Prima la musica, poi le parole

Surfeit

 

The bad news: one of the city's major music retailers (not the one I work for, Gott sei Dank) has brutally halved its already patchy classical section. The good news: as a result of this clearance, I bought all the above (plus one) for less than $150. At their original prices, that's about $400 worth of CDs. So of course now, I can't help but gloat. Indulge me as I parade my pretty new children.

Maria Bayo — Canciones espanolas. I have a vaguely troubled relationship with Maria. I adore her Chants d'Auvergne, was disappointed by her Handel and couldn't abide her weak and watery Amenaide in Rossini's Tancredi on film. But I suspected this kind of repertoire would suit her as magically as the Canteloube and sure enough, it does. I'm again enchanted. Sunshiney and delicious.

Juan Diego Florez — Sentimiento Latino. Utterly utterly irresistible. Crossover? If it is, then I'm happy for him to do all the crossing he likes. Dangerously catchy, this — but then, who wouldn't want this in their head all day? Is there no limit to the gorgeousness this boy can produce?

Victoria de los Angeles — "The Modest Prima Donna". I have to confess that, to my unending shame, I don't know Victoria nearly as well as I ought. However, this CD helps a lot. Everything she sings is just so right. And I think of her as being small, sweet and pretty but there are some astonishing reserves of power in this voice too.

Rossini — La Cenerentola (Carlo Rizzi). Two words: Jennifer Larmore. Dazzling always, and especially in Rossini. There was a time when I'd accept nobody but Cecilia as Angiolina, but times have changed and there's room enough in my heart for both of them now. (Not to mention Glorious Joyce.) It does help, though, that this is the issue with a nice, innocuous painting on the cover — not the one which had Jennifer posing in her rival's costume.

Mario del Monaco — Great Tenor Arias.
Giuseppe Di Stefano — Operatic Recital.
Rolando Villazon — Italian Opera Arias.
Three tenors. My horizons are broadening. Of the three I think perhaps Mario is my favourite; there is something wonderfully decadent about basking in so much voice. Giuseppe is a bit quieter and less lavish. Very Italian and yet my favourite tracks are all the French ones — "En fermant les yeux" is perfectly floaty and dreamlike and "Salut! Demeure chaste et pure" make me care more about Gounod's Faust than I ever have before. Rolando always surprises me — he's sweeter here than I expected. Quite a vibrato, but it's rather appealing most of the time. I especially like his Donizetti.

Anna Netrebko — Violetta. It's all about the packaging. This is actually just a highlights disc of the now almost legendary Salzburg Traviata — but the more Netrebko-centric a thing is, the more it will sell, and so it's called Violetta and features Anya looking sinful on the cover. And why not? I go back and forth still about Anna — and the interviews making the rounds at the moment don't help — but here she is magnificent without question. Thomas Hampson bothers me far less than usual when I don't have to look at him. Rolando is excellent again but it's inevitably Anna's show and she rises to the occasion with what must be one of the classiest and most exciting of her performances on record.

Mozart — Messe en ut mineur (Emmanuel Krivine). 2007 seems to have become, among other things, my Year of the Mass in C Minor. I've bought two recordings, listened to several others, and I'll hear it at the Opera House three times next month. I'm not sure about this. It's all very crisp and precise, which is a positive attribute to a certain extent but occasionally comes across as a bit soulless and clinical — military almost. It's all relatively Mozartean but not very spiritual. However, it does offer a radiant Sandrine Piau as Soprano I. Soprano II Anne-Lise Sollied, on the other hand, is listenable but far from amazing. Accentus are in fine form though they tend to overshadow the orchestra when they get going.

Renata Tebaldi — The Best of Tebaldi. Just as the title suggests, Renata at her best. Beautiful golden Renata in beautiful golden repertoire. Just quietly: I think I sigh over her "Si, mi chiamano Mimi" even more than I do over Mirella's. And I have always been in love with her Liu — her "Tu che di gel sei cinta" gets to me every time, as I simultaneously swoon over Renata and rail against that insensitive idiot Calaf for ruining her life.

Inessa Galante — Heroines. Bought mostly out of curiosity. This is an enjoyable enough recital, though I doubt she's destined to become one of the loves of my life. Most of it is pretty standard soprano fare — "Caro nome", "Io son l'umile ancella" and a Jewel Song in some the weirdest French I've ever heard from a singer. The highlight for me is the Russian repertoire — one selection from Tchaikovsky's Pique Dame and two from Rimsky-Korsakov's The Snow Maiden. They're familiar to me from Anna's fabulous Russian Album but Inessa makes for an interesting contrast — her voice is lighter than Anna's, with a bit more silver in it, and somehow more friendly.

Barbara Bonney — Im chambre séparée: The Operetta Album. Perfection. I've said so before. I re-discovered this CD a few months and now I own it and it's still just as adorable and perfect as I thought. By singing these arias with piano instead of orchestra, she's removed the schmaltz and kept the sparkle; and because she's not competing to be heard, her voice in its full bloom is on delightful display.

