the familiar tunes and the money notes, but the individual singer and his gorgeous, expressive voice. It's hard for me to pick out any favourite moments. 'Parigi! è la citte dei desideri' from La Rondine was a highlight, certainly. It's to the same tune as a Puccini song, as it turns out: I recognised it from Patricia Wright's glorious CD Serenata (the same CD contains Puccini's 'Sole e amore', incidentally, which has a few moments in common with 'Donde lieta.) Can I enjoy the high-note flourish at the end as much when it comes from a tenor instead of a soprano? Apparently so. The arias from Fanciulla were also excellent, and entirely new to me. And - although perhaps I oughtn't admit it - I loved 'Nessun dorma'. 'Non piangere Liu' was even better though. And if I don't stop myself there, I may never finish. I'm even considering buying his CD Anhelo, which Records Records is selling for $10.

Today was a bit of a money-spending day really. In addition to the Nabucco DVD and the library spree, I bought Marina Mescheriakova's 'Soprano Arias' CD. It's a Naxos disc, I've never heard of the woman before, but it was cheap so I thought I might as well own it. I also thought it was time I listened to some Grace Bumbry, given I shall find myself in her presence in less than a month. So I ordered a 3 CD set of early recordings from Amazon, which looks fabulous. And since I was already there, I succumbed to temptation and ordered a DVD of Giulio Cesare featuring The Goddess Yvonne as Cleopatra. (Funnily enough, according to this addictive little amusement, Cleopatra - along with Lucrezia Borgia - is quite possibly my Dead Celebrity Soulmate. I shan't complain about that!)

New at Antologia: Face Powder

All Cretans Are Liars*

(I've been playing with screen captures. So if you're feeling visually inclined, you can see an illustrated version here.)

My new Idomeneo is, well, odd, to say the least. Bad Minoan wigs abound. The chorus was last seen in Life of Brian. Idamante (sung by a tenor, Jerry Hadley, with a blonde topknot) looks about twelve years old, and has just one 'acting' technique: shaking his head slowly from side to side while he sings. This expresses joy, anguish, anger, disbelief, resignation and more, apparently. Continuing the Monty Python theme, Idomeneo (Philip Langridge) looks suspiciously like Terry Jones from a distance. Elettra is one seriously frightening Carol Vaness in best soap opera bitch mode (sounding fantastic I might add). Yvonne Kenny's Ilia is a ray of sunshine, however, transcending an ugly production, clumsy direction and a terrible blonde wig. Idamante should be pinching himself in disbelief at somehow having won the heart of this goddess. She even sheds tears at the end of 'Zeffiretti lusinghieri', a feat of acting which far outdoes anything managed by the rest of the cast.

Singing-wise, the production is really quite successful. I didn't - and still don't - much like the idea of a tenor singing Idamante; it was even weirder when Jerry Hadley broke into 'Ch'io mi scordi di te...Non temer, amato bene'. Leaving all that aside, though, he did sing rather well. So did everybody else, more or less. But the only truly remarkable performances were from Carol and Yvonne. Carol is the Elettra on the Deutsche Grammophon Idomeneo too, but I think I liked her better in this one. She's frightening and thrilling and fabulous; although perhaps slightly less convincing in moments of anguish. Gorgeous though. And Yvonne, déesse that she is, just shines. I tell you, the woman can do no wrong. Just when I thought Handel was her one true home, she comes along and proves herself equally destined for Mozart, so perfectly silvery and beautiful. A sort of Catherine Deneuve for the ears, if that makes sense. (It probably doesn't.) One probably could live quite happily without this Idomeneo; but as for living without Yvonne's Ilia, well, I for one am unwilling to try.

*title from Epimenides, via fabulous NZ poet Anne French.

Screechy Peachy Cantatrice

Jennifer Larmore: In Performance. This was just about the first DVD recital I ever watched, and it's about time I gave it a bit of a write-up. And now's a good time - because although I've seen it a million times, I think tonight was the first time I realised just how good it is. Not to say I didn't love it the first time: at one point I was watching Jennifer's final encore, 'Art Is Calling For Me', on a daily basis. But coming as it did at the very beginnings of my 'proper' discovery of opera, I hadn't a clue what to do with the slightly more 'difficult' things in the programme. The Handel, Purcell, Bizet and Rossini was all familiar and, handled in that seamlessly gorgeous Jennifer way, it was bliss. The Debussy and Obradors songs were pretty, if not particularly attention-getting. But Samuel Barber? Kurt Weill? Jake Heggie?? Actually the Kurt Weill was fine. But the Barber and Heggie scared me, and I found it jarring and unappealing. And somehow, even as my tastes have developed, the idea that I didn't like certain songs in this recital has stuck with me, and I've automatically skipped them. Terrible, yes, I know. But tonight, with Jennifer singing away in the corner of my monitor, I thought it's about time I tried again; and that's exactly what I did.

And now all my ideas about this recital have turned on their head. The 'easy' stuff is still gorgeous, of course, because it can't help but be; but paying proper attention to the art song half of the recital made me realise how much better Jennifer is at communicating them than the operatic pieces. To be honest, I think the arias in this recital could have benefited from a bit more expression and excitement. The voice  is inescaply beautiful, but there's a point where some drama needs to enter into it. She has a lot of fun acting, but somehow none of the ideas present in her gestures and facial expression make it into the singing itself. The art songs, though, were a whole new world. I thought my heart belonged to Ute when it came to Kurt Weill, but I doubt even she could outdo Jennifer's utterly heartbreaking and perfect 'Je ne t'aime pas'. This time round the Obradors wasn't just pretty background music, but captivating. Roger Quilter's 'Love's Philosophy', a nightmarish experience if sung anything other than perfectly, was brilliant. Even the Jake Heggie stuff wasn't as impossible as I expected (although I'm still no fan). But the Barber. My god. It was only one song, 'Solitary Hotel', but it's unbelievable. I was hanging on her every word, spellbound.

And the encores are good fun: 'Sophie's Song', commissioned by Jennifer from Jake Heggie, dedicated to her dog (whom she holds while singing it). Alright, so songs to dogs don't generally appeal to me but the text to this one (which you can read at Antologia, if you like) is by none other than Frederica Von Stade and it's very cute (unlike the dog) and quite clever. And best of all, the aforementioned 'Art Is Calling For Me' which is fabulous and hilarious, and includes a very enthusiastic shout of 'Viva to the Diva' from Jennifer's accompanist Niles Crane Antoine Palloc. So it's a brilliant recital, really, from start to finish. But especially the second half. Jennifer might be beautiful in opera, but it's in the songs that she gets truly exciting.

Now listening to: Anna Moffo. 'Quando m'en vo'. La Bohème. Mimi who?

Caro mio Figaretto

I've just watched my very first Figaro. It's to all intents and purposes my favourite opera and yet until now I hadn't seen a single production of it, which is strange. Anyway, the situation has been amended now: and in rather glorious fashion. I've just finished watching this: a 1976 Jean-Pierre Ponnelle film of the opera. Not a filmed stage production, but one of these lip-synched films. I'd still like to see (live or filmed) a live production, but at the same time, I would not have missed this one for the world- it's absolutely brilliant.

For a start, there's the cast: Hermann Prey as Figaro, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as the Count, Kiri Te Kanawa as the Countess, Mirella Freni as Susanna, Maria Ewing as Cherubino. So things were hardly going to go awry vocally, were they? But what really amazes me is this: you could watch this, unaware of who these people were, and easily believe that they were actors only, hired to mouth other people's singing. Because this film has managed to assemble a cast of people who really and truly look the part. Mirella Freni is unbelievably adorable- I had no idea she was such a wonderful comedienne; Kiri's young (32!) and lovely; Hermann Prey is fabulous, as is Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. And then there's Maria Ewing. Just the other day I was trembling at her frighteningly intense Salome. When she came on stage for that opera I thought, well, she's not exactly a pretty sight but at least she does somewhat look like a teenager. Well, that fact is even more amazing here: have you ever, honestly, seen a Cherubino who looked, as well as acted, his age? She almost looks too young for the part; and she looks just the right kind of boy as well. I'm sure that Maria's Cherubino is precisely the kind of character which is supposed to arise from Beaumarchais' and Mozart's decisions to have the role performed by a woman. She's as intense here as in Salome, but her efforts are directed toward comedy instead of scary drama, and she's stunning- awkward and adorable, in love with every woman on the planet and hopelessly terrified of the Count.

