Prima la musica, poi le parole

Remember

The only place in the world I should be right now is bed but some things just will not wait. I want to say this right now or it will never be said the way I mean. 
Remember the added layer of brilliance I talked about in Yvonne's fourth Dido (my second)? Tonight it returned, brighter than ever. Of the four performances I've seen, this, her last, was her greatest. And great is the word. I knew straight away the voice would be strong and beautiful — it's the security in her lower register which tips me off  — but somewhere in the first scene she tapped into something and brought off a Dido not quite like any of the rest. It might just have been what I'd been quietly hoping for: the performance where she would channel whatever spirit it was that makes her performance as Cavalli's Dido one of her very finest recordings. Tonight the fire in her eyes and the blaze of her voice were terrifying and magnificent. She nailed the first scene. She outclassed everyone in the hunt scene with her single phrase. And the end, my God. It was as intense as anything she did in Streetcar or La voix humaine. The look in her eyes as she delivered that final "Away!" to Aeneas could have frozen us all, motionless, for days. 
As for the Lament ... words fail. I sat there, front and centre, as she moved forward, ringed by light and sang ... did she sing it? or speak it? ... It was opera, it was life, it was love, it was death, it was Dido. It was perfection. I'm raving. I'm sorry. It was like that. 
She is always great and always moving and always all those things she should be, but this was, I think, a moment in a million: spontaneous, more than just the result of artistry and talent. It came from somewhere else, we don't know and don't need to know where, and there it was. Whatever Yvonne found in it or in herself or whatever, she shared it with us in a way I can't describe, that way that stops you in your tracks. I was a mess. I'd be a mess again if I kept writing. 
This was the Dido I had in mind when I first knew she'd sing it. And the Dido I had in mind when I just wished she'd sing it. Maybe even the Dido I had in mind when I was seventeen and read the Aeneid and was instantly fascinated by beautiful, strong Elissa, who loved too much and against her will. I will say it once more and then I'll stop. Perfection. Yvonne. 

Rosmonda d'Inghilterra

These two clips surfaced recently on YouTube. I didn't put them there: a user by the name of asdfopera did. But I thought I'd take the tiny liberty of embedding them here, since it occurs to me that they may well be of interest to more people than would find them on YouTube. 

Any Australian who's read a newspaper profile or two of Yvonne Kenny knows how her big break happened. In 1975, at extraordinarily short notice, she stepped in for an ailing Janet Price in the title of Donizetti's Rosmonda d'Inghilterra, in a concert performance staged by Opera Rara in London. Audience, critics and impresarios went incidentally mad and a star was born.

What you mightn't know is that the opera was given again in a concert in Dublin Belfast just a few months later, with mostly (possibly all?) the same cast, including the newly acclaimed leading lady. It was recorded, but as far as I can tell, the records were available only to some sort of Opera Rara club, and never made commercially available. I picked up a set on eBay several years ago. I believe Celestial Audio is now selling a CD transfer of the same recording. And the aforementioned asdfopera has now paired a couple of excerpts from that recording with appropriate paintings and posted them for the world to enjoy.

So in an effort to spread that enjoyment, here are the two clips. This is the youngest you're likely to hear Australia's Favourite Soprano^TM. The only earlier recording I've heard is a very scratchy one of the Xerxes she did in 1972 (also at the last moment), the one which made her decide to be an opera singer rather than a biochemist, and I'd imagine it's even harder to come by than Rosmonda. Enjoy.

[Double-clicking on either video will of course take you to its individual YouTube page, wherein lie further details of the recording.]

Baroque Masterpieces

I didn't mean to wait this long to write at length about Opera Australia's so-called Baroque Masterpieces, but as it turns out, I'm very pleased that I did. It means I'm able to do tonight's performance full justice, rather than relegate it to a paragraph or a Tweet. Not that it was earthshattering overall, or that there was any massive fundamental change to either opera. It's just nice, after expending so many words over opening night, to have even this slight change of subject, and besides, June 27th is in the far, far distant past by now, is it not? And there was one change, of sorts — but we'll come to that.

As far as Patrick Nolan's two productions go, I can do little more than attempt to summarise what I've already covered at length elsewhere (to the point that I'm sick of reading myself on the subject). The Acis & Galatea I think sounded more interesting in pre-show publicity than it turned out to be in practice. I did enjoy it, and it does have some nicely managed moments, but as a whole I think it doesn't quite scream triumph. The whole concept supposedly turns on the constant scrutiny that comes with modern celebrity, and yet to me, neither the people nor their surroundings evoke that kind of celebrity. They just seem a bit rich and bored, but otherwise unremarkable except for the stunning coincidence of their all preferring white. And if the sense of the celebrity falls down then so does the significance of the scrutiny, and you're just left with a party full of white dresses and people who happened to bring their digital cameras. Large scale projections on the scrim between the party and Galatea are effective but more as an appealing decoration than as insightful social commentary.

