Prima la musica

Video Stream of Consciousness

I read about Anja Harteros all the time – mostly either paeans to her fabulousness on stage, or laments at her fairly frequent cancellations – but it struck me last night that I'd never actually heard her sing, either in person or via recordings. She's respected and adored by many of the operapeople I trust most, so I've never doubted her brilliance, but somehow I've also never got around to investigating the nature of that brilliance. You can get a vague sense of somebody's artistry from reviews and a look at their repertoire, but not much more than that. 

So, off to YouTube – the font of all diva knowledge – where the first morsel to tempt me was this very beautiful "O mio babbino caro" in concert.

 

But I fancied something a bit more intense and theatrical, so my next step was this, "D'Oreste, d'Ajace" from Idomeneo. A slightly oddball production by the looks of it but the manic intensity of her Elettra is gripping and she sings the daylights out of it. 

 

Maybe you think this blog post is going to be an Anja Harteros Gala, and it might have been, had this not caught my eye among the linked videos in the sidebar.

 

Well, wow. The production is everything Anja's wasn't: hypertraditional, static and let's face it, potentially very very dull...except that Behrens is here to prove that it's the singer, not the staging, who brings a performance to life. She's riveting and terrifying and completely wonderful and it all comes from within: that is one raging inferno of an inner fire. I don't for a minute mean to diminish the marvellous Anja, but this performance edged her out for my Revelation Of The Night. 

It also started me thinking about other exciting Mozart sopranos, from which it was a very short leap to – who else? – Carol Vaness. I was hoping for my third scary Elettra of the night, but YouTube didn't seem inclined to oblige, and since I actually own that one on DVD anyway I was happy to be sidetracked by something very different, though still Mozart: 

 

Parsifal and Peter Grimes might have supplanted Don Giovanni at the top of my favourite operas list but I will never ever not love Mozart, and while Così has its longueurs, the above isn't one of them. Neither is this...

 

...although that might have a little something to do with the supreme adorability of Cecilia Bartoli. I was nine when, fascinated by her incredibly mobile eyebrows, I declared her my favourite and while she might not be quite at the centre of my diva universe any more, I haven't stopped loving her; and I doff my hat completely to her having maintained a top level operatic career on what appear to be almost entirely her terms. No mean feat, that. The sheer joy and love of music which radiates from her is, to me, irresistible – especially when she goes and does something like this:

 

[moment of silence]

Where to from there? Oh, I know. MIRELLA.

 

MORE MIRELLA.

 

Thus it might easily have continued for hours (or all eternity) but you have to stop somewhere, I suppose, and this where I stopped last night. The only name I searched all night was Anja's; every other video was just a recommendation thrown up by the previous one. Interwebz, you are a grand and glorious thing.

And so, as it turns out, is the woman who started the evening's adventures, so let's finish more or less where we started, with Anja Harteros being glorious.

 

I'm sold. Ain't opera grand? 

Australia Day Videofest

In slightly belated honour of Australia Day, here's a little YouTube gala, featuring some of my very favourite operatic Australians. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now remind me to do something similar for my favourite New Zealand singers one of these days, before my native land disowns me completely.

Is That Sumi Jo?

Lately, the "S*** [insert group of people here] Say" meme has apparently been doing the rounds of the Internet, although to be honest I only owe this knowledge to suggestions (on one of the sillier blogs I frequent) that it was about to die out anyway. Know Your Meme has a better explanation than I could muster, should you be hungering for some context, but the reason I've brought all of this up is because – and this sort of thing always makes me happy – the meme now has an operatic incarnation. Two, in fact.

This one showed up on my Facebook feed this afternoon.

 

And when I, in turn, shared it, this one was brought to my attention by the excellent Mr Andrew Finden. It's from a slightly less student-y perspective than the first, and a bit more slickly produced.

 

I do love the blonde wig. This video also had the bonus of reminding me about Jennifer Rivera (the mezzo in the video, in case you've not watched it). Jennifer (aka Sestissimo) has been blogging for years, but I fear I've neglected her wonderful blog something chronic. There's no good reason for this: over the years, I've landed there on many occasions, loved it, promised myself to keep up with it, and then...not done so. Hopeless. But I've just been catching up with the last six months or so (less impressive than it sounds, as her posts have been brilliant but sparse) and I hope that maybe this time I Will Be Good, and stick with her. You should too. Maybe you already do. 

And now that we've had Jennifer (and the similarly hilarious Will Ferguson) in comic mode, here she is in serious Handelian mode, singing up a storm as Nerone in Handel's Agrippina at the Berlin Staatsoper. 

 

Jane Parkin

A couple of years ago, I ventured out to Parramatta for OzOpera's Madama Butterfly. It was a worthwhile excursion for a number of reasons, but my own motivating factor was a certain soprano named Jane Parkin, whose appearance in the finals of the McDonald's Aria competition had left me keen to hear more. I loved her Butterfly and have remained a fan ever since. 

Fast forward to 2010 and Jane is now a member of Opera Australia's Young Artist Program and currently appearing as one of the Nurses in Bliss, whose Melbourne season opens on April 20th. She's also been covering the role of Lucy Joy, Harry's daughter, and in fact sang that role on closing night in Sydney, when Taryn Fiebig was unwell. (And, I might add, she did a pretty fantastic job of it.) Jane's been kind enough to answer a few questions about the Bliss experience and about life as a Young Artist.
 

This year you're a member of Opera Australia's Young Artist program. Can you tell us a bit about how that came about, and about what the program entails? 

I had been working at Opera Australia and interested in the Young Artist program for some years but participants had previously always been invited and I’d never had the chance to apply. Last year Opera Australia opened it up to a nation-wide competition and I thought “Just do it - here’s your chance.” It was difficult because it involved several stages of auditions in Sydney over a number of weeks, and it coincided with final rehearsals and opening night of the Ozopera Butterfly in Melbourne. Two other finalists and I were flying back and forth from Sydney to Melbourne, doing 14 hour days of rehearsals, travelling and coachings. We were absolutely exhausted by the end of it. But it was totally worth it - the program is great.

In addition to the roles and covers we are assigned for the year, we have music and language coachings with OA staff, masterclasses and lessons with visiting artists, movement, dance and fight classes. We also have our own recital and concert programs throughout the year, so it keeps us pretty busy. It’s fantastic getting such intensive individual training. 

In Bliss, you've been playing one of the nurses while also covering the larger role of Lucy, Harry Joy's daughter. How do you go about balancing the two? How does your rehearsal process, as a cover, differ from that of the singer cast in the role? 

As a cover you will generally start rehearsing the part after the cast rehearsals have been going for a while. This is really helpful in that you can observe the cast first and then try it out for yourself on the floor. However, you do have to have the part musically prepared from the first day of cast rehearsals, as you may be needed to step in should your cast member be sick in the early days of rehearsal. I had that happen to me a couple of years ago when I was thrown into a rehearsal room run of Act I as Frasquita in Carmen. I particularly remember a fight with Morales that consisted of me rushing at him and then frantically following his muttered instructions – “tussle with me…now grab the gun…now flourish it… and run off that way…no THAT way!” 

Sometimes covering a part in a show that you’re also performing in is tricky as you might miss some of the action while concentrating on your own plot. But in Bliss doing the two parts worked really well - I was there for all the early rehearsals doing Nurse 2, and as the part is small and self-contained I had plenty of opportunity to observe Taryn’s part once my scene was done.  