And the rest of the cast, in their own ways, equal Maria in the acting stakes. It's nice having Kiri so young: the Countess, after all, was Rosina not so very long ago: she's not quite Marschallin-aged yet. I can't say enough about Mirella either. I've never taken too much notice of her, to be honest, so I was just amazed: she's every inch Susanna, just as I've always imagined Susanna ought to be played. And cute as a button. By end of the first act I was used to Hermann Prey as well. Not as a singer, you understand: that doesn't take any getting used to, he's one of my very favourite boy singers. It's just, well, I can't see him without expecting to start wrestling Lucia Popp to the ground or straddle a catapult or just engage in general Carmina-type cavorting. But once I'd got over that- he was perfect as Figaro. How can you help but love Figaro? Actually Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau was surprisingly lovable as the Count as well. I mean he blusters around a bit (and hits Kiri!!) but played by this man he's really quite a sweetheart in the end. Look to be honest, I could delete the entire preceding paragraph and say this: as actors and as singers, the principal cast of this opera is entirely flawless. I simply cannot find a single fault.

What's more, the film itself is very well done as well. I mean, it is the 70s, so we have to make allowances, but apart from rather a lot of point-of-view shots, where people in close-up sing directly to the camera, there's a minimum of silliness. The impressive thing, I think, is that Ponnelle has done a full translation from stage to film: he takes advantage of all the opportunities a film offers which would be impossible on stage, and then uses them to enhance, rather than distract from, the music. The examle which comes most quickly to mind is what he's done with the recitatives. In the theatre, of course, everyone has to sing live. But here the soundtrack is pre-recorded: so when it makes dramatic sense, the recitatives aren't lipsynched. That is, if the recitative is an aside or somebody's thoughts, then you watch and hear them think it, not say it. It works especially well in the ensembles: when the Countess is simultaneously trying to assuage the Count's suspicions and stressing out about what to say, the only words spoken aloud are the ones to her husband: those to herself are only heard by us. The same technique is used- to surprising good effect- in a few arias as well. In particular, which I know seems unlikely, in 'Non so piu'. The first half is an internal monologue, which we hear while we watch Cherubino, up against a wall, about to collapse with nervous anxiety and adolescent passion. Of course, taking away the lipsynching at these points requires rather a lot of the singers: they have to truly act, without even the act of speech or singing to help them- it's all silent and facial, and they all cope superbly. I'm so impressed. Kiri starts 'Porgi, amor' and her lips don't move: we just see her face, her eyes- and they say it all.

While it wouldn't work as a normal, spoken, film, this Figaro does work wonderfully as an opera film. With the exception of the Act II finale, it never looks stage-y for a moment: everyone moves about with the freedom that film provides, as does the camera. And the direction is excellent: it's genuine comedy, very intelligently done, and put together with a real and obvious commitment to and understanding of the music, which, after all, remains the foundation of it all. I can't applaud it enough. It's genius.

Also tonight, I watched the little mini-documentary that's on the Renée & Bryn DVD. Very nice. I'd still much rather hear them sing opera, but they made their case for doing musical theatre and it wasn't unconvincing. Bryn's a darling, even if he does need a shave; and whether I'm going to listen to it or not, Renée surely is entitled to sing whatever she damn well pleases. I'll watch the Broadway half of the concert one day. Besides, regardless of what they're singing, I just have a weakness for watching the rehearsals and recording sessions of female opera singers. The making-of video for Kathleen's Baroque Duet is like Christmas for me.

Il Castrato

I watched Farinelli: Il Castrato on video tonight. I was underwhelmed. Singing aside, I just didn't think it was a very good movie. The singing thing is interesting, though. Apparently they did clever things with computers and combined the voices of a soprano and a counter-tenor to try and create that unearthly hybrid kind of castrato sound. Of course we've no way of knowing how close they got, but let me say this: I think he must have sounded a little more interesting in order to stir up all the fuss he did. Oh well. The singing scenes were done quite well, though. Lots of Broschi (Riccardo, brother of Carlo aka Farinelli), unfortunately and very little Handel although the man himself kept turning up. Although when we did get to the Handel it was a little strange. Farinelli's quasi-girlfriend had stolen Rinaldo so they staged it. Except from all appearances it's staged as a one-man show: not only is there not a trace of another singer in any of the three excerpts, but Farinelli also takes 'Lascia ch'io pianga' which of course is sung by Almirena, not Rinaldo, correct? Never mind. Speaking of musical biopics, though, there's one I want to see much more than this: Bride of the Wind. It's about Alma Mahler, which is interesting enough, but my true reason: a cameo by Renée Fleming (with Jean-Yves Thibaudet in tow) as Frances Alda. A 'New Zealand's own' we can be proud of, unlike Geoff Sewell. I'm contemplating buying the DVD, really just in order to see that.

So as you might have guessed, yesterday's semi-epiphany is still going strong and I feel closer to understanding the appeal of Miss Renée. I've started being brave, and listening to things I expect most to dislike. Manon's Gavotte for instance. I know she's quite known for singing the role, but I've always been sure that she would be too heavy or something: it's such a big meaty kind of voice (which sounds awful but I know what I mean) and I thought it would surely just swamp something like this. Natalie Dessay, Patricia Petibon, Emma Fraser: they should sing it. Which is true, they should, and Natalie's version is still the best. But Renée's is nothing like I expected: it's clear and sweet and bright and lovely. And then there's the Mozart and Strauss, which I thought- even though it's her specialty- I wouldn't much like and have warmed to like you wouldn't believe. She's starting to remind me a lot of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, and in more ways than one. Less than six months ago, I liked Elisabeth in much the same way I liked Renée- in principle but not in practice. Then I heard her sing 'Come scoglio' which- like Renée's 'Dove sono' tonight I thought would be grating- and instead voilà, I was a fan. But apart from that there are other similarities: her expression, her interpretation and even sometimes the voice itself. Her Countess reminded me a lot of Elisabeth's, as do the two or three lieder I've heard. They don't sound the same, exactly, but there's some sort of resemblance nevertheless. And given the change which my feelings for Elisabeth's voice underwent, things are looking rosy for Renée. An even better sign? 'Or sai chi l'onore'. Even after all this, I was certain this would be no fun at all. It started, it's a live recording, it's too loud, the sound is terrible, she bursts into song and just for a moment I thought 'This is horrible'- but before I could reach for the mouse to turn the damn thing off I'd already totally changed my mind: it's absolutely wonderful. I've never- never, not by Isabel Rey, Edita Gruberova or Joan Sutherland, heard it sound better.

That's two Renée posts in a row now: apologies for my monotony. Maybe I should just devote a whole separate blog to the Renée odyssey and be done with it. After all, who knows- she's such a star these days it would probably get more traffic than this one. This is a joke, by the way, although actually, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all....

I've said it before, but...

Barbara Barbara Barbara! I take this woman for granted and then every now and then I sit down and listen (or watch) and realise that she's bloodstirringly talented and wonderful. This time it was Rosenkavalier on DVD: Felicity Lott as the Marschallin, Anne Sofie von Otter as Octavian, and little Barbara showing us exactly why she's the Sophie of her generation. First of all the whole production is gorgeous from start to finish: no modern interpretation, no feminism, no naked people- just a nice, beautiful, traditionally produced opera. Felicity Lott, while she's not Elisabeth, is still an excellent Marschallin and a convincing and intelligent actress as well. Anne Sofie...well...I think maybe she should just change her name to Quinquin. You could cast Florence Foster Jenkins as Sophie and Anne Sofie's Octavian would probably still make this Rosenkavalier worth watching. I mean, I enjoyed her Mots d'Amour CD but it didn't really prepare me for how fabulous she is. But above even all this fabulousness is little Barbara. Not really little I suppose but she's just unbelievably cute as Sophie: she just captures perfectly that teenaged excitement and anxiety at the first flush of romance. What I like about Sophie is that, as blonde and sweet as she is, she's also not exactly innocent and shy: until she realises he's a fat oaf, she's really very excited at getting a husband- and her first sit-down conversation with Octavian is priceless: reciting his full name to him and talking about how wonderful being married will be; she even says- and I love this- something along the lines of 'I like you much more than any young man I've ever met- but here comes my new husband!' Then of course she realises that he's an overweight gold-digging lech.

