Prima la musica, poi le parole

La bohème on ABC2

Slightly deceptive describing this as live, since it was on a half hour delay, but it doesn't really make a difference. I didn't watch all of it — Spicks & Specks took rightful precedence from 8.30 to 9. Were Jennifer Byrne and Chris Taylor really the best the ABC could come up with to host? I like them both quite a lot in their usual hosting gigs (Tuesday Book Club and The Chaser) but they both seemed a bit ill at ease and not very well informed. Where's Virginia Trioli when you need her?

As we know, I wasn't much taken with opening night of this mini-season. Which is actually why I watched this: I wanted to give it a chance, and more particularly, to give Antoinette Halloran a chance, to be better. And they were. It was still patchy, but not nearly so ragged as opening night. Most importantly, Antoinette made me smile again. Her voice will never be beloved of everybody, I realise that now. The naysayers (there have been several, and occasionally they've been vicious) have probably ensured that I'll never again hear her with wholly uncritical ears, which is good for my credibility, I suppose, but bad for my soul. But whatever the criticisms, and however valid they may be, I like her. I just do. Tonight she sounded much closer to the Antoinette whose Stella (and first Mimi) I adored. Especially in the final scene, where she seriously pulled it together and tore my Bohème-hardened little heart apart. I have to give her kudos for her cough as well, which sounds frighteningly genuine. I only cough like that when I'm actually sick. She does it in between singing: how, I've no idea.

The rest was improved too. Altogether a tighter, better show. Not riveting, but that was never really on the cards. Carlo Barricelli still seems a bit unruly: fabulous when he's good, not when he's not. I suspect he might be happier in a different environment: bigger, more full-blooded orchestra, slightly more extravagant (and Mediterranean) production and so on. They've been describing him as "Australian-Italian" so I assumed he was like Australia's other Italian tenors, Rosario La Spina and Aldo di Toro — Australian, with an Italian background and name. But no. He's was born here, but he's very very Italian, with limited (adorable) English. In the intermission interview he had José Carbo ready to interpret. Speaking of that interview...it can't be a good sign when I tune in to find José detailing the challenges of staying in sync with the conductor. And indeed, that does remain a challenge. Cunéo's own interview has given me far greater respect for him. It's still a pretty dreary reading, but I get the sense that he, as much as the singers and orchestra, is a victim of seriously short preparation time. Besides, he's only starting. There's plenty of time; and since he spoke so eloquently on the opera and its place in the canon, I'm willing to indulge him.

I hope plenty of people watched. TV broadcasts of opera are an excellent idea and ought to be encouraged, even if it is La bohème. No. I shouldn't be like that about it. I understand that, for the time being at least, if they're going to put Opera Australia on TV, it has to be operas like Carmen and La bohème; that it's all about (a phrase I hate) "bringing music to the masses" and those are the works that fit the bill. But oh, if the world were fair, if it was all about presenting interesting, provocative and just plain amazing arts content to the screen, regardless of its crowd-drawing potential...well, just think of what they could show? La bohème is alright, but this season has contained far better advertisements for the talent and thrills on offer at OA. A broadcast of Billy Budd — now that's something I'd really be excited about.

Lily

I don't suggest going out of your way to track it down, but if you happen upon an opportunity to see a film called Hitting A New High, I suggest you take it. Released by RKO in 1937, it stars the irresistible Lily Pons as Suzette, a cabaret singer who longs to sing serious opera. Her bandleader/boyfriend won't let her sing Titania at the club. But she meets an impresario who organises for her to be discovered — in Africa, as "Oogahunga the Bird-Girl". So Suzette dutifully treks to Africa, where she's "discovered" in the jungle, chirping her way through Saint-Saens' "Le rossignol". She won't speak English — only bird. But once she's back in the States and becoming famous, it's only a matter of time before her two worlds collide. Mild hilarity ensues. The best thing about it, obviously, is the singing. Her "Le rossignol" is oddly authentic — by which I mean, Saint-Saens' musical approximation of birdsong is interspersed with actual bird noises. She rips through "Je suis Titania" at top speed, which is fantastic — although it is sung a little à la Kathryn Grayson, that Hollywood soprano sound which is a little smaller, sweeter and chirpier than Real Soprano. Best of all is Lucia's mad scene, sung completely out of character. She begins it offstage, mouthing the words while fighting off her warring agents. Then she emerges, in tiara and ballgown, and sings the whole scene beautifully. I mean, you'd be hard pressed to figure out what the aria is about, but that's not what's intended. Of course the real highlights are the opening and closing numbers, where Lily Pons, in impeccable French coloratura style, sings nightclub songs with band. Especially the title song, which involves Lily in top hat and tails and the obligatory male back up dancers. Lily was not, I think, a dancer. But she is an actress. This film was a failure, which is why she never made any more, but she's thoroughly adorable here and pretty damn funny to boot. So you see, there's room on this blog for more than one hilarious French soprano.

Television

In the wake of my longwinded praise of Magdalena Kozena I watched her again in Orphée et Eurydice yesterday afternoon. It had been a very long time since I'd seen it. I'd forgotten just how low the role sits, too low really for Magdalena - she's said so herself. Despite that she pulls it off with aplomb, not to mention the most insanely fabulous cadenza at the end of ... one of the arias which isn't "Che farò". I'm not exactly head over heels for the Robert Wilson staging but it doesn't bother me as much as it might some. Magdalena doesn't look overjoyed about all the twisty-turny choreography but, like the singing, she still manages to do it convincingly. Patricia Petibon is ideal casting (visually and vocally) as Amor.

Then this afternoon there was yet another Orfeo ed Euridice (in Italian this time) on the Arts Channel. I only caught half of it. Orfeo in leather jacket and light blue jeans. The lyre an electric guitar. Ahem. However, Jochen Kowalski was sounding pretty fantastic in the title role. A boy soprano is probably a more logical choice for Amor but I still prefer Patricia to the child in this one. However I didn't stay with it too long.

One encouraging aspect: subtitles. Many many operas screened on the Arts Channel come without subtitles and it drives me to distraction. Yes, alright, if I have an opera on DVD, I tend to turn the subtitles off once I've seen it once or twice. But most of the operas I watch on TV are operas I've not seen before and since I don't necessarily trust my Dictionary of Opera & Operetta, I'd like to know for sure what's happening. Besides, a synopsis only goes so far. It's nice to know, at least to begin with, exactly what's being said at a given moment. Essential in comedy in order to get the joke.

However the other opera screened on The Arts Channel had no subtitles. Rossini's Tancredi. In this case it was easy enough to cope. The aforementioned dictionary wasn't a great deal of help; but I've spent enough time lately in the embraces of Opera Rara that my bel canto Italian is pretty good and I could follow enough of what was being said to get by. After all, all anybody does in bel canto of this kind is disown their children or part tearfully from their lovers. One has the feeling a twenty or thirty word vocabulary is more than enough to be going on with.

Anyway, subtitles or no subtitles this was good fun. Very straightforward, traditional staging, lots of pretty costumes and stock gestures. And why not? Bernadette Manca di Nissa was swaggering and fabulous as Tancredi, handling both the sonorous depths and the fierce fioritura of the role with remarkable ease; a sort of Ewa Podles For Beginners perhaps. Argirio was the very impressive Raul Gimenez. Until now I'd only seen him as Don Ramiro to Cecilia's Angiolina in La Cenerentola. Argirio (the mandatory daughter-disowner) is a much larger and virtuosic kind of a role and he was more than equal to the task. Ildebrando D'Arcangelo (whom I'd adore for his name alone) was such an excellent Orbazzano I couldn't help but forgive him for his villainy. Villainy? Prevented from marrying Almenaida, he tries his best to have her executed for treason. Poor little Almenaida. Except that in this case I had no sympathy for her. Maria Bayo, from whom I expected much better, looks and sounds a whiny, malnourished Almenaida. She shares more chemistry with her father than her so-called lover. She has passages of beautiful singing but as soon as things start to go up high the voice thins out to an unpleasant degree. Even at her best she seems somehow afraid: of the music, of her voice, of singing in general. The audience thinks she's wonderful and so do the reviewers on Amazon. I actually have a couple of Maria Bayo CDs; I think her Chants d'Auvergne are delightful. Here though I was not at all happy. No matter: Bernadetta Manca di Nissa was alone worth the three hours spent with this opera. Particularly striking was the final scene, in which she managed about 15 minutes of sung death-throes while lying flat on her back. As luck would have it, I just last night ordered a House of Opera Semele which, if I'm not mistaken, features Bernadette as Juno. Not, of course, the reason I ordered this Semele (which, believe it or not, comes on audio cassette) but certainly another reason to look forward to it.

Non stop opera

TV last night.

Part 2 of Golden Voices on Film. I have this on video, though with a slightly different title, a different narrator and a couple of clips missing. However, it's some time since I've watched it. The contexts in which these films came into being make for some unusual viewing. Seeing Bob Hope introduce Kirsten Flagstad is, it has to be said, slightly odd. Charles Laughton introducing Renata and Jussi Björling is even odder. "As a man, I would hope to be as Jussi Björling sounds." Right. Still it's wonderful to have these performances preserved on film. Best of all is Joanie's description-defying "O beau pays de la Touraine". Did the woman ever breathe?

But then, Opera Easy: Don Giovanni. Now, in my post about An American Tragedy I said I'd never consider hitting a soprano with an oar. But I lied. Because Natalie Choquette, who hosts this abomination of a series, does in fact tempt me to physical violence. The patronising "let's demystify opera for you, you idiot" tone is truly horrifying. I mean, the "demystifying" is dodgy ground already, particularly as this show uses a one-question quiz (answer: Seville), an "interview" with Da Ponte (as 2005-style lech), painfully un-funny monologues by Choquette and almost no actual music to do the so-called "demystifying". But this revolting cocktail is such a hideous creation that it's not just bad opera-themed television, it's bad television full stop. And for all that, it might perhaps have been saved, had it had an appealing soprano at the helm. Natalie Choquette is not that soprano. I've heard her sing once before, in the five minutes of The Diva's Nightmare I was able to endure. There she plays a soprano who loses her voice halfway through "Let the bright seraphim". To which I say: Not A French Canadian Tragedy. (Though no doubt she gets it back in the end.) She apparently considers herself at once comedienne and diva supreme: but nothing she says in this Opera Easy is remotely funny and when she sings, it's only to murder a few bars of Zerlina's music. Take my advice: steer clear of Opera Easy, and if you do come near, do it in a row boat.

Relief, however, in the third show of the night, a delectable La Serva Padrona with Patrizia Biccirè and Donato di Stefano. No Serva Padrona, of course, can beat the black and white film with Anna Moffo, which is one of the most wonderful things ever, but this one surely came as close as is possible. I'd never heard of Patrizia Biccirè but obviously I should have. The whole performance was just gorgeous. Hilarious, and with beautiful singing from both performers.

And it's a good thing I was able to get such a fix of opera last night. Because after that I listened for the first time to A Bouquet of Melodies, Yvonne Kenny's 1995 disc of French song. And quite frankly I can see no reason why I should ever listen to anybody sing anything else ever again.

Strauss, Poulenc, Poulenc

This weekend I've watched again the video of Der Rosenkavalier with Gwyneth Jones, Brigitte Fassbaender, Lucia Popp and Kurt Moll. Deutsche Grammophon has released this on DVD now, which DVD I'll need to own, if for no other reason than that the sound quality will surely be better than it is on this now ageing tape. Sound quality notwithstanding, though, it's a glorious Rosenkavalier. Hard to know who to watch, when you have Brigitte and Lucia and Gwyneth and Kurt all there at once. I'm very fond of all four. Of course, Lucia is of extreme importance to me. But much as I love and adore her, I struggle to believe anyone could feel capable of leaving Gwyneth Jones' Marschallin. I doubt I could. 

