Prima la musica, poi le parole

Preliminary thoughts on Barbiere

I have issues with Il Barbiere di Siviglia. Actually I don't, but somehow I always think that I do. Generally speaking, my affection for Rossini knows (almost) no bounds but faced with Barbiere I just tend to think — couldn't we have La Cenerentola instead? Or, for that matter, Les dialogues des Carmelites or L'oca del Cairo or, well, anything else? I don't dislike it but in theory, Barbiere bores me. In theory. In practice, for the most part, you throw me into it and I realise that in fact I like it quite a lot. I don't know quite what it is that makes me feel this way — though I have a sneaking suspicion it might be the preponderance of men in the cast — or why the idea persists no matter how many times I'm proven wrong. Anyway, there it is. But Barbiere is swiftly approaching the opera house so once again I have to ignore my inner voices (who are often wrong anyway — they thought I wouldn't love Rusalka) and rustle up at the very least some synthetic excitement about the beginning of the winter season. Excitement which will no doubt promptly be made genuine by the alchemy of live performance.

I'm prepared either to love or hate the Gaudi-inspired sets. Although honestly, unless they're just nauseatingly ridiculous and actually obstruct the course of the opera, I can't imagine that anything so whimsical would really stir up true hatred in me. Annoyance, maybe. However at the moment the weird directorial concept with which I'm anticipating having most difficulty is the Entführung-in-an-airport. Barbiere in a spa seems just harmlessly silly.

And there's José Carbo to look forward to as Figaro. I expect nothing less than irresistible brilliance from José, for the simple reason that that's all I've ever known him to deliver. I first saw him back home as Escamillo and he was just preposterously charming. As the Count in Le nozze di Figaro he was once again in his element; I have no doubt he can manage the swap to Figaro with panache. I'm more drawn to his voice every time I hear it. It ain't huge but it's streamlined and stylish and that's the kind of voice I for one mostly prefer.

I'm a bit fascinated by the double casting of Almaviva. Until July 31st we have Henry Choo; after that it's Kanen Breen. Which means two very different Almavivas. Henry has one of those limpid, liquid voices that make all the girls go weak at the knees — myself sometimes included. But to me he seems a bit boyish, his style of comedy a bit too sweet and jolly, to be a thoroughly convincing Count. Whereas Kanen Breen, though lacking some of that obvious vocal splendour, is just the kind of singer I would cast. And one of the funniest in the Opera Australia stable. When I sat, semi-involuntarily, through five performances of Il signor Bruschino, only Kanen could make me forget I was just waiting for what followed — there were certain gestures and facial expressions which, even on the fifth night, made me laugh as if it was the first. He was a scream in Sweeney Todd too — I was terribly upset when he was murdered.

I suppose Amelia Farrugia's Rosina will at least be a learning experience. I haven't heard for a very long time, not since her Manon in 2005. Except the tracks I heard from her recital disc Joie de vivre, about which the less said the better. So far, then, I've had no cause to fall in love with her — not even close. But all the same, I've really very little idea of what to expect from her Rosina and it would be ridiculous to write her off before the fact. We shall see. It will be nice to see Conal Coad — my compatriot — as Basilio. Like any good buffo basso, he has a definite knack for stealing shows. And I'm hoping to like Warwick Fyfe more as Bartolo than I have in any of his other roles — seems to me that the weaknesses in his Rigoletto and his Germont père might just prove to be strengths in a role like this. I'm happy too to have Richard Bonynge conducting — Rossini is his kind of territory. Of course the thing I really like best about Richard Bonynge is his wife, which is perhaps a bit unfair, but unfortunately can't be helped.

So all I need to do now is actually buy tickets to the thing. 10 days and counting...

Ach, Konstanze

I adore the Countess Almaviva. I like Fiordiligi a lot. I think Aspasia's pretty magnificent and I have a soft spot for Vitellia. But I can't make my mind up about Konstanze. Whereas with other Mozartian women my feelings are pretty well established regardless of individual intepretations, with Konstanze it's different. I'm much more at the whim of whichever soprano has the guts to take her on. So sometimes I love her, sometimes I'm indifferent and sometimes I find her downright irritating. You could compare her to the Countess, a gorgeous portrait of fragile dignity; or you could just call her a boring Fiordiligi with even worse taste in tenors.