Several members of the Bliss cast have spoken about the challenges of learning abrand new opera. How did you go about preparing your two roles? Were there aspects of either you found particularly challenging or particularly appealing? 

I am sure all the members of the cast would agree that there was a moment where everyone was looking at the score and thinking it was impossible. It’s a rich, dense and very difficult score, but I think the final product is amazing.  

I had sung Nurse 1 in an initial workshop and swapping to the other part in that scene sent me utterly mad at first because of the way the parts overlap. Even on opening night I may have accidentally sung one of Teresa’s notes with her. Also when we first added movement to the scene, coordinating that with the speed of the Nurses entries made for a patting head/rubbing tummy-like situation that quite undid us at first. Now I love our scene – we have fun with it.   

 On closing night of Bliss in Sydney, Taryn Fiebig was unwell and you had the chance to sing the role of Lucy Joy. How much notice did you have that this was going to happen? What was that evening like?  

I had seen Taryn the day before so I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I got the official call-up at 10am on the day and I was feeling pretty calm and confident until I went in for a rehearsal on the revolving stage at 5pm. My first entrance I stumbled on the edge of the revolve, nearly fell over, grabbed Peter, looked into his face and promptly sang all my “Stay Dad” lines in the wrong order. After that I was utterly terrified. But I calmed down during the first few scenes and managed to really enjoy the rest of the show. Although I had a thumping headache at the end of the night- too much concentration I think! 

You're about to begin the Melbourne season of Bliss. What's the feeling like among the ensemble as you head into a second season? 

It’s always strange going back into rehearsals for a piece you’ve just performed, but in this case I think we will enjoy the opportunity to keep tweaking the show. It was such an enormous effort from everybody to get it together for Sydney so I think we’re all happy to ‘wear in’ our Bliss shoes a little longer to get them nice and comfy.  

I see on OA's website that you're singing in both A Little Night Music and Rigoletto this season. Any other future plans you can divulge?  

I’m performing a role in the world premiere of an opera called Gabriel as part of the 2010 Australian Trumpet Guild convention in July at the Opera House. That should be really interesting. There are a few more covers this year and some things in the pipeline for next year but that’s all I can say for now. 

Jane Parkin appears as Nurse 2 in Bliss at the Melbourne Arts Centre from April 20th to May 1st. Information/bookings here.

Dame Joan Hammond sings Scarpia

I don't actually mean to turn this into a video blog, but I stumbled across this on the ferry this morning and felt immediately compelled to share it. Here's Dame Joan Hammond — a woman to whom I am profoundly grateful for at least three reasons — putting a couple of students through their paces in Act II of Tosca.

Dame Joan gave a series of these televised masterclasses from the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester. Alas, there are only two clips on YouTube at present — this, and another of her working with a soprano on Manon Lescaut's "In quelle trine morbide". But they've only been posted within the last couple of weeks, so let's hope there's more to come — it's fascinating stuff.

Penelope

I'm gradually remembering how to blog about things that aren't Bliss, but it's a slow process and Opera Australia's removal to Melbourne doesn't help. In the meantime I thought I'd embed a nice video for you. I was planning to find something vaguely relevant — you know, maybe something in the upcoming season — but then I ended up with this. Which has nothing to do with anything, but which I think you'll agree, needs no excuse.

La belle Hélène

This is probably brief enough in essence just to be Tweeted, but I think it deserves a larger font size, if nothing else. I've been spending today in a rather autumnal way, which is to say curled up with a nice detective novel and the wireless for company. At one point in the afternoon I drifted off; and when I drifted back in, it was to the accompaniment of some glorious voice — I knew not whose — singing songs of Richard Strauss. There's always something particularly beautiful about music one wakes up to in this way. I was enchanted. And I couldn't figure out for the life of me who it was. I ran through the usual suspects — various voices I know and love — but none of them fitted. Finally we came back to Mairi Nicolson, and I waited to learn which obvious superstar I'd failed to recognise. 

The answer? Our very own Helen Sherman. Whom I last saw in the finals of the McDonald's Aria, where she came second to David Corcoran. So, neither obvious nor a superstar, but on the basis of this recital that seems to be the path she's headed down. Her Strauss was gorgeous, and the Grainger songs which followed similarly lovely. I only wish I'd been awake for the Duparc she opened with.

I wish I had a nice YouTube link with which to illustrate all of this, but there ain't one. However her biography at the Young Concert Artists Trust provides a nice overview of everything she has going, and also includes a clip of a pretty fantastic "Parto, parto", which I'm listening to as I type. Helen does also have a website, but it's in Coming Soon condition at present. But I suspect I'll be keeping an eye on it, and on her. 

Warwick on Tosca

The Prima la musica baritone interview series continues! (Although actually, the next one will almost certainly be with a soprano.) Warwick Fyfe has just finished up a long Sydney season of Tosca, singing the Sacristan right up until the final performance, in which he made his role début as Scarpia. He'll soon be appearing as the Sacristan in the show's Melbourne season, but in between, he was good enough to answer a few questions about his Tosca experience. 

It's a pretty long interview, this one. We do these via email, so I sent off my questions and was surprised — and delighted — to receive such detailed and fascinating responses. A more ruthless publication might have been obliged to edit for space, but I have no such restrictions; all I've done is split the post up, so just click the link after the first part to read the rest. You'll be glad you did. 
 

  

You've been singing the Sacristan in Christopher Alden's rather unconventional Tosca for about three months now. Can you tell us a bit about the demands of this production, and about Alden's take on the way this character fits into the opera?

As the Sacristan, once I’d got used to simulating the making of coffee (employing the one method I don’t use at home – I have plungers and a small espresso machine in my kitchen!), the only even slightly difficult thing I had to do was hand out the blooming lottery tickets which would always fain stick together, and the desire to oblige the choristers who were understandably in a hurry to get this bit of business over with in good before the climax of the Te Deum made me nervously fumble. The chair I had to sit on for a good long while on stage in Act Three was catastrophically uncomfortable and not in the least adapted to the requirements of generously proportioned buttocks, but pain aside, sitting can hardly be construed as demanding (the sheer torture of my immobility when attempting to render convincingly a dead Scarpia in my one performance in that role made every other physical inconvenience encountered in the show seem like luxury and put me in mind of that character in The Life of Brian hanging from the wall by chains in the dungeon saying wistfully how he dreamed of being put in manacles, just for a few hours.. Indeed I thought I couldn’t stand it after a while and seriously considered putting into practice my wife’s jestingly suggested expedient of simulating a violent death twitch to get me out of such and extremity if it arose! Somehow I got through, though). 

No, the most demanding aspect of the production for me qua Sacristan was nothing to do with physically awkward stage business or anything like that. Rather, it was to do with the dissonance between the reflection of a literal/traditional interpretation of the words, story and characters in Puccini’s music and the requirements of Alden’s production. The moroseness  required of the Sacristan by the latter was at odds at certain points with the music in a way I could not reconcile. Alden was at pains to keep “acting” to a minimum so that I daren’t do so much as flap an arm to emphasise a point and had to confine myself to creeping about sullenly if I was to avoid censure. And this MUST affect the singing. It is a logical fallacy to imagine that the singing and acting are separable. To act and sing in ways which are completely at odds with each other is impossible to sustain in practice, except perhaps in an ultra stylised production with no grounding in any sort of reality, such as a Tristan I saw at Bayreuth one year in which, while performing the love duet, the singers were obliged to carry out a series of bizarre angular chess-like manoeuvres. 