Then there was the online broadcast, courtesy of ABC Classic FM, of Opera Australia's "Love in Two Acts". An odd experience, this. I don't know which night it was recorded. There were no convenient mistakes or mishaps to allow me to identify one performance or another, though I do know it wasn't opening night. I tend to think it was the third or the fourth. It doesn't matter hugely I suppose. In any case, it was strange to hear. Both in the Rossini and in the Poulenc: everything so familiar, and yet slightly different, because the microphones are just where the audience isn't. So, for instance, when Elle sings turned toward the mantlepiece, what was distant in the theatre is disconcertingly closed: apparently there's a microphone upstage. Conversely, her electrifying fortissimo passages lose something in translation, sound a little duller and quieter than they were in person.  All the voices, in both pieces, sounded closer and more immediate than they ever would or could in the theatre. In Il Signor Bruschino the closed-miked effect of it is a boon to Kanen Breen, whose voice never quite projected sufficiently. You wouldn't know it here. And in La voix humaine, well, will you allow me to say something perhaps a little mad? There were times when that immediacy was rather like hearing a voice on the telephone. You see what I mean? Listening to it in this way, one might imagine oneself on the other end of the phone call. Seeing it in the theatre, the audience can only ever observe; hearing it via speakers, the perspective becomes a little more mobile. She isn't just saying these things to somebody else any more: she may just be saying them to you. Besides all that, there were other advantages to simply hearing it. It was excellent to have confirmed what I already knew: that her performance stands strong on its own, apart from all the theatrical interpretation by the director and apart from Yvonne's own (considerable) visual appeal as a performer. There was plenty added by the experience of watching this opera live, but with all of it stripped away, nothing is lost. Had I come to this broadcast without knowledge of the production, I would have been just as shaken by it - and just as enamoured of her.

On Monday night, more Poulenc, in the shape of Les Dialogues des Carmélites on the Arts Channel. The music of La voix humaine has become so entrenched in me that there was a somewhat comforting familiarity in this, though I'd never heard a note of it until then. This was a stunning production from L'Opéra du Rhin, Anne-Sophie Schmidt captivatingly fragile as Blanche de la Force. The fabulous Patricia Petibon made a charming Soeur Constance - the Maria von Trapp of the Carmelites - and proved she can do drama as well as comedy, though it's still the latter in which she she truly shines. A few years ago, you know, I assumed I was unshakeably old-fashioned: I'd never have imagined myself as entralled by Poulenc as I've become. It's yet another happiness for which thanks are due to my diva, who introduced us, after all.

Television

A nice little show yesterday afternoon, John Eliot Gardiner rehearsing a Bach cantata with the English Baroque Soloists. I like John Eliot Gardiner. Not as unreservedly as I adore William Christie but still, he does excellent things and it's fascinating to watch him at work. His work with the chorus especially, his attention to the significance and the nuances of the German text, details like the best pronunciation of the vowel in "quälen" or the shades of meaning in the various ways the word "Strahl" is set: meticulous but never pedantic, and the results he gets from the choir are immediately evident and strikingly effective. Particularly fascinating for me, however, was watching Sara Mingardo in action. Slightly strange, this. It seems hardly possible that such a voice is in fact produced by a mortal, by a flesh-and-blood woman. You sit and watch a singer, apparently like any other, simply doing her job, singing Bach. But the sound of it. She may be of this earth but her voice surely is not. And she finishes, and the world goes on, and John Eliot Gardiner says "beautiful" and everyone keeps working - and nobody stops to say: just a moment, where in the world did that come from? Except me.

Then tonight, Monteverdi. Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria, from Glyndebourne, 1973. Featuring a cast of psychedelic Renaissance-Seventies-style suitors, Odysseus seemingly dressed as a teddy bear, a decidedly unheroic-looking Telemachus and in the midst of it all: the phenomenon that is Dame Janet Baker. Now, Janet Baker is a singer I've long admired but never entirely warmed to. Tonight, for once, the connection was made. Not only a glorious voice but a performance of near frightening intensity. As usual on the Arts Channel, no subtitles: but such power in her singing that even when I'd no idea what specifically she was saying, I felt beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had understood. She was surrounded by suitors dressed in ridiculous shades of pink and yellow and sporting outrageously hideous haircuts and she transcended it all, by turns terrifying and adorable. How any man could dare to continue his slimy advances after she declares her chastity - "Non voglio amar no no" - is quite beyond me. However perhaps best of all is the gradual and dignified ecstasy of the final scene, the reunion with Ulysses. In her singing and in her nuances of expression she reminds us that there is a world of difference between reunion after a short separation, and reunion after twenty years of hardship, uncertainty and hard-won chastity; to me she is a more convincing and more human Penelope than Homer's. Besides all of which, of course, she sings this music like nobody's business, and it burns.

Unmasked

A rather fascinating little film on the Arts Channel last night, Don Giovanni Unmasked, starring Dmitri Hvorostovksy and Dmitri Hvorostovsky. As Giovanni and Leporello. Which I'll concede sounded a little narcissistic to me in theory; but in practice, excellent. The film is a Barbara Willis Sweete creation: she of The Sorceress. But there's deeper thought gone into this one. It could have been a Dmitri Hvorostovsky vehicle - that's what I expected to be - but believe it or not, it isn't.

I doubt I can explain the concept of the film without making it seem hopelessly complicated. It's a film-within-a-film, set simultaneously in the 1930s and 17th century Spain. Death is the projectionist; Leporello hosts a black and white film of the Don's exploits which will apparently reveal his (Giovanni's) true identity. I know. But it's better and more comprehensible than it sounds. (And far better explained here.) Without getting too preposterously analytical and over the top, it really is a neat little exploration of Don Giovanni as a character, of the nature of Leporello's and Giovanni's complex relationship. 'Unmasked'? Well, he is and he isn't, and that's sort of the point.

Just as a film, I think it's extraordinarily effective; Barbara Willis Sweete and I seem to share a similarly flavoured fascination with the opera's dark ambiguities. Musically too it is stunning, the sort of Don Giovanni I dream of, and thus can only wish existed in a complete version (the film runs less than an hour.) I said it wasn't a Dmitri vehicle, and it isn't; yet it almost is because he's quite breathtaking, in both roles, differentiating them just enough but allowing the line between the two characters to be blurred as well. His Don is all one could wish for, commanding, but suave and even sweet when called for, his Leporello grave but still with that vicarious glee in his master's conquests. It is Don Giovanni who dominates proceedings, and so it is in that role that Dmitri's singing is its most thrilling: an irresistably silken 'Deh vieni alla finestra', 'Finch'han del vino' a perfectly articulated quasi mad-scene, and a truly terrifying dinner scene. Which brings me to the orchestra, the Canadian Opera Company Orchestra under Richard Bradford. There's nothing very giocoso going on here; Bradford's reading is as dark and tense as the film, and the result is taut, chilling and quite brilliant. I love hearing Don Giovanni like this. And I also loved seeing it like this.

Most of the hits (especially for Giovanni and Leporello) are here, but this is an independent creation, not just the film equivalent of a highlights disc, or a sort of potted Don Giovanni for the short of attention span - both of which it could have become. Neither is it as relentlessly serious and arty as I fear I may have made it sound. It's a smart concept, and it's nicely executed - visually, dramatically, and musically. Quite special.

The Sorceress

On Monday night we had Australia's darling; tonight New Zealand's. Our fabulous Kiri. New Zealanders have a terrible habit of clutching at straws for any possible 'New Zealand connection' to any kind of success or celebrity - a national inferiority complex. But it's obviously pointless because no national achievement could possibly outdo this one. Even though I realise she's not a national achievement. She's her own personal achievement, and she's wonderful. It's a shame, but it's true, that many New Zealanders don't quite realise that Kiri is as important to people in other countries as she is to them. They see "Kiwi girl done good" and don't necessarily know that she's excelled by anyone's standards. She hasn't just done well for a New Zealander, she's done well for a soprano and for an artist of any variety. But anyway: she was on TV tonight in The Sorceress. Surely the kind of film which I would concoct - though I might leave out the ballet. An hour of Handel, a slight attempt at a plot but mostly just an excuse to give Kiri the best arias from four or five different operas. She's Alcina, she has her eye on Ruggiero for a toyboy, Bradamante is haughty and awful. Yes, the characters from Alcina but not the plot: Alcina gets her boy in the end. And deserves him too because she's a sorceress, but evidently not an evil one. In fact she's warm and loving and sweet; and manages to be convincingly in love with that dancing Ruggiero, even though he's not allowed to touch anything but her coiffure and the tattoo behind her ear. Dignified always, and desperately beautiful. (Well you've seen her. She's gorgeous and apparently doesn't age.) But with a human touch. Her singing too is warm, joyful, affectionate and sincere. It's an exquisite voice to be lost in, and if I were the Ruggiero of this film she would need no spells or magic sceptre to keep me in her palace. I mean for heaven's sake, she's got Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music under the floor. Though I confess her Spirits of Darkness are a little disconcerting in their catsuits and Batman masks, reminding me of nothing so much as the leatherclad girls who dance with a whip-brandishing Lucille Ball in Ziegfeld Follies. The film, as a film, is not exactly great art. Often it's terribly silly. Kiri is exquisite in her snake-encrusted gown, the eighteenth century dresses are pretty, but the cavernous sets are awful. Kiri's magnetism surpasses anything else the film has to offer, in serious artistic terms, but it's terribly fun. Whoever devised this thing is my hero and I think all sopranos should be required to make a film like this. Oh Kiri, Kiri, Kiri.

P.S. Two new additions to the blogroll: Night After Night, and the Wellsung twins.

On air

The 2005 Lexus Song Quest final was repeated on Concert FM on Sunday. I'm gladder than ever that I actually went to it because the radio lies, and shamelessly. This was in fact made pretty clear back in April when the final actually happened. The difference between the sounds those singers produced on the night, and what I'd heard on their semi-final programmes, broadcast on Concert FM, was remarkable. Same again with the final. So let me say now to anybody who listened to it on radio, either in April or on Sunday: it did not, no way, no how, sound like that. If I'm entirely honest, based on that broadcast alone, I would not have picked Madeleine Pierard as the winner; but having been there on the night, there's no question that she deserved her first placing. In fact it was the four girls who especially suffered from the broadcast nastiness: I've heard Penelope Muir sing a great deal, enough to know her voice well by now, and that wasn't it. Allison Cormack fared slightly better, but only because her voice is big and lush enough to take a few more blows than the others: the same thinning out was still in evidence. Strangely enough the two baritones seemed to benefit, or at least Robert Tucker did: surrounded by curiously (and deceptively) insecure sounding performances, he sounded like, well, A Bought One. Which reminded me just how excellent he in fact is, in person as well as on radio. I hope he's doing well in Australia, and heading for a career of some variety - he really is a lovely singer.

On Monday evening I caught the last hour of Jenufa on the Arts Channel. I have this to say: Anja Silja is insanely good. Looking dour and hideous of course, but my goodness, without a voice to match. There were other things going on, the production was generally very well sung, but that woman. Wow.

More Arts Channel goodness last night, with Encore: The Best of Joan Sutherland. You've done some silly things, Australia, but you've also done some excellent things, and filming Joan's Lucia and Norma and Lucrezia Borgia rank very high on the list. Look, of course we all know Joanie's as fabulous as it gets, film or no film, but these are brilliant to watch. Encore consists of 90 minutes of clips from these various films. Some are, admittedly, more wonderful than others: I'd rather have had more bel canto than the rather unremarkable Merry Widow excerpt, but still, it is Joan after all. She's very difficult not to love. Who cares about so-called acting ability? In her own way, she's got it in spades: she makes the music speak, she makes it compelling, what else do we want? There's nothing unconvincing about Joanie. My god, and that voice... high notes you can feel. 'Casta Diva' was, well... Joan.

