Prima la musica, poi le parole

Wishlist

For the first time in my life, I'm anticipating the announcement of an opera season which will contain more than two operas, and which I'll actually be able to see without flying anywhere. Quite thrilling, really. And of course, being a natural maker of lists, I'm thinking now about what — regardless of likelihood — I'd like to see.

I would like, for one thing, some Richard Strauss. The situation, after all, is quite absurd — I have a deep and abiding passion for Strauss and yet I've never ever seen any of his operas live. Top of the list? Well, you'd expect it to be Rosenkavalier and it sort of is, but my real secret wish is in fact Ariadne auf Naxos. It fascinates me. And I don't know it particularly well, but I'd like the chance to change that. Elektra would be fun too.

Mozartwise, I should probably want Die Zauberflöte. Of the Big Five it's the only one I've never seen live. Well, that's not entirely true. I saw it when I was very very tiny, and retained nothing but the Queen of the Night's aria and the image of Pamina with knife in hand. So it's still on the to-do list. And yet... musically speaking, what I would actualy quite like is another Idomeneo. Pinchgut did it last year but I'd be happy to see it again — I know it's not everybody's favourite Mozart (is it anybody's) but there's just something about it I like. Not the plot. But Ilia's music is just gorgeous for one thing. If not Idomeneo I wouldn't mind a Cosi, I suppose, provided the cast was fabulous.

Then there are the wishes I know will never be granted. Like Rameau. I know. Baroque opera at Opera Australia means Handel and maybe Purcell. And to tell the truth, could any production of Les indes galantes match the Arts Florissants one? Doubtful. Meanwhile I at least have Pinchgut to provide a bit of less-than-standard baroque fare — Vivaldi's Juditha triumphans this year and who knows what in 2008.

I always want Poulenc, naturally. I would take any of the three. Les mamelles de Tirésias would be such fun though it would need to be coupled with something else. L'enfant et les sortilèges seems pretty standard and I'd be more than happy to see that too. Frankly the more twentieth century French opera you want to present me with, the happier I'll be. I'd even take Pelleas et Mélisande — I keep reading less than loving opinions of it, but the one time I heard it (via the Met broadcast) I really rather liked it.

Bel canto. I believe we're getting a Lucia, which is fine. Still I can't help but crave some ever-so-slightly less familiar Donizetti. I'd like to see a Lucrezia Borgia one day. One of the best operatic moments I've ever seen is in the film of the Royal Opera's Lucrezia with Joanie and Alfredo Kraus — when Joan appears at the party, all in red and with all that red hair, to tell the men they're in her power now. Even more fun, of course — the magnificently titled Emilia di Liverpool. I doubt I'll ever see this anywhere and that's pretty understandable. But it is an interesting sort of opera, not just because of its weird title, but because the style is so strange. It's opera seria but written for a theatre which came with a compulsory buffo basso — so Emilia sings like your typical dignified bel canto heroine, but she's surrounded by characters who sound like they're in L'elisir d'amore. Shades of Ariadne auf Naxos. 

And I would love some Benjamin Britten. Anything, really. Well...anything with a soprano role in it. Peter Grimes, A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Turn of the Screw would probably be my top three wishes. Speaking of English composers — and moving into the realm of the well and truly impossible (at least at Opera Australia) — Walton's Troilus and Cressida is still something I would like to hear. All I've ever heard from it is part of the aria "At the haunted end of the day" but it's intriguing. Not to mention the fact that his songs are some of my very favourite music — my desert island disc in fact — so I trust him as a composer for voice, even if the opera was a miserable flop at its premiere.

What else? Massenet's Cendrillon might or might not be interesting. Handel's Semele. I'd quite like a Tosca in a way; it would certainly be preferable to La bohème. Though it would probably incapacitate me for a week or so — Tristan und Isolde. Monteverdi! Samuel Barber! And if there's operetta to be had, let us abandon the Viennese and have Offenbach instead, who's much funnier.

Do I expect my wishes to be granted? Hardly, though there are two or three among those I've mentioned which I believe will be in the 2008 season. Oh, but it's nice to dream. Besides, I've got to do something while I wait for the announcement and whatever delights it contains. And it will be delightful. Whatever my implausible fantasies, the mere fact of opera — any opera — in such proximity and in such generous quantities still makes me a very happy girl indeed.