Anyway, at one point in rehearsals the then conductor (Licata) absolutely demanded more of the traditional Sacristan in the music at least than I could manage while skulking around like a peculiarly disagreeable tortoise. Rather than giving occasion for a tiresome and time wasting outburst, I cast an appealing look at the director and I thought received his tacit consent to fudge it, for want of a better word, that is to say, give a little more of something like what the conductor wanted while still doing the director’s production insofar as I was able. To be honest, more trad Sacristan stuff has crept back in during the course of the run, or at least more humour, and this has met with approval in some quarters as being a helpful contrast to the darkness of most of the rest of the score. I’m even flirting with the idea that Puccini may have been right… 

I tried on several occasions to discuss with the director and others the phenomenon whereby seemingly nowadays absolutely anything goes on the production front and yet the music is considered sacrosanct. It may be argued that this allows one to have one’s cake and eat it – innovation in visual matters but something like an authentic experience on the musical level. (I should say that I for one would be against the next step of radical tinkering with music as anything but a rare experiment in a festival or something.) But as I attempted to explain to Alden when trying to discover how to make my little role work in a way radically different from that which I pursued in the old production which was so familiar to me, sometimes one simply cannot do both. Production affects musical performance. It just does. Another straightforward example is the Gaoler section which I perforce perform with much more harshness than I otherwise would because it has been tacked onto the Sacristan and must therefore be all of a piece with it.   

Barbara

Last night, in the tiny and lovely Utzon Room, I heard Barbara Bonney sing songs by Schumann, Grieg and Richard Strauss. And these were, without exception, songs to which Barbara introduced me. My first encounter with every single one of them was in one of her recital discs. In most cases, too, it was Barbara who taught me to love them. Barbara's version which became my benchmark. Barbara's voice engraved in my brain. Barbara gave me these songs. In fact she gave me the gift of art song, full stop. She introduced me to the songs of Schubert, Mendelssohn, Robert and Clara Schumann, Richard Strauss, Grieg, Sibelius, Mozart, Purcell, Dowland and more. I'm not exaggerating. She's one of the foundations of my whole musical existence and I loved her even before I loved opera. 

So to sit in that space and hear her sing those songs to me — to hear that music sung live, by the very person who imprinted it upon me, by the voice to whom, for me, it will always belong — well, I don't know how to describe it. And to hear in the flesh, a voice which I have loved for so long on record — and to discover in it, not only all the familiar sounds, but more beauty, more to love — again, words fail. She was Barbara Plus. I sought in her performance everything I've loved for years, and found it; and then she offered me new riches besides.

I had been remarkably calm in the lead up to this recital. Even five minutes before it started, I was tremor free. It was not until the end of Marshall McGuire's introduction, when at last he said her name, that it hit me. Here she was. One of the people who started it all. A singer vital to the life I now find myself leading, and yet so fundamental to that existence that I know I am prone to take her for granted. When she walked into that room, though, I was overcome. With joy, with gratitude, with love, and with tears. 

Oh yes, I was a mess, from start to finish. It was extraordinary. I've never felt myself transported in that way by a singer before. I thanked my lucky stars that I was not there to review her, and could simply adore. That adoration encompasses her artistry, of course, not just my emotional attachment, but at the same time, the two are bound together. Her sublime mastery of this craft, her transcendence of technique and academic interpretation, her innate, unlearnable ability to find and convey the soul of a song, and her glorious, glorious voice — all of these things are what, at a time I couldn't have hoped to articulate them — drew me to her, and they're what have kept me there. She gave these songs a heart, and my heart responded.

Through recordings alone, Barbara has given me more than enough. I could have lived my whole life with only those, and been content. I could even live my whole whole life with just, say, her disc of Strauss songs, and be content. Instead, I was given this, a gorgeous culmination of all she's taught me and all the joy she's brought me. I'm still taking it all in. All that's left for me to say is what I stammered out to her afterwards. Thank you so much, Barbara. 

L'Elisir Redux

Funny how things come full circle. I still remember the afternoon, almost four years ago, when I listened to a Met broadcast of L'Elisir d'Amore. It was actually sunny enough to sit outside — rare for a Dunedin summer — so I moved the speakers near to an open window and listened from the verandah. Well, until I got sick of the port wind trying to blow my libretto. I blogged about it, too — said all sort of things — and then that was that, and I doubt it even crossed my mind that I might one day be moved to revisit either my blogged opinions or the performance itself. 

But here I am doing just that, and goodness me, how things have changed. In 2006, I had yet to properly connect with the world of the male voice. I was better with them than I had been, but nevertheless, the most fabulous tenor in the world couldn't move me like even a decent soprano could, and baritones? Forget it. In 2009, I acquired (let's not dwell on how) this recording of L'Elisir because — are you ready? — I wanted to hear the Belcore. Never mind that when I heard it back then, I dismissed this Belcore as "a bit stiff for me" and more or less left it there, pausing only to wonder why the name of this baritone from Geelong seemed so familiar. 

I never did figure that out, but perhaps it was a rift in the space-time continuum — because of course, the Belcore was Peter Coleman-Wright, and these days, well, I'm a bit of a fan. Enough of a fan to go trawling for faintly illicit Donizetti, apparently; this is what his Pizarro, Balstrode and Mahler have done to me. Besides which, baritones generally are just far more my cup of tea than they used to be, so that a character who once seemed a bit of a necessary evil (give Gianetta more to sing, she whined) becomes a source of positive pleasure. And so he is. To be fair, Peter's Belcore still sounds more or less as I remembered; but my response is different. "A bit stiff"? Well, yes, perhaps, but appealingly so; and it's also a funny and strongly sung performance. That's probably helped by my now having some sense of his stage presence, but in any case, he's a delight, and I'm so very happy I had the chance to come back and give him another go.

This, however, was only the start of my little voyage of rediscovery. (He is only a baritone after all.) Then and now, it's the beautiful Ruth Ann Swenson who is the heart of this Elisir — and whatever my initial motivation for listening, with her very first note (which precedes Belcore's) she became my primary and happiest focus. Ruth Ann, Ruth Ann, Ruth Ann. It seems impossible I should forget how lovely she is, and yet I must have, just a little, because her Adina still managed to take me by surprise. Back in 2006 I was quite subdued about her. I described her voice as "an old friend". I said — oh dear — "Ruth Ann has never been a knee-weakening passion for me, but all the same I've had a calm and abiding affection for her for years." And, even worse, "I'm never destined to rave about Ruth Ann as I might (and have) about some others..."

Wrong, wrong and wrong. Well, not entirely. Her voice is an old friend to me. But all this "calm and abiding" stuff doesn't do her justice. I adore Ruth Ann. And I am entirely prepared to rave about her as I might (and have) about some others. Ruth Ann Swenson is a drop dead gorgeous soprano. I've loved her since before I loved opera and I don't intend ever to stop. She is sweet, stylish and heavenly to behold. I've now had the privilege to hear her in person, and she enchanted me all over again — so much so that I'll confess now what I might not have before, which is that, despite seeing Natalie's Lucia twice on the same trip, it was Ruth Ann's Ginevra which gave me the greatest pleasure during my time in San Francisco. I think four years ago I was ill-equipped (in terms both of my own faculties and of the stereo equipment at my disposal) to appreciate just how delicate and ideal Ruth Ann's Adina was. An object lesson in bel canto style, and a lesson in the unlearnable art of charm. Resist her, I dare you. You can't. She's irresistible, and so are those pearly high notes. 