Oh and speaking of great Normas, can somebody better informed than I (and there are legions of you) tell me what's so special about this one, that it's selling for $199.99? Is it just weirdly overpriced, or is there some reason known to all but me for such a price? Because I have the opportunity to pick it up for *significantly* less and was wondering whether I ought. (Meanwhile, VivaLaVoce just now chose this moment to throw Act I of Norma at me. I've heard more of this opera in the last two days than in all the rest of my life.)

On screen

Three things I've seen recently - one at the movies and two on TV - are worth mentioning. Firstly a rather lovely French movie, Comme une image, whose title in English is the somewhat less subtle Look At Me. The plot in one sentence, from the NZ Film Festival website: "An insecure young Parisian opera singer struggles to escape the shadow of her superstar novelist father." So of course I went. As I say, an excellent movie. But more important, there's real singing in it. We see Lolita, the soprano, at her voice lessons, in rehearsal and in performance, and the music is gorgeous. What's better, it's authentic - the soprano who provides her voice is at the same level as the character, so she makes mistakes, she falters, and then she triumphs. The final concert, in a tiny French country church, is just beautiful. Highly recommended, see it if you can. And I think the actress playing Lolita bears a slight resemblance to Cecilia every now and then, but nobody agrees with me.

The Arts Channel hasn't had a great deal operatic to offer of late, but this week we have had two rather special shows. One, surprisingly enough, was Chamber Music: Puccini. I say surprising, because Chamber Music is, as much as anything else, a dance series - life and works of a composer interpreted by Les Boréades, a French-Canadian dance troupe. In between the dancing there are pieces of straigh documentary-style biography, but there's a lot of dance, really not my cup of tea. But since this one was Puccini, I figured we were almost guaranteed some sopranos, and I could just ignore the dancing. Which more or less is what I did. In earlier Chamber Music shows I could sort of see a point to all the choreography, even if it didn't appeal to me. But here it was just strange - unlike, say, a string quartet, a Puccini aria has a definite plot to it, because it has a text. So it was offputting, for instance, to see the whole of Mimi's and Rodolfo's first encounter taking place as a representation of just 'Mi chiamano Mimi' - doesn't make a great deal of sense. It seemed that if you were going to go to all this trouble, you might as well just act the scene, lip-synch it even - and in fact that's more or less what happened for the Tosca excerpt.

However, if the dance aspect didn't exactly win me over, the music absolutely did. I love Puccini anyway, but one can get a little jaded about his Greatest Soprano Hits. But this was different. It was those hits, but sung with piano accompaniment only. The effect was amazing, intensely personal, and revelatory. And the soprano, a Monique Pagé, was equally enchanting. Throughout the film I kept thinking, who is that? Having learnt her name, I'm still not a great deal the wiser, but I'd certainly like to hear more of her.

The other Arts Channel treat - another screening of the fabulous documentary Beyond Music: Montserrat Caballé. I've seen this three times now and each time, I'm spellbound. Great film-making and an even greater subject.  I wrote about this documentary back in January, the first time I saw it, and you know, I think I'll just copy and paste.

The Arts Channel just screened the most wonderful documentary, Caballé: Beyond Music. Somehow until tonight I was unaware how amazing this woman was and is: Norma, Fiordiligi, Sieglinde, Elisabeth in Don Carlo, the Verdi Requiem, duets with Freddie Mercury, Strauss lieder and apparently everything else as well. Much is made of Maria Callas' back-to-back Norma/Isolde performances but I'd no idea that Montserrat Caballé sang an even huger and more varied repertoire, with the added bonus of (don't kill me) sounding a darn sight better. She's also gorgeous, gracious, sweet and very funny. All I was expecting was tonight was one of those early-90s, English voice-over quick biography kinds of documentaries, which are fine. But this is a film from 2003, directed by her fabulous brother Carlos, who was largely responsible for his sister's success and seems to have just happened to discover José Carreras along the way. So the only narration is from Montserrat herself, in interviews and in conversation with Carlos. And everybody who's anybody shows up to add their two cents: Renée Fleming, Marilyn Horne, Cheryl Studer, Sam Ramey, Dame Joan Sutherland, her daughter (Monserrat Jr, who also sings), her adorable husband (she sang Butterfly and married her Pinkerton) and many many others. It's a wonderful film: there's no voiceover spelling out to us how successful and talented she is: it's just patently obvious. There's are excerpts from an amazing Norma, the adorable Barcelona concert with Freddie Mercury, Tosca, Roberto Devereux, masterclasses, everything. We see her visit her music school and pay tribute to her first teacher. She tells wonderful stories, as does her brother. And she sings. The world doesn't rave about those piannissimi for nothing. She's a gorgeous actress too. There's just nothing lacking- whether she's one of your personal favourites or not, there's no denying she's magnificent and destined forever to be unmatched.

I don't think there's anything much I can add to that. This is unquestionably one of the best singer documentaries I've seen. And worth watching for the Norma clip alone - an outdoors performance, sung in strong winds which, rather than being a problem, only add to the magic of it all - her robes and her hair trail out behind her, and you'd swear it was she who brought the wind with her. Quite incredible.

Artsville

Very interesting watching Artsville tonight: a behind-the-scenes at the Lexus Songquest documentary. The synopsis promised it would be 'warts and all' but there really wasn't very much trauma. After all, criticism from La Bumbry was part of the deal, and as in the public masterclasses, nothing she said (on camera at least) was unnecessarily harsh. Apparently she did say some rather scary things during singers' interviews with her - but even that was with the purpose of getting more out of them on the night. She's a tough woman, is Grace Ann, but she knows what she's doing. (Obviously.)

But the wondrous Grace aside, it was nice to see some of the singers as themselves. The documentary followed six semi-finalists, two of whom (Matt Landreth and Paloma Bruce) didn't make it to the finals, and four of whom did - Penelope Muir, Madeleine Pierard, Jamie Frater and Allison Cormack. Once we got to the finals, they also focused on Joanna Heslop, but strangely enough Robert Tucker barely appeared at all. I can only imagine - and hope - this was a decision on his part, not a directorial one. It was also a good chance to hear a couple of these singers again too. The clip of Paloma Bruce singing 'Donde lieta usci' sounded infinitely better than it did on radio - good to know - and I fell for Allison Cormack all over again. If she plays her cards right I really do think Allison has a shot at serious stardom. On the other hand I have to confess I was no more impressed by Joanna Heslop than I was on the night. I think there's a lot of potential, yes, but a lot of work to be done. Maybe that's just me.

So anyway, yes, an interesting if not particularly in-depth behind-the-scenes view. What I'd really like of course is something feature-length along the lines of Spellbound. Now that would be brilliant.

Rosenkavalier & Xerxes

Must get these reviews out of the way before I forget (or get distracted.)

The Sunday Met broadcast of Der Rosenkavalier was fantastic. As you guessed, perhaps, from my Strauss raptures the other night. Angela Denoke is unquestionably a Very Important Marschallin. Even sharing the limelight with Susan Graham, she shone. A beautiful pure sound, sensitivity to the music and the character; and the ability, even in the midst of that great billowing orchestra, to sing quietly and simply and nevertheless rivet the attention. Sometimes I thought she would simply disappear into the orchestra but she never ever did, and the tension was something quite special.

My heart, unlike Octavian's, never once belongs to anyone but die schöne Feldmarschallin. I have a soft spot for little Sophie, however, and Laura Aikin was very nice. I mean, she's no Lucia Popp but who is? Laura's Sophie was a sweetheart, and especially touching in Act Three. And her Octavian was a gorgeous Susan Graham. Seems Octavian is her operatic destiny, and she well and truly fulfilled it here. She lacked, perhaps, a little of that earnest enthusiasm which can be appealing in an Octavian but such singing: quite irresistible. Speaking of which: Peter Rose's Baron Ochs! Generally I don't much like Baron Ochs vocally any more than I do as a character. .But here he sounded so good I almost (gasp) liked him! I wasn't just sitting there thinking him unworthy to breathe the same air as the Marschallin - I was enjoying his singing. He's still awful, naturally, but I couldn't help forgiving him a little when he sounded like this.

Now, on to the English National Opera Xerxes which was on TV on Monday night. Interesting. Xerxes isn't exactly the pinnacle of Handel's operatic achievement, perhaps: but even average Handel is better than most things, and Xerxes is far from average. Anne Murray in the title role was spectacular. Things got off to a shaky start, with a train wreck of an 'Ombra mai fu' but she redeemed herself almost immediately and never looked back. She was captivating - about as convincingly male as Marlene in her tux, but no matter. If the opera had just been a three-hour one-travesti-show, that would have been just fine. Although there would be one significant drawback: the absence of Lesley Garrett. Yes, I can hardly believe I'm saying this of the Crossover Queen, but she was stunning. Why, Lesley? Why didn't you keep doing this? Why all the 'Soprano in Hollywood', 'Soprano Inspired', 'Soprano Dragging Horse Along the Beach' rubbish? Lesley's Atalanta was (apart from Anne) the star of the show. Gorgeous singing and phenomenal coloratura, plus a genuine sense of Handel singing which seemed to elude some others in the cast. Surely they must have watched her and thought "Oh! That's how it's done! I had no idea!". She truly was a delight. She was also adorably channelling the spirit of Debbie Reynolds in Two Weeks With Love - quite appropriate actually, given the plot of the movie (kid sister in love with blonde older sister's goofy boyfriend.)

I thought, though, that Atalanta should have ended up with Xerxes. In this production, anyway. Lesley and Anne were getting on so well together, and despite all her machinations, this Atalanta came across as a genuinely nice person. Besides, I'm sorry, but Amastris is pointless. I mean, it's nice to have yet another mezzo in this already soprano-friendly opera, but why is she there? If a reason does exist, Jean Rigby wasn't much help finding it. Nice enough voice but honestly, every time the vocal fireworks started up, she looked like she couldn't wait to be home in bed. Newsflash: no matter how twisted and florid that coloratura gets, you are still singing a word. Dear me. Even worse was Valerie Masterson's Romilda. What a mess. True, she was always going to be a problem for me, simply by virtue of Not Being Yvonne Kenny. The liner notes for Yvonne's Handel Arias include photos of her in this very production. So to begin with I was annoyed with Valerie for not sounding like Yvonne. But as time wore on I was just annoyed with her for not sounding like an opera singer. When shouts of "Sing properly" come involuntarily from my mouth, it really isn't a good sign. Sometimes I thought she was just going to lose it all together and give up. Perhaps she ought to have. Besides which, she was the most profoundly unlikeable Romilda you could imagine. Part of this, no doubt, was down to the director, and it's a reasonable angle. But she was even unpleasant during the parts evidently designed to soften her up: "Chi cede al furore" was bland and emotionless - no mean feat, given the fabulous music. When I think what Yvonne must have been like in this part...

But it was an excellent production nevertheless, thanks to Anne, Lesley, the stage director and the sets and costumes. I'd certainly watch it again. I might just nap during the Romilda parts.

And now, dilette amiche, I'm off to that distraction.

O gran Rinaldo

Rinaldo was on the Arts Channel on Monday and Tuesday nights. The director - as for last week's Ariodante - was David Alden. Very odd, the things this man comes up with. It was all quite enjoyable, really: bright colours and silly costumes and David Daniels injuring himself on furniture. Not sure I picked up on all the darker significance of it all, but then again, I'm not sure there necessarily was any. Apparently he styled the main set - the Crusaders' HQ - after a Tel Aviv airport hotel he was stranded in for a few days in the 50s, and the conceit worked well I think. And the neon-lit backdrop for Armida's 'Gerusalemme' nightclub was fabulous.