Barbara Bonney — On Angels' Wings. More Barbara, this time a double disc "best of" compilation . I needed this. Not just because she's Barbara and she's beautiful, but because most of what's on this CD I don't own in any other form. Most of the Barbara I listened to back home belonged to either my father or the library. And then there's music on this compilation which I've never even heard before. Her "Exsultate, jubilate", for instance, is a treasure; not to mention the excerpts from her Susanna, her Zerlina, her Servilia and her Pamina. And Strauss Lieder. All of it bliss. I adore Barbara — I'm so glad she's back.

Handel — Clori, Tirsi e Fileno / Apolle e Dafne. Actually I've only listened to Clori, Tirsi e Fileno so far, but that's reason enough to own this because it contains the incomparable Lorraine Hunt Lieberson. She's singing as a soprano and she is mindbendingly exquisite. Transcendent is such an obvious word to use for Lorraine but it's true, and so here it is — she's transcendent here, elevating a slightly silly pastoral to a thing of such beauty and sincerity you'd swear it must have a deeper meaning lurking somewhere.

Felicity Lott — Sings Schumann and Mélodies sur des poèmes de Victor Hugo. It was always going to happen. I am learning to love my bête noire. I knew, deep down, that one day I would. Especially since an experience a few months ago, when I walked into a classical music store and they were playing something which stopped me in my tracks. I thought, this is actually the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in all my life. And it was Felicity Lott singing Reynaldo Hahn. So I when I saw these two CDs on sale I decided it was time. The Schumann is lovely, though the darker moments of Liederkreis probably do really need a male voice to do them justice. The real revelation, not surprisingly, is the disc of French songs. It's a couple of decades old, and she's in ravishing voice. The repertoire helps as well — I could just about re-title this Felicity Lott Sings MY Favourite French Songs. Gounod's "Sérénade", Fauré's "Le papillon et la fleur" and Bizet's "Les adieux de l'hotesse arabe" are all among the mélodies I love best. Alongside the favourites are songs I've never heard before — Bizet's  florid and fabulous "Guitare" and Wagner's "L'attente" which, weirdly enough, is the shortest track on the disc. Both CDs are excellent but this French recital is the real tour de force — if Felicity is now to be friend rather than foe, I couldn't have chosen a better starting point.

New toys

One of my semi regular secondhand haunts has laid its hands on what I suspect is part of a deceased estate — almost an entire bookshelf full of CDs, most of them vocal recital discs and most of those by mezzos and sopranos. Yes. You can imagine my glee; and now you can wonder at my superhuman self restraint. I only bought six. They are —

La traviata. Joan Sutherland, Carlo Bergonzi, Robert Merrill; conducted by John Pritchard. This one of the series which Decca re-released last year in their midprice range to celebrate Joanie's 80th. I, however, was too stingy even for that. Ten dollars, on the other hand, I can definitely cope with. Of course it's worth far more. Everything I can say about Joan's Violetta is just stating the obvious. I mean, we're not expecting the kind of shattering credibility of, say, Anna Moffo (still my One True Violetta) or, if she's your cup of tea, Maria Callas. But as a sheer sonic experience this must be unparalleled. It just cannot be possible for one human being to produce so much beauty from within herself; where in the world (or outside of it) does that sound come from? This is bliss. No, it's not hugely involving as drama; but as a transcendent musical experience she's beyond compare. And even when Joanie's not around, it ain't half bad. Bergonzi? Yes, please. And I love Robert Merrill. 

Handel Opera Arias — Nathalie Stutzmann. Handel arias + contralto + Hanover Band = combination I can't resist. I read the tracklisting on the back and figured, there's just no way this can fail. And I was right. She's not someone you'd sell your firstborn to hear, like Ewa Podles, but it's still a thoroughly excellent CD. The programme is suitably varied, a few well known arias alongside slightly more unusual choices and (I always give bonus points for this) no "Ombra mai fu". Interestingly, the second track is "Qui l'augel di pianta in pianta", from Aci, Galatea e Polifermo, which Natalie-without-an-H takes on in her Delirio — but the difference between the two is so vast you'd hardly recognise them as the same aria. All in all, the whole thing's an object lesson in repertoire choice, an interesting and well chosen programme which showcases her perfectly.

Rossini — Marilyn Horne. Well, what more is there to say? Peerless.

Bellini & Verdi Opera Arias — Montserrat Caballé. This is actually the second time I've bought this CD. I picked it up at the Dunedin Public Library sale but years of borrowing had damaged it beyond repair and it played no further than the third track. Like Joanie, a flood of impossibly gorgeous sound to just get lost in. I love Montserrat; I always forget how much until I hear her again. Those inevitably cited pianissimi — there's a reason nobody can mention her without bringing them up, they're heaven. And do you think Desdemona's Willow Song and Ave Maria might just be among the most distressingly beautiful pieces of music ever composed? That scene makes me feel much as the Four Last Songs do — thank god it occured to somebody to tangibly compose what, in some celestial sense, must always have existed. And I don't often feel like that in Italian opera but that scene is something else.