And for a production which manages to cram cocaine, heavy petting and simulated fellatio [oh, I hate to think of the search hits I'm going to start receiving now...]  into one aria, there is a disheartening amount elsewhere of standing (or pacing) and singing at the front of the stage, especially by the two title characters. Da capo arias needn't seem interminable — just ask Sandrine Piau — but they will if they're sung as plotless concert pieces. 

The Dido & Aeneas, as practically everyone has said by now, works much better. Maybe that's because Nolan was tweaking an existing production, one which has had a chance to marinate and to gain a bit more polish and depth than its brand new companion. He doesn't try and make this one reflect any part of Our Modern World^TM, he just (with considerable help from Gabriela Tylesova's sets and costumes) creates an unreal Carthage, where some things are normal and most things are — or soon will be — strange and wrong. Dido's palace and the Sorceress's lair share a common set and, once they've stripped to their underwear, the same attendants, and the Sorceress herself is a like some horrible, malformed evil twin, her/his (she's sung by Kanen Breen, in every register his voice possesses) wig and attire styled in ugly mockery of Dido's own. Best of all, no silly or superfluous demands are made of Dido herself. She need only be regal, graceful and sincere, and the rest of the show sets her off like the jewel she is. (And I apply that to any Dido this production might have. We'll get to tonight's particular jewel in a moment.)

The singing in Acis is an uneven and mildly frustrating affair. I say mildly, because nobody sounds bad — in fact, everyone sounds fine, more or less — but this opera is full of music with the potential to make a person like me weak at the knees, and yet on this occasion, barely manages to do so. Taryn Fiebig is a puzzle to me. She seems caught in a war between her early music background and the musical theatre habits of her very extended season as Eliza Doolittle. When her voice is at its purest and best, it is absolutely lovely; but it is inconsistent, and is not helped by diction so strange that she almost sounds French. Henry Choo has the light, nimble touch a Handel tenor needs but alas, not the charisma; his freshness of tone is appealing, but it takes more than that to carry a da capo aria (let alone a whole role) to a satisfying conclusion. He's an amiable enough presence on stage but also a bit gormless and detached — nothing, except maybe his gory death — seems to affect him very deeply. Kanen Breen, on the other hand, is all personality, a true character tenor. Until the monster arrives, Breen's Damon is definitely the most interesting person on stage, even before all the sex and drugtaking. 

The monster, however, conquers all. Shane Lowrencev's Polyphemus takes possession of this show from the moment of his first, silent appearance on the projection screen, and when he starts to sing, his ownership is total. His diction is crystal clear, his coloratura precise, his lowest notes wonderfully secure; but above all, he makes every word and every note live, and marries all of that to a witty and engaging characterisation. His appallingly (and indiscrimately) lecherous manner, his vivid facial expressions, and yes, even his extraordinary height (Lowrencev would tower over an average cast in his bare feet, but in this production he wears very high heels) all help to make him a curiously appealing sort of Cyclops. Not sympathetic — he's unremittingly awful, in fact— but so fascinating (and so splendidly sung) that, lo and behold, I've lavished a paragraph on the villain of the piece. I'd considered showing up to the next two performances only in time for Dido, but for Shane, I might just need to see two more Acis & Galateas as well. 

And meanwhile, the band plays on. Antony Walker and the Orchestra of the Antipodes are robust, bright and, well, just as stylish as they always are. What a bonus to have the annual Christmas joy of Pinchgut recreated in July, albeit in a less friendly acoustic. Tonight, perched at the front point of Loge X, I was in an especially good spot to hear them and they provided some of the most beautiful sounds of the evening. As did the chorus, with whom I am now, as ever, quite musically besotted. The choruses in Acis, especially towards the end, are just sublime, and their rather more energetic work in Dido is just as impressive. I especially like "Destruction's our delight", which Walker takes at a blistering pace and the chorus delivers with suitably menacing gusto. 

Dido & Aeneas also contains Taryn Fiebig, suddenly (both on opening night and tonight) in far clearer and more consistent voice: maybe Purcell just agrees with her better than Handel, or maybe she responds better to the simplicity of a seconda donna role. She's just right as Belinda: sweet and supportive to her queen, with just enough guts to push Dido in the right (well, okay, wrong) direction. Kanen Breen also makes a reappearance, in performance whose brilliance it's really taken me two performancs to appreciate. He's a Sorceress of indeterminate gender, writhing about the place and exploiting every bit of his voice to genuinely spooky effect. His skills as a puppeteer are also on display as he plays grotesquely with a pair of horrible little baby dolls, their movements mirrored by a pair of dancers costumed to match. When this production premiered in 2004, Breen's Sorceress was a sort of bright green frog-man, but I think I like this new Gothic version better. 