David Daniels sang the title role - flawlessly, naturally. 'Cara sposa, amante cara, dove sei?' was incredible; his comic talents aren't too shabby either. His fiancée Almirena was Deborah York, who was fine but could, I'm certain, have been much much better. She had flashes of brilliance, and she coped wonderfully with the vocal and physical demands of the part (singing 'Combatti da forte' while cheerleading, for instane) but it was none of it very interesting. She threw off line after line of coloratura, but close your eyes and it could be anybody. And 'Lascia ch'io pianga' was just one big missed opportunity - with some weirdly optimistic ornaments. The only other woman in the piece, however, was pure magic. Noemi Nadelmann (see left) made the most beautiful and electrifying Armida you could wish for. Her legs alone might have stolen the show, were it not for her singing: she sounded as fabulous as she looked, if not more so. Her vengeful coloratura was sheer brilliance; her lamenting and confusion over Rinaldo was meltingly gorgeous.

In this Rinaldo we had Armida under attack from a small army of crusading countertenors (I know what that's like..) - apart from David Daniels, we had David Walker and Axel Köhler as Goffredo and Eustazio respectively, along with Charles Maxwell, who sang both the Magician and 'Una donna'. They all were very good. But goodness me: four countertenors at once?! Variety is, after all, the spice of life: it might have been nice to put a contralto in there somewhere. Bernarda Fink sings Goffredo on the Decca studio recording I have; La Signora Francesca Vanini Boschi originated the same role - so it's not without precedent. Then again, I very much liked David Walker, who's not only a great singer but also a hilarious comic actor. But in any case, it was really quite a relief when Eglis Silins' deep dark Argante arrived on the scene: not the most beautiful singing but such a nice contrast. And in the end, I got used to the Countertenor Mafia (they were in gangster costumes); David Daniels was unquestionably the finest of them, of course - this proved to me for once and for all how much he deserves his star status. Had it not been for the to-die-for Armida, he would definitely have been my favourite.

Otello & Figaro

This time last week, I was rabbiting on about the weird production of Verdi's Macbeth which was on TV, saying the fabulous singing made up for the many ridiculous points of a production I didn't think much of. But with every that's passed, it's grown on me. I still don't like the choruses in the nuclear power plant overalls, I still think Lady Macbeth's dress was heinous crime against good taste, and I still think it could have benefited from a lesson or two in subtlety. However, there were times during tonight's 1992 Covent Garden Otello that I almost longed for a bit of postmodern silliness. Because, yes, it was all very attractive and sensibly staged, and yes, the principal cast was to die for (more on them in a moment) but when there wasn't a singer to focus the attention, I did find it all a little flat and boring. Act I certainly didn't stir the blood. And neither did Act II - at least, those parts I was awake for didn't. No, I'm not exaggerating; I'm not particularly proud of it either - but I did nod off a number of times. I did manage to wake myself up for the rest of it, but it never got any more interesting.

Except, that is, for the Otello and Desdemona themselves. They didn't do anything particularly fascinating, drama-wise; but the way they were singing removed the need for anything else. But then, what else do you expect when your leads are Placido Domingo and Kiri Te Kanawa? Mostly Otello just stood around looking jealous. But Placido has a way of just standing there which makes him magnetic; when he opens mouth it all gets even better. (I'm sure the lovely Gert of mad musings would agree - and then some. ) The effect when he arrived to break up Cassio's brawl was incredible: this sudden commanding presence in the midst of chaos. It's a shame we couldn't have an Iago malicious enough to match the drama of Otello's angst. But Kiri was a radiant, perfect Desdemona, who at this moment has me thinking maybe the sensible staging and traditional sets weren't so bad after all: they did provide the ideal backdrop to one of the most extraordinary operatic moments I've ever scene, Desdemona's 'Willow Song' and Ave Maria. There was nothing on that stage to look at except Kiri. Then again, if you dropped her into the middle of a Zeffirelli Turandot, she'd still be the only thing to watch. Although the musical love affair going on between Kiri and Georg Solti does make it feel a little like voyeurism.

And last night, I finally managed to hear something I've been longing for for months: René Jacobs' Le Nozze di Figaro on Harmonia Mundi. Firstly I wanted it because it was a new Figaro, and I was interested to hear it. Then I wanted it because Angelika Kirchschlager was in it. Then because Marie McLaughlin was in it. Then because of Patrizia Ciofi and Véronique Gens. But I'm still a miser at heart, and I haven't been able to bring myself to part with the necessary $74.95. However, happily enough, the Public Library has bought it, and for the next two weeks, it's all mine. And It Is Good. Very, very, very good. An amazing collection of beautiful voices singing their hearts out, with support from a gorgeous orchestra and the obviously sublimely talented M. Jacobs. I've heard this opera god knows how many times, but this was still a revelation: I was hearing things I never even knew were there.

It all turns on Susanna, of course, and Patrizia Ciofi is absolutely wonderful. I thought she must be, given the fervour she's inspired in this devoted fan, and I'd very much like to hear more of her. And Véronique Gens' Contessa is a heartbreaker: hearing a younger voice than usual sing this reminds you just how recently the Contessa di Almaviva was Rosina, leaning out of her window to drop letters to Lindoro. The embellishments in her arias (and elsewhere) are absolutely beautiful. And I can't leave out Cherubino! 'Non so piu' and 'Voi che sapete' are so widely recorded and so very familiar I wondered if I'd be able to get very excited, even adoring Angelika Kirchschlager as I do. But she too benefits from fabulous conducting and brilliant ornamentation: it was almost like hearing Cherubino for the very first time. Lorenzo Regazzo is a rather serious Figaro, a little darker than usual, but he makes it work; Simon Keenlyside is suitably swaggering and sometimes scary Conte. And Marie McLaughlin (whose first cousin once removed, if I have that right, lives in Dunedin and reads this blog. Say hello, Stephen, and make me feel like a friend of the stars!) is unquestionably the most beautifully voiced Marcellina I've ever heard! Usually Marcellina seems to be cast mostly for comic effect, but not so here. Her scene with Bartolo isn't just burlesque but a thing of beauty, and her often cut Act IV aria, 'Il capro e la capretta' is just wonderful.

This is a Figaro absolutely bursting with fun and with beautiful music and it's going to take several more listenings before I can even begin to take it all in. And obviously I'll have to buy it: I've only had it a couple of days and already the thought of giving it back to the library is upsetting me.

TV Land

I'm not in the habit of falling off chairs. However, when the opening credits Dvorak Stabat Mater on the Arts Channel tonight began, and the words 'Soprano: Yvonne Kenny' appeared, that's exactly what happened. I have the carpet burn to prove it. An over the top reaction? Yes perhaps. But still. I was watching the Stabat Mater because it happened to be on, and it appealed more than CSI or Eastenders. And it's part of a Dvorak cycle done in the 1980s, so there was a chance that Lucia Popp (who appeared in an earlier concert from the same series) might be in it. I hadn't been to the Arts Channel website to find out about it, and even if I had, the soloists' names aren't there. So there was nothing to prepare me for the presence of my current grande passion, nothing at all - and yes, I shrieked and fell off my chair. A loss of dignity, to be sure, but what's dignity in the face of such a soprano?

She was her unmistakeable, devastatingly gorgeous self. That beautiful shimmering silver tone which just rises and rises: the ultimate umile ancella from whom sound appears simply to pour, of its own accord. I just can't get enough. As for the Stabat Mater itself, well, who knows. I found it pretty remarkably unremarkable, but then I wasn't paying much attention to the Yvonne-less parts of it, so what do I know? Apparently it's very moving and full of Dvorak's grief for his dead children, so the critics say. Sounds fair enough. It was all very pleasant, anyway; but for the moment I'm still buzzing from my unexpected Yvonne Kenny fix.

The Arts Channel is having a good month, clearly. There was the Macbeth in the weekend, which I'm becoming even more excited about in hindsight. I still don't like a lot of the production aspects, but at least the overall effect, the psychotic, obsessive atmosphere of it all, came across well. Nothing of the sort can be said, I fear, for the ENO production of Handel's Ariodante, which was on last night. Even if the symbolism in the Macbeth was a bit of a heavy-handed shambles, it was at least (mostly) easy enough to see what the general idea of it was, whether or not it was particularly successful. But Ariodante, well, your guess is as good as mine. It was clear the director had some sort of weird post-somethingist agenda going on but lord knows what it was. Ariodante's aria 'Con l'ali di costanza' had him turned into a sort of Handelian Violetta, standing on tables looking manic and throwing wineglasses at the wall. The condemned Ginevra had some sort of violent Freudian dream about her daddy, the king. Polinesso kept licking things, including Lesley Garrett. But what was it all for? No doubt there are a good few people out there who would grasp immediately all the deep and meaningful things at play here (if, indeed, there is anything deep or meaningful at play) but I'm not among them.

However, the singing was absolutely first rate. Anne Murray mightn't be the world's most watchable singer but vocally she's absolutely glorious. And she was a revelation to me. I saw her not too long ago on TV in La Clemenza di Tito and somehow - even though it should have been wonderful - her Sesto just didn't particularly impress me. But as Ariodante she was just stunning. The aria I mentioned before - the wineglass-breaking one - was one of the most incredible pieces of coloratura singing I've ever seen. At least ten minutes - possibly longer - of unbelievable agility and flawless technique, which also managed to be gorgeous and dramatically engaging. I'm also desperately impressed by anyone who can manage such fierce vocal acrobatics while lying flat on their back. Although, Joan Rodgers as Ginevra (another very beautiful voice) went one better by doing it while being hoisted up, blindfolded, on a sort of semi-crucifix. It was also nice finally to see Lesley Garrett, who sang Dalinda, being an opera singer. She got better and better as the opera progressed, and her final scenes with Lurcanio, the 'right man' (wenn's einen gibt..) for her, were one of the few things I thought the production did get absolutely right. She's been obsessively in love/lust with the lascivious and evil Polinesso (Christopher Robson) throughout; now he's dead it would be silly to see her all of sudden transfer her affections, without hesitation; instead, Lurcanio was presented as a sort of permanent rebound man - she loved him all along, and she said as much, but, a bit like Donna Anna, her encounter with the seducer has changed everything. However, unlike Donna Anna and her wimpy boyfriend, Dalinda and Lurcanio are together at the end, with the latter aware of the changes in Dalinda and willing to take them on. The other things happening at the end of this production are a little odd, but the reunion of Dalinda and Lurcanio, a sort of affection capitulation, comes across very well. I think possibly we were supposed to see the ending as vaguely ambiguous, à la Cosi fan tutte... but I don't quite know why. Never mind, though, it was all worth it for the miracle of Anne Murray; and really, when it comes to Handel operas, I'd happily sit through hours and hours of the direst production imaginable.

Before I go, grazie mille to the awe-inspiring Mr. A. C. Douglas of sounds & fury, who has made me feel very special indeed by adding me to his list of Culture Blogs. ACD scares me a little (or a lot) sometimes, but the fact is that many of his sentiments are far closer to my heart than you might imagine.

È troppo..

Clearly I listen to too much music. Because after all, it's only been a few days since I last posted. But somehow, I've amassed quite a list of things I want to write about. And write about them I shall - so you'll just have to bear with me.