There are more words to eat, or at least to nibble at. My three-sentence flurry of enthusiasm for Ramon Vargas was not unwarranted — he's a very good Nemorino — but at the same time, I can't help thinking what I wrote was more wishful thinking than anything else. If I wrote as if susceptible to the charms of tenors, perhaps I'd become so. It didn't work out that way, and even now that I am susceptible, Vargas does not exactly loom large in my world of devotion. Whereas the other "Mexican RV tenor" whom I implicitly dismissed definitely does; for all his current difficulties, I remain very fond of Rolando Villazon. I also did my best to damn the opera itself with faint praise, but this time around, I felt quite differently — I was struck by just how full of colour and life L'Elisir d'Amore is, by what a tuneful and utterly likeable opera it is. I still have issues with Don Pasquale (I can't quite get past the inherent cruelty of its premise) but I'm re-adjusting my feelings about L'Elisir now, having just had so much fun with it.

The moral of the story? There isn't one especially. I just find it intriguing to see how things change (and how other things remain constant). And don't worry, I don't intend to start revisiting and rethinking every single post in my archives. It was interesting to do so this once, though; after all, one of the reasons I'm pleased I have this blog is the opportunity it affords to remind myself of how I once thought — I tend to forget old opinions once they're replaced. Part of me wants to point at my former self and mock; but it's also heartening to feel that my appreciation of this multifarious world really has deepened and expanded in the last half-decade — despite my propensity to be waylaid by singular fixation. 

Is that a bit too deep and meaningful for a post about L'Elisir d'Amore and how I feel even sillier about Ruth Ann Swenson than I did a few years ago? Probably. Well, never mind. The main thing is that I got to listen to a totally delightful performance of L'Elisir — my little exercise in compare-and-contrast just added to the fun. 

A worthy cause

I received an email last night from Opera Australia's Philip Moore about a fundraising concert taking place next weekend for the seriously ill Jared Pritchard, whose mother works in Opera Australia's wardrobe department. Philip writes:

Jared suffers from a potentially life threatening illness condition called Arteriovenous Malformation, and at this point in time his only treatment option is surgery that is not covered by Medicare. To assist the Pritchard family meet Jared's mounting medical expenses, some of OA's Artists are holding a benefit at The Vanguard (42 King Street, Newtown) on Sunday September 13 from 12-4pm.

At this point the Artists appearing are Cheryl Barker, Jacqui Dark, Kanen Breen, Jud Arthur, Annabelle Chaffey, Clifford Plumpton, Emma Pratt, Nick Christo and Adrian Tamburini with Simon Kenway on piano and Andrew Wilson on cello. 

Doors open at midday with showtime at 1pm sharp. A wide variety of bar foods and gourmet pizzas are available at pub prices. As The Vanguard only has a seating capacity of 150 the event is a unique chance for opera lovers to see some of their favourite stars in an intimate, relaxed cabaret style setting.

Tickets are $50 each and can be purchased via email from Philip (philip DOT moore AT opera-australia DOT org DOT au) or by calling (02) 9250 7448. 

You can read more about Arteriovenous Malformation here, and a letter from Jared's mother Julie, describing his situation, here. [These are both Word documents.]

It's perhaps worth noting — although I hope it won't affect anybody's inclination to attend — that, in keeping with the venue, most of the repertoire on offer will be musical theatre/jazz, with only a couple of operatic selections. With such singers on the bill, though, it's guaranteed to be a fantastic afternoon's entertainment, and you'll be doing your bit to help support Jared and his family during this incredibly difficult time. So please, Sydneysiders, consider coming along next Sunday afternoon to support this very worthy cause. 

Mathy Awards

A word or two of congratulations is in order for the five singers who have been named as finalists in this year's Mathy Awards. They are:

Hadleigh Adams (bass baritone)
Jade Moffat (mezzo soprano)
Sam Roberts-Smith (baritone)
Lachlan Scott (bass)
Samuel Sakker (tenor)

Of the three Mathy semi-finals I've attended, I'm pretty sure last night's was the best. All ten singers were excellent in their way, and I think all of them had at least one moment where I thought they could make it to the finals. Among those who didn't, I was especially impressed by tenor Stuart Laing and by mezzo soprano Panayiota Kalatzis, who won this year's Encouragement Award, and who deserves especial kudos for taking on the extraordinarily challenging Anne Boleyn setting from Larsen's song cycle Last Words of the Wives of Henry VIII. My particular favourites among the finalists were Lachlan Scott, whose "Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen" was simply sublime (of course it helps that the song is one of the most beautiful ever written) and the amazing Samuel Sakker, a tenor with a very very very bright future — the crowd went wild for him, and even Donald Shanks couldn't help acknowledging, when he announced him as a finalist, that this was a special singer. Also worthy of note is Jade Moffat, who, at nineteen, is one of the youngest ever Mathy finalists, and whose singing displayed maturity beyond her years and a gorgeous and hugely promising voice. For heaven's sake, she started with an aria from The Rape of Lucretia! That's my kind of nineteen year old. Oh, but why play favourites when I loved all five finalists? My compatriot Hadleigh Adams sang beautifully as well, and switched impressively from the wry charm of his Finzi song to a genuinely moving aria from Aleko; Sam Roberts-Smith was probably the best I've heard him, especially in his Don Carlo aria. 

The tragedy (for me) is that this year's final is taking place in Perth. Lucky Perth. It looks like being a pretty fantastic night. Best of luck to all concerned. (I've already picked my winner.)

One final mention: the winner of this year's Opera Awards (the other branch of the Australian Singing Competition) is, much to my delight, the fantastic Emma Pearson. Warm congratulations to her as well, and I hope we hear her here in Sydney again very soon.  

Dropping like flies

Poor Adrian Collette. He seems to be spending half his life at the moment standing at the corner of the Opera Theatre stage and reminding the audience that "winter is a particularly hazardous time for singers". Which it is, of course, though I don't recall last winter having been quite so bad in terms of cancellations. The biggest of the season has been Nicole Youl's absence from Fidelio: I believe she's sung only one performance (last Saturday's matinée), the others — including tonight's — having been taken on by Elizabeth Stannard. I've also learnt that Emma Matthews didn't sing in the second performance of I Capuleti on Friday evening, and that in fact she was already unwell on opening night: making her gorgeousness on that night all the more impressive, and accounting for any quietness or lack of projection over which some have expressed concerns. She was replaced on Friday by Hye Seoung Kwon, who sang the role in Melbourne and who (so I'm told by someone who was there) was herself not in perfect health on the night. Stephen Smith has been in and out of both Fidelio and Manon Lescaut; the latter opera also suffered the absences (once each) of Dominica Matthews (replaced as the Madrigal Singer on closing night by Katherine Wiles) and, more crucially, Cheryl Barker — I and my mental health are very grateful Cheryl didn't repeat the multiple cancellations we suffered in Madama Butterfly. 

And tonight we had a reshuffled Fidelio. I blame myself for cursing it. My initial plan after my first two Fidelios was to wait until closing night to go back. But a trip to see it (and in particular, Peter Coleman-Wright as Don Pizarro) seemed the perfect way to repay a moderate debt to a friend with a partiality to Evil Baritones. So we went. And I even said (after a bit of unrelated stress) "only Peter can ruin my night. If he cancels." I should have known better, shouldn't I? A chest infection had lamentably knocked him out of the show. So no Nicole and no Peter. Which meant Warwick Fyfe was promoted (or demoted, depending on how you look at it) from Don Fernando to Don Pizarro, and Jud Arthur took over as Don Fernando. Got all that? 