I suppose the question is — does she really truly want Belmonte? Is their reunion a genuinely happy ending? Bassa Selim, despite being a harem-keeping infidel, is a far more sophisticated and dignified figure than Belmonte, who just spends the opera being a typical Gormless Mozart Tenor. This is the question which gets raised time and time again in discussing Entführung and it's worth thinking about. Though at the same time I can't help wondering — for Mozart and his librettist Stephanie, did the question even exist? Surely for them, Die Entführung is about entertainment and hijinks in an exotic locale — not self sacrifice and cultural difference and all the deep meaningful stuff we're determined to read into everything.

However be that as it may, I do like the idea that Konstanze would stay with Selim if she could. When she sings "Ach, ich liebte" it seems clear that she and Belmonte hadn't been together long before they were separated. I wonder if maybe her affections are cooling — but seeing as he's embarked on this dangerous mission to rescue her, she really has no choice now but to stay with him. Gratitude and duty over romantic fervour (or lack thereof). And it's definitely possible to use "Martern aller Arten", which has to be one of the craziest arias Mozart ever threw at an unsuspecting soprano, as another depiction of this inner turmoil. The idea being that it becomes more of a sort of abstract and fragmented mad scene than a specific declaration of bravery. She appeals to me much more in this state than if we see her as tediously chaste and well behaved. There's a production on DVD from Zürich which (despite the cameraman's disconcerting hand fetish) does quite a beautiful job of all of this. By the end it's excruciatingly clear that the deep, grown-up relationship Konstanze has is with Selim and that he has totally fallen for her (and probably would never have carried out his threats of "Martern von aller Arten" anyway) but they're realistic about it. She goes away and he carries on. And meanwhile Patricia Petibon totally steals the show as Blondchen, in a way only she can.

But anyway. Leaving aside the halfbaked character analysis, there is also the music to consider. What an insanely written role. Two big arias and one huge one, all in the first half of the opera and two of them essentially back to back. Whether I'm in the mood to adore Konstanze or to yell advice at her, I have huge respect for any soprano with the stamina and vocal ability to get through this in one shining piece. And I'm very interested to hear and see Emma Matthews in this role. I've mentioned (repeatedly, I suppose) my indifference to Emma so far. Actually I don't know if you could call it indifference. It's just a failure to be whipped into the same kind of frenzy about her as practically everybody else in whichever theatre she's singing in. Because after all, I'm not deaf. I can hear she has lovely voice. Neither am I blind. She's very appealing on stage. But still nothing about her has gripped me yet. This, though, is what brings me to Konstanze. So far I've only seen Emma in Rossini fluff and in a tackily staged Doll Song at the 50th anniversary gala last year. Konstanze is an entirely different kettle of fish, nothing cutesy or comic called for here — or at least I hope not. And the coloratura, while dazzling, requires far more penetrative power and dramatic edge to it than anything else I've heard her sing. It's an incredibly taxing role but that just makes a triumph in it all the more glorious. If she conquers it, she may just conquer me too; at least a little bit. I hope so. I'd like her to. After all, a soprano is a soprano and I'm me; adoring them is what I do best.

I adore the Countess Almaviva. I like Fiordiligi a lot. I think Aspasia's pretty magnificent and I have a soft spot for Vitellia. But I can't make my mind up about Konstanze. Whereas with other Mozartian women my feelings are pretty well established regardless of individual intepretations, with Konstanze it's different. I'm much more at the whim of whichever soprano has the guts to take her on. So sometimes I love her, sometimes I'm indifferent and sometimes I find her downright irritating. You could compare her to the Countess, a gorgeous portrait of fragile dignity; or you could just call her a boring Fiordiligi with even worse taste in tenors.