I've been continuing to feed my new-found Kiri addiction. It's all very odd. I don't know what I find  stranger: the fact that a lifetime worth of indifference could evaporate so quickly; or the fact that I ever was so indifferent. In any case, it's all changed now. Things which a few weeks ago I would have been to stubborn even to try, I now adore. Like the Air des Bijoux from Faust. Not long ago, the thought of Kiri singing this would have had me running in the opposite direction. But now... she's beautiful! She's not the most agile or girlish-sounding Marguerite, but she makes the most incredibly beautiful sound. And it's beauty with a soul to it too: not boring, detached, meaningless singing. And as I said, it's addictive. I keep needing more. Luckily, we have Kiri CDs in the house, even if I've ignored them a little. All the Kiri that's in shops these days is full of Gershwin and Kern and Pokarekare Ana, and as much as I now adore my Kiri, I still want to steer clear of that side of things for the time being. That said, however, I've been listening repeatedly to 'Tarakihi' from her Maori Songs CD (which I don't own). This certainly ain't Kiri in operatic mode but dear me it's fantastic. Kiri + chorus perform fight song about a locust. I love it. If we change our national anthem, we should change it to this.

I've also, thankfully, moved past the Kiri Te Kanawa/Patricia Wright vocal resemblance thing. To an extent. I'm pretty sure my theory was right: the similarity to Patricia was responsible for the change in my attitude to Kiri. However, it's rather a backhanded compliment to say someone sounds exactly like someone else, and I wanted to get away from the resemblance and enjoy the differences. Which I think I am now, more or less. For the first few days, just hearing Kiri, it was a little difficult: there so many phrases which I thought could quite easily have come from Patricia. But I went back and listened to Patricia's Italian Songs, and realised I was absolutely wrong. Kiri is all silk and seamless loveliness; Patricia is bright and vibrant and exciting and just generally utterly fabulous. Patricia is also (you might have noticed) still unquestionably my favourite of the two.

While we're on New Zealand sopranos, there's another I ought to mention. Anna Leese was on the radio on Thursday, live from the Auckland Town Hall, performing a couple of Mozart concert arias as part of a concert by the Auckland Philharmonia. 'Vada, ma dove' and 'Ch'io mi scordi di te', both sung very beautifully: but to be honest, I don't think Anna was at anything like her best. I've heard Anna live and I've heard her recorded. She was incredible the very first time, when she was still a voice student. Every time since then, she's been even more magnificent than before. She's absolutely a star. But something wasn't quite in place for the Mozart arias. They still sounded great, but they didn't sound right: sections which should have been made brilliant and exciting were far too light, almost weak at times; and on some of the lowest notes she almost disappeared. It's possible of course that this had more to do with the recording than with Anna; at the very worst, I'd say she was just feeling a little poorly. Of course it doesn't really matter: Anna Leese singing slightly below par is still very very special indeed.

And tonight on TV we had Verdi's Macbeth. Ridiculous, ugly production, I thought. It looked like four production concepts for four different operas had somehow been thrown into one place and forced to fight it out. Lady Macbeth in the world's ugliest dress, choruses who looked ready for biological warfare, and a mute Duncan with a mask borrowed from the Sybil in I, Claudius. Weird. There were moments when I could vaguely make out what the director might have been getting at, but mostly it was distracting and pointless. The sole exception was the banquet scene, where Lady Macbeth's drunk-on-wine-and-power behaviour made sense of the otherwise rather odd presence of a Brindisi in the midst of Macbeth. All in all, though, not a great piece of theatre.

But does that matter? Not one bit: the singers were incredible. Thomas Hampson was to die for. Every time I see Thomas Hampson as himself, he irritates me. But on stage, singing, all is forgiven: the man is fabulous. Such a fabulous singer that you forget he's a semi-adequate actor in a ridiculous production. He managed to be dramatic and exciting and at the same time never lose any beauty of tone. An absolute pleasure to behold. Paoletta Marrocu makes a seriously scary Lady Macbeth. Her first scene, reading the letter from Macbeth, was hair-raising: so fearless you'd have thought she had nothing to sing afterwards. And not exactly a beautiful voice, but beautiful's not really what you want from Lady Macbeth, is it? You want frightening and exciting, and Paoletta delivered - and then some. Her very best moments came in the Brindisi scene which I mentioned above: strutting about in an orange fur coat, disconcerting her guests: she was brilliant. As were the rest of the cast, although it's hard to notice anyone else with these two battling it out for the spotlight. But they nevertheless could have done without all the weirdnesses of the production. For once, I'd have to say this is one which would work at least as well - and probably better - in audio only. Thomas and Paoletta do well as actors, but the real drama is in the singing.

Is that everything? Almost. The Marama Hall concert schedule for Semester 1 is out now, and the most exciting thing on it (apart from the vocal students' recital, naturally) is a recital by Deborah Wai Kapohe (in classical mode) singing French music. Two recitals in fact: a short lunchtime one and a proper length evening one. Things like this make me so glad I don't live anywhere else: only here could I see two recitals by a soprano I adore within days of each other, for a total cost of $7. I'd pay real money to see Deborah, and here she is singing for almost nothing. Other than Deborah, the highlight, as I said, will be the recital by vocal students: my prayer for more singers on the lunchtime programme seems to have been answered. And I assume there'll be some singers in the prizewinners' recital too. What I really long for, though, is something like the very first Wednesday recital I ever saw, where students performed operatic excerpts, in semi-costume. There were bits from Zauberflöte, I remember, including Ken Ryan running about with a small stuffed snake tied to his ankle; Anna Leese sang 'Nobles seigneurs, salut'. And it finished in the Anvil Chorus. It was absolutely wonderful; sadly I've never seen anything like it since.

Oh, and I think I rather like Hildegard Behrens, whom I'd never listened to until today, when I dug out her Nuits d'Eté & Schéhérazade CD and loved it. But we shall see.

State of the (operatic) nation

Usually I try not to think about the plight or otherwise of opera in New Zealand, mostly because it just upsets me. But there was a feature about just that on TV One's arts show Frontseat last night, followed by a sort of group activity: two groups each given twenty minutes to come up with a 'concept' which would help increase the audience for opera in New Zealand. They've drawn on the groups' ideas for this week's feedback question. As I say, usually I would just change the channel and the subject, but this time I thought, to hell with it, I'll respond. Which I have. Probably rather too copiously for their purposes; but there are no word limits here in the blogosphere, so for better or worse, I give you the Frontseat feedback question and the letter I've just emailed off in response.

This week's question: Which of these touring concepts would attract an audience? 'Opera on speed' - a selection of opera's greatest hits or 'Our Stories' NZ composers and singers doing orginal pieces related to NZ literature?

My response:

I think it's very likely that both these touring concepts would attract a reasonable audience, in great simply because they ARE 'touring' concepts. When an professional arts event hits a town which otherwise doesn't get to see much opera, ballet, orchestral music etc. at that level, it's got a very good chance of selling well, because it's a rare opportunity and a novelty. But whether either of these would serve the purpose they're designed for - appreciably increasing the audience for opera in New Zealand generally - is another question entirely. 

The 'Opera On Speed' concept has its attractions, but as it stands ('opera's greatest hits') I don't know that it would achieve a great deal. As Margaret Medlyn said on the show, people like the tunes they know. But if knowing and liking these tunes hasn't already intrigued them enough to bring them along to see the whole show, why would a touring concert of such excerpts change that? I also think there can be a danger in the 'greatest hits' approach. It might be a more immediately appealing way to package opera, but in the end it's not REALLY opera, is it? Ms Medlyn did also suggest combining the familiar and the not so familiar, and I think she's right. If all you've seen and heard is strings of Italian arias, what on earth will you make of Salomé or Lulu? And take 'Nessun dorma', for instance, perhaps the most widely recognized aria out there, but one which in the context of the opera it comes from is something wildly different from the way it's done by Andrea Bocelli or the Three Tenors. A touring concert could be an excellent idea but it ought to reflect the reality of the operatic experience at its best, not lull a doubting audience into a false sense of security. We should have faith in New Zealand audiences to appreciate more about opera than just familiar Italian tunes.

In many ways the 'Our Stories' idea gets a little closer to what I'm on about. It's complete opera, and it balances the familiar (New Zealand stories) with the challenging (modern opera). But at the same time I think it faces a similar problem to 'Opera On Speed', and that's the degree to which it reflects opera as a whole. One of the best things about opera is its incredibly international nature: works in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Czech and Russian can all move and excite audiences around the planet, because what they all rely on ultimately is music and not nationality. New Zealand-oriented operas are a fabulous idea, and the more the better, but they're still only one facet of a glorious world of variety. If we're going to tour a trio of new operas, why not throw in one from Japan, or Finland, or Brazil? Kate Mead made the point that another take on something like Traviata or Cenerentola isn't likely to be of much interest internationally - the world surely would be more interested in operas which represent New Zealand. If this is true - and I can't help but think that moving something old and familiar into a recognisably New Zealand setting could, if done well, be absolutely fascinating - then surely New Zealand must, by the same token, take a look at the operas which represent other countries. I understand the wish to make opera as 'relevant' as possible but I'd like to think that this doesn't depends on a wealth of things more significant than plain geography.

I guess what's needed is the best of both worlds: an appealing, marketable concept which nevertheless can replace the old clichés of immense horned women and lovestricken Italian tenors with what lovers of opera know to be the truth: a wonderful world of music and drama which is too multi-faceted, and so much an individual experience, that it can't be reduced to a stereotype. Everyone who loves opera loves different works, and different things about the art form: if a touring concept is going to bring in new audiences, it needs to come as close as it can to introducing its audience to THAT kind of world.

The Divine Miss M

That's M for Montserrat, you understand. The Arts Channel just screened the most wonderful documentary, Caballé: Beyond Music. Somehow until tonight I was unaware how amazing this woman was and is: Norma, Fiordiligi, Sieglinde, Elisabeth in Don Carlo, the Verdi Requiem, duets with Freddie Mercury, Strauss lieder and apparently everything else as well. Much is made of Maria Callas' back-to-back Norma/Isolde performances but I'd no idea that Montserrat Caballé sang an even huger and more varied repertoire, with the added bonus of (don't kill me) sounding a darn sight better. She's also gorgeous, gracious, sweet and very funny. All I was expecting was tonight was one of those early-90s, English voice-over quick biography kinds of documentaries, which are fine. But this is a film from 2003, directed by her fabulous brother Carlos, who was largely responsible for his sister's success and seems to have just happened to discover José Carreras along the way. So the only narration is from Montserrat herself, in interviews and in conversation with Carlos. And everybody who's anybody shows up to add their two cents: Renée Fleming, Marilyn Horne, Cheryl Studer, Sam Ramey, Dame Joan Sutherland, her daughter (Monserrat Jr, who also sings), her adorable husband (she sang Butterfly and married her Pinkerton) and many many others. It's a wonderful film: there's no voiceover spelling out to us how successful and talented she is: it's just patently obvious. There's are excerpts from an amazing Norma, the adorable Barcelona concert with Freddie Mercury, Tosca, Roberto Devereux, masterclasses, everything. We see her visit her music school and pay tribute to her first teacher. She tells wonderful stories, as does her brother. And she sings. The world doesn't rave about those piannissimi for nothing. She's a gorgeous actress too. There's just nothing lacking- whether she's one of your personal favourites or not, there's no denying she's magnificent and destined forever to be unmatched.

I finished Renée's book at 4 this morning. I'm bursting to start rhapsodizing about everything she says, but I fear that if I started, I wouldn't finish until I'd just rewritten the whole thing. Besides, I don't want to spoil it: perhaps others aren't as mental about it, but personally I was determined not to know one single thing in advance- I avoided reviews and resisted flipping through the pages, despite being sorely tempted. So in case of others who feel like me, I shall say nothing except what I said last night: read it. Not only is it fascinating, it's also beautifully and elegantly written. Besides, the cover photo alone is worth the price of the book.