The loss of Peter was hard to take but at least the show provides ample compensation. There's Lorina Gore, for one thing, whose Marzelline I adore more with every show. We've seen her as Fiakermilli and as the Queen of the Night, but this is the first role in which she gets to be a real, everyday human being and her acting ability (along with that lovely voice) is really shining through. Elizabeth Stannard seemed in especially good voice, particularly in Act Two, and her acting was a bit more believable too. Her spoken German seemed better as well: some coaching since opening night, perhaps? Julian Gavin was amazing of course. Fyfe's Pizarro was a bit too pantomime to be truly frightening but he certainly had a venomously good go at it, especially the Act Two confrontation with Florestan. And just quietly, I'd quite like to keep Jud Arthur on as Don Fernando. 

For all its absences, it was still an excellent performance. I was very happy to have seen it a third time and am still eyeing up a fourth. And if my bad luck continues, well, so be it. These are Hazardous Times, after all.

The Professor and Mary Ann

My bloggable backlog is growing, and as tomorrow is yet another opening night, I've decided this is the only way to clear it. Everything at once. Pick and choose as you will.
 

1. SECOND AIDA 

In a fit of enthusiasm after the fabulous second half of Aida's opening performance, I went and booked myself for a second helping. I must confess, however, that when I found myself back in the theatre and waiting for the curtain to go up on those cardboard sets and travelators, I began to wonder exactly why I'd come back. And then Tamara Wilson reminded me. I'm still not nearly as convinced by the production as many seem to be, but it has its moments — and even if it didn't, there would still be Tamara, and she would still be wonderful. If we can't just stop her at the airport and make her stay in the country, then I hope we can at least manage to tempt her back for something else. In the meantime, let me direct your attention to this completely delightful interview. 

The cast as a whole were much as expected, which is a good thing, and the show seemed to hit its stride earlier than on opening night. There are some incredibly strong performers in this show, not least Michael Lewis, whose Amonasro is just a masterclass in Verdi singing, and Dongwon Shin, who this time around was in full splendour right from the start. And while Milijana Nikolic's Amneris still takes a bit of time to get going, when she does, she is outstanding. 

I think what troubles me about this production, more than conveyor belts and problematic scenery, is the extent to which Graeme Murphy seems to have left his singers to their own devices. They know when, where and how to move; they interact with all the complex lighting design and all the other moving parts of the production, but it feels as if that's where Murphy left them, and the rest they've figured out for themselves, each in their own way and with varying degrees of success. So while they all acquit themselves very well indeed, it's sometimes as if each character is in his or her own version of Aida, and I'd much rather see them in something approaching a shared, coherent vision. And, while it's both unsurprising and a cliché to say it in talking about an opera directed by a choreographer, what the singers lack is exactly what the dancers have. The ballets aren't just beautiful, they're also the most dramatically interesting part of the show. Coincidence?

 2. EISTEDDFOD

I always mean to see more of the Eisteddfod than just the McDonald's Aria Final, and then it doesn't happen. But this time I finally organised myself enough to make it to North Sydney on Saturday for the first round of heats. There are few things I like better than a singing competition, and this one did not disappoint, despite the fact that I found myself in the tiniest audience I've ever experienced: apparently even parents and friends tend not to come and watch the heats. At the height of it there were maybe 10 or 12 of us watching. No matter, it was still hugely enjoyable, especially when I discovered several of my favourite singing compatriots on the list of finalists. I heard the gorgeous Sarah-Ann Walker in the afternoon, and if all goes to plan I hope to go back on Friday and hear not only Brigitte Heuser but my favourite Dunedin singer of all, the incomparable Claire Barton. Can't wait. There were plenty of familiar Australian faces among Saturday's singers too, chorus members and Con students and so on, and the standard was generally very impressive: only the few who were obviously not at the right level yet didn't make it through to the quarter finals. 

And while I'm sure it's terribly bad form to name names at this early stage, and despite having determined not to do so, I can't help but mention the one singer who completely blew me away. I recognised her immediately from the OA chorus, and now that I've heard her and seen her as a soloist, I want her out of that chorus and in the spotlight. She is Leah Thomas and she is stunningly good. Not that she needs me to promote her, of course, having already been featured quite, um, prominently by Opera Chic. But she's going straight to the top of my Watchlist. 

 3. EMMA MATTHEWS IN MONTE CARLO

If you'ver read this blog for a while, you're probably aware of my ambivalence towards Emma Matthews. She's absolutely an audience favourite and one of the company's star players, but my appreciation of her has always been more a theoretical thing than a personal response. I've just never quite got it, whatever it is, and while some of her performances have impressed me more than others, none of them has ever made my jaw drop or my heart split. All of this is my problem, not Emma's. She's a lovely singer and if I can't adore her then that's my loss.

I'm saying all of this so that you have a sense of the state in which I approached Emma's brand new solo disc, a selection of bel canto showpieces with the Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte Carlo and of the delighted surprise I take in reporting that it is drop dead gorgeous. It really is. In a mix of lollipops and seriously meaty repertoire, she is graceful, charming and note perfect. She sounds like the Emma I've always thought I should be hearing in the theatre, which perhaps has something to do with the fact that she's not trying to push her voice to the back of an opera house with the world's worst acoustic. Her coloratura not just immaculate but full of personality: she has huge fun with Glitter and Be Gay, drifts beautifully through Ophélie's mad scene, and her "Amour, ranime mon courage" is stunning. Better still is her superlative "Regnava nel silenzio...Quando rapito in estasi": it's sensitively characterised, imaginatively ornamented, and comes with the added bonus of Catherine Carby as Alisa — when's her solo disc, ABC? And she even includes a stunning excerpt from Richard Mills's recent The Love of the Nightingale.

I know I've given Emma a hard time. And I can't take back or alter my response to her live performances, or even guarantee that I'll go madder for her them in future. What I can say is that on this recording, she is magnificent. Her singing is elegant, exciting and beautifully refined. It's showy repertoire, but Emma is all class. Whether I will ever join the legions of Emma's devotees remains to be seen, but this CD has brought me much closer than I thought possible to finally understanding properly what all the fuss is about it. 

 4. FIFTH AND SIXTH MANON LESCAUT

(Yes, OK, technically sixth and seventh.) You'd think this would be the longest sub-post of all, but it isn't going to be. I could say a hundred things about Cheryl's Manon but in the end all those roads lead to the same conclusion: she's Cheryl's Manon. She's extraordinary. She's beautiful and she's brutal and she breaks my heart and she changes my mind. Every time. And every time in different ways. I finished the novel not sure I could ever love Manon. Cheryl has sorted that out for me. The heroine I called unsympathetic a few weeks ago has now, for all her massive flaws, won my heart and, yes, my sympathy. She's still a problematic girl, it's still a problematic opera, but when you live through Cheryl's staggering "Sola, perduta" — or rather, through any of them, they've all been different — the only problem is making it in one piece. 

Young Artist Final

A few more words about Opera Australia's Young Artist Program audition concert, although Bryce Hallett has already covered the nuts and bolts of it quite nicely in the Herald. I remain as conflicted as ever about whether and how much to write about competition situations, but a blanket ban would deny me the chance to heap praise, so I have to write something.

I love it when a competition goes the way I want it to. After the first round (one aria) each, I Tweeted Samuel Dundas and Nicole Car as my favourites; after round two, I added Jane Parkin, who was in principle my favourite from the beginning: I just wasn't sure whether she'd done herself justice in her first aria. 