Chant d'amour — Cecilia Bartoli. Another one I already owned, except I didn't really and I've lost it anyway. About time I owned it properly, since I've suggested it may just be my favourite of all Cecilia's solo recordings. Not that I could ever choose just one. This is an amazing CD though, so unlike anything else she's done before or since — and yet, she's so well suited to it. No, perhaps not the most idiomatically French singer in the world but who cares? I don't think anyone conveys sincerity, simplicity and total joy in the way Cecilia can. The three Viardot songs are each of them absolute treasures. Maybe it is my definitive favourite after all; it comes close. She looks gorgeous on the cover too, very serious and française; of course on the back she's wearing one of those huge bows in her hair.

Viennese Operetta Arias — Lucia Popp. I grew up with this CD. To what extent, however, I didn't realise until it began playing. At which point it dawned on me — this CD was my introduction to, and definition of, opera. My beginning. When I was still very small, years before I could have put a name to it, this CD made me aware of the concept of opera. So I find I know this recording in the way one knows a first language; it's just there, too deeply ingrained and essential to recall or even conceive of a beginning. About Lucia herself, I find it hard to say much of any use; she's my operatic mother and you can't listen to family members critically. Still, filial obligation aside, has anyone ever sung anything so perfectly ever in the world ever? Ever?

Temptation

Shoppingwise I managed for the most part to behave myself on this trip. But good behaviour and Natalie Dessay have very little to do with one another — and surely the real sin would be saying no? So after much agonising and indecision in Thomas' Music, my spiritual home in Melbourne, I opted for a DVD of Ambroise Thomas' Hamlet, in the process resisting both Patrizia Ciofi in La traviata and the blogger formerly known as Canadienne in Così fan tutte. Both remain high on my wanted list, obviously, but I can't have everything — or at least, not all at once — so in the end Natalie had to win out.

Clearly this opera was composed for one reason only: so that one day Natalie could be in it. Just what planet is this woman from? Because she surely can't be from this boring one. The DVD is worth having just for Ophélie's mad scene and suicide, which Natalie performs with such unsettling brilliance you almost feel you ought to look away. Except you can't. On a purely vocal level she's incredible, naturally, but beyond that, she manages to find and express real, credible significance in all the acrobatics — far more, surely, than even the composer meant to put there. She's a phenomenon. Then there's the rest. The mad scene is Ophélie's big moment but Natalie is just as spellbinding in her smaller ones too. And as if she weren't enough on her own, she's paired with Simon Keenlyside's simply stunning Hamlet. I approached this purely as a Natalie vehicle and assumed I'd grow impatient whenever Hamlet was onstage sans Ophélie. I even told myself I was allowed to skip a track or two if I was missing her too much. No chance. He's as compelling in his own way as she is — not something I say lightly, and especially not about a boy. But this boy's fantastic and, like Natalie, both a fabulous singer and a real actor. They're so good you can ignore the horrendous liberties taken by the librettist, their performances so penetrating and committed it might as well be Shakespeare.

There's much much more to be said about this Hamlet but it wouldn't do much good. This is the kind of performance which needs to be seen. The wonders of YouTube (surprise surprise) mean you can in fact see part of the mad scene right now. But honestly, if you can, you it to yourself to see the whole thing and on as big a screen as possible.

And then there's Delirio. I've longed for this CD since the moment I read of its release. Rightly so, it turns out. This may just prove to be my favourite of all Natalie's CDs so far. She's in drop dead gorgeous voice, she's singing Handel cantatas, and Emmanuelle Haïm conducts. If it didn't exist I'd have dreamt it: every element of this disc is something I adore individually, and here they are united! Natalie proves she can pull off baroque madness just as spectacularly as the bel canto variety; Emmanuelle and Le Concert d'Astrée are just as beautifully insane. The first cantata on the CD, Delirio amoroso, is one I know via Magdalena Kozena but I almost didn't recognise it. Natalie's and Emmanuelle's rendition is a far more haunting, fragile kind of mania than Magdalena's blood'n'guts raging, more varied in tone and colour, and ultimately probably more successful. Then there's "Qui l'augel da pianta in pianta" from Aci, Galatea e Polifemo, followed by a second cantata, the gorgeous "Mi palpita il cor", all of it sung with shining loveliness and some dazzling ornamentation. There's a slightly dreamlike quality to the whole recording, a sheen and a lightness of touch which distinguish it from the two other Handel cantata discs I have, Magdalena's and Véronique's, both a little darker and earthier. Fabulous stuff. More Handel please Natalie, as much and as quickly as possible.