I suppose the question is — does she really truly want Belmonte? Is their reunion a genuinely happy ending? Bassa Selim, despite being a harem-keeping infidel, is a far more sophisticated and dignified figure than Belmonte, who just spends the opera being a typical Gormless Mozart Tenor. This is the question which gets raised time and time again in discussing Entführung and it's worth thinking about. Though at the same time I can't help wondering — for Mozart and his librettist Stephanie, did the question even exist? Surely for them, Die Entführung is about entertainment and hijinks in an exotic locale — not self sacrifice and cultural difference and all the deep meaningful stuff we're determined to read into everything.

However be that as it may, I do like the idea that Konstanze would stay with Selim if she could. When she sings "Ach, ich liebte" it seems clear that she and Belmonte hadn't been together long before they were separated. I wonder if maybe her affections are cooling — but seeing as he's embarked on this dangerous mission to rescue her, she really has no choice now but to stay with him. Gratitude and duty over romantic fervour (or lack thereof). And it's definitely possible to use "Martern aller Arten", which has to be one of the craziest arias Mozart ever threw at an unsuspecting soprano, as another depiction of this inner turmoil. The idea being that it becomes more of a sort of abstract and fragmented mad scene than a specific declaration of bravery. She appeals to me much more in this state than if we see her as tediously chaste and well behaved. There's a production on DVD from Zürich which (despite the cameraman's disconcerting hand fetish) does quite a beautiful job of all of this. By the end it's excruciatingly clear that the deep, grown-up relationship Konstanze has is with Selim and that he has totally fallen for her (and probably would never have carried out his threats of "Martern von aller Arten" anyway) but they're realistic about it. She goes away and he carries on. And meanwhile Patricia Petibon totally steals the show as Blondchen, in a way only she can.

But anyway. Leaving aside the halfbaked character analysis, there is also the music to consider. What an insanely written role. Two big arias and one huge one, all in the first half of the opera and two of them essentially back to back. Whether I'm in the mood to adore Konstanze or to yell advice at her, I have huge respect for any soprano with the stamina and vocal ability to get through this in one shining piece. And I'm very interested to hear and see Emma Matthews in this role. I've mentioned (repeatedly, I suppose) my indifference to Emma so far. Actually I don't know if you could call it indifference. It's just a failure to be whipped into the same kind of frenzy about her as practically everybody else in whichever theatre she's singing in. Because after all, I'm not deaf. I can hear she has lovely voice. Neither am I blind. She's very appealing on stage. But still nothing about her has gripped me yet. This, though, is what brings me to Konstanze. So far I've only seen Emma in Rossini fluff and in a tackily staged Doll Song at the 50th anniversary gala last year. Konstanze is an entirely different kettle of fish, nothing cutesy or comic called for here — or at least I hope not. And the coloratura, while dazzling, requires far more penetrative power and dramatic edge to it than anything else I've heard her sing. It's an incredibly taxing role but that just makes a triumph in it all the more glorious. If she conquers it, she may just conquer me too; at least a little bit. I hope so. I'd like her to. After all, a soprano is a soprano and I'm me; adoring them is what I do best.