The longer I sat and waited for the result, the more I felt and hoped that Jane would take the prize. I don't think she necessarily gave the most perfect performances on the night, but more than anybody else, she demonstrated that entry into the program was the obvious next step in her career — and that she had all the skills and raw (and not-so-raw!) material to benefit greatly from it. She also has a distinctive and interesting voice which can fill that problematic theatre. I also think she's just a fabulous performer and love to see a personal favourite of mine moving up in the world. Besides, whatever the difficulties of the Handel she began with (Alcina's "Ah, mio cor"), her "O marno to je" (I still think the world of her for choosing to make a signature piece of Rusalka's other aria) was abundant proof that she is the Real Thing. She gets extra kudos for making an entry at high speed in serious heels and launching into an aria which is, well, not exactly easy going. 

I was absolutely thrilled with Nicole Car. Not just because she sang so well, but because she was so much better than the last time I heard her, in the 2008 Mathy semi-finals. She sang "Non mi dir" in both competitions, and improvement was quite remarkable: no doubt something to do with the fact that she's sung Donna Anna (for Victorian Opera) in the interim. She came back with a gorgeous "Depuis le jour", such a contrast to her first aria in every sense, and it was lovely and just as characterful. If this is how far she's come in less than a year, then she's definitely a talent to be fostered. 

Samuel Dundas is one of those baritones — you know the type — who just exude star quality the moment they wander out on stage, and then manage to back it up with a real voice and musical sensitivity. He gave us a Mozart Standard — "Aprite un po' quegli occhi" — and managed to put his own hilarious spin on it, then came back with something utterly unexpected, a very Italian and melancholy aria from Puccini's Edgar, of all things, and somehow managed to pull that off brilliantly as well. He provided that crucial moment in any singing competition: the moment when you get to forget that it is a competition and just enjoy the performance. I also saw him as Arlecchino in Victorian Opera's Ariadne auf Naxos, where he sailed perilously close to stealing Zerbinetta's thunder. 

With a panel of five terribly distinguished and high-powered judges (Anthony Legge, Ian McCahon, Andrew Greene, Peter Coleman-Wright and Yvonne Kenny, for heaven's sake) the eight finalists are no doubt facing a vast quantity of detailed and genuinely useful criticism, so I'll refrain from adding any of my own to the pile and shall instead just list a few of the things that made me especially happy. First, well done to all three baritones (Samuel Dundas, Matthew Thomas and Hadleigh Adams) for contrasting their tried-and-true Mozart arias with interesting rarities: with selections from La jolie fille de Perth, Tito Manlio and Edgar on offer, I might even have forgiven a "Hai gia vinta la causa". Maxine Montgomery was just impossibly adorable as Frau Fluth in "Nun eilt herbei". I have real respect for Victoria Lambourn for beginning with an aria as delicate and exposed as Mignon's "Connais-tu le pays". And after a rather ordinary "Dies Bildnis", it was great to see Martin Buckingham let his hair down — literally and figuratively — for such a warm and genuine "De' miei bollenti spiriti". 

That will do. We already know the result. Jane Parkin and Samuel Dundas will enter the program next year, and Nicole Car will follow in 2011. Just as it should be. I was so excited by the result I may have made a slight spectacle of myself. Well done to all. 

Winners

The winners of tonight's final of the 2010 Opera Australia Young Artist auditions are as follows:

1. Jane Parkin

2. Samuel Dundas

3. Nicole Car (who will join the program in 2011)

I'll write a bit more when I get the chance, but for now let me just say that this was pretty much exactly the way I wanted and expected it to go. It had to be those three in some order, and the order chosen is spot on. I'm not at all surprised that the five judges came to a unanimous decision. And I'm so pleased about Jane. I've been determined for two years — since the first time I saw her — that she was one to watch, that she ought to be moved from the chorus into solo roles, and I'm delighted to see that coming to pass: first OzOpera and now this. It's all very good news. 

Marie who?

The other night I posted a couple of links on Twitter to a soprano named Marie Te Hapuku. I was about to twitter further about her but then decided I'd rather give her a proper blog post: so here it is. I came across Marie sort of accidentally, searching YouTube in an idle moment for clips of New Zealand singers. The first result was a video of her singing Bernstein's "A Julia de Burgos" at St Andrew's on the Terrace in Wellington (source of quite a treasure trove of New Zealand musicians on YouTube, including Dunedin's Own Michael Gray) which I promptly watched, thinking: Marie Te Hapuku? Never heard of her. The opening phrases didn't grab me; but then the rest of it very much did. 

I was really very taken with her, and so naturally, I followed the link in the description to her official site, still wondering who this Marie Te Hapuku was and I'd never heard of her. Until I reached the Biography page of her site, looked at the photo, and had a flash of recognition. Because it turns out that Marie Te Hapuku — as has no doubt been long known to every single New Zealand opera fan except me — used to be Marie Adele Macarthur. And I haven't just heard of Marie Adele Macarthur, I've heard her. In the flesh. Three times. Marie Adele was Donna Elvira in the 2005 NZ Opera Don Giovanni which I travelled to two different cities to hear. 

Looking again at the clips from that St Andrew's recital, I feel I ought to have recognised her; but then, I wasn't expecting to. And maybe I should have recognised her voice, but the truth is that, although she was a very good Elvira, she certainly didn't strike me then as she does now. There are probably various reasons for that: repertoire, setting, my own changing tastes and — last but not least — the fact that I attended those three performances in divadienst pursuit of the Anna, Patricia Wright. I still don't know that I'd choose Marie as my ideal Elvira — I prefer a leaner and silverier voice —but in the big Verdi repertoire, which, now as then, seems to be her true operatic bread and butter, I'm finding I like her a lot. YouTube also contains film of her in Aida and Stiffelio, and her big, warm, expansive sound is hugely appealing. Likewise in the audio provided on her website, which includes not only a rather exciting "Merci, jeunes amies" but also a thoroughly disarming "Pokarekare Ana". 

I'm not proclaiming a new grand passion here. So why the big blog post? Just the pleasure of a new discovery, really — even if that new discovery has turned out to be a rediscovery. And I regret slightly having missed the boat four years ago. Now, here I am, slow on the uptake as ever and wondering what might lie ahead for her. The only two upcoming engagements listed on her website have been and gone and she's not, as far as I can see, listed for anything on Operabase. Still, I hope that she's got her fair share of glory ahead of her. And I have to say, I think Opera Australia could do a lot worse than to try and get their hands on this voice. 

After all this, a video of the lady in question seems in order. Here she is singing Aida's "O patria mia" in Phoenix last year. Many more clips to be found here.

Congratulations

Winner of the 2009 Lexus Song Quest is soprano Aivale Cole. Bass Wade Kernot was runner-up and soprano Julia Booth took third place. Alas, I wasn't able to listen to the streamed broadcast of the competition, so I have no real idea of how any of the six finalists performed or whether these placements would have matched my own experience. But judging by their ages and repertoire, the clips provided by the NZ Festival website and various reports/buzz I've heard regarding each of them, this result doesn't surprise me too much. Cole's in particular seems like an "about time" kind of victory. Congrats to all involved, those who placed and those who didn't. And many thanks to commenter Charlotte, who reported the results to me within minutes of the announcement.

Opera Foundation Australia 2008 Audi German Opera Scholarship

I almost didn't make it. Missing a bus on a Sunday, when they only come every half hour, is not a smart plan. I can now report that it is possible, although painful and not advisable, to make it from Park St to the Conservatorium on foot in approximately twelve minutes. My ankles hate me for it today, but the rest of me is happy, because it was a seriously enjoyable afternoon of singing.