Serendipity

Wandering more or less aimlessly after a trip to the MDC Opera shop I stumbled across Travis & Emery, a music bookshop. The kind of shop which, though it's tiny, one could spend hours and hours in. I was there for a long time, browsing through scores, a million and one composer biographies, playbills, programmes, everything you could imagine and several things you mightn't. And as I was leaving I spotted a leaflet. "Handel's Giulio Cesare: From Egypt to England". A temporary exhibition on at the Foundling Museum, of which I'd never heard. So I checked out the website and discovered that, as the front page states:

The Foundling Museum tells the story of the Foundling Hospital, London's first home for abandoned children and of three major figures in British history: its campaigning founder the philanthropist Thomas Coram, the artist William Hogarth and the composer George Frideric Handel. This remarkable collection of art and social history is now housed in a restored and refurbished building adjacent to the original site of the Hospital, demolished in 1926.

Turns out the Foundling Museum houses the Gerald Coke Handel collection, which can be read about here. Needless to say I made my way there as soon as possible and it was without question among the highlights of my stay. Forget the Handel for a moment: the history of the Foundling Hospital is fascinating enough on its own. Then there's the art collection. The Giulio Cesare exhibition was interesting too. But oh, the Handel room: possibly my favourite place in all of London. Artworks, manuscripts, ephemera, letters...and easy chairs which play music. Imagine it, sit back in a leather armchair, press a button and there's Joan Sutherland in stereo. I need one. I never wanted to leave and spent a rather long time with the bust of Handel out on the landing, feeling rather tearful and grateful. And I even got all scholarly and returned in my final week for a talk by Dr. Andrew Jones (Cambridge, you know) entitled "A character transform'd", about Handel's Cleopatra. Very interesting, and it deserved a larger audience than the six or seven of us who were there; he's an excellent speaker but even better, most of his samples came from the Cesare recording with Magdalena Kozena as Cleopatra. Others came from a real live soprano named Susanna, also lovely.

But anyway, that's not the serendipity story.

On Friday, my final full day in London, I ended up with a few hours to fill in before heading out to Holland Park for The Merry Widow. Finding myself in Charing Cross, I wondered whether I might stumble upon Travis & Emery again. Stumble upon, because I have zero sense of direction and thus had not a chance of finding it on purpose. Seconds later, I found it. Once inside I determined to buy myself a present or two. Maybe a vocal score to murder on the piano. And why not something edifying and educational? I picked up all manner of things and replaced most of them. I started looking through the opera shelves, still determined to choose something suitable serious and scholarly. The title Backstage at the Opera was thus precisely what I didn't intend to buy but all the same, as I told myself this very fact, I picked it up. And saw this:

You probably can't see the photo very clearly at that size. I'll make it larger.

Recognise the gorgeous blonde? I certainly did.

And so I thought: how wonderful, a backstage book with a photo of Yvonne Kenny on the cover. I'll need to own that. Then I read the blurb.

"Backstage at the Opera takes the reader on a journey through the making of one of the English National Opera's most popular and enduring operas, Xerxes."

Right. That would be the Xerxes starring Yvonne then. That would be why she's on the cover. That would be why she wrote the foreword.

I never knew this book existed. I found Travis & Emery by accident and found it a second time by accident. I picked the book up by pure chance, looking for something quite different. So that's serendipity at its most glorious. I had a hard time containing my glee. I had to duck around a corner so nobody else in the shop would catch me grinning like an idiot, and fought back the urge to laugh out loud as I re-emerged into the world, book in hand. I came dangerously close to skipping down Charing Cross Rd. In some moments you just know the heavens are smiling upon you.

New children

My tendency to go crazy in overseas CD shops has probably not gone unnoticed. I was well behaved this time, however. I was in fact remarkably well restrained. For two weeks. Then it all went out the window. So, as usual, an overview of my latest acquisitions.

Obviously I continued in my mad completist efforts. This gets harder and harder, as you can imagine, because at this point there really aren't very many entries in the Yvonne Kenny discography which I don't already own.  Nevertheless I tracked down a few of the stragglers:

Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, the London Classical Players under Roger Norrington. You know, the recording of this symphony which I threatened would, no matter how inappropriate an introduction, would be my first on account of its soprano soloist. Until now I've only seen it as part of a complete set of Norrington's Beethoven symphonies, and although even that was cheap, I nevertheless didn't want all of them. Anyway I finally found it on its own.

Mahler Plays Mahler: The Welte-Mignon Piano Rolls. This is where being a lunatic comes in handy. The CD was shrinkwrapped. There's no indication anywhere, front or back, of the presence of any singers. But because I'm, well, me, I knew she was there. One song. The  fourth movement from Symphony No. 4. As ever she's simply too wonderful to be allowed. And not to miss the point entirely: it's fascinating and not a little spooky to hear Mahler played by Mahler.