Rachellemania

It's my blog and she's a soprano so I'm allowed to obsess. I love —

That in four performances her "Di, cor mio" has gone from basically lovely to drop dead ravishing.
That she seems to treat it differently every time.
That she can give Alcina a sense of humour without losing any of her evil credibility.
Her shimmering vibrato and stardust timbre.
The simultaneous fluidity and absolute precision of her coloratura.
Her awesome agility and limitless capacity for ornamentation.
That every one of those ornaments is imaginative and musically and dramatically right.
The transformation, in my mind at least, of "Ah, mio cor" from calculated to genuine emotion.
That while she's singing she makes me forget everyone — and I mean everyone — who's come before her.
Her eyes, which on their own are more expressive than anyone else's entire performance, and which are always acting even when the technical requirements of singing are controlling the rest of her.
The low, low interpolated note in "Ah, mio cor" which she's not afraid to hold for all its worth.
That in addition to everything it can do, her voice itself is thoroughly beautiful and recognisably her.
That she doesn't make me worry like the others in cast do.
The way she sings "pieta" in the da capo of "Non è amor ne gelosia".
That she silently turns Oberto's Act Three aria into her own mad scene instead.
The hurtling pace at which she takes "Ombre pallide" — and that she succeeds utterly.
That she takes her curtain call resplendent in her aquamarine Act Two dress rather than the beige one she ends the opera in.
That she makes me feel unbelievably fortunate to have been able to experience such a miraculous performance.
The impression she gives of total physical and vocal abandon — but abandon underpinned by absolute assurance and control, though that's probably an oxymoron.
That when I try to think of who, if anyone she reminds me of, it's names like Patrizia Ciofi and Sandrine Piau that come to mind.
The impossibility of putting her into words.
Her red hair.
Everything. Every note and phrase, every brilliant decoration, every gesture, every movement and expression. Every choice she's made (and I'd swear she makes a fair portion of them on the spot). Everything. She's sublime.

And now you can relax, though I'll live in torment — this is the last I'll see or hear of her now until whenever she returns to Opera Australia next year. According to her website she's doing two new productions for them next season. Again, I pray for a Lucia.

Alta reina

Rachelle, Rachelle, Rachelle.

But perhaps it's dangerous to say her name three times — she is a witch, after all. A witch whose spell over me is stronger than ever tonight. And unlike Ruggiero, mine's not an involuntary state. I tried the ring on but there were no illusions to see through, it's all real. She's as outrageously brilliant as she seems so I'm staying put right here in her thrall.

She's back from the evil illness which kept her out of several performances, including, tragically, the one recorded for broadcast. I have missed her desperately. You'd think that such extravagant longing as mine might have swelled my expectations beyond reality, that when she finally returned I'd be perhaps a little disappointed. You'd be wrong. Her magic is strong; her reality exceeded my expectations, she was more magnificent even than I thought I remembered — a difficult feat, believe me.

Her Alcina is an enchantment and a privilege to experience. She's maybe the only true actress on that stage. There are convincing enough characterisations around her, yes, but they're rehearsed and unchanging. Rachelle's Alcina, on the other hand, seems a wholly spontaneous creation, different every time. So believable that she gives the impression she's the source of absolutely everything that happens around her — people move because she commands it, the set is changed because she's decided it should be, and even the music is her creation. By her reactions she turns other arias into her own — Oberto's "Barbara! Io ben lo so" isn't about Oberto's anguish at all any more, but about Alcina's desperate disintegration as she offers herself up as his victim. Back on opening night I suggested her Alcina was too essentially evil to be really sympathetic. I've changed my mind — the Alcina I saw tonight was shatteringly sympathetic. Even in her nastiest moments she's irresistible.

All of which would be hard enough for me to cope with on its own — but she can also sing. Again, with every performance she changes, there are new discoveries, new colours, new sounds. Her facility for coloratura can only be the result of a deal with the devil — except it's pretty gorgeously clear she's retained her soul. But she tears fearlessly into the most impossible runs and does so with such rock solid security that I'm fearless as I'm listening, too. I don't worry that she'll get blurry, or run out of breath, or miss a note — I'm free to abandon myself to the hair raising thrill of her. We're straying into beyond words territory here; I'm sitting and typing, all the while intensely aware that I'm capturing at best about 4% of the truth of the experience... and that all I really want to do is hear her sing again. There's just one performance left in the run. If I go I'll have to miss the first act. There's not a chance I'm missing the rest.

I think I meant to write more and/or different praise here but it's all too hard, nothing will say what I mean anyway. So I'll just invoke the sorceress again and hope for the best.

Rachelle, Rachelle, Rachelle.

I hope Opera Australia brings her back as much as they possibly can. At this point I feel would pay anything to hear her in anything. I see Lucia on her repertoire list and wonder if it's due a revival in Sydney. To those in New York — promise me you'll go and see her in Satyagraha. I'm praying for a broadcast.