And vocally, well, she's to die for. Barbara Bonney never has been your typical opera voice; she's said herself that her focus on lieder causes her to be a different sort of opera singer. It's a good thing, too: there's just something about her Sophie which makes it different, and utterly gorgeous. Apart from anything else, her mastery of lieder means she's got this unbelievable set of skills: she can communicate so well in German that it's like she's speaking (and it's a very conversational sort of opera), her diction is perfect, and she's an unparalleled interpreter. That immediacy and exposed-ness of lieder singing makes her very special on the operatic stage, particularly in an opera like this. Lucia Popp handed the Sophie mantle to Barbara, and that's exactly as things should be: she's very much the deserving heir to that particular throne.

Sticking with Rosenkavalier, I've also finally listened to my highlights of the Elisabeth Schwarzkopf/Christa Ludwig/Teresa Stich-Randall one. It's heaven. Perfectly perfectly beautiful. Which brings me a total this year of three (or two-and-a-half) Rosenkavaliers. After the first one I started feeling all uncultured and ignorant because I had troubles with it; now with every note I think more and more that it's just one of the best things ever written. I mean how could you conduct this, or sing in it, and not just collapse in a heap at the beauty of it all? I mean, just the Marschallin singing "Manchmal steh' ich auf mitten in der Nacht und lass die Uhren alle, alle stehn" has me just about in tears. (What a line, by the way- Hugo von Hofmannstal was clearly brilliant). Even the words 'Octavian...Maria Ehrenreich' have had something done to them musically which makes them beautiful somehow. What I'd always hoped turns out to be increasingly true: Richard Strauss is a composer after my own heart.

There have been other bits of soprano wondrousness in the last few days too. Anne Sofie von Otter's 'Voices of our Time' recital was on the Arts Channel. A recital of Korngold songs and chamber music. I admit, the concept didn't exactly stir me. But then, I had no idea how good a recitalist she was! As I said, I liked her Mots d'amour a lot; and her Octavian was fabulous; but seeing Anne Sofie do lieder was something else entirely. Thinking quickly over all the other 'Voices' recitals I have to say that while, musically speaking, I liked Barbara's and Angelika Kirchschlager's the best, Anne Sofie as an interpreter is unparalleled. In fact she's one of the best I've come across anywhere: certainly on a par with Barbara, who is the Meister(in) of the form these days; and with that commitment and sense of humour on stage that I love in the few bits of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf's lieder prowess that I've seen. Korngold doesn't grab me, not really. Very pretty, obviously, and enjoyable certainly, but it's not exactly Mozart, is it? Nevertheless you couldn't ask for a better proponent of his music than the excellent Anne Sofie. She also wins the prize for most over-qualified pageturner, which is what she does for Bengt Forsberg, while he and her other instrumentalist friends from Sweden play the chamber music.

Oh, and today I think I might have had something of an epiphany. As I mentioned in my year-in-review, I've been frustrated for a while now by Renée Fleming: sometimes I love her, sometimes I don't but what I've wanted is to understand, to appreciate and even to feel the sort of adoration which her fans lavish upon her. Lord knows I've tried: with Bel Canto I thought I was getting there, but it proved not to be the case: I've fallen, and hard, for quite a few sopranos in the last 12 months but no matter how much I wanted her to be, Renée wasn't among them. This was made worse by the fact it was forever being made obvious that she's just about one of the nicest and best people ever: every time I've seen her talk in various documentaries, or read an interview, I love her beyond words: and yet somehow that couldn't feel the same emotion when listening to her sing. But then there was a breakthrough: for the first time, I saw, as well as heard, her sing. 'Bess, you is my woman now' with Bryn Terfel. Not only did I love her a million times more than ever before in terms of personality- I also found myself, for those few minutes, absolutely seduced by the voice on its own as well. So this morning it occured to me that perhaps that's the key to appreciating Renée as much as I want to: film. My mission, then, was a Renée Fleming DVD. Naturally, everything was closed. Except The Warehouse. So all I've managed is a Deutsche Grammophon/Decca sampler. But seeing that the 3 minute trailer for their Renée documentary left me with tears in my eyes, declaring aloud my love for Miss Renée Fleming, I think it's possible I've hit upon something. Tonight has been spent in downloading whatever I could and I find I can listen to it now with different ears. My newly strong adoration helps; I've also found that, if I make the (slight) effort, the very aspects of her voice which were an obstacle for me before, can be turned into things I like: the key, it seems, is to want what's being sung to sound like Renée. Take Rusalka's Song to the Moon, for instance. The last time I heard Renée's, all I heard were the ways in which it was unlike Lucia's. This time, besotted as I've begun to be, I listened instead to all the ways in which it sounded like Renée. It worked: I loved it. My preconceptions and my unjustified decisions about her capabilities and strengths have proved unfounded: the things I thought I wouldn't like her singing are wonderful after all. Schubert's 'Auf dem Wasser zu singen' is indescribable; 'Chi il bel sogno di Doretta', which I was anxious about, was one of the best I've heard since Anna Leese's, and the list goes on. And then there's Renée in the documentary trailer, crying in her rehearsal because the music "breaks my heart": how can you fail to love a woman like this?

This same sampler had some other offerings too, by the way. Cecilia Bartoli in Mozart's Requiem, for a start. I'm not sure when this was recorded, but judging by the dress, the bow in her hair, and the fact that Arleen Auger- who died in 1993- is in it, mean it's over 10 years ago. Which in turn means that whatever you might feel about Cecilia now, this performance shows just how deserving she was and is of her success. I still believe, despite all the Baroque rarities, that she was placed on this earth for Rossini and Mozart- and even this short piece of the Requiem does a lot to prove me right. What else is there? Karita's magnificent Eva in Die Meistersinger. Too much Placido Domingo. Kathleen Ferrier being lovely. And- oh yes, that's right- Anna Netrebko's music video for Rusalka's Song to the Moon. Now, I was prepared for it to be awful, one way or another: the idea doesn't appeal to me anyway, especially on top of the way she's being packaged. I was expecting awful crossover-type behaviour and/or something pretentious and arty and generally terrible. I was all set to disapprove and despair of the future of opera. Do you know what I wasn't expecting? I wasn't expecting to scream with laughter! This isn't a threat to opera- it's just plain stupid! I'm sorry but honestly, what is this supposed to be? It's Anna Netrebko looking pretty, done up like Esther Williams and floating about on an inflatable lilo. Trailing her fingers in the water and lipsynching- if you can call it that. It reminded me of Rise Stevens, talking about making the movie The Chocolate Soldier- where she sang 'Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix', but when it came to filming had to sing an octave lower for the purposes of lipsynching: because singing it properly would make stop her from looking so pretty. The whole affair is just totally ridiculous. I can't even find it in myself to be annoyed about its existence: it's too damn silly to be worried about! Here was I, thinking I was about to be subjected to the pretentions of some arty director: but it's not even very well made. She lies about on this lilo, and then we get these little scenes of her on land (being that she's a waternymph/mermaid- I think Anna would rather be Ariel than Rusalka) stroking a fish-shaped doorhandle and later, stroking a man. And being stroked by a man. And stroking the door of the shower containing said man. And stroking a fishtank. There also seems to be very little relationship between the content of the aria and its presentation here: she might as well be singing her shopping list for all the significance the context of the aria is given. This is the worrying thing though: given that the video is so barely related to the aria, isn't it worrying that the way Anna sings it doesn't betray this fact at all? Oh, it sounds beautiful, absolutely: but it's as soulless and lacking in expression as the video itself. If she was mouthing to Lucia or Renée, for instance, it would be a mess: the feeling and the life in their singing would be in total contrast to the banal film; but voice and video match perfectly here- and it's far from a good thing. This is neither cutting edge art, nor the 'future' of opera, nor even a particularly repellent crossover venture: it's just dumb.