Lucio Silla. I cannot tell you in how many CD stores in how many cities I have scanned the Mozart shelves for this. Once, long ago, I did so because it starred Cecilia Bartoli. These days because it features the one-and-only in a gallingly small role as Cinna. Being opera seria, though, she still gets three arias. And being opera seria, they're preposterously difficult, full of acrobatics and high high high notes, all those things I love to hear. So we try not to think about the fact that Yvonne had also sung Giunia earlier on, stepping in for an ailing Edita Gruberova (who's back in the role for this recording). Obviously I'd give anything to hear that. But then I also wouldn't want now to hear anyone else as Cinna so she'd need to sing both roles. Fine with me.

Vaughan Williams : A Pastoral Symphony. These days I own more Vaughan Williams than I'd ever have expected, but the words "soprano soloist" are potent indeed. Actually I almost didn't buy this one. Not because I didn't want it, or because (laughable thought indeed!) I thought maybe a brief wordless solo in the last movement wasn't quite worth the price of the disc. No. Rather because - and perhaps I shouldn't admit this - I honestly couldn't remember whether I owned it already or not. Had to happen at some point. I scanned through the list in my mind as best I could, but it's not exactly easy to keep track of 70-odd CDs in one's mind. I knew I had the Sea Symphony, also conducted by Bryden Thomson, also on Chandos, also with a murky Turner on the cover. Did I have this as well? Eventually I decided I didn't and returned a week later to buy it. Luckily I was right. I don't have it already. Not that I necessarily object to owning two copies of anything (I'll get to that issue soon) but if I had already owned it, I'd be feeling terribly guilty now for not remembering it.

Britten: Four Burns Songs, Folksongs, A Charm of Lullabies. Oh now this one was madness. I bought it on vinyl. At significantly more than the Amazon CD price. Why? Well because I didn't realise (or had forgotten) it was available on Amazon until last night. And because I've grown so tired of not owning it I just wanted to have done with it all and buy it. And because, come on, it's Yvonne! Sadly she's sharing duties with Carolyn Watkinson but the first side at least is all hers. A few of the songs are on her later disc of English songs, but others aren't, the Burns songs included. Yvonne singing in Scots for Melba is one of the most adorable things I've ever heard in my life so I'm looking forward to these especially. I only wish she could have recorded the Charm of Lullabies as well. And yes I know it's intended for a lower voice but she'd do them magnificently I know.

Right. And then I remembered that there are, it seems, several other sopranos in existence on this planet. Hence:

Véronique Gens: Tragédiennes. I resisted this several times, thinking there was no need (except my need for instant gratification) to buy this in expensive London rather than from reasonable Marbecks. But then I listened to Patricia Petibon singing  one of the Lully arias included on Véronique's CD and thought, enough is enough, I need to hear Véronique's take on this as soon as I possibly can. So, miser that I am, I trekked from Hither Green (that's south) all the way to Les Aldrich's in Muswell Hill (that's north) where it was a whole £1.49 cheaper than elsewhere. Only to discover it the following day at the Piccadilly Virgin Megastore for a further £1.51 less. Never mind. It's worth a million times more, as you'd expect. I thought I couldn't possibly feel any more admiration for Véronique but she's gone and done it. At one point I dared to try and leave the room at one point but she launched into Circe's invocation Leclair's Scylla et Glaucus and drew me right back in: I knew even before I checked the booklet that she must be in evil sorceress mode. Terrifying. I'm going to have more to say about this CD, though not tonight.

Vivaldi Motets: Patrizia Ciofi. While I was in Les Aldrich's and thus open to temptation, this somehow leapt into my hand as well. You need to own it. Whoever you may be. At least as addictive as her disc with Joyce DiDonato. The kind of disc which, when it finishes, you just play over again. And again. And again. Which is exactly what I'm doing as I write this.

And finally, Diana Montague: Bella immagin. Alright. Please believe me, this is not as backhanded as it sounds. But I did feel I owed a little something to Diana Montague, who withdrew from Opera Holland Park's Fedora thus opening the way for Yvonne. Is that a terrible thing to say? Yes. So I'm sorry. But I have another reason for buying this - a compilation from her work with Opera Rara - which is even worse: track 7 is a trio from Paer's Sofonisba with Keith Lewis and Yvonne Kenny. And the only other way I could hear this would be to spend at least $100 - probably more - on one of Opera Rara's 100 Years of Italian Opera sets. I'm despicable. I know it. But aside from all that, I do actually like Diana Montague. She's a delightful Opera in English Octavian and brilliant in Il crociato in Egitto and other Opera Rara bits I happen to own. So I'm not entirely evil. And I'm sure I'll love the whole CD. Strangely enough there's also a Rossini duet with Yvonne here which also appears on Yvonne's Opera Rara compilation. Never occured to me it was a duet...

Ah, la mia lista...