New Year's Eve

"Opera at the movies" was the unifying thread for Opera Australia's New Year's Eve gala last night. No, hardly the most unusual or unpredictable theme. Without further prompting, you could probably guess at least two thirds of the programme. There were few surprises, it's true — but what matter? Of fabulous singing, there was more than enough — and that's what it's all about, after all. Maybe I hunger occasionally for obscure baroque or endless Poulenc, but I'm still a pretty mainstream girl, and once in a while I think there's nothing better than the joyous familiarity of operatic greatest hits. Over-exposed they might be, but in most cases there's some kind of musical reason for their popularity, excessive or otherwise. So, no sneering from me; I was happy to abandon myself to an evening of easy-going gorgeousness.

The concert opened with — what else? — the William Tell overture, followed by a very charming turn by José Carbo, relishing the patter of Figaro's "Largo al factotum" while climbing a ladder and handing out flowers to women in the front row. Of course, the last time I saw José was back home in Dunedin, as Opera Otago's dashing Escamillo, and his "Votre toast" made an appearance  here too, to much adulation. Naturally we were never going to make it through the night without "Nessun dorma". There are ways to mitigate the overfamiliarity of the piece (not least of which is making even the vaguest acknowledgement of its actual context) but sadly none of these were paid the slightest heed, and we were treated instead to the pedestrian crossover stylings and jarringly forced climaxes of Rosario La Spina. Of course he received the loudest ovation of the night, but that's to be expected. His second appearance was no more impressive — Rodolfo's "Che gelida manina" and "O soave fanciulla" both likewise lacking in either musical or dramatic nuance. But the other tenor of the evening, Henry Choo, stood in stark contrast, with a sweet and lilting "Una furtiva lagrima".

On the female side of things, there was, incredibly, no "O mio babbino caro". But we did hear the other Puccini moment from A Room With A View, Magda's "Chi il bel sogno di Doretta" from La rondine. It was just one of numerous appearances by Russian soprano Elvira Fatykhova, who seemed at times to be singing half the gala single-handed. Her most impressive moment came in Violetta's "E strano...Ah, fors'e lui...Sempre libera", sung with insight and lyrical precision. She also blended beautiful with the Catherine Carby's warm, rounded sound in the duet from Lakmé — which strangely enough was ushered in without a mention of The Hunger. Carby returned later with a lush "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix", suitably seductive despite a slightly rushed tempo from the orchestra.

I'm left with just one more soprano to mention — my life's delight, Yvonne. With the theme for the concert in mind, as well as her typical concert repertoire, I had my own predictions about what she might sing. But her first aria hadn't even entered my mind — "Lascia ch'io pianga. As featured (I'd forgotten this) in Farinelli, only, of course, sung far more exquisitely. I thought my chance had passed to hear her sing Handel live and with orchestra, I thought I'd found her too late for that. Not quite, it seems. And that it should be this aria  — the first track on the first of her CDs I ever owned and thus the first aria I really heard her sing. Nine years have made a difference, as does a concert hall instead of a recording studio. There's more vibrato, the ornaments are simpler, the timbre has a bit more metal (but precious metal) to it. What nine years don't change is that she sings this aria, which everyone with even the most tenuous claim to the title of soprano has attempted, with a radiant beauty and an understanding of the Handelian idiom of which the pretenders could hardly conceive, let alone match. 

And yet there was better to come. Two magic words, words which I'd tried not to let myself hope too hard for, lest they never come. But come they did — Shawshank Redemption. Yes. "Sull'aria". For me it's one of the most extraordinary beautiful pieces of music in existence. And I have the Chandos English Figaro, so I've heard her sing it before, but this was different. Hearing it live, and in Italian — and watching her sing it, seeing, if only fleetingly, her Countess Almaviva come to magical life... again these were joys I thought I should always be deprived of.

Finally came the prediction I did have right, Rusalka's Song to the Moon. In English as always— I'd adore her to sing in Czech but have long since given up on that. Like the Handel it showed the changes in her voice over the last decade and a half. This wasn't the same Rusalka as on Simple Gifts or even the 1999 gala with Bryn Terfel. Her sound is a little heavier now, the high passages require slightly more, and different, effort. The result is richer and more exciting than ever. She filled that concert hall with shining sound in a way nobody else last night approached. I think back to something I said all that time ago, after her Hanna Glawari — that even with no prior knowledge of any of the singers on stage, you still could not fail to realise that she exists on an entirely different level of artistry. There's a quality she exudes, even in silence, which distinguishes her immediately. No matter how many times I come into the presence of the glory she creates, I never get used to her — she always takes my breath away, and she always will. The fireworks in the harbour afterwards were impressive, but nothing in that display was even a fraction as amazing as she is.

Humbug repellent

My new concert strategy — cultivate low expectations. Tonight I went to Opera Australia's "Christmas at the House", expecting to endure boredom and/or sappy family concert antics while awaiting the concert's Special Guest Star, whose name you can probably guess. Even as I arrived at the opera house I was still having to remind myself that I did want to go, that there was a reason I bought the ticket. I sat down expecting the worst. And then it was fantastic.

Simon Burke — no doubt famous for something over here but I've no idea what — was the perfect host, several steps up from Anthony Warlow's autocued emceeing at the Anniversary Gala. He spoke and acted and sang up a storm. David Hobson, Australia's Favourite Tenor, featured heavily. Now I shall be honest. Hobson was one of the main reasons I felt so oddly reluctant to be at this concert — though his Ferrando in Opera Australia's 1992 Cosi was fine, he's really not a singer I've been able to warm to. I arrived at work one morning last week in time for the tail end of one of his CDs and found it pretty much unlistenable. In person tonight, however, all of that changed — his singing was brilliant, engaging and entirely listenable.  Add to this the fact that he's ridiculously charming and hilarious onstage and I begin to understand why he's attracted such a committed and enthusiastic fanbase. I know I've completely changed my mind about him. His facial expressions while singing still remind me of Dudley Moore but this only adds to the fun. Alongside David was another gorgeous tenor, the adorable Henry Choo. Henry was one of my highlights in the anniversary gala; the chance to hear him for a longer stretch was much appreciated. His "O Holy Night", sung in both English and impeccable French ("Minuit chrétiens") was especially beautiful. Henry will sing the role of the young collector in A Streetcar Named Desire, which ought to be interesting.

Ah, but enough of these men. The concert opened with (after a cringeingly bad "ain't baroque" joke) soprano Taryn Fiebig's  "Let the bright seraphim". Intriguing this. Her voice is lovely, sort of bronzy and somehow American, with hints of Kathy and Renée here and there, and she gave a spirited performance. But there were consonants which disappeared, some rather dubious coloratura, and she seemed to sing the whole aria as if it were a joke — it's fast and happy, yes, but could do with a little sincerity too. Still, as I say, intriguing — both the quality of the sound and the faults have me curious to actually hear her in opera and sans microphone. But the real discovery of tonight for me was mezzo Catherine Carby. Knowing that she sang Cornelia in this year's Giulio Cesare, I almost wish I hadn't decided to give it a miss. I'm not certain what she's singing in the coming season, other than the Bela Lugosi-esque (think Glen and Glenda) Mexican Woman in Streetcar, but hopefully there's something, and something which will show off that velvety sound off to maximum advantage.

And, of course, Yvonne. This isn't fair. I wish she had been a revelation like all the rest, a new discovery to whom I could accord all my best adjectives for the very first time. But I've done all that. What can be added to two years (almost to the day, incidentally) of celebration? Still I need to say something. In the first half she sang Franck's "Panis angelicus" and was her usual glorious self. In the second half, however, magic happened. My Christmas miracle perhaps. With only the very barest of orchestration behind her, she stood there and sang an "Away in a manger" which I can't describe. It was the point in the show at which I fell apart. A moment of pure, intense beauty, overwhelming in its simplicity. Unlike any other performance I think I've ever seen her give — and I can't say why I think that, but it was different somehow, revelatory even. Heavenly.

Operatunity Oz / Rigoletto

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

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

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

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

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

Jenufa

Sydney Opera House, 21 October 2006.

In all my excitement over my first live Janacek opera  I didn't buy a programme or check the website and discover that it was going to be sung in English. In fact, finally visiting the website now I discover no mention of said translation and, what's more, this sentence "Janáček loved his native Czech language, and his music is infused with the rhythms of speech." Curiouser and curiouser.

Anyhow I suppose it's hardly the disaster of the century, and knowing certainly wouldn't have stopped me going, but it was a bit of a disappointment — there's something about an English translation, especially in an through-composed opera like this and especially in an opera so unfamiliar to me, which creates a distance which wouldn't otherwise be there. It just isn't the ideal way to meet an opera for the first time. I heard Falstaff  in English a number of times before hearing it in Italian and there's no doubt that the language absolutely shapes the musical experience. Though, of course, I still haven't heard La voix humaine in French. But I did learn it in French so in my mind it's a bilingual creature. Not unlike certain Mozart arias which I used to play on piano from a book with German texts only — to this day, if "Dove sono" is in my head, the opening recit runs something like "E Susanna non vien? Sono ansiosa. Wüsst' ich nur wie die Conte accolse la proposta. Kühn scheint es immer was ich heut' wagen will" and so on. But I've been spectacularly sidetracked.

Revenons à notre Jenufa. Cheryl Barker did some interesting things in the title role. Obviously she's a singer who thrives on drama rather than the chance to display vocal splendour — the more hideous Jenufa's life became, the more focused her performance became. Vocally she was fine though this was the last performance of the run and I think the strain was starting to show through in everyone's singing — it's a demanding piece. But in a sense the slightly threadbare quality to all the singing was appropriate, an aural match to the relentless misery and Eastern European starkness of it all. But naturally the show belonged to Elizabeth Whitehouse's powerhouse of a Kostelnicka, the source of most the show's genuinely beautiful sounds, and a superb vocal actress even if her stage presence was not always entirely persuasive. Heather Begg's Burya on the other hand sounded ready to keel over any moment but presumably this was intentional, like the ancient emperor or whoever he is in Turandot. As Laca, Peter Wedd threw his heart and soul and then some into it, singing with an incredible intensity which maybe made his voice sound rather more remarkable than it actually is — I mean this as praise, incidentally. Jamie Allen sang well also, though somewhat unmemorably, and made for an effete and rather repellent Steva of whom Jenufa was well rid and who resembled nothing so much as a blonde David Walliams. (Think Sebastian. And apologies if you've no idea what I'm talking about.) The production moves things up to I suppose the 1950s but that really makes very little difference to anything except allowing Karolka to look exceptionally blonde and soignée in the final act. Otherwise it's all pretty straightforward, and successfully harrowing. Again, not perhaps my ideal first Janacek-in-the-theatre experience: I yearned for a little more vocal lushness and I'd still rather hear it in Czech. But a satisfying one all the same.

Gala

Yes, I am here, alive and well and beginning to cope with my new, sunny and highly populated home. But no longer, for the time being at least, at leisure to labour for hours over a single post, so I shall have to settle for speed blogging.

The gala on Wednesday night was fantastic. For me, a little like attending three events at once though — an evening where Yvonne Kenny sang, an evening where I got to see Joan Sutherland in person and only after both of those things, a gala. From my side view seat I couldn't always hear all the singing perfectly, but when it mattered, I could — the singers really worth hearing by definition had the voices which carried backwards as well as forwards.

Yvonne sang "Vilja" from The Merry Widow, as I suspected she might, but in the translation she sang in San Francisco in 2002, not the (execrable) one which Opera Australia used in 2004. (I have a mild obsession with Merry Widow translations. Ignore me.) Also we had the final ensemble from Falstaff, including that magnificent high C of hers which I so adore. She was heartstoppingly beautiful, of course. She always is. Funny that. And seeing her so soon after my arrival is the best welcome to my new home I could have asked for.

Other vocal highlights (though still necessarily well and truly in her shadow) — Henry Choo's contribution to the Act I ensemble from Die Zauberflöte, Elizabeth Connell's transcendant Liebestod, Lisa Gasteen's "Dich teure Halle" and the gorgeous Fiona Janes, who really ought to have been given a solo number instead of just the L'italiana in Algieri ensemble she formed part of. Glenn Winslade disappointed, however, in "Fuor del mar" with haphazard coloratura and audible strain, and Rosario La Spina, who I assumed would be fantastic, was, well, not particularly — but perhaps that was just from where I was sitting. His "La donna è mobile" seemed underpowered and discoloured, but earned him rapturous applause, so what do I know?

And Joanie. The second she, with the rest of the offical party (though no Bonynge) entered the theatre I was in tears. What a privilege to be in her presence. At the end of the listed items came the birthday surprises, streamers and sparkles and bright lights — and, in pitch black, a few minutes of the woman herself, spectacular in Sonnambula. Absolutely glorious. Vive la reine.