And yesterday I bought Renée & Bryn: Under The Stars on DVD. The CD of the same title has only musical theatre, but the DVD has two separate programmes: 'A Night at the Opera' and 'An Evening on Broadway'. So far I've only watched the former and it's lovely. I don't trust microphones one little bit, but despite that it's fantastic. I do rather like Mr Terfel: his 'Non piu andrai' is brilliant in particular, although he does (if I'm not imagining things) manage to make 'O du mein holder Abendstern' from Tannhäuser sound a lot like a Welsh folk song. And Renée. Renée. Watching her sing is unlike watching anyone else I've come across so far: there's this sense of simplicity and beauty and love for the music which would come across just as well if I had the TV on mute. But they're there in her singing as well. The biggest surprise has been the Jewel Song from Faust. The Jewel Song? I thought: surely not, Renée? But then she started singing and... I have no words. And Rusalka's Song to the Moon: I'm forever tied to Lucia's version (one of my desert island discs) but this is very very different and it's beautiful. Here she is on stage in the middle of Wales, no sets, no costumes, no expansive gestures: and she means infinitely more than a thousand Anna Netrebkos on a thousand lilos.With neither mirror nor jewels, she is Marguerite. Throughout, she proves that all you need to be convincing is to love it and believe in it and care.

Finally, I have an offer to make: soprano up for adoption.
Would anybody like a 100% free copy of Angela Gheorghiu: Arias? Go and have a look at it on Amazon here, if you like. I bought it a little while ago because I thought I ought at least to try. And I have tried, three times, but she's just so clearly not my cup of tea. So I'd much rather she find a new and loving home than languish here, uncared for. This is a genuine offer. I do not want this CD. And I'll pay the postage and send it free to anyone, anywhere in Dunedin, New Zealand or the world. Promise. Email me if you'd like to take her, first in first served.

Eek

I hope I never meet Maria Ewing in a dark alley.

There was Salome on the Arts Channel at 5.30 this evening- wholesome holiday entertainment this is not. I'm not one iota surprised that it shocked and horrified and outraged the public when it premiered. It's scary! Although at least the first audience didn't have to deal with the already frightening enough Maria Ewing taking off all of her clothes. Logical conclusion to the dance of the seven veils, I know, but I was still sort of hoping we'd be spared. I lost count of the veils though, obviously: when I thought we'd the last one, we were still on number six. Although to be honest, by that point it didn't really make much difference.

Anyway, we won't focus on this. Even fully clothed, this was one terrifying Salome. I can't exactly say it was fun to watch, but how could it be? Teenager from hell in opera's most dysfunctional family. Mother is a loose woman from way back, daughter is Trouble With A Capital T, and stepdaddy is the lecherous old son of a peasant farmer (as his wife takes pleasure in reminding him). She throws herself over a monstrous-looking John the Baptist, who well and truly (and understandably) rejects her, so playing on the dodgy desires of her stepfather, she has him beheaded and kisses the head and is so scary even aforementioned stepfather is traumatised, and has her killed. And through all her exploits her mother (whose promiscuous past Iokanaan has been describing to all and sundry) is cheering her on- when she's not hating and verbally abusing her awful husband, that is.

I don't think I've ever seen a more repellent clutch of people on stage at once. Which, however offputting, is of course entirely appropriate. The Tetrarch, as Salome rather provocatively likes to call him, is a dirty old man of the first degree and his wife is hardly any more appealing- her only redeeming feature is her awareness of how god-awful her husband is. And unlike your standard soap opera, she's fully aware of his designs on her daughter. However she's rather disturbingly supportive of her daughter's insistence on the head of the prophet Iokanaan. So personality-wise, they're yucky to begin with: this production helps that along by making them look just as awful.

Maria Ewing is interesting. Odd-looking and at first I thought she wasn't right for the part at all. But once she got going, it was a different story. I'm not sure how old she was when this was recorded, but regardless, she does a really rather excellent job of capturing that sort of half-teenager, half-evil temptress mixture which makes Salome so scary. And unusual as it was, I liked the way she sang. Beauty and perfection would be absolutely out of place, and instead she's raw and intense. Some lines are more spoken than sung, and some more screamed than anything else. It would be easy to dislike her performance, but I personally didn't: it's not exactly pleasant stuff but it's nevertheless rather difficult to tear one's eyes away. The severed head was suitably gory, and the long scene in which she sang to it was a showstopper, in its way. In an hour and a half, Salome brings about the downfall of three men: the soldier Narraboth, who despite the exhortations of his wife can't stop mentally undressing the princess and eventually kills himself as she goes after Iokanaan; Herodes himself, another man being told to 'stop staring at her like that', who lives but has been utterly messed up; and Iokanaan, who loses his head. It's a no win situation: if you want her, she doesn't want you; if you don't, then she does- and either way you end up dead. And while Maria doesn't immediately look able to whip up such fanatical devotion, she quickly makes it quite understandable- her Salome mightn't be beautiful, physically or vocally, but she's compelling and provocative- and more than a little scary. She also never leaves the stage once she's there and so any soprano who manages her, and especially one who manages so well, deserves undying admiration- at her curtain call Maria looks about ready to cry from exhaustion. From what I've read tonight, she's controversial generally, and controversial in the way she sings this. But I'd say that even if you hated the way she sounded, you'd have to admit she's almost too convincing as Salome.

On a lighter note, I finished up watching Platée tonight. Very cute. Not exactly the nicest story: Jupiter pretends to marry a famously ugly froglike nymph in order to cure Juno's jealousy. I'm not quite sure what the logic there is, but in any case it works. Juno forgives her husband and Platée, ridiculed, goes back to her swamp. Of course being French Baroque this takes two and a half hours and is full of showpiece arias, dances, and cameos from various divinities. The best of them all is the appearance of Mireille Delunsch as La Folie, singing 'Formons les plus brillants concerts'. Looking very eighteenth century and vaguely psychotic in a dress made entirely from sheet music, she conducts the orchestra along with Marc Minkowski and sings a very silly aria about nothing much. It's gorgeous. Minkowski interacts beautifully with her and the two of them make an excellent comedy team. He also has a nice silent argument with a human-sized frog during the Entr'acte- a rather gorgeous frog who starts off in one of the boxes and ends up stealing Marc's baton. It's all a frivolous confection of course, but the music is beautiful of course, and it's good fun. Especially good in the comedy stakes: as written, Platée the ugly waternymph, is a travesti role: she's sung by a tenor, Paul Agnew, who in fact looks rather fabulous in his green and glitter. This makes it all even funnier of course (as well, I think, as helping to take some of the edge off the rather malicious ending) but it does mean something else happens as well: there are lots of men in this opera. They're very very good, I admit. Mercury (Yann Beuron) is fantastic, in his silver suit, and Vincent Le Texier as Jupiter is great too. And Paul Agnew is undeniably excellent and a total star. But you know me: I need my soprano fix; so without a female lead I found things a little difficult. However, the women who did appear were wonderful. Valérie Gabail as Cupid and then as the swamp-dwelling Clarine was also very good. And I rather liked Junon (Doris Lamprecht), looking like a sort of disco-version of the Queen of the Night. Mireille was the best, though: as Thalie in the Prologue and as La Folie in the rest. She's adorable. That same gift for comedy and cuteness as Patricia Petibon has- although I think possibly that Patricia has the advantage vocally. Anyway, she's an absolute star, who I'd like to see in a lead role some time. Although what all her insanity really had me thinking was: imagine Patricia in this role!

All in all not quite as beautiful and magical as The Fairy Queen, but a lot of fun. And of course if you like French Baroque tenors the way I like French Baroque sopranos, then it's just a feast.

Now: I'm going to disappear for a day or two to prepare a little something. A year in review, best of 2004 sort of thing, in honour of both the end of the year and the first anniversary of this blog. Which will take some thought, and some editing as well- I shall be working hard to curb my natural tendency to mention absolutely everything.

In the meantime: an invitation/request to everyone out there to share some of the best (and worst?) things you've heard or seen this year. Best soprano? Best tenor? Worst excuse for classical music? Biggest revelation? Anything and everything- I hand the reins of the blog over to you for the remainder of the year. Do take advantage.

Kathleen Ferrier

Something nice which I thought I'd share. I watched William and Mary on TV1 tonight. William, who's an undertaker, had to organise the funeral of a man with a music shop. As he pulled up at the shop to meet the wife I thought "I know that voice." Kathleen Ferrier singing 'Che faro senza Eurydice' in English. Put a smile on my face. But it gets better. The deceased had belonged to a literary club called 'The Lit'- and when William arrived there to let them know one of their members had died he found they were all a bunch of lovely cross-dressing middle-aged and elderly men having a Kathleen Ferrier tribute night. It was just gorgeous, really. The man who was singing ('Blow The Wind Southerly') ended up singing at the funeral too. And I watched the credits and his name is Andrew Watts and he's a countertenor. So there you go: a countertenor who can do Kathleen Ferrier rather brilliantly. I don't know. I just have to say well done to the writers of the show for coming up with such a fabulous concept.

Don Giovanni

Don Giovanni on the Arts Channel the other night. Naturally I have the DVD already (it never occured to me that one day New Zealand television might actually offer these sorts of things) but I tuned in for the last hour or so. Which was rather a good spot to arrive in: just in time for 'Mi tradi' sung by my own cara Cecilia, and in plenty of time for the Statue, whom I adore almost as much as the Don himself. Obviously my true loyalty in this opera is to the women- Donna Elvira in particular, generally speaking- but it's hard not to have a bit of a soft spot for Don Giovanni. Especially in this production. Rodney Gilfry is, to me, both vocally and visually perfect and having a fabulous time with it. He's mastered that combination of dashing and thoroughly villainous. And as for Cecilia's Donna Elvira, well, what can I say? Not that there was ever any question I'd find it less than perfect, but dear me: isn't she great? And rather hilarious (not sure how intentional this is) in the way she keeps storming in like a battleship at exactly the moments Don Giovanni least wants her to, spoiling all his fun. And yes, I love the statue. When he starts replying (and this is partly due to the way those bits sound in this particular production) I get goosebumps. Frightening and fabulous.

Some of the other boys, though, I find rather annoying. Not musically, you understand: this is Mozart after all. But as characters, well, I could do without them (although, I have to admit, they don't bother me as much as Ferrando and Guglielmo). I can't help but have a bit of a laugh at Don Ottavio's expense when Donna Anna keeps putting off their wedding. And probably it's down to the direction of this production, but Masetto seemed rather singularly undeserving of his sweet and lovely Zerlina (Liliana Nikiteanu, who is a fabulously ditzy blonde Dorabella in the Cosi fan tutte I have on DVD). As for Donna Anna, well, who knows what she's up to. I've read all sorts of discussions about just what she did or didn't almost get up to with the Don, and how truthful she's being, and all that sort of thing, and it's all rather interesting. And although I won't spoil it, this production has rather a clever little ending to it, or at least I thought so.

What else. I'm developing rather a liking for Régine Crespin. She's on Volume 1 of the Bell Telephone Hour DVDs and I only noticed her properly rather recently (I'd been in the habit of skipping to Renata, Anna and Leontyne). She's rather good. So I tried to go on a downloading spree but all I found was the rather wonderful 'J'aime les militaires' from Offenbach's La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein. The title should be familiar to Dunedinites: it's also where 'Piff, paff, pouf', a claim to fame of Robert Tucker, comes from. It's as silly as 'Piff, paff, pouf' too. But it's gorgeous. I'll need to hear a few more things though before I decide if I'm a bona fide fan.

And now I have Tower Voices to look forward to on Friday night. Should be good!