P.S. I've received my stamp of Rachelle Devotee authenticity — having just written this post, I discovered this.

Rusalka

My expectations, I'll admit right now, were shamefully low. And I have no decent or reasonable explanation for this — well, not really. Mostly it was on account of the dire ENO Rusalka I watched on TV a while back. Nothing about that production made me want to like the opera and I really didn't relish the prospect of returning to it. I included it in my subscription in part to make sure I felt obliged to go. Neither did the Opera Australia cast set my heart aflame. I've made my distaste for Rosario La Spina pretty clear already; and since her Jenufa — even though it was fine — I've been having rather uncharitable thoughts about Cheryl Barker and didn't expect to be bowled over by her Rusalka.

I wasn't wrong on every count — but I was certainly wrong on enough of them to make last night a truly magnificent experience. First things first — the music itself, which I adored, and I didn't think I would. I remember last time thinking the whole opera just sounded like a two-and-a-half hour extended remix of the Song to the Moon. Which, yes, it kind of does. But now that Wagner-light (or should that be Wagner-leit?) aspect appeals to me much more than it did and I like the musical world which those recurring themes create. Though the constant "Here comes Rusalka, get out your harp" moments do become a bit comical. And of course Dvorak does something which I always love composers for — follows the big hit aria not with a big conclusive bang, but with music which prevents those people from clapping and spoiling the flow. Obviously I don't know the opera well enough to say much about the orchestra under (him again) Richard Hickox — but what I do know is that they all played gorgeously enough to change my mind, which is something in itself.

And Cheryl. I take back everything I thought. Once she gets going, this woman is sensational. It was announced before the curtain rose that she had been suffering from bronchitis and asked for our understanding. To begin with it seemed to me the bronchitis had no effect, she just sounded pretty much as she had in Jenufa. As an actress she was brilliant — unequivocally the star even while her character remained silent — and she looked drop dead gorgeous, but the singing to me was unremarkable, her voice expressive enough but possessing no particular individuality or distinctive beauty. Then Rusalka drank her potion and was mute. And when, in Act Two, she finally spoke again — Cheryl's true voice returned too, in all its high voltage glory. Her Rusalka became as aurally fascinating as she was visually and dramatically, slicing vividly through the sometimes very thick orchestration but retaining all the aquamarine loveliness you could wish for from your not-so-little mermaid. She's won me over.

Not so her Prince, but that's hardly a surprise. Rosario La Spina sings the whole thing as if it's Puccini, and not even good Puccini at that. Most of the music he approaches like a crossover "tenor" and when it's too big for that type of sound, he shouts at approximate pitch instead. Supposedly royal, he displays not one shred of princely dignity — when following the Foreign Princess along the red carpet he actually managed to stand on her dress. The Prince was never destined to be a very sympathetic figure but his is so utterly lacking in any kind of human credibility as to render Rusalka's sacrifice quite incomprehensible — only Cheryl's magic performance keeps it believable.

Elsewhere in the cast, however, the standard is reassuringly higher. Elizabeth Whitehouse is majestic as the Foreign Princess, filling the opera house with a huge flood of sound in a way I've never experienced before. A sort of voice one feels surrounded by, and remarkably fresher and more overwhelming than her Kostelnicka which was in itself a triumph. The Princess' place in the story should be roughly that of the Baroness in The Sound of Music but I liked her. (Actually I like the Baroness too.) I wished she could band together with Rusalka and leave the Prince alone with his ego. Another standout for me was Sian Pendry — a Young Artist this year — as the Kitchen Boy. I don't think every singer would make a star turn out of this role but she did; I suspect she may prove a mezzo to be reckoned with. Bruce Martin is an excellent Water Sprite, a grounded, rough edged voice among all the soprano radiance.  Though with his endlessly repeated "Alas! My poor, pale Rusalka" he began to remind me of the Greta Garbo's unbelievably irritating father in Anna Christie, who talks about "'dat old devil sea" until you just want to push him into it. But I digress. Anne-Marie Owens' Jezibaba was slightly patchy but mostly fine —  I sound like a weather report — but with a bit too much vibrato and too little pure evil for me. The Wood Nymphs were adorable in their mini skirts (yes) and boots (yes) dancing a quasi-Macarena (yes) while they sang their opening trio.