Time again for the Regent Theatre's annual 24 hour secondhand book sale. In the past I've hung around until late at night but I guess I must be getting old: I swooped in this afternoon, picked up a healthy stack of records, and departed while it was still daylight. This year's haul (the best yet):

Leontyne Price: Prima Donna. Volume 3. "Great Soprano Arias from Gluck to Poulenc". The latter name was the hook for me, though I bought this as much as anything else for the fabulous mock-Mucha cover art.

Anna Russell Sings?; Anna Russell Sings! Again?; Anna Russell in Darkest Africa. I love Anna Russell. Most of the contents of  these records I've heard before, but haven't owned till now. I have a semi-signed copy of her autobiography somewhere too.

Mirella Freni: Recital - Puccini & Verdi. Can you believe until now I haven't owned a single solo recording by Mirella?

Roberta Peters: Famous Operatic Arias. Just for you, Michael.

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf in Songs You Love. Because it's Elisabeth. And because several of them are Songs I Love.

Operatic Recital by Eileen Farrell. I love Eileen's Puccini LP which I bought a couple of sales ago; when I saw that this one included "Adieu, forêts" I was sold.

Kirsten Flagstad: Bach & Handel Recital. This is not repertoire I immediately associate with Kirsten Flagstad, whom I've liked a lot in the little I've heard of her — I'm intrigued. Especially by the prospect of her Semele in "O sleep".

Grace Bumbry singt Grosse Arien der Internationalen Oper. There's nothing here which isn't in the pink boxed set but I just wanted this one for its adorable cover, Gracie in her pearls looking ready for church.

Janet Baker & Gerald Moore : A Pageant of English Son 1597 - 1961. You just know it's going to be good.

Berganza Sings Rossini. Ditto.

Milanov: Operatic Arias. I've never actually heard a single note of Zinka Milanov so I thought it was about time I stopped feeling ashamed and did something about that.

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf Sings Mozart Operatic Arias. I ended up with two copies of this in the pile and in the end chose the one with the prettier cover. (You might have noticed a recurring theme here.)

Gladys Swarthout: Chausson's Poeme de l'amour et de la mer & A French Song Recital. Everything else I selected based on artist, but this one I bought on account of the Chausson. I love Jessye's recording of it so I'm interested to hear another. And the French Song Recital includes a few Poulenc songs, always a bonus.

Régine Crespin: Italian Operatic Arias. Available on CD, one of those I've picked up and put back a dozen times. A 50c LP is rather easier to say yes to.

Kiri in Concert. Kiri recorded live in New Zealand and Australia, 1965-66. There are excerpts here from a couple of farewell concerts and from her performances at the Mobil Song Quest and the Sun Aria Contest, both of which she won of course. The notes on the back include these marvellous words: "Kiri, now studying at the London Opera Centre, is from all accounts making excellent progress, and informed observers consider she has great potential in the field of opera." You think?

When in the world will I ever find the time to listen to all of these?

Still not a Falstaff review

But a chance to show off my newest and shiniest toys. I did actually tell myself I wouldn't go madly shopping this time but what can I say, it's an addiction, I can't help myself.

Portraits: Leyla Gencer - Donizetti, Verdi, Catalani. 
In May last year there was brief clip of Leyla Gencer during the Met broadcast intermission. I don't even remember what it was, but the voice appealed to me immediately and I was full of good intentions to hear more. But I never actually did anything except listen to tinny Amazon samples and keep on intending to buy a CD sometime. Finally I have, and happily I'm just as enchanted by an hour of Leyla as I was by 20 seconds. It's always gratifying when that happens, nice to find that once in a while at least I can trust my first impressions of a voice. Bodes well for Elisabeth Söderström whom I've been meaning to hear properly for years after hearing about two and a half Tchaikovsky songs on radio late one night. One day. I don't quite see a future as a Leyla Gencer devotee stretching out in front of me but I definitely wouldn't say no to hearing more.

Classic Recitals: Joan Sutherland. 
Well, having exhausted the solo discography of one Australian coloratura I had no choice but to try another, right? No of course I don't actually mean that. I have a lot of affection for Joanie. And very few recordings. But this one begins to address that situation and it's phenomenal. The one solo album I already owned, a disc of French arias from 1970, though pretty impressive in itself, did not prepare me for the astounding virtuosity and equally astounding gorgeousness of this recording. Surely the universe ought to have imploded the moment the record was made, just out of the sheer impossibility of it all.

Classic Recitals: Gwyneth Jones.
I've lost count of the number of times I've picked this up in CD stores around Australia, only to put it back in the end for whatever reason and choose something else. Finally this time I took it. I'll admit right now that the reason it's tempted me for so long is fantastically superficial. I love the cover photo. And her Marschallin on film is so beguiling I've always felt I should acquire a recording of her sometime. Now I have. I haven't heard it yet.