Unlike other aria finals I've attended lately, aria selection for this competition runs more along the lines of an audition: contestants select their first aria, and the second is selected on the spot by the judging panel. Singing competitions are the closest I get to watching sport, so I'm all for an element of chance to enliven proceedings, and I amused myself by trying to guess what sort of arias might be chosen to contrast with the first selections.

Not surprisingly — in fact it may well be a condition of entry — each of the six finalists sang at least one aria in German, which made for a refreshingly unusual programme. Alongside Mozart, Verdi and Wagner, we had Lortzing, Weber, Nicolai and Gustave Charpentier. And imagine it, three baritones and not a single "Hai gia vinta la causa" in sight!

Sometimes in competitions you come to the end of the night with no idea which way the judges will go. This time, though, it was pretty clear. At least, it was to me. About ten seconds into Charlie Kedmenec's first aria (Wolfram's "Blick' ich umher" from Tannhäuser) I thought: well, he's won it. The rest of the aria confirmed my opinion. As did his second aria, a brilliant "Aprite un po' quegli occhi", sung with comic flair and not a hair nor a note out of place. Even with four more finalists to come, it seemed certain Charlie would take the prize, and so he did.

But not without competition. Had a runner up been named, it must surely have been the captivating Emily Uhlrich, opera's answer to Reese Witherspoon. She's a soubrette of the loveliest sort, rather in the mold of Barbara Bonney. Her "Einst träumte" from Der Freischütz was extraordinary — a long, relentlessly perky aria which could so easily have become irritating but which, in Emily's care, was totally delightful. All the more impressive was her seamless change of gears for the second selection, Louise's dreamy "Depuis le jour", complete with requisite tear-inducing piannissimi — proof that there's more to Emily than -inas and -ettas. Definite star quality here.

And then, in Gilligan's Island style, there were the rest. Which is not meant as dismissively as it sounds. All six finalists were at an impressively high standard. Soprano Kerry Nicholson gave us a gutsy "Regnava nel silenzio...Quando rapito in estasi", although perhaps slightly too gutsy, as she seemed, understandably, a bit frazzled in her second selection, Konstanze's "Ach, liebte". Maria Okunev was another soprano called upon to deliver a demanding pair of arias, following Frau Flucht's flighty "Nun eilt herbei...Verführer!" (from Die Lustigen Weiber von Windsor) with an impassioned, if slightly histrionic, "Ah, fors'e lui...Sempre libera". Baritone Adam Player enjoyed himself with Papageno's suicide aria; I was less convinced by the panel's selection, "Heiterkeit und Fröhlichkeit" from Lortzing's Der Wildschütz, but that possibly has as much to do with the aria itself as anything else. In terms of simple sonic splendour, the winner was James Roser, whose rich, burnished baritone made for a most enjoyable "Ha! Welch' ein Augenblick" and a drop dead gorgeous "Blick' ich umher".

The prize was presented by Robert Allman AM OBE, flanked by vocal coach Victor Morris and the ever-stylish Joan Carden OBE AO. There were also speeches before and after by a pair of Germans: Immo Buschmann from Audi, who provided a bonus lesson in luxury vehicle marketing strategy, and the wonderfully witty Wolfgang Grimm, chairman of the award. Australian tenor Glenn Winslade hosted, coping valiantly with temperamental sound equipment and adlibbing nicely through a delay as the stage was set up for the awards presentation. 

And as if all the above weren't enough, there was a cherry on top: a guest appearance by José Carbo. His "Vin, dissipe la tristesse" brought the house down, and his "Cortigiani" from Rigoletto — despite his prefacing it with the claim that he was "still ten years" from doing it justice — was stunning. We were even allowed an encore, a Tosti song (I don't know which one) which made me wish we could have spent another three hours just listening to José. If I hadn't already been his gushing fan, yesterday's performance would probably have made me so. This is one seriously fantastic singer: polished, engaging, preposterously charismatic. And that golden, glorious voice... it's enough to turn even this canary-fancier's head.

Notes

A nice interview with Teddy Tahu Rhodes in Saturday's NZ Herald — "Hanging around with a doomed sailor". Since it was Australian performances which effectively launched his career, I can sort of indulge the Australians in their usual tendency to claim every New Zealand success as their own; but it's nice to remember that, ultimately, he's still ours at least as much as theirs. He's stunning in Billy Budd. Which I really do have to post about, but I have to review it elsewhere first. Anyway, in amongst the talk of Britten, Heggie and Previn is the news that, to the dismay of swooning fans of both genders, Teddy is to be married in December, to mezzo soprano Isabel Leonard, who was such a lovely Stéphano in the Met's Roméo et Juliette.

And it's a small world. Isabel Leonard is currently singing Zerlina at the Met. And who should be her Masetto but another gorgeous Antipodean baritone — Joshua Bloom, in his Met début. I'd love to hear from any readers in New York who can bring me reports of his performance, which I've no doubt was excellent. I just hope that this means there are further (and meatier) overseas roles on his near horizon, as it's the only way I could consider forgiving his total absence from our 2009 season.

Mathy semi-finals

Having been nowhere near the Conservatorium for over a year, tonight I was back at Verbrugghen Hall for the second time this week, this time for the semi-finals of the Mathy Singing Award. Not quite as congenial a venue as the Independent Theatre was last year, but certainly easier (for me) to get to of a Sunday than North Sydney was. And I must be getting old, because I was also inordinately happy about the convenience of a 4pm start.

Not too many chestnuts, except of course the obligatory "Hai gia vinta la causa". I remember thinking last year that judges of these sort of events should be offered some kind of "Hai gia vinta la causa" compensation — Deborah Riedel has been travelling the country hearing every single entrant, so I can only imagine how many times she's had to hear it. Only one aria choice which seemed to me really misguided, but in the interests of fairness I won't say which, or why.

Anyway, finalists are:

Sky Ingram (soprano)
Michael Lampard (baritone)
Nicole Car (soprano)
Sitiveni Talei (baritone)

Sky Ingram was my favourite; to my ears the only definite standout. The fact that she has red hair may or may not have been a factor in my decision, but her command of Straussian line and the surprising richness of her lower register didn't hurt either. By my count this is Michael Lampard's third time in the semis and second time making it to the finals, and yet he's still the youngest of the lot — twenty-two. Judging decisions in this competition are based on private sessions as well as the public concert, which accounts for any mild surprises. For all but Sky, who was great in both her art song and her aria, it seemed to me that it was the second item which clinched their placement — Michael's lovely "Silent Noon" (I have a sentimental attachment to that song, which helped), Nicole's "Befreit" and a charming "Avant de quitter ces lieux" from Sitiveni. No shocking omissions. I think sopranos do well to remember that impressive high notes mean a lot more when the rest of their singing is equally impressive. I'm glad the various prizes offered include several opportunities for language coaching, this was an issue for a number of singers.

Sky Ingram also wins best-dressed, with Nicole Car's pretty green-and-black number a close second. Best shoes were Angela Edwards' black heels.

Big Mac

Congratulations to Emily Blanch and her jaw-dropping voice, who deservedly won the McDonald's Operatic Aria final tonight. The more money and training thrown behind this girl, the better; she's going places.