Dear me, once again I've written far too much. I'll stop now.

But I still very much want to hear about people's best and worst of 2004. Go on, stop lurking in the background and leave a comment. You'll make my day.

Oh dear.

If I'm not careful this will turn into the Yvonne Kenny Admiration Society blog, and then everyone will get sick of it and I'll be left alone. So I'll try and get it out of my system now- as far as possible- and then go back to remembering that there are a few thousand other sopranos out there. You see, I just watched The Fairy Queen again. A DVD with 64 tracks has got to be good if you're going to watch it two nights in a row, doesn't it. And it is. I've said all this already today, I know. But there are some more bits of fabulousness which I need to share in case nobody ever gets to see this themselves. Yvonne's sternflammende Königin-style entrance for instance, with thunder and sets falling over. Her 'Ye spirits of the air': you wouldn't think that an aria sung to a pantomime donkey would be so unbelievably beautiful. Her big moment, the lament 'O let me weep'. It sounds a bit like Dido's lament. I've heard it before, on Barbara Bonney's CD Fairest Isle. Yvonne's treatment of it is definitely more operatic and less high and floaty than Barbara's- in their different ways I think both do it perfectly. Barbara's is sung as part of a recital disc of English song, so her ethereal interpretation works; Yvonne's is in context (as far as one can claim any sort of context for anything in this piece of gorgeous nonsense) and the heart and soul she puts in it are just enchanting. And it must be said: she looks the part like you wouldn't believe. The hair, I assume, is a wig, but she looks beautiful, with her Cecilia-style mass of curls and a tiara. The dress is a suitably regal and vivid purple. My Yvonne infatuation is young enough that I can't even begin to pinpoint what it is, vocally speaking, that has me so captivated but she's just got something. After pouring scorn over Chandos' Opera in English, I now find myself listening to Yvonne's CD of Opera in English arias: like the title of this blog, it's the music (and the voice) which comes first- she could be singing the words to a Backstreet Boys song for all I care. And I should put a word in for Purcell too, of whom I'm rather fond right now. The Fairy Queen is such fun I can almost forget the music until suddenly it leaps out at me again and I think, dear me this man was good! He wouldn't, I imagine, have been able to conceive the sort of treatment the work has been given in this production (drag queens and boy-boy couples and women in their underwear and Puck with a suggestive little toy snake) but listening to this music and to the magical quality of it, and realising the theatricality and fun of it all, I can't help but think he would have rather enjoyed it. There are a lot of complaints in the Amazon reviews of this but I think that some traditional, Greek-costumed, staid and straight production would just drain all the spirit out of it. When you see A Midsummer Night's Dream- hell, even if you just read it printed on the page, there's this wonderful sense of otherworldliness and magic and twilight: there are lines which give me goosebumps every time I think of them. And even though all the Shakespeare is gone from this 'semi-opera', that same sense is captured by the music and in this production I think all the strangeness and the colours and the dancing and the fun is exactly as it ought to be.

Right. That's it. Even if I watch it again tomorrow I promise not to write a third review- or I'll try not to at any rate.

Oh, and I've finally listened to my seventh Fledermaus, this time starring Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Nicolai Gedda and Emmy Loose. It's quite possibly the best overall set I've heard. I never thought I'd say that but it's inescapable. Elisabeth is a wonderful actress and also vocally perfect for Rosalinde; Emmy Loose is more soubrettish than I usually like my Adeles, or so I thought- but thirty seconds into 'Da schreibt meine Schwester Ida' I was hooked. The boys are wonderful: Eisenstein, Alfred, Falke- they're all great. This recording by itself makes my six years of German worthwhile: I'm everlastingly grateful that I'm able to follow the plot and appreciate the humour and wonderfulness of it all. I'd pay for this three times over (it was secondhand after all) just to hear the beautifully hilarious disbelief as Elisabeth exclaims 'den Abschiedskuss?!'- she's priceless. I love Lucia like you wouldn't believe but as Rosalinde I think Elisabeth is going to have to claim the throne. Now, if we could only have Elisabeth with Lucia as Adele, everything in the world would be perfect. And I think this set is also going to win the dialogue prize: every moment is funny and well-executed and interesting. Which brings me to a something which is puzzling me a little: it might be in German, but the dialogue in this Fledermaus is strangely familiar. It doesn't match any of the other six I've heard though, or at least I don't think so. So I'm starting to think that what it reminds me of might be the 2002 Dunedin production of Fledermaus. My barely existent memories of that production are a great source of upset to me: I saw it before I really knew how to appreciate it, and certainly before I had come to know every note of it. But listening to this one, vague remembrances seemed to be floating back. Maybe not though. I do wish I could see that Dunedin one again- if only I'd known then just what it was I was seeing.

It's twenty-five past two, and time I think for some bedtime reading: Stephen Fry's Utter and Incomplete History, methinks, with wonderful Yvonne on the stereo. Does it get any better?

Extravagance

All I intended to do when I went into town yesterday was go to the jeweller. But somehow on the way I managed to pick up a Régine Crespin recital DVD, Maria Callas interviews on DVD and a Don Pasquale on CD. I ought, I suppose, to be saving cash for serious CD shopping in Melbourne but I couldn't help myself.

The only one of the three I've played so far is the Régine Crespin DVD. It's part of a very very exciting looking series by EMI called 'Classic Archive'. Disk Den has a whole heap of them. Archive performances, restored and on DVD for $24.95. $24.95! I almost bought more, but decided that, cheap as it was, Maria Callas' 1958 Paris recital deserved to go to an adoring fan rather than me. Anyway, Régine. It's a fabulous DVD. Three Berlioz arias from 1965, a good chunk of a Liederabend from 1964, and then a couple of songs from 1972. This woman is one of the best lieder singers I've seen: quite apart from the gorgeous voice, she's captivating to watch and really makes something of whatever song she's singing. The Ravel song, 'Le Paon', is unbelievable to watch. It's a rather funny little story about a jilted groom which she sings with such sincerity and humour that it's almost like someone just standing there telling the story- you almost forget she's singing. Except that of course you can't forget she's singing because she's singing so fabulously. I continue in my love of this voice, something I'm very glad to report: until tonight all I'd heard from her was a couple of Verdi arias and an Offenbach one so I'm very happy to find that she's just as impressive in lieder. Her 'Lachen and Weinen' is another wonderful one to watch as well as hear. And then of course there's the French stuff where she's an Unparalled Goddess. Fauré has had me melting all over the place in the last week and this is no exception: 'Soir' is gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. And the Berlioz arias! From what I've read, Berlioz was a bit of a calling card for Mme Crespin, and rightly so. She's stunning. The technically knowledgeable will have ways of describing her voice; I don't particularly. It's this strong powerful instrument and yet there's this sort of lightness and effortlessness to it as well, if that makes sense. It's a big and impressive voice, but it's warm and friendly as well, and pretty in its own way. All of which works wonders when she comes to the Berlioz. 'Le Spectre de la Rose' from 'Les Nuits d'été' is perfect.

And as if Régine weren't enough on her own, the DVD comes with a bonus. A French soprano I've never heard of before called Denise Duval. She sings Poulenc: three arias, filmed in 1959, and two songs, from 1961. All of which mightn't be particularly except for one thing: her accompanist is M. Poulenc himself. I have to say, although Poulenc mightn't be my favourite composer ever, it's pretty neat to see the composer himself playing his own work. Even better, in the (rather hilarious) aria from Les Mamelles de Tirésias he himself takes the part of the husband, half-speaking half-singing his lines and obviously enjoying them. The whole spectacle is rather odd: Thérèse goes on a bit of a feminist rampage and turns into a man- Tiresias. Meanwhile her husband has little more to say than 'Bring me some meat'. However my favourite Denise Duval-Francis Poulenc moment is the songs. According to the notes these seem to have been filmed in Poulenc's studio. The two of them were good friends and it shows. First she sings a rather lovely little song, 'Les Anges musiciens' ("Car c'est toujours Mozart que reprennent sans fin les anges musiciens"). Then there's a rather gorgeous little exchange, as she leans over and pages through his music to find the song she'd like to sing next- 'Quelle aventure!'- tells him, and then, while singing it, acts as his page-turner as well. Very sweet. Not exactly worth $24.95 on its own, but almost.