Gundula Janowitz: Mozart Concert Arias. 
I've assumed for years, based solely on her repertoire, that I'd like Gundula Janowitz if ever I heard her. And amazingly, given my weakness for Mozart sopranos, it has taken until now for me to hear a single note. Truly. Unless I've forgotten something, which I don't think I have. Of course I was right and I like her a lot. Precisely my cup of tea. Which anybody with even the shakiest grasp of my taste in sopranos could no doubt have told me. The repertoire on this recording is, naturally, dazzlingly ideal. Refreshing too, because while I have innumerable Mozart aria discs, most are of opera arias rather than concert arias, and so for once there are tracks here which I don't have ten thousand other versions of.

Lucia di Lammermoor.
I bought two, both with Joan: a 1961 studio recording, and a 1982 film from the Met. I haven't got to either yet, but will. Apart from the fact that I shouldn't really be calling myself an opera devotee if I haven't heard Joan as Lucia, I'll be seeing my first live Lucia in Christchurch this year so I'd like to be somewhat acquainted with it, and I'd much rather learn with Joanie than with anybody else.

Roberto Devereux. 
This was my greatest extravagance, a rather outrageously priced DVD from VAI, with Beverly Sills, whom I worship but have never yet seen in action, as Elisabetta. I'm certain this film can't be anything except fabulous in the extreme.

Andreas Scholl: Arias for Senesino. 
I saw Andreas Scholl in recital while I was in Sydney (review forthcoming, probably). I decided on the spur of the moment while buying a programme that I'd get a CD as well - they had a number on sale - and chose this rather than Wayfaring Stranger (which is where the recital repertoire came from) as a slightly safer choice in view of my sensibilities. The recital was excellent, and this CD is too. To my ears he sounds best when in happy-in love or liltingly melancholy mode. The heroic coloratura is secure and masterfully executed to be sure, but slightly on the mechanical side; it's when he's allowed to sing a lover, rather than a fighter, that the sound and expression truly blossom. This is a mere quibble however, the CD is a success and an impulse buy I don't regret.

Graham Pushee: Handel Arias.
Graham Pushee is the Australian countertenor who is Cesare to Yvonne Kenny's Cleopatra in Opera Australia's 1994 Giulio Cesare. The one who even I concede might just be worthy of her. (Well maybe not quite, but almost.) It's not often that, while skipping merrily through DVD tracks to Yvonne's next aria, I stop and let one of the boys sing, but on occasion I've done just that for Graham. His is a sharper-edged sound than Andreas', but with equal capacity for great beauty and I'm looking forward to hearing this CD when I have the chance. As an added bonus, he's backed by the Brandenburg Orchestra, who also appear on Yvonne's disc of Handel arias and are meltingly superb.

Lucia Popp: Opera Arias. 
Lucia is my operatic mother, certainly the most important single performer in the formation of my love of opera: both its existence and the shape it has taken. Because of that I listen to her in a way unlike any other singer: I'm unable to criticise or really even to analyse her singing. It's unconditional love. With others, it's possible for me to adore even while recognizing less-than-shining moments; with Lucia I wouldn't know how. I've also never been obsessed by her: she simply exists in my life and always has, literally since before I can remember. I only discovered recently that this recording existed; even though I've just made clear my total lack of critical credibility, let me tell you, it's breathtaking even by her own glorious standards. In fact I'd go so far as it to say it's perfect. It's also devastating. Recorded in 1983 this is so patently not the sound of a woman with only ten years left on the planet, a reminder of how prematurely she was taken away. The sound of greatness. (And now I've gone and upset myself.)

A Hundred Years of Italian Opera: 1820 - 1830.
I'm rather fond of obscure bel canto. The three volumes in this series by Opera Rara are beautifully presented, with copious and erudite notes, illustrations and some very talented singers to boot. They're on the expensive side, but not unreasonably so, given the quality and quantity of the music (or at least the recordings thereof) presented. Certainly a worthwhile purchase. I borrowed an earlier volume from the public library and it was wonderful. I'm glad to own it. But how shall I put this. These three discs include one trio, one duet and two arias featuring Yvonne Kenny and that's what I paid for. Without them, I may never have bought this set, at any price; because they're there, I'd have paid even more if required. In fact as far as I'm concerned, the aria "Ama ed amato io sono" on its own repays me in full. It's one of the most florid, testing pieces I've ever heard her sing; a fearless and electrifying yet always graceful performance, and so technically demanding it leaves me exhausted afterwards.

Madamina...