Olivia Fuchs' production is the kind which will appeal to some and utterly repel others. She rejects the story as a fairytale and re-casts in much starker and more abstract form. Not much of a set — basically an empty stage with a tiny circular pond in the centre and dotted with the odd block of ice, all of it colourless, variously lit in vivid blues, reds and silvers. The boundaries between land and water are constantly blurred and crossed — it's little wonder Rusalka is such a mess. So far, so good — I liked the icy, eerie atmosphere of it. One problem, however — Jezibaba. She's no longer a witch. She's a stout, scalpel-wielding nurse in a white coat, who enacts Rusalka's transformation on a hospital bed. And takes inappropriately comical glee in the process — so that in what ought to be  a hushed sort of moment, as Rusalka becomes mortal, instead the audience is full of giggles. This Rusalka is being recorded for Chandos; lord knows what listeners to that CD will make of this without a visual reference. I see, vaguely, the rationale behind all this but I think it's very misguided and just a bad decision. A Jezibaba in keeping with the look and feel of the rest of the production would be miles more effective — we're supposed to see cold, clinical evil but what I see is cold, clinical absurdity. Rusalka on crutches in the final act was just foolish. 

Still, even that's not enough to do serious harm to this Rusalka. There are weaknesses, yes — but there are also some serious strengths and it's these which triumph. For me it was bliss to spend an evening just immersed in the complete experience, musical and dramatic, where even the aspects I disliked were at least interesting enough to think about. For once in my life I probably won't go again — not because it doesn't deserve it but because I just don't think I need to; once was richly satisfying enough to last me quite a while.

Quasi Alcina

It had to happen to me one day, and at least it wasn't Montserrat Caballé. I arrived at my third Alcina — despite having been sold a seat which didn't exist — only to learn that Terrifying Rachelle, my Number One Witch, was indisposed. I didn't riot; but I confess I could understand why a person might in such circumstances. I was thankful for my own obsessive tendencies, which meant I knew what I was missing. Most of Thursday's audience, of course, didn't and likely never will, which is a shame.

All due credit to her replacement though, lovely Hye Seoung Kwon. Hye Seoung has been singing Oberto with, it has to be said, the kind of power and talent which screams for a bigger role. Maybe not Alcina though, or at least not just yet. But it would be monstrously unfair to subject her to the usual criticism when she's stepped in at such short notice. And in any case she actually did pretty damned well; not her A Chorus Line moment, no, but still a success.

But Rachelle, ti imploro — get well soon. Absence makes the grow fonder, it's true. With Rachelle gone, I missed her desperately and appreciated her myriad glories even more than before. All the things which come of a long rehearsal process and plenty of preparation time, which can't be expected of a last minute replacement, however talented — these I longed for. I don't think I'd fully realised how exquisitely detailed her performance is, the number of near-imperceptible (but vital) gestures, facial expressions and reactions. Even the position she assumes to summon her dark magic is uniquely hers, it turns out; and then there's the fabulously wicked moment where, as Oberto holds a glass of water from the enchanted fountain but doesn't drink it, Alcina, glowering and evil, mouths "Beviamo!" All this and more, I adore, and it all needs to return. So Rachelle, since I'm sure you're actually a witch, cast every necessary spell and come back immediately. Your realm and your subjects need you. 

Belated notes from Sweeney Todd

Sweeney Todd either is or isn't outside the scope of this blog. I suppose if it's enough of an opera to be produced by Opera Australia, it's enough of an opera for me to write about. Except it isn't — I don't feel anywhere near able to make any real comment on it. But since it is an Opera Australia production I don't want to ignore it entirely, so a few brief notes.