At some point I'll watch the Maria Callas interviews. The DVD- called The Callas Conversations consists of her conversations with Lord Harewood and also an interview with Bernard Gavoty. Then there are three arias- 'Adieu, notre petite table', 'Ah, non credea mirarti' and 'O mio babbino caro'. As regular readers can no doubt guess, it's not the arias that I bought the DVD for. However, they should be interesting. And the interviews I'm looking forward to: whatever my opinion du jour of her singing, Maria is utterly fascinating when interviewed. And if the Lord Harewood interview is the one I think it is- excerpted in the Maria Callas documentary on earlier this year- then she's also absolutely fabulously gorgeous in it.

The Don Pasquale, by the way, has two distinctions. Firstly, some singularly hideous cover art; secondly, a Norina sung by a certain excellent Slovakian. I downloaded Lucia's 'Quel guardo il cavaliere' quite some time ago and it's one of my favourite things ever; so when I saw the whole opera secondhand for $25.95, I ignored the fact that it only has one soprano, and succumbed. I'm sure it will be fabulous. For the moment, however, I'm rejoicing in Haydn's Armida with its double treat: Cecilia Bartoli and Patricia Petibon. Thankyou Mr Harnoncourt.

Quartet

Do you know, I think I might need to write a fan letter to Anthony Ritchie. Or else find an opportunity to throw myself at his feet with Wayne's World-type cries of 'I'm not worthy'. The man is a genius, pure and simple.

Yes, there is a reason for my outburst. I accidentally stumbled across his chamber opera Quartet this evening. Well, can I call it an accident? I saw it listed on the Concert FM schedule a week or two ago and made a mental note (also known as a guarantee I'll forget) to remember and listen to it. I forgot about it, naturally, but was reminded after the Sunday opera last weekend (a somewhat lacklustre L'elisir d'amore) and thought, yes, I really must remember to listen to that. So of course I proceeded to forget about it entirely. But arriving home tonight at half past nine-ish from my Italian lesson I decided I'd rather have Concert FM than Michael Palin being intrepid. I turned the radio on. Two thoughts struck me simultaneously: dear me, modern opera; and dear me, this is great. Seconds later, when I realised they were singing in English, everything flooded back to me and I knew that I was listening to Anthony Ritchie's Quartet. I can't tell you the triumph I felt: usually things conspire against me, but here I was, despite my hopeless memory, actually hearing it after all. And loving it. Not only wonderful music but excellent singers making sense of a fantastic and very very funny libretto. It was captivating and perfect and I was feeling dangerously pleased with myself. Dangerously? Yes. Because (I should have known) what I'd in fact managed to do was catch about the last 15 minutes. Just as I was getting seriously involved, bang, it was over. Needless to say, I am not a very happy chappy.

However, I'm happy at least that I did get to hear some of it. It truly was brilliant. The Arts Festival website has a good description, so I'll quote it here:
The Ithaca String Quartet begin their New Zealand tour on the beautiful West Coast, but although their performances radiate harmony and idealism, behind the scenes they are riven with greed, jealousy and backbiting.
Violinist Penelope is married to Julian, a budding composer, but she’s developing an unhealthy friendship with Buddy. Julian, meanwhile, is obsessed with the manic depressive Russian violinist Nadezdha, who can’t stand his pretentious compositions. As the stresses of touring increase, can the group keep it together for the tour’s finale – the Arts Festival? A remarkable collaboration between one of New Zealand’s leading composers and one of her major playwrights, Quartet is a delightfully anarchic comedy chamber opera that combines exquisitely crafted music with a wickedly witty libretto in a hilarious and memorable night out.
It's even better than it sounds, I think. Can I make that judgement, having heard so little? I think so. Wish I'd heard more. Wish I'd seen it. Anthony Ritchie is a Very Important Person.

One other thing before I go. I've prepared a little something, if you've the time/energy/inclination. I mentioned a few days ago the surreal DVD of Jean-Pierre Ponnelle's 1975 Carmina Burana. Well, in a very low-tech roundabout and no doubt not very legal way (dark living room + digital camera + pause button on remote) I've managed to put together a few photos of the production. And you can see them here. (Let me know if it doesn't work). Of course, this is but a taste: there's all sorts of other amazing/bizarre stuff too; really I think you could freeze absolutely any frame in the whole film and get some sort of weird image. Anyway, enjoy.

(Also, apologies if you're having trouble reading the blog, I'll get the colours sorted out soon I hope.)

Libiamo

If Mozart had never been born then there's a good chance that La traviata would be my favourite opera. I mean it's like a greatest hits CD. Never a dull moment. I don't even skip the Prelude, and I'm usually very much a philistine about things instrumental which delay the appearance of sopranos. Of course it helps that it's such a soprano-based opera, and that so many fabulous women have sung Violetta. Traviata plus Anna Moffo is really just an unbeatable combination. I haven't seen her film of it yet although it's at the top of my wishlist; the chunk of it that's on Volume 1 of the Bell Telephone Hour DVDs is absolutely gorgeous. But actually I tend to love Violetta no matter who's singing her: it's such fabulous music that if you can sing it then you will be wonderful. Joan Sutherland's diction and pronunciation and accent might all be abysmal but I still love her singing 'Sempre libera'; I'm far from being a Maria Callas fan (sorry, sorry) but I have a highlights record of her Traviata which I bought in order to hear her 'Teneste la promessa...Addio del passato' (I like the spoken bit almost as much as the singing) without paying the earth for the whole opera- and it was compelling listening.

So what I'm getting at (partly) is that when I got a video of La traviata from the public library last night I knew that I'd enjoy it regardless. But of course this was helped somewhat by the presence of some Romanian woman called Angela. Actually, I thought watching Angela's Traviata might be a bit risky. It was, I think, this production which turned her into a supersuperstar, so I knew it should be fantastic. On the other hand, though, I haven't exactly been feeling well disposed towards Ms Gheorghiu of late, voice-wise and personality-wise, so there was the possibility that I might feel obliged to pick holes in her performance or at least to be determinedly unimpressed- in this part particularly she has a lot of hype to live up to. Well of course as it turned out, even if I'd wanted desperately to find fault, I just couldn't have. She's Perfect with a capital P. I mean it. My heart belongs to Anna Moffo, but there nevertheless is not a thing wrong with Angela's Violetta. True, she doesn't for the high note (an Amazon reviewer said it's an E? I wouldn't have a clue) at the end of 'Sempre libera' but who cares? She's one of the best actresses I've seen anywhere (not just opera) and to go with it there's this beautiful voice.

But I have to say, it did take me a little while to warm to the voice. In fact, for the first fifteen minutes or so I considered turning the video off and going and listening to Anna instead. Not that it wasn't good but it didn't strike me as particularly stunning either, and I couldn't quite see the point of sitting and listening to something I wasn't interested in for two hours. But once everyone disappeared and Violetta was by herself, such thoughts were but a distant memory. No weird behaviour, no smashing of champagne glasses: just a soprano being magnificent. From then on I enjoyed every minute of it. It's no wonder this did such wonders for her career.Apart from the acting skills, she really does sound gorgeous and like she really knows what she's on about. It may or may not be the case now, but at this point she really was thinking about the words and their meaning and their relation to the music and all that stuff which makes for a brilliant interpretation.

And the others in the cast are more or less worthy of her too: Angela isn't the only one who manages to act convincingly. In fact for the first time ever I felt genuinely sorry for Alfredo. (Usually he seems so unworthy of his fabulous Violetta/Marguerite that I don't really care). Frank Lopardo really has rather a lovely voice too. And Leo Nucci was suitably infuriating as Germont père. I just cannot stand that man, and I wish he would go away. He's bizarre. Especially when he turns up at the party: I can't help but think he's only there in Alfredo's mind. Because why on earth would anybody in their right mind invite such an unpleasant, interfering old man? I'm being pedantic I know but honestly: the man ought to get a life, instead ruining other people's. Vocally I wasn't too interested in Leo Nucci but he was fine. Flora too sounded rather nice, but she looked absolutely frightening. And I might also mention Sir Georg Solti. I usually fast forward overtures but I thought I might actually take the chance this time to watch him in action. He was rather fascinating. And looks like a bit of a sweetheart, although I might be wrong (and he's not as cute as Leonard Bernstein). In any case he still, I think, holds the world record for most Grammy awards.