My 2005 Melbourne musical haul is as follows:

Donizetti: Ugo, Conte di Parigi (Opera Rara)
Offenbach: Robinson Crusoe (Opera Rara)
Handel: Messiah. William Christie & Les Arts Florissants (Harmonia Mundi)
Handel: Giulio Cesare - highlights. (ABC Classics)
Britten: Gloriana (Decca)
Berkeley: Ruth (Chandos)

Howells: Orchestral Works, vol. 2 (Chandos)
Vaughan Williams: Sancta Civitas; Dona Nobis Pacem (EMI)
Vaughan Williams: A Sea Symphony (Chandos)
Bernstein: Kaddish, Symphony no. 3; Chichester Psalms (Naxos)
Gorecki: Symphony no. 3 (ABC Classics)

The Singers: Beverly Sills (Decca)
Mozart Opera & Concert Arias: Elina Garanca (Virgin Veritas)
The Very Best of Brigitte Fassbaender (EMI)

Oh sure, it looks well-balanced. But ten of these fourteen recordings have something, or at least someone, in common. And speaking of CDs and unbalance: in a quiet moment last week, I tallied up my Yvonne Kenny collection for the first time and reached a total of 52 - that's CDs, DVDs, videos and records. Which as you might have realised, averages out nicely to one recording per week in the year that this mania has been going on. Couldn't have worked it out better if I'd tried.

Sale

I didn't go to the Public Library sale today with particularly high hopes. But, well...

Now that's just silly.

Shopping in Auckland

Very odd visit(s) to Marbecks Classical this weekend. Since I was there in April the shop has halved in size - and it was already pretty packed. There's a strange smell in one corner, over near the Handel and Haydn. Their fabulous selection of opera on DVD is arranged not by composer but by title, which makes for a slightly odd browsing experience. Though I suppose that's the way movie DVDs are laid out, so it makes some sort of sense. Sort of. The music playing in store when I arrived was Christmas carols arranged for harp, blasting out of the speakers at incredibly high volume - and though no doubt the harpist was some fabulous virtuosic genius, it was still a little too 'Best of Relaxing Classics' for me and didn't put me in a particularly good mood. When that ended it was followed by near silence, something orchestral too soft to make out. And is the free bag of designer coffee they're giving away with Sandrine Piau's Opera Seria CD the reason it's number one on the Concert FM charts? I think it probably is.

And here as elsewhere, Felicity Lott Torments Me. Have I mentioned this before? I'm being followed by Felicity Lott. Or possibly, I am (against my will) following Felicity Lott. As I go my merry Yvonne Kenny obsessed way, I constantly find Felicity where Yvonne should be. Wearing her Marschallin costumes. Recording roles Yvonne has only sung on stage. They were even one after the other on the Askonas Holt sopranos list until Anna May Leese came between them. So browsing through the Naxos collection (which seems rather inordinately large given the size of the shop) I spotted a CD of William Walton songs. Dare I look? though I. Those Walton songs may just be the best thing Yvonne has ever recorded, can I bear even to see the name of another singer associated with them? But I had to look - and sure enough, 'Soprano: Felicity Lott'. I almost laughed out loud. I didn't buy it. However when I returned on Saturday (after the previous day's purchases I only needed one more Beethoven stamp on my loyalty card, so figured it was worth having another look around) it occured to me that I wanted to get my hands on a recording or two of La Voix Humaine in order to familiarise myself with it somewhat before seeing it in Melbourne in December. Naturally Marbecks only held one recording of it. Naturally it was Felicity Lott's. This I did buy. After all, the reviews for it are fabulous - and at least in this case, I'll hear Felicity and then Yvonne. I think we can guess which one will be the definitive 'Elle' of my lifetime. Though speaking of the definitive 'Elle' - I wouldn't mind owning Denise Duval's recording of it either.

Real Groovy's classical section, on the other hand, offered me nothing. 50 million secondhand copies of Aled Jones' CD Higher. And Haunted Heart which I do not want. Why did Renée's prettiest cover photo ever have to be on her jazz CD?

But in the end I'm a happy and somewhat poorer person, and now the proud owner of the following:

Medea in Corinto. Oh, I paid much too much for this opera. Or, alternatively, I paid a civilised amount for the opera, and an extra $37.95 for the photo in the liner notes of the soprano singing Creusa. And when I go now and listen to it, it will of course be worth every extravagant cent.
The Marriage of Figaro. Yes, in English. I'm not quite sure how I'll ever make myself listen to Act One though - with my darling Yvonne singing the Countess, I'll quite happily let things begin with 'Porgi amor'. Such a heathen.
Die Zauberflöte. Gorgeous red cover + bargain price = worthwhile purchase. And then there's my beloved William Christie conducting, and chère Mlle Dessay singing the Königin. Irresistible.
Anna Moffo - Arias. AKA The Beige Album. I spent many months head over heels in love with Anna and yet somehow in all that time acquired only three CDs, only one of which was a solo disc. But I have this now. And it was free! Thankyou loyalty card.
Sara Mingardo - Monteverdi, Vivaldi, Handel. And despite the title, many other composers too. I've only heard a little of it so far but I can tell she's my kind of girl.
And as I said, Poulenc's La Voix Humaine with the Ubiquitous Lott. Also includes La Dame de Monte-Carlo, a short monologue, once again with text by Cocteau.