• Peter Coleman-Wright in the title role really does have a beautiful voice, which would surely be just as velvety sans microphone. He also has a tendency to look like Martin Shaw from some angles, which never hurt anyone.
• Kanen Breen — the brightest light in the Signor Bruschino I involuntarily saw five times in 2005 — is just as much of a show-stealer as Pirelli. More. I really really didn't want him killed, I wanted him to stick around.
• But I suspect that maybe lovely Antoinette Halloran is lovelier and bit more effective in really operatic opera. I hope she is.
• Could we somehow train opera audiences to respond like the Sweeney Todd audience did? I don't necessarily mean the level of response — no other OA show I've seen so far has been quite as tight, powerful and ovation-worthy as this — but just the kind. Maybe because it's Broadway and not opera, everyone seemed readier to throw themselves into applauding, shouting, cheering, etc. They booed the villain. They went crazy for Judi Connelli (and rightly so). And lots of them stood up at the end, which I've not yet seen anyone do at the end of an opera here. (Though I hear they did at one of Elvira Fatykhova's Traviatas.) There was a tangible energy and enthusiasm there which Alcina deserved but didn't elicit and I wish that could change.
• And! No surtitles! Which makes sense because it's sung in English and because every singers makes themselves clearly understood. But Streetcar will be sung in English, and it will have surtitles. And I wish like nothing else that it wouldn't. They'll be no more necessary than they were for Sweeney Todd. All they'll do is what they did in La voix humaine, draw people's eyes and minds away from the only thing they need to concentrate on.
• Everyone was right. Great show, amazing production, worthy of all the dozens of awards it's won. I almost didn't go and I'm happy I did.

Alcina

Let us now praise Rachelle Durkin. Forget the usual introductions, there's no question that this woman is absolutely the best thing about Opera Australia's new Alcina which opened last night — so naturally her tribute should precede all else. Having heard advance praise from several trustworthy quarters, my expectations here were very high. And initially, not realised. Though she was unquestionably fabulous, seductively evil in her black lace and with a voice which likewise exuded a quality of dark and dangerous beauty, still some little spark was lacking. I was, say, 80% fascinated. Her "Di', cor mio" seemed a little shaky, and her hard, calculating "Si, son quella", which I've always thought of as something more tender, Alcina's Marschallin moment, left me rather cold. Ma basta! That was Act One. Act Two came and I was convinced. And terrified. This was a woman possessed. Not a soprano or an actress but an actual sorceress on stage, in touch with some seriously dark and frightening forces. To watch her fall apart was beyond riveting, her ferocious energy on stage matched at every turn by a voice of coolly penetrating beauty and demonic agility. Her "Ah, mio cor" was unexpectedly raw, punctuated with rasping sobs and ornamented not just with glittering and decorative high notes but several ominously low ones as well. "Ombre pallide" was a fully-fledged  and electrifying mad scene — not so much an aria as an EXPERIENCE. To be repeated as often as humanly possible. The same can be said of her performance as a whole. Rachelle's Alcina is not a figure for whom, in even at her lowest point, one can really feel very much sympathy — she's a bit too intrinsically evil and threatening for that. Nevertheless it's impossible not to be drawn into her whirlwind of fury and desperate, clawing passion. You mightn't like her, but when she's miserable, when she's furious, when she's utterly ruined — you've no choice but feel it too.

I'm undecided about the production. Some aspects I like very much. After the relatively safe and traditional Traviata and Figaro I've been wanting something a little less conventional, and this one certainly provides it. There's a definite atmosphere of magic, a Gothic other-worldliness. Alcina's attendants have little white devil horns, the statues on stage alternate between flesh and stone, and Alcina herself is certainly a sight to behold in (and out of) her various costumes. Her realm is not so much an island as a decadent underworld in which Ruggiero is quite willingly trapped. All this I'm happy with, and the obligatory half-naked people are no problem either — though their flesh-coloured underwear does give them the slightly unfortunate appearance of being built like Barbie dolls. I have reservations, though, about the immense mirror. This hangs at the back of the stage and seems like it should reflect the stage itself, but in fact reflects all sorts of other things. So when Morgana sings "Tornami a vagheggiar", for instance, her "reflection" dances out her sentiments in slightly more explicit and physical fashion. Sometimes it's effective; sometimes a distracting excess. Then there's the enchanted ring, which looks like it came from a cereal box and causes its wearers to act as if they're in a bad science fiction film. And do we really need quite so much aimless writhing about? Never mind. Distractions and infelicities aside, the overall effect is of enchantment, illusion and lurking evil, which is in the end is probably just what's required.

Among the rest of the cast, I think it's only right that I first of all single out Sally-Anne Russell. I was not kind to her Cherubino. My feelings there haven't changed, and so I was not wild with excitement at the prospect of her Bradamante. Well, shame on me. Bradamante's lower tessitura suits her infinitely better — it's still not a hugely fascinating voice but she still sang superbly, with warmth, dignity and some of the most impressively precise and secure coloratura on show all evening. The acting was a bit cartoonish, yes, but gained in credibility when she shed her "Ricciardo" disguise and traded her silver Hvorostovsky hairpiece for something a bit more Harlow. I suppose with the voice she has, she'll always sing a lot of male roles, but I hope for her sake that she gets her fair share of heroines as well — she's much more engaging as a woman than as a man.

As her betrothed, New Zealand's Own™ Sarah Castle was a mostly excellent Ruggiero. Until now my only experience of Sarah Castle was as the effusive host of TV coverage of the 2002 Mobil Song Quest. I far prefer her (no surprise) as a singer. From her first mute appearance during the overture (yes, they staged it — sigh) she was a committed and persuasive Ruggiero. I have to confess I liked her best in Act One, when she was still under the spell and being brilliantly vile to "Ricciardo" and Melisso. Vocally she was her most appealing in Ruggiero's slower, middle-of-the-voice kinds of arias. "Mi lusinga" and "Mio bel tesoro" were particular highlights for me, "Verdi prati" not quite so impressive. I could have wished for a bit more adventurousness in terms of ornamentation, but then that was true of almost everyone; the voice is any case quite beautiful and nicely suited to this repertoire.

Another of the evening's surprises came from Hye Seoung Kwon as Oberto. After her pretty and ethereal Nannetta in Falstaff  last year, I couldn't quite imagine how she was going to pull off a Handelian travesti role. But pull it off she did, with impressive power and technical facility, and unexpectedly persuasive boyishness. No surprises from Richard Alexander as her tutor, just reliably solid and attractive singing — and really, you don't need anything else from a Melisso, do you? Morgana was Natalie Jones, whose Gilda I got so terribly excited about. I have to confess she disappointed me here a little, though I chalk that up more to my own inflated expectations than anything else. I still think the voice is gorgeous but it's perhaps not blissfully happy in Handel. The best of her arias was probably "Credete al mio dolore", whose lilting lines suit her sweetly rounded sound; faced with arias requiring greater agility, such as "Tornami a vagheggiar" (which ought to be Morgana's moment in the sun) that sweetness was sacrificed to the technical demands of the music and the result was just a bit too dry and effortful for me. Rounding out the cast as Oronte was the always delightful Henry Choo, whose natural nobility of phrasing and bearing belied his grubby, thuggish appearance; he's to be congratulated also for singing one of his arias ("E un folle, e un vil affetto" I think) so impeccably while shaving off his stage stubble. Very impressive.

This fix of Handel has been a long time coming for me. The last — and first — Handel opera I saw on stage was Xerxes at the New York City Opera, all the way back in 2004. Sweetening things even further is the joy of having Richard Hickox at the helm. Richard Hickox just happens to be responsible for, among other things, one of my very favourite baroque opera recordings — Vivaldi's Ottone in Villa on Chandos' Chaconne label. I trust him with Handel and my trust was repaid on Friday night by the myriad glorious sounds coming from the (raised) orchestra pit, reminding me over and over again why I love Handel, and this opera, so very much.

La traviata II

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

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

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

La traviata

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

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

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

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