Back to Angela Gheorghiu. This quite possibly is the most I'll ever write about her! What I wondered was whether watching her Traviata would change my feelings at all. I thought it might; in fact I don't think it has. I still think it's a lovely voice (more so then than now perhaps) but it still doesn't give me that kick I get from the girls I adore. Technically speaking she might be better than Anna but I still think Anna is the best Violetta I've ever experienced. In any case though, as far as the whole package goes, Angela as Violetta in 1994 (I'm not going to make any generalisations here) is unbeatable. I mightn't have been surprised as such, but I certainly was captivated. And she's, well, not exactly hideous to look at either.

I've written enough now, I know, but I do have other news. Turn green with envy, one and all. I want to the big Echo Records (I don't want to say Real Groovy even though that's what it is now) and had a look, surprise surprise, in their secondhand classical CD section. I don't know why. For those unaware, this 'section' consists of some Charlotte Church, too much Andrea Bocelli, Relaxing Classics and not much else. So imagine my shock when I came across this: Renée Fleming: Handel Arias. I kid you not. Renée's brand new CD, secondhand for $19.95. Somebody owned this and decided to get rid of it. The mind boggles. However, their loss is my gain- and a cheap one too. Don't you wish you had my luck? But enough gloating; I'd better go and listen to it!

Odd

So here's the idea: You take Nicolai's opera Die Lustigen Weiber von Windsor, or at least an English translation thereof. Gather a few singers together, and take them to Croatia, where you have them lip synch their parts while you film them in a simulated 16th century English village in Zagreb. And of course you sing Sir John Falstaff yourself.

Or at least, that's what you do if you're Norman Foster, whose production of The Merry Wives of Windsor I watched on video last night. It's from the 60s. And as I said: it involved a bunch of singers lipsynching in an English village built in Croatia. It's very odd and surprisingly good. Colette Boky and Mildred Miller are Mistresses Ford and Page (I can never remember which one is which). And (you probably know the story) they generally set about dealing to the rather revolting Falstaff who looks eerily like Henry VIII in this film. And Falstaff is sung by Norman Foster, who also is producer, director and author of the screenplay. So it seems like Norman got it into his head that he simply had to do this opera and thus did so: no doubt the Zagreb Symphony Orchestra's fees were a little more affordable in 1965 than, say, the New York Philharmonic's. So he's obviously having a wonderful time throughout, since his project has come to fruition. And in fact everyone looks like they're enjoying themselves. Plus it's always fun to watch people lipsynch opera as if it's speech: Colette Boky hitting supersonic notes apparently without opening her mouth, that sort of thing.

But despite all this, I'd probably never volunteer to watch this rather odd bit of opera if it weren't for one thing: the subplot. Any good Shakespearean comedy has one, and this one concerns Anne, the daughter of Mildred Miller (possibly Mistress Page), who is in love with Fenton. Unfortunately her father wants her to marry someone named Slender, and her mother wants her married to Dr Caius. Nevertheless she triumphs in the end and marries the one she wants and everyone lives happily (and possibly rather intoxicatedly) ever after. And why is this of such intense interest to me? Because Anne Page in this film is the lovely Miss Lucia Popp. Very sweet and blonde and 26 years old. She's singing in English but sometimes the only way you can tell is the fact that everybody else is, so she must be. So whereas an American singer who pronounced French like it was English would earn scathing remarks, I think English sounds much better if it's pronounced like Slovak. This is very very early in Lucia's career, only two years after her début and one year after she recorded her legendary Königin der Nacht with Otto Klemperer. As you can imagine, then, she's in fabulous voice; and she's very funny too. Anyway, it doesn't matter if you can't understand most of what she's singing because even when you can it's very silly. My personal favourite: Anne Page has been provided with the means simultaneously to foil the plans of both would-be husbands: so she looks straight at the camera and in best Lucia Popp voice sings: 'Two for the price of one!' It's brilliant. Her one true love Fenton is a bit dorky and of course entirely unworthy but not to worry. And we end with a wedding banquet for Anne and Fenton, where Lucia seems to be in particularly high spirits- and at times looks like she's just moving her lips with no idea of the words she's supposedly mouthing. All of which just serves to make her even more wonderful of course. I think this film was conceived as a Norman Foster Vehicle but certainly voice-wise Lucia is the star; in terms of acting everyone does rather a good job and has fun. Would I recommend it? Lord knows. Depends what floats your boat. But I enjoy it a lot.

And CD du jour comes as rather a surprise to me. I've never wanted or needed any of those Maria Callas EMI operas: you know, the ones where the name 'Maria Callas' is about a million times bigger than those of the opera and its composer, which just on principle bothers me a bit. Add to that the fact that I don't generally feel the need to listen to a whole opera worth of Maria Callas, and it's understandable that I don't own any. Of course, there was always the possibility that I'd be lured by the other singers in the cast: Anna Moffo for instance, in La Bohème: except I'd rather wait until I find Anna's own Bohème than spend all that money for a Musetta I love and a Mimì I could do without. However this is all beside the point now really, because I have bought one of them. This one. Turandot. With Elisabeth Schwarzkopf as Liu, you see. And it was $30, secondhand. Well worth it. I had no idea: other than 'Signore, ascolta', introduced to me by Ruth Ann Swenson, I've never had much to do with Turandot, but I like it. And Maria, while far from being a favourite, is still sounding OK in 1957. I prefer Birgit Nilsson's 'In questa reggia' but Maria is far more enjoyable in this than some other things I've heard. But I bought it for Elisabeth and she's stunningly stunningly gorgeous. Absolutely perfect. Plus Liu has a lot more to sing than I realised, luckily enough. The boys aren't bad either (I've never heard of them, but then my knowledge of male singers is somewhat..limited). Definitely worth my $30, and possibly even the $64.95 it costs new. Actually it might have been nice to have it new: whoever the strange person was who decided they didn't want to own this CD anymore held on to the liner notes.

Oh and I'm looking forward to the Marama Hall concert on Wednesday: anyone singing?

Ariadne auf Naxos

A Richard Strauss update: I love Ariadne auf Naxos. I watched it on DVD last night and had so much fun. At this point I'll admit I don't know which aspect of it charmed me most: the music, or the plot, or the wonderful staging of it. Until last night I literally hadn't ever heard anything from the opera, not even accidentally; I also didn't know the plot, other than that it was an opera-within-an-opera sort of thing. So for the first time in ages, I could actually follow the plot of an opera, with no idea of what was to happen next. It was excellent.

BREAKING NEWS. Well not exactly, but I've only just heard about it. My mother just arrived home today from London and tells me that Magdalena Kozena has run off with Simon Rattle!! How scandalous! How wonderful! I'm off to go and learn more. Rather exciting though, isn't it?

The singers were excellent too. I kept wanting Sophie Koch as the Composer to be Susan Graham, simply because the way she looked reminded me so much of photos I've seen of Susan is costume for that part- but I was more than happy to listen to Sophie singing it. The Prima Donna/Ariadne, Susan Anthony, was wonderful, and the Tenor/Bacchus wasn't bad either. But my absolute favourite was Iride Martinez as Zerbinetta. She was absolutely adorable and sang perfectly, getting two rounds of applause for her "Grossmächtige Prinzessin", performed to the ostensible accompaniment of the Composer, who appeared from time to time as Ariadne was being performed: to, I might add, a 'stage audience' as well as the real live Dresden one- that is, we were aware at all times that the opera Ariadne auf Naxos was the opera within the opera. If you follow me.

Musically, naturally, the opera is stunning. But I think the whole thing benefits even further from, in my opinion, excellent staging. The action has been updated, although to precisely when is unclear. The costumes are bright and unusual, including a to-die-for red dress with glittery snakes as straps for Zerbinetta. And the man- I'm not sure what his function within the house is exactly- who comes to deliver the orders of the patron in whose house the opera (and the burlesque to follow) are to be staged is very very funny as he gives out the ridiculous command that the opera seria and opera buffa are to be combined.