Luke Gabbedy's smooth baritone blooms beautifully in this role: a bit dull to start, but becoming richer and richer so that by the time he reaches "How, Royal Fair, shall I impart the God's decree" he's really quite compelling. He's definitely too young to be cast Aeneas to Yvonne's Dido, but there's nothing to be done about that now, and in the circumstances he does a very dignified job. Among the bit parts, my favourite remains Margaret Plummer as the Spirit, and in fact she sounded even prettier tonight — I hope this is a token of more solo roles to come. Of the two witches I think I prefer Teresa La Rocca ever so slightly to Rachael Cunningham, mostly just because I'm drawn to singing witches who sound evil without impersonating Margaret Hamilton — but that's just personal taste, a Wicked Witch accent in this opera is a totally valid choice. 

Thus we come to the change of the evening. It was wrought in our star. If I'd thought about it, I would have expected this, but having missed the last two performances, it wasn't until she started singing that I remembered. This was my second Dido, but it was her fourth — which, by my experience, meant it was highly probably that this would be that performance. The one in which her voice shines with more than its accustomed beauty; the one in which she shakes off the traces of a decades-long career and her singing takes on a special sheen and focus not previously attained, whose brilliance is taken up in turn by every aspect of her performance. It's happened in every full or partial season of hers I've seen, and it happened in tonight's Dido.

Of course, the role is already made for her. Dignity mingled with loving vulnerability is exactly what she does best. Royalty suits her beautifully and so does baroque repertoire. The role sits nicely in what is now (and in fact, if you ask me, always was) the best and most interesting part of her voice. She moves gracefully (the dance with Aeneas is just perfect) and sings with all the mastery of style one would expect from a singer who is, after all, among the greatest this country has ever produced. And that's the point, really. Her limitations are what they are. I'm not going to deny them, but I'm not going to itemise them here either. But there is a reason Yvonne Kenny is Yvonne Kenny, and her Dido is proof of it. This is what true artistry at the highest professional standard looks and sounds like. 

And then sometimes you get the thrill of a performance like tonight's: an extra special blaze burning across the surface of fundamental greatness. Striking enough to begin with, tonight the glow and humanity of her Dido, from the tender caution of her first confession to the raw emotion of her barely contained breakdown, were somehow intensified. Add the particular deliciousness of her voice as it sounded tonight, et voilà, a night to remember. 

Baroque Masterpieces

I get sick of being always behind the times, so for once I'm posting within hours of the actual performance — you know, the way all those supercool New York blogging types do. As usual, I still don't want to pre-empt my elsewhere reviews (although I'm hoping to have these finished pretty promptly too, before French and Saunders erase all operatic knowledge from my brain and replace it with Sarah Walker singing Kylie Minogue) but what follows is really just a sort of elaboration of what I Tweeted during tonight's mobile experiment — which, technically at least, seems to have been a success.

We had a red velvet curtain tonight, for a change. This probably matched Dido & Aeneas (where red costumes abound) better than the slick black and white Acis & Galatea, but it was a nicely exotic change at any rate. And while I'm talking accessories: the programme covers have changed. It's now a glossy cover with a full page photo, instead of the matte red with an inset. (Inside, nothing's different.) I like the larger photo — I think they might help to individualise each production, rather than leading to an infinite collection of nearly-idential booklets. I do wish they could have kept the matte finish though: there's just something lovelier and more collectable about it, or maybe that's just me. However, my main issue with the cover was the particular photo which graced it. A production shot of Dido & Aeneas — all well and good, except it was a shot from the 2004 season, with Deborah Humble. Now, I appreciate that there are deadlines and so on, and maybe programmes have to be ready to print long before the current show is at a photographable stage, but all the same...it seems a little strange to have a programme feature so prominently a singer not involved in the show, and especially strange not to feature the really rather famous singer who is in the show, namely Yvonne Kenny. Was there truly no way to put her on the cover? Isn't that the kind of visual subterfuge Photoshop was invented for. But perhaps not. Anyway, it's a pretty minor gripe. 

So much for the peripheral aspects. Regarding the show itself, as I say, I don't want to write too much just now. Patrick Nolan's pair of productions are both reasonably successful and interesting, although I wouldn't necessarