Prima la musica, poi le parole

Mad about ewe

So far I seem to be the only person I know who unreservedly loves Justin Way's new production of Orlando. It all turns on the sheep, you see. There are a lot of them in this production (not real ones — this isn't Francesca Zambello) and they get up to all kinds of increasingly surreal shenanigans. Orlando's personal madness is mirrored in a world turned upside down and multi-coloured, where a humble office lamp is the moon, nobody is capable of a normal relationship and barnyard creatures are unbound by such a paltry force as gravity. Last year's Alcina was pretty magical, but Orlando — by the same team, director Justin Way and designers Andrew Hays and Kimm Kovacs — leaves it in the dust. It opens in the normal world and then everything just goes to pieces and flamboyant havoc ensues, creating along the way several tableaux worthy of La Cieca's Regie quizzes.

The boundless imagination of the design team blew my mind. Even leaving the sheep aside, this is such a visually captivating production. The costumes are fabulous. I think almost everyone (including the singer herself) covets Orlando's red leather army uniform, and Dorinda seems to have stepped straight out of a storybook — actually she kept putting me in mind of Lauren Childs' Lola. Rachelle Durkin's Angelica makes one of the best operatic entrances I've ever seen; I'll say no more than that, although Opera Australia's website does its best to spoil the surprise. I'm mightily impressed by the attention to detail (musical as well as textual) that's evident in Way's direction. I'm thinking especially of the extraordinary trio in which Angelica and Medoro carelessly crush Dorinda's little heart by announcing their plan to run away together. I'm also thinking of the torn wallpaper, another little flash of genius I don't want to spoil by explaining. It won't appeal to everyone, but then I don't suppose any production of anything ever appeals to everyone, so that's fine. As for me, I love it. I don't know. Must be all that MTV I (don't) watch, eating away my attention span and cheapening my taste. Or not. 

Two singers in this show give what I think might just be the best performances I've yet seen from either of them. They're Richard Alexander (Zoroastro) and Hye Seoung Kwon (Dorinda). I've sort of grown accustomed to Richard Alexander as one of those reliable, always OK but never amazing singers, with a useful sort of voice and generalised stage presence, who never looks entirely convincing in his old man make-up. His Zoroastro is a real step up — his singing is far more nuanced and creative, and he seems to have a definite grasp on the character. I don't suppose anybody was listening very closely to his first aria, but that's hardly his fault, what with the Kylie Minogue homage happening behind him, and he sings it wonderfully regardless. Maybe now I can finally stop confusing him with Richard Anderson. Hye Seoung Kwon's Dorinda is madcap and adorable, a lovelorn shepherdess who channels all that unrequited love into compulsive sock-knitting for Our Boys Over There. Vocally you couldn't ask for a better fit — after hearing Hye Seoung as both Oberto and Alcina last year, this is precisely the kind of role I wanted to hear her in, somewhere in the middle between bit-part boy and raging temptress. It also makes me more bewildered than ever by Opera Australia's decision to cast her as Fiordiligi in the Melbourne season of Cosi next year.

Our Orlando is Sonia Prina, and I'm happy to report that up close and without a beard, she doesn't look a thing like Eddie Izzard or Prince. Roles like this one are the reason singers such as Sonia Prina exist, so it's no surprise that she's excellent. It's not a voice I have been able to warm to — even since I forgave her for not being Ewa Podles — but that's not a criticism, it's just a quirk of personal taste. But I did like Tobias Cole more and more as the performance progressed; I heard so many people raving about him after his Cesare in 2006, and he more or less lived up to the hype.

I'm so transparent, aren't I? Yes, I'm saving Rachelle Durkin for last. I know the opera is not called Angelica but it's probably not long until I start inadvertently referring to it as such — I call Rinaldo, "Armida" and Giulio Cesare, "Cleopatra" almost without exception. I have made my feelings about Rachelle more than clear. That said, even I have to concede that her Donna Anna was not quite right. In Angelica she's back to the sort of blistering triumph I expect, however. The most preposterously difficult Handelian coloratura is but child's play to Rachelle: she not only meets the challenge but seems positively to relish it. Not that it's all about the fireworks.  Her iridescent tone is just as striking in simple, lyrical music as in the fast'n'furious stuff and possibly even lovelier. I know Orlando's mad scene is the centrepiece, but my own personal showstopper was Rachelle's "Verdi piante", an aria I love but had totally forgotten came from this opera.

One of the nice things about Handel at the House is the reconfigured orchestra. It's shrunk to period size, and the floor of the pit is raised closer to stage level, making for lovelier sound, greater intimacy and, I would imagine, something resembling humane working conditions for musicians used to playing in that horrible cavern. With Handel specialist Paul Goodwin at the helm they make a glorious noise, in better form even than they were for Alcina.

What a relief that I enjoyed this so much. Because, on the strength of Alcina, and the mania it induced in me, I've been stockpiling tickets for Orlando. Alright, so it wasn't that much of a risk, since it's the Rachelle/Handel combination which makes me do these things, and that much at least was a guarantee. But it's much better when the whole experience, and not just the prima donna, bears repeating.

Una voce

I think the usual etiquette is just to link; but this needs sharing, so I hope YouTube user Senjon111 won't be too upset with me for embedding these videos.
This is Australian soprano Rachelle Durkin (whom I may have mentioned once or twice) singing Rosina's "Una voce poco fa" in concert, followed by what I assume is an encore — and a slightly frightening, but justly enthusiastic, "brava!"

So now perhaps you can start to see what I was on about.

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.

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. 

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.