There's much more I could say, but I don't think I can really put across just how good I think this production- and this opera- are. Let's say, though, it's made me want to hear other people sing it and see other productions, and I think that that's always a good sign. And also, the other DVD production of Ariadne auf Naxos features Kathleen Battle as Zerbinetta: I'd love to see that.

And finally, a CD du jour: Lucia Popp sings Richard Strauss. I don't own this CD but my father does and after last night's triumph with Ariadne I think it's about time I had a proper listen.

Does everybody out there know about House of Opera? I came across it last year. It's a very very dangerous place. Non-commercially released tapes, CDs, videos and DVDs of operas, recitals and some masterclasses. Everything and everybody is to be found here somewhere. The selection is unbelievable. I don't want to turn into an advertisement though. There are some drawbacks: sound and picture quality vary (sometimes the recordings are done for TV, but sometimes they're just filmed from the audience); there are generally no subtitles; and it's rather overwhelming trying to browse through the site. Everything is well organised, essentially, but there's so much of it that I've found the only way to cope is to search someone or something in particular, rather than trying to wade through everything.

Amazingly, all I've got from them so far is 4 Lucia Popp DVDs- Così, Arabella, Die Fledermaus and a documentary about her. Three of them are perfectly watchable. Così, which I finally watched the night before last, is rather different. The sound is OK but it's filmed at such a distance that I found it rather difficult going. Really it was only a small step up from sitting and doing nothing but listen to the whole opera, all the way through, for which I've never had the attention span. My devotion to Lucia meant I wasn't about to give up, and there was the odd closeup, albeit a little fuzzy. So I watched the whole three hours; it was a little surreal. I remembered enough of the plot from my DVD of Cecilia's Zürich Così to follow most of it; but Dorabella (Anne Murray) and Fiordiligi (Lucia) were so similarly costumed that I often had to wait until one of them sang and then look to see whose mouth was moving in order to tell them apart. They, and Liliana Nichiteanu (who's also in the one with Cecilia, this time as Dorabella) as Despina, held my attention rather well considering the circumstances- but that's because they're sopranos/mezzos. They left me with even less energy left to give much thought to the boys. So I shan't even try to comment.

Lucia was excellent as usual although I have heard her sounding even better- but this might be due as much to the substandard recording as to anything else. Anne Murray was very good too- I enjoyed her 'Smanie implacabile' especially- but when she was sharing the stage with Fiordiligi, well, my eyes and ears where elsewhere. Liliana was well-suited to her part I thought, although her Despina was nowhere near as hilarious as her Dorabella is. Lucia's 'Per pieta' got an enormous ovation. The production itself was fine. As far as I could make the characters were in semi-Victorian costume, and when Ferrando and Guglielmo were dressed up, I think they were in Greek traditionally costume. This, however, is a guess based solely on a Tintin book where Thompson and Thomson dress up this way. The cleverest bit of it, I thought, were the first few scenes, where everybody was naturally, but frequently, swapping places- so that one character would start to sing to another, before realising his/her lover was the other one. It all fit in rather nicely with what was to come; unfortunately the rest of the production wasn't quite as clever. Enjoyable enough though: I have no doubt that those who were actually there must have enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, filmed in the way it has been, the transition to the TV screen is not wonderfully successful. Where's Brian Large when you need him?

CD du jour: Lucia Popp: Die schönsten deutschen Kinder- und Wiegenlieder. For the Germanically challenged: children's songs and lullabies. It's a little (or very) silly perhaps but very cute too. And Lucia being Lucia, it's also a fabulous CD. She's in magnificent voice, but there's nothing over the top: they're just little songs, and she does them appropriately. It's great fun and very pretty. We had the cassette tape of this when I was very very little, and some of the songs are among my very first 'operatic' memories.

'Cute' is probably not the first word that springs to mind in thinking about Brünnhilde. But on the video The Art of Singing: Golden Voices of the Century, Kirsten Flagstad's 'Hojotoho' is just that: adorably cute. The video is a collection of opera singers on film, from Caruso, Ponselle and Tetrazzini through to Joan Sutherland, Maria Callas, and, probably the most recent, Jon Vickers. Some clips are more interesting than others; quite a few are lipsynched; but as a whole it's fascinating and a lot of fun.

You can see Rosa Ponselle's 1936 MGM screentests for Carmen, singing 'Les tringles des sistres tintaient' and the Habanera; Luisa Tetrazzini late in life singing along to a Caruso recording; Renata Tebaldi and Jussi Björling in the final scene of Act I of La Bohème; Boris Christoff's definitive and very scarily made-up Boris Gudunov; and the list goes on.

But to get back to Kirsten. Hers is probably my favourite bit of the whole video. Her performance was obviously part of some variety show type thing- she's introduced by a very very youthful looking Bob Hope, who doesn't crack a single joke. Maybe the producers thought she'd scare everyone if she went into full warcry mode, or maybe she just wanted to have fun- in any case, she certainly seems to be having the best time in the world with her aria, grinning away and waving her spear. She's adorable- and the voice, naturally, is gorgeous. I've never really felt the urge to introduce myself to Wagner, outside the odd aria ('Dich teure Halle' most notably) that turns up on a recital disc. I don't particularly feel that urge now either- but if I had no choice but to do the Wagner thing, I'd definitely want Kirsten to be there.

CD du jour: The Sorceress: Kiri Te Kanawa. Our public library has the video this but I have yet to see it. I have the CD though. It's a collection of Handel arias from various operas which I gather they put together to make a sort of one-soprano show type opera. I'm not sure. But Kiri does Handel supremely well. I really should get that video out some day.

Rosenkavalier

Tonight I watched Richard Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier on video. Lucia Popp (Sophie), Brigitte Fassbaender (Octavian) and Gwyneth Jones (The Marschallin) in 1979. Doing so is something I've had to talk myself into. More from reading about it than listening to it, I know that Strauss is a challenge to your average listener, which is what I unquestionably am. I was prepared for a very long three hours. Actually it went quite quickly.

I didn't by any means have a Richard Strauss induced musical epiphany. In fact, having half-watched an Arabella earlier this year, the music was more or less as I expected; it was just that that expectation added to my preconceptions had me prepared for difficulties. It was difficult, to an extent. You can't sit back and absorb the sound without thinking; and there's no division really between recitative and aria, it's all just one long line. The only 'hit' is 'Mir ist die Ehre widerfahren' which, thanks to a Lucia Popp greatest hits double CD, I know and absolutely love. But every now and then I stopped and thought properly about what I was hearing, which, more often than not, was one, two or three absolutely gorgeous female voices making wonderful sounds. And there's nothing wrong with that.

In any case, the challenge of sitting through three hours with only the one 'oh I know that one' moment to hold on to was made much less daunting by the three women heading up the cast. I'm really not sure whom I should rave about first. Perhaps the fairest approach is to do it in order of appearance.

The very first words of the opera are Octavian's. Brigitte Fassbaender. I have her in two different forms as Orlofsky in Die Fledermaus (by that other Strauss..) and nothing else. So this was nice, since Orlofsky doesn't really afford too many opportunities to show off- and Brigitte deserves to show off.

Gwyneth Jones was quite simply a ravishing Marschallin. I don't much like that word, but I can't think of another. She didn't just sound beautiful, she looked it: so it was doubly easy to understand Octavian's entrancement. But I might lose what little credibility I have by focusing on appearance over voice.

But Lucia Popp was the star. I wouldn't mind listening exclusively to Richard Strauss for the rest of my life if she sang it. Her Sophie was heavenly and just adorable. All three women were excellent, but Lucia was the only one who made me melt the way I do with Mozart. 'Mir ist die Ehre widerfahren' (The Presentation of the Rose) was stunning, as it should be. It's an amazing scene. Not only is the singing gorgeous, but the orchestra really seems to lift it out as a moment separate from everything else that happens before and after in the opera. There are brief hints of the same music (at least I think there are) in other places, but never, not even when Sophie and Octavian are finally together, does everything reach that same sense of magic and romance. I might even go so far as to say it sounds silver, but perhaps that's only because I've always known it was associated with a silver rose.