Barbara

Barbara Barbara Barbara. What more is there to say? The 'Voices of our Time' has already given us quite a lot of Schumann, sung very well by Grace Bumbry and Angelika Kirchschlager, and it was all very gorgeous. But Barbara Bonney is on a whole different planet. I don't know why, technically speaking. She just is. The recital on TV tonight was fabulous. The first half was the 'Dichterliebe' cycle: it's more often sung by men, but Barbara makes it her own. The second half was Scandinavian, à la her CD Diamonds in the Snow. I'm finding it rather hard to review this in fact. The words I'd like to use all seem a little, well, flowery. But really, if you've heard Barbara singing this music then you know how fabulous she is- seeing her do it just lifted the whole thing even higher. If you haven't heard Barbara singing Schumann or Scandinavian lieder, then there's a serious gap in your life which needs filling, I think.I like the interview footage they include in the 'Voices of our Time' recitals too. It's always fun seeing sopranos speak, especially people like Barbara who obviously adore the music they're singing. On the other hand, I do hope that the DVDs of these recitals offer the option of recital sans interview- although I fear they don't. Personally I can imagine that if I owned any of these recitals on DVD there would be times when all I wanted was the music (or, when all I wanted was the interview). However when they're on TV and demanding my undivided attention (whereas a DVD might play in the background) I like going back and forth between singing and interview- I think it sort of makes for a proper experience. I would just love to see Barbara Bonney live. Tonight was actually, incredibly, the first time I've seen her on film. She's not intense like Cecilia but she's still very much immersed in what she's singing, in terms of words and of music. And she just does it so so well. She's already establised as one of her generation's best lieder singers (if not the best)- I don't need to add to that, except to say I think she's one of her generation's best voices, full stop. As I say, I wish I could see her live. She's singing in Australia next month which is only a reasonably-priced airfare away. But they're not proper recitals, just two appearances singing four or five songs before orchestras in Sydney and Melbourne play Mahler symphonies. Obviously even those four or five songs would be sublime but if I'm going to spend hundreds of dollars, I'd rather spend a few hundred more and get a full-blown recital. Here's hoping it shall happen one day.CD du jour goes rather nicely with all this, and it might be hard to believe that that's an accident. But it is. This afternoon when I put Barbara Bonney: Schumann Lieder on, I truly had forgotten about the recital on TV tonight. The CD also has the 'Frauenliebe und -leben' cycle on it, along with some songs by Clara Schumann. Then again, the filmed recital has Grieg and Sibelius & co. Hard to say which I'd rather have- luckily I got both.

I fear this is to be rather a long post: I have tonight and last night to cover. Not that I'm complaining- there's nothing wrong with two nights worth of singers.

First things first then: 'Best of British'. This was a concert in St Paul's Cathedral (the quite pretty one in Dunedin, New Zealand, as opposed to the legendary one in London and Mary Poppins) of choral and organ music composed in Britain in the first half of the twentieth century. I'll admit, it's not a concept which particularly stirred my blood, but the promise of some solo spots for Robert Tucker and a couple of sopranos got me interested, so in the pouring rain I made my way very carefully up the cathedral steps (because if I'm going to die on my way to a recital, I'd rather it's something a little more soprano-centred) and found myself a pew. I actually enjoyed it more than I expected. Robert Tucker was fabulous, naturally, in Ralph Vaughan Williams' 'Five Mystical Songs'. The other soloists, who I think were all drawn from the stunningly good St Paul's Cathedral Choir, were also excellent: Elisabeth Tyrrell and Anna Vanderley (sopranos), Nick Madden (tenor) and Jon Waters (bass). The City of Dunedin Choir was in fine form as ever- really I don't think they're capable of a bad performance. So yes. Choral music isn't really my thing, but this nevertheless was rather enjoyable- I particularly liked the very first piece, 'Give Unto The Lord' by Elgar. If I'm to be honest, I wouldn't have gone if Robert Tucker hadn't been singing, but as it is, I'm glad I was there. Oh, and I should probably throw in a mention here of David Burchell, who was conducting the choir and who also did two organ solos. He's a very very impressive man.

And now on to tonight. I love the Arts Channel. The programming guide might be difficult to read and badly typed, the announcers might mispronounce things rather frighteningly, but for the first time ever there are opera singers on TV. It's brilliant. At 5.30 this evening we had another 'Voices of our Time' recital, this time from the Austrian mezzo Angelika Kirchschlager, singing Schumann lieder. She's fabulous beyond words. I haven't really ever heard very much of Angelika before, although lately, knowing that this recital was to be on, I've read a few articles online. I'm rather taken by her, I have to say. Although I worry about her a little, given that one relatively recent interview mentioned her chain smoking. She can do what she likes of course, I just don't want that voice ever to go away. The recital was fantastic, and made even better by the fact that, like the Grace Bumbry recital in the same series, the songs were interspersed with interview footage with Angelika (and her accompanist, Melvyn Tan). She's wonderful! Very clever and very funny and very very difficult to dislike. All of which would probably make her my mezzo of the moment, were it not for one thing...

At 8.30 on the same channel we had Bartoli on Vivaldi, a South Bank Show documentary about Cecilia's recording of her Vivaldi Arias album. I never forget, of course, how good Cecilia is; but every now and then I hear or see her do something which reminds me just how perfectly wonderful she is. And I love watching her in recording sessions. She's adorable. And when at the end of a particular gut-wrenching, heart breaking aria, she's actually in tears, well, how can you help but love the girl? I think that more than anything else, seeing Cecilia in this documentary reinforces something which is already pretty obvious if you see her in recital: she genuinely cares about the music she sings, and about what she's singing, not just how it sounds- the text as well as the music, and the way they work together. I read a German review of one of her recitals once which said that she doesn't just sing her arias but 'durchlebt' them- lives through them. I think it's the perfect word for it. I know that some people are find all the moving around and facial expressions she goes through when she sings a little offputting; for me it just adds to the whole Cecilia experience. I've read the negative reviews of her CDs as well as the positive ones, and while sometimes I know in theory what her critics are talking about, the fact is I just can't find a single thing to dislike about la mia Cecilia.

Which brings me to a close, I suppose. Time for CD du jour which I've decided is Fairest Isle, Barbara Bonney's album of 16th and 17th century English songs: Byrd, Dowland, Purcell- that sort of thing. This CD was my introduction to Barbara Bonney, and even though I know that Emma Kirkby is the queen of this sort of music, Fairest Isle is still my absolutely favourite example of it. Meltingly gorgeous singing, fabulous music...I try putting it on in the background but usually find it needs my undivided attention. Now this is what I would call 'best of British'.

Grace & Kiri

Last night was rather a good night for girl singers. First the tail-end of Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna's 'Classics on a Summer's Evening', then Grace Bumbry in recital in Paris, and then I watched a recently unearthed ten year old Kiri Te Kanawa concert which my father taped when it was on TV.
 
The intention was actually to watch all of 'Classics on a Summer's Evening'. Generally speaking the title would be enough to put me off, along with the fact that it's what you might call 'arena opera', which I'm not a great fan of. But I keep meaning to give Angela a proper chance, and since I haven't wanted to commit myself to buying a CD, this concert on TV seemed like an excellent opportunity. Unfortunately, though, something was skewed in the programming, and so when I turned it on hoping to be at the beginning, what I got instead was the last 15 minutes or so. It was a little annoying, yes, but not incredibly so, and that probably says something: I didn't feel cheated by having missed out on the whole concert. Sure, it's a pretty voice, but nothing about it made me think "I need to see the rest of this concert". I guess that really, Angela was nothing more or less than I expected: a pretty soprano with a pretty voice, who probably owes some of her success to her 'look' and to the fact that she managed to fall in love with and marry a tenor perfectly suited to play her love interest in operas.
 
Grace Bumbry was a different story entirely. It was an interesting experience for me: watching something for once with absolutely no preconceptions of any sort. Until last night, all I knew of Grace Bumbry was her name: I had no ideas about her voice, her personality or what she might be likely to sing. And I have to say- I think she's fabulous. The recital (which is a relatively recent one) is intended as an homage to Lotte Lehmann, who was Grace's teacher/mentor: she sings Schumann, Schubert, Liszt, Brahms, Strauss and Berlioz, and then a spiritual, two Obradors songs and the Seguidilla from Carmen as encores. It really is a wonderful recital, the sort of thing I would love to have actually been at. I've been accustomed to hearing people like Barbara Bonney and Kathleen Battle singing some of these songs, but I love Grace doing them just as much- it's a very different feeling, but it works for me. The Obradors songs, though, were my favourite favourite part: to me they were absolutely perfect. And the Seguidilla, while perhaps not exactly showstopping was the perfect ending to the evening. Plus, as if the recital itself wasn't enough, it was interspersed with excerpts from an interview with the very classy Ms. Bumbry herself. I have to say, I'm rather taken by her.
 
And finally, Kiri. I'm not quite sure what to say. If I'd watched only the first half before writing this, I would probably have only the best and nicest things to say, but as it is I watched the whole thing so it shall have to be half and half. I'm almost tempted to treat the two halves as separate concerts.
 
This concert was even more of an 'arena opera' type thing that Angela and Roberto's one: thousands and thousands of people in the Harbour Basin watching Kiri sing from seats or from their yachts. Flag and candlewaving, people honking horns, that sort of thing. Nevertheless, Kiri (although naturally singing with a microphone) was in excellent voice, and the first half of the concert, which was all full of Butterfly and Manon and Canteloube songs, was just great. But then, after the little documentary at the interval, things started to go wrong. This was the point at which she started on all the crossover, showtune stuff she seems to like so much. She's entitled of course, to sing whatever she wants to, because she's Kiri Te Kanawa. But personally I'd rather she stuck to the strictly classical. I fast-forwarded through her medley of sailing songs (the concert was in honour of the Whitbread Yacht race which was starting from the same venue later that week) and through 'Can't Help Lovin Dat Man'. I did, however, stop and listen to 'With One Look' from Sunset Boulevard. It's a song I absolutely love, and one which, although it's a Broadway song, can suit a slightly more classical treatment as well. And vocally, Kiri's version was really very nice; unfortunately she'd neglected to learn it properly, and so there were words wrong, verses whose ends didn't match their beginnings, and even one point where (although luckily she realised her mistake instantly) she just about went into the wrong part of the song entirely. She made up for everything rather well with a very nice 'O mio babbino caro'- which got the obligatory cheers and claps of recognition from the audience as she began- and I did rather hope that would be her final encore: it would have been a very pleasant way to finish up. As it was, the final song was 'Pokarekare ana', a Maori song which just about every New Zealander knows phonetically if not properly, and which she does just beautifully. But in between there was 'Art Is Calling For Me' from Victor Herbert's The Enchantress. It's a bit of a silly song, but in the right operatic hands it can be a lot of fun, and it provides some good opportunities for a singer to show off while mocking herself. Somehow, though, Kiri's version just doesn't get there. I'd be tempted to blame it on the song- but Jennifer Larmore does it in a recital I have on DVD, and it's brilliant. So all in all a mixed bag, I suppose: Kiri doing exactly what makes me like her, but also, sadly, the things that make me hit FF on the remote control. I don't blame her for this, because after all it's the sort of concert where that's what you'd expect; nevertheless in future I think I shall stick to the first half only and let the Kiri adoration which that half encourages blind me to the faults of the second half.
 
CD du jour: Djamileh by Bizet. It's a one-act comic opera with four characters and including spoken dialogue. It stars Lucia Popp in the title role which is the only reason I even know it exists, and I haven't heard it in months. But I just now noticed it in a pile of CDs and I think it's about time I put it on. It's a bit silly, or at least it sounds it- I've never quite got around to following the plot. But there's some absolutely gorgeous music in it, most of it, luckily, sung by Lucia. It also included a Frenchman with a Pepe Le Pew accent saying things like 'Ah! Les belles filles!', which is such fun.

On The Verge

I watched something very very funny last night. Julia Migenes: Diva on the Verge. It's a recital, but not quite: she speaks as least as much as she sings, and most of it is comedy. Her idea is that it's a quick course in opera for 'those who wouldn't go, and those who wouldn't go back'. But despite this and her pre-show warning that all opera purists expecting a proper recital should leave, I actually think it's precisely those who would (and do) go to the opera who would appreciate her best.
 
Her main focus is the suspension of disbelief which goes on in opera. She sang, for example, a series of excerpts from 'death arias' which, as she said, require a singer to be in perfect health. Manon, for example "appears to be dying of strength" as she sings her heart out while (as one of Julia's directors required) dragging herself across the floor. And her 'Addio del passato', by turns jumping about and falling over, was hilarious. She also did two fabulous send ups: Lucia di Lammermoor's Mad Scene, which she translated literally, line by line, as she sang it; and the scene from Tosca where she kills Scarpia: acted out as she went according to the original stage directions, and with Scarpia's lines spoken anticlimatically by her accompanist. Apart from the comedy (and there was far more of it than I've mentioned here) she also did some serious things: The Willow Song from Otello, and a song by Granados. It was just as intense, although in a different way, as the funny stuff.
 
Of course, all this throwing herself about the stage requires a voice which can stand up to it, and thankfully Julia has one. While she's not about to enter the ranks of my adored and worshipped girls just yet, I was still very impressed and rather taken with her. The properly sung parts of her 'Addio del passato' were gorgeous; her Willow Song unbelievably good dramatically and vocally; and although, as she put it 'I feel like a chihuahua trying to bark like a Great Dane', her 'Mild und Leise' was just fine. The recital was unlike anything I've seen, and in fact unlike most things I've heard. She's got a powerful and attractive voice, even if she's not exactly the prettiest Mimì you've ever laid ears on. And I have to say this is really a not-to-be missed performance if, like I did, you happen upon it some day- I knew it was coming and I was always going to watch it, but until it started I had no idea what it was to be like. Julia Migenes also stars in what seems to be a rather critically acclaimed film of Carmen, which one Amazon (either .co.uk or .com) says is the most popular DVD opera production ever, even more so than Zeffirelli's La traviata. So that's something more to add to my mile-long wish list, I suppose.
 
It was 2-for-the-price-of-1 day when I got Renée's Mozart CD from the library, and so today's CD du jour (because I didn't get around to listening to it until this morning) is Magdalena Kožená's Love Songs. It's a CD of Czech songs. Czech songs + Magdalena was always going to be good, wasn't it. And it is: it's gorgeous. This wasn't her first CD- that was her Bach Arias- but it was the one that brought her to everyone's attention and started her on the big star path. Rightly so. I haven't sat down and had a proper listen yet, but I've had it on in the background for most of today and I'm as in love as ever- if not more so- with the lovely Ms. Kožená.
 
 

I've come to two decisions tonight:

1. I love Howard Goodall
2. I do not love Stefan Zucker

Both these men hosted classical music-related shows on TV tonight, and I have to say they both did a very good job of showing just what an effect a host has on a documentary.

Howard Goodall's Big Bangs is one of the best documentary series I've ever seen. Over five parts, he talks about 'big bangs' in musical history: the ideas and discoveries which have shaped and changed music over the centuries. He's a little like a musical Robert Winston: he takes a subject which in other hands might be scholarly and incomprehensible, and makes it enjoyable and copable-with, without condescending or over-simplifying. Tonigh's 'big bang' was Equal Temperament. The words meant nothing to me, but as I discovered, it's all about why we have the notes we do to work with in Western music, why they sound good together, etc. One of the best things about this series, other than the totally fascinating things it covers, is Howard Goodall's sense of humour. He doesn't just make it interesting, he makes it funny: explaining the concept of different keys with the aid of dozens of wineglasses representing notes, for instance. I think he's just wonderful.

Stefan Zucker, on the other hand is not. And it's a shame, because in his documentary Opera Fanatic he had a subject to work with which was infinitely more attractive than equal temperament: a trip around Italy, meeting and interviewing the female stars of the 50s, whom he heard as a child when his mother was an opera singer. Can you think of anything better than a road trip full of Italian sopranos and mezzo sopranos? Exactly. But Stefan Zucker (who? the world's highest tenor apparently) came as close as anyone could to ruining what would otherwise have been a sublime film. He had the two  same questions for everyone: what are the aspects of expressive singing? Do you approve of the use of the chest voice? Somehow the fact that he kept getting the same, to him unsatisfactory answers to these didn't stop him asking them. The film doesn't just document the interviews, it also covers the difficulties he and his team had in getting these interviews filmed. Really, with an interviewer as unpleasant as I found Zucker, it would have been much nicer to have only the interviews: in themselves they were fabulous- these women do absolutely nothing to break down the diva stereotypes.

If we could cut out all the Stefan-heavy bits, Opera Fanatic has some wonderful stuff in it. My favourite was Giulietta Simionato; Leyla Gencer was excellent too although I could have done without Stefan's decision to tell her he found their interview was 'una cosa erotica'. Not all of these women were entirely endearing: there were some big egos at play here, the shadows (and sometimes more) of old rivalries (these were all women of the same era and of similar repertoire), and a couple of negative attitudes. The thing is, I couldn't help but think he deserved it. The unbelievably difficult interview with Marcella Pobbe, for instance. With a different interviewer I would probably, even while enjoying the diva behaviour, sympathise to a degree with the poor person asking the questions. But here I had to agree with her when she refused to answer his 'stupid questions'.  Magda Olivero, Fedora Barbieri, Anita Cerquetti, Gina Cigna and others: these women are all gorgeous, if a little egocentric. If only we could have had more interview and less Stefan Zucker. For all I've written, I think the problems with this film are much better summed up by an Amazon.com user review, left by a John Nygro on December 13, 2001:

"As I watched this video, I become more and more disgusted at the behavior of this creature known as Stefan Zucker. He is a petty, affected fop who kept asking each of these talented women about whether or not they used "chest voice." These are women who have sung the greatest roles in opera. Of all the possibilities of WHAT to ask them, he's on some personal mission to validate whatever freudian motivation he has for proving the validity of his own mother's voice (or lack of it). So, he's a terrible interviewer. I've heard better enunciated Italian by first year language students. He's a creature with a HUGE ego, who thinks he actually has something to say about the gifted women he has interviewed. The best part of the video is the reaction of each of the singers as they have that "deer in the headlights" look, as if to say, "Can this THING be real." He is an embarassment to all men who love opera and have to fight the stereotyping that comes with that. That being said, the entertainment value of the tape is high--this tape is an exercise in the display of an ego which most small screens cannot contain."

Couldn't have put it better myself. But if the opportunity presents itself, do watch Opera Fanatic, it's worth it for the interviews and for the beautiful archive footage it contains of all the singers in performance in their heyday.

CD du jour is Renée Fleming: Visions of Love. It's all Mozart and it's all unbelievably, stunningly, beautiful. I realise that Renée is a Mozart-n-Strauss kind of girl, so this is hardly a surprising fact, but my experience of Renée has been limited (well, non-existent) until rather recently, and this is my first proper taste of her Mozart. Good lord, isn't she fabulous? I've got this CD from the public library for the next two weeks: I don't know how I'll cope after that, I may have to buy it. I like this CD even better than Bel Canto. I'm sure Renée would have done just fine as a jazz singer, but I for one am unendingly thankful that in the end she took up opera instead.

I watched something just wonderful last night. Rameau's Indes Galantes staged at the Paris Opera, conducted by William Christie. Actually, I didn't see all of it. It was very long, and I did drift in and out of the room. But I saw more of it than I missed. It's an opera-ballet. That is, there's as much ballet as opera and often at the same time. French 18th century entertainment. And the staging was just to die for: as colourful and imaginative as befits the exotic subject. Les Indes Galantes consists of four 'entrées'- four little mini opera stories. The uniting theme was the determination of the goddess Hebe and the God Amor to bring couples together (I think). So four very sweet, very prettily staged love stories. It got better and better. Never a dull moment, even in the ballets which I usually would ignore. And the finale, after the curtain call was just wonderful: the whole cast (of hundreds) dancing and singing; and William Christie on stage dancing with them.

What I was especially hanging out for was the fourth entrée, whose female lead was the adorable French soprano Patricia Petibon. It's hard to describe Patricia, voice-wise or personality wise. She's really rather odd, but in an entirely appealing way. To look at, she's a little like a red-headed Amélie (from the movie); she's made a name for herself doing French baroque music (and other things) with Les Arts Florissants and William Christie but also has an album called French Touch which seems to pretty much encompass the spectrum of French classical music, right up to the 20th century. Unconventional is probably a good word. I've heard her sing Olympia's big aria from Les Contes d'Hoffman and when she (as a clockwork doll) starts to run down, she makes some very strange sounds. But I personally can't help but love her. Not perhaps a singer for the purest of opera purists, but she obviously really loves the music she sings, and genuinely wants to make it make sense now, as well as in its historical context. I know this sounds suspiciously like crossover, but I don't think it is: she has fun, and does some odd things, but never for a moment does she actually ignore or remove the 'proper opera'-ness of it all. If you've got at least some basic French, it's worth visiting her official site- even if you can't make sense of the words, you'll get a bit of a feel of what she's like from the pictures. You can download wallpaper for your computer featuring a cartoon version of Patricia, and on each page there's a little animation of that same cartoon. Not your traditional soprano, but she does do wonders with traditional opera. And if you click the 'French Touch' link you can hear some audio samples. Leaving aside her eccentricity (which I love, but can imagine would put some off), I think it's hard not to concede that she has a magnificent voice.

CD du jour is Handel's Acis and Galatea, as performed by William Christie & Les Arts Florissants and featuring Sophie Daneman (about whom I shall have to rhapsodize soon too). It's also the first place I ever heard Patricia, in a small role as (I think) a shepherd. It's rare to have a foreign singer sing in English, but she does it superbly- I didn't know until I went online to find out about her that she wasn't a native speaker.

Housekeeping first:
The Caffe Taci website is at www.caffetaci.com and provides a phone number for bookings. Unfortunately no email address.

Now, moving on. I watched something rather unusual tonight. I've known about it for a while: the MGM channel on Sky Digital screens it every now and then, but I'd always resisted. It's a 1987 thing called Aria- 10 short films set to opera excerpts (not strictly arias as such, if we're being pedantic). Anyway, I'm not about to do a film reviews, we'll just leave it at this: it's weird. Very artsy, and mostly a bit pretentious really- nicely filmed but I was far more interested in the opera accompanying it.

Which is what I want to talk about. Leontyne Price! I watched the credits with pen in hand to take down the names of the sopranos who sounded so fabulous- and almost half of them were Leontyne Price. The best was the first one, a chunk of Un ballo in maschera which I don't know at all. And making everything better, there was a Rigoletto excerpt whose Gilda was the lovely Anna Moffo. So the movie isn't everyone's cup of tea, but its soundtrack is highly appealing. Although I think sooner than buy that CD, I'd buy one by Leontyne Price. The movie did have one excellent moment though (I thought)- 'La donna e mobile' lipsynched by an Elvis impersonator. It worked amazingly well.

And one more thing: an update on an earlier post. The fabulous Anna Leese competed in the Grand Final of the Royal Over Seas League music competition on June 1st. Unfortunately she didn't win the grand prize- that went to Amy Dickson, a saxophone player from Australia. Not to worry: well done Anna, and well done Amy.

CD du jour might as well be the soundtrack to Aria as not. Not that I'd buy the CD itself, but the selection of music should be applauded. There was a nice variety: Verdi, Puccini and Wagner, but also Rameau, Lully and Korngold. The final sequence is a Pagliacci sung by Caruso. One final caveat about the movie- don't look for too many links between the meaning of what's being sung, and the action on screen.