Special Prima la musica mention also to ever appealing bass David Parkin (on whose behalf I wish mild but vocal cord paralyzing illness on OA's current Masetto) and revelatory soprano Laura Casey, for a thrilling ride through "Come scoglio" and a "Senza mamma" which practically left me in a puddle on the floor.

Travesties

People want to know what they're listening to, the why and wherefore of it. Audience development and education are positive things. I won't dispute that. So to pre-performance talks, I say a hearty yes. But talks during the performance? Must we? I support pre-performance talks, but I've never been to one. I know what I want to know (and what I don't want to know) about the music I'm about to hear, and I go in search of it myself if necessary. That works for me. It doesn't work for other people, and that's fine. However, assuming there are others in the world like me (and I concede that this can't necessarily be assumed...), making the talk part and parcel of the concert seems to me ever so slightly unfair, not to mention a bit of a moodkiller.

I've been at a concert by Andreas Scholl and the Brandenburg Orchestra. He's gorgeous, the orchestra is totally fantastic and their director Paul Dyer is one of my very favourite Australian musicians. Paul tends to introduce the concerts, and that part I love. In fact, if he wanted to provide commentary throughout, I dare say I'd be happy with that. However, what this concert presented (along with a few baroque concerti and a new setting of the Stabat Mater by Marco Rosano) was a selection of arias for Senesino, interpersed with commentary on the life and career of Senesino and castrati in general.  The speaker, musicologist Alan Maddox, is charming, intelligent and articulate. I'm sure he could give a fascinating pre-concert talk. But in the midst of Handelian fabulousness I was not in the mood for Britney Spears jokes or assurances of Andreas Scholl's, shall we say, anatomical completeness. Frankly, I was not even in the mood for informed analysis or fascinating historical fact. I just wanted to listen to the damn music.

Besides which, for all his appeal and obviously vast knowledge, Maddox — probably unwittingly — did a pretty good job of perpetuating all the fallacies, half-truths, myths and misconceptions which exist about castrati, countertenors and who can and should sing what.

Am I alone in objecting to the use of the word "falsetto" in explaining the countertenor voice? Whether it's meant to or not, it implies artificiality. Which as far as I'm concerned is not the case. Years ago, I used to think that it was; I've since found evidence only to the contrary. You cannot (or at least, I cannot) listen to a singer like Philippe Jaroussky, or Michael Chance, or Graham Pushee, or Scholl himself, and think that there's anything fake or artificial about it. An artificially produced voice surely would not have the resonance, expressive capacity or longevity of these and other voices. I suspect the word is used to give a broadly understood impression of the sound itself, rather than of its method of production — but the connotation remains.

Then there's this idea that the act of castration somehow produced or guaranteed the extraordinary voice. It didn't, of course, and I'm sure Alan Maddox knows this; but conversations I've overheard and read and even participated on the edges of suggest that many people don't, and his words on the subject did nothing to correct them. Castration, as I understand, was performed almost on the off-chance. If the boy proved to be a magnificent singer, castration ensured a continued career in the treble register. If he didn't, too bad — and for many boys, the latter fate proved true.

I take issue, too, with his suggestion that, among the three options for modern day casting, both tenor/bass transpositions and mezzo sopranos fail to provide satisfactory "sound quality". It's true they can't come near the fabled castrato sound, but countertenors themselves would point out to you that they can't either. They're both men singing in the soprano register, but the production and "sound quality" (as Maddox himself pointed out elsewhere) are quite different. There are various arguments for casting a countertenor in a castrato role, but I don't believe the "sound quality" one really stands up.

And neither, if it comes to that, does the "believability" argument. I cannot agree with Alan Maddox that a mezzo soprano or contralto singing the role en travesti necessarily lacks the correct stage presence. I have seen women in those roles who were far more persuasive than some of their male counterparts. Sarah Connolly's Xerxes and Cesare are both of them extraordinary; Ashley Putnam is a totally boyish Sifare; Bernadette Manca di Nissa has all the swagger you could ask for as Tancredi. It is not all about having the right facial hair or body parts, or a John Wayne walk. Acting and so-called believability have to do with a penetrating, insightful portrayal which gets to the heart of the character and makes that character live. Being A Man does not necessarily make one the perfect choice for every male role. If we want the part beautifully acted as well as beautifully sung, it should go to the person best able to act it within the pool of those qualified to sing it — in Verdi, Puccini, Wagner et al we are usually confined to one fach and one gender. In the baroque repertoire we have a far more varied and fascinating array from which to choose, so let us take advantage.

Don't misunderstand me. I have no quarrel with Alan Maddox himself, nor do I doubt his knowledge or passion. I wouldn't dare. I hope the above doesn't read as a tirade against him, because it isn't. I was in no state of mind to enjoy his commentary tonight, but it obviously appealed to many, and while I am absolutely and unabashedly an elitist (in a positive sense), I bow to the majority. However, his comments and the response to them have reminded me of issues over which I've been stewing for quite some time. Wherever there's a countertenor, or a castrato role, I hear and/or read the same comments; the same troubling, misguided or downright irritating ideas held by some (possibly many) on all these related subjects.

This isn't a manifesto or a declaration of war. Just a plea for fairness, truth, informed opinions and openness to beauty in its infinite variety, really. Not much to ask, is it?

PS: Happy Mardi Gras, Sydney.
 

Stellar

The puns are irresistible — as Stella-for-star in Opera Australia's Streetcar, Antoinette Halloran is just that. A star. Or rather, a star. Just Google antoinette halloran streetcar and on the very first page, you'll see all the raves. "The standout performance was Antoinette Halloran's." "The star of the show is undoubtedly Antoinette Halloran." "Antoinette Halloran is outstanding." You'll also see my words: "Antoinette Halloran is a revelation."

All of it true. Alongside three singers with well-established and glittering international careers, Antoinette — whose name still seems always to come prefaced with the words "rising soprano" — not only holds her own but creates perhaps the biggest sensation of the four of them. No mean feat when you've Teddy in his shirtlessness to compete with. She is helped somewhat, it's true, by Previn's writing for Stella, which is among the most immediately appealing music in the opera. Elizabeth Futral, for whom the role was written, also steals the show on Deutsche Grammophon's recording of the premiere.

Nevertheless, that only goes so far. What makes Antoinette's performance special is Antoinette herself. Her Stella is a tour de force, vividly characterised and stunningly well sung. She breezes through Previn's challenging music as if to the manner born, combining a crystal clear upper register with a wealth of darker, more sensuous colours. Sweet yet strong, just like Stella. In "I can hardly stand it" she moves between radiant, youthful adoration and a more explicit and adult longing; the raw power with which she imbues the word "wild" is startling. The brief Act Three duet with Stanley is another memorably gorgeous moment, her phrasing fluent and persuasive — the moving way she sings "she's my sister" sticks in my mind still. Her acting is likewise persuasive. There's a look she throws Blanche just before "I can hardly stand it", when Blanche deems it a relief that Stanley is "on the road a lot", which on its own says as much as the aria which follows. The cinematic Stella of Kim Hunter was a slightly childish, simple figure, not hugely endearing; but Antoinette brings such humanity and compassion to the role as to make Stella touchingly sympathetic.

I said she was a revelation, and so she is — certainly to me. Her voice was not what I expected; it was better, stronger and more interesting than I had imagined. Though I'd seen her once before (in Sweeney Todd) I really wasn't sure what to anticipate from her Stella. So it has been a delight to discover such an excellent performance. And such a complete performance, as exciting theatrically as vocally. This star doesn't merely twinkle; she scintillates. Brava, Antoinette.

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.