As usual I've left out the men. But Strauss, like me, loved sopranos, so this time I'm not even going to try to amend the situation. Der Rosenkavalier belongs to its women.

The production, by the way was a very pretty and very traditional one. Which I liked: I'm easily won over by lavish sets and beautiful dresses, and it's nice sometimes not to be obliged to think about the action on any deeper level. The uncertainty as to whether Sophie's and Octavian's romance will last was conveyed, definitely, but it wasn't overdone, and there didn't seem to be any particular effort to make the audience find any deep&meaningful message about life. And I particularly liked Sophie's little handkerchief. She held on to it throughout the opera, only to drop it as she finally left, arm in arm with her beloved Octavian; and then one of the little servant boys picked it up and ran after her. I'm only guessing, and I don't want to get to symbolic, but I imagine that the handkerchief was Sophie's maidenhood, which she held on to despite Baron von Ochs' unwelcome attentions and finally lost when she was united with Octavian. Then again maybe I'm reading too much into it.

Anyway, this post seems to be lasting longer than the opera did, so I'll come to an end. I haven't seen any other Rosenkavaliers and honestly I'm not very likely to, but even so I recommend this one highly.

CD du jour is Great Opera Divas: Lucia Popp. Two CDs of uninterrupted bliss. Strauss (Richard and Johann), Wagner, Mozart, Dvorak, Puccini and dozens more, everyone's here and there's not one single moment in all of it that I could find fault in. In fact I can't even nominate a favourite moment either: it's all fabulous.

Last night saw me involved in a double operatic experiment. I watched La traviata (I've got the capitalisation right now) on DVD. This was an experiment because 1. I've never seen it before, and never heard it all the way through in one sitting and 2. It was the first time I've watched an opera DVD/video which didn't feature one of my beloved girls (Magdalena, Cecilia, Anna, Lucia etc.).

This was a Glyndebourne Festival Opera production from 1988. Not a filmed staging as such, not a film either. It's a TV production filmed with very elaborates which nevertheless are clearly sets: that is, it feels like a stage production, excepting the close ups and unusual angles which remind you that what you're watching would never work on stage: there's so much importance placed on subtle facial expressions, or in seeing just where Alfredo is in the crowd at Flora's party. All this makes for a slightly odd viewing experience at first: you're watching something which seems like it should have an audience, but you can tell at the same time that there isn't one.

But you get used to it. And this is due in so small part to the surprising and impressive Marie McLaughlin as Violetta. La traviata wouldn't be much without its traviata and Ms. McLaughlin does rather a stunning job. The voice is lovely, and so too is the acting- I was especially impressed by her ability turn the recitative into something as convincing and natural as spoken dialogue. However the spooky thing about Marie is that sometimes she looks like a certain other, rather famous Violetta- by the name of Maria. Perhaps I'm the only person to see this resemblance, but I found it rather eerie. She didn't always look like Maria, but there were passages, especially in the third act, where I realised that I was watching it almost as if it really was Maria Callas on stage. I don't think necessarily that Marie McLaughlin looks like Maria generally speaking, but here, a combination of complexion, make-up and the standard Violetta-type costumes and hairstyles made it, for me anyway, rather spooky. And although I'm far from being a Maria Callas fan, vocally speaking, I think she's fabulously gorgeous- and watching this traviata made me wish I could see hers.

Leaving aside that issue, though, the production as a whole was very enjoyable. But I have to say, I was thankful to Verdi for having filled the opera so completely with such fabulous, sweep-you-up music- because when the singers hit their arias, they tended to stop moving. The singing was beautiful, but pretty stationary: lots of sitting down, or standing in one position throughout. Then again, I don't expect opera singers to run and jump and climb trees and sing the hell out of their arias- so if I had to choose I'd prefer it performed like this. I should probably mention the Alfredo and Germont somewhere in here. They were very good vocally; dramatically I wasn't too happy with them. I've read reviews elsewhere which disagree, but I found Walter McNeil's Alfredo altogether too detached: he never seemed as desperately in love as he should have, and his third act reunion with Violetta just didn't have the chemistry I'd have liked to see. Brent Ellis as Germont was a little better, but unfortunately costumed more like a comic-opera old man than anything else: which made all his paternal action a little less than credible. However the lovely Marie made up for all around her- and in fact, despite what I've been saying, there really isn't a weak link in the show at all.

CD du jour: Kathleen Battle: Mozart Arias. Kathleen has a couple of Mozart CDs. This one's conducted by André Previn, exists as an EMI Red Line disc (so it can be found at a bargain price) and mostly consists of concert arias. I won't bore you with the same rhapsodizing as ever about Kathleen- enough to say it's absolutely up to her usual fabulous standard.

O Fortuna

According to website of the City of Dunedin Choir (a very impressive choir who used to be more impressively named Schola Cantorum), we now have an official date for their performance of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana with (I'm recalling this from the Messiah programme last December, so I may be mistaken) the St Kilda Brass Band. It's to be on November the 6th. Which is rather a long way off, admittedly. But naturally what I'm really hanging out for is the announcement of the soloist- although whoever they are, I'll definitely be there.

All this means I finally have an excuse to talk about the one complete Carmina Burana I've ever experienced. It's a DVD, from 1973. And I don't know whether surreal or scary is the better word for it. It's not what you'd see on stage: it takes up more space and does more things than would ever be possible in an actual opera house; and because of that, everyone's lip synching. How are the voices? Well one would assume, since it stars Hermann Prey and Lucia Popp, that they're fabulous; but in my once-ever viewing of this, I was more than a little distracted by the visual aspects. Now all this shouldn't be taken as criticism. It's a very very impressive production. But it has some very nearly naked people and lot of, as I said, surreal imagery. It's hard for me to describe. But remind yourself that it was made in 1973 and then add that to the fact that it's all about spring and fertility, and all very pagan-seeming. This is not a religious text.

I can see I haven't done a very good job of describing what it is to watch this Carmina Burana. I will go questing and see if I can find some pictures- or at least somebody who has managed to articulate it better than I have.

I've since revisited a few of the tracks- suprisingly enough, the soprano solos. And equally surprising, Lucia is excellent. She has the sort of voice that can melt you in a moment while still remaining pure and gorgeous and perfect, and I think that the soprano part of Carmina Burana works especially well with that. The rest of the piece (I don't know quite what else to call it. Opera? Well, no. Oratorio? Not really.) I'm not so familiar with (excepting O Fortuna, obviously) but all in all I think it's rather captivating. I saw a review which mentioned its ability to evoke physical as well as emotional reactions, and I think that's probably quite right.

Can't wait to hear the City of Dunedin Choir sing it either. They're excellent. And here's hoping we get some soloists of equal stature.

Cd du jour: Well, I don't want to get repetitive, but I'm afraid it's yet another Magdalena Kozena one. Well, I am after all a member of the official Magdalena Kozena fan club. Indeed. It's very easy: free membership, just sign up at her very pretty website, www.kozena.cz. Anyway, the CD is Magdalena Kozena: Songs. It's a programme of exclusively- be brave- 20th century music, in five different languages- none of which are her native Czech. There's Ravel, Shostakovich, Schulhoff, Respighi and Britten. Yes, Britten: Magdalena sings in English! Lullabies too. Now I won't pretend this is a particularly easy album. And I won't necessarily recommend it either. I bought it because Magdalena's one of my girls; if it had been by someone less important to me, I'd have steered well clear. But I've listened to it a few times now, and it improves and improves on me. Last night especially: rather than have it in the background, I sat there with texts in hand and followed the songs. And then today, there were a few little passages stuck in my head. So while it's not something I'm rushing either to recommend, or to put on my CD player this instant, it does get to be the CD du jour.

P.S. If you are interested in the above CD, don't let the, well, odd cover photo put you off. Opera CD cover design seems to get weirder all the time, and it seems like someone inspired by Annie Lennox got their hands on Magdalena's photo, messed with her pigmentation and left her looking slightly like an alien. But she's back to her usual pretty self inside. I guess the photo works with the whole 20th century composer thing, but I think it's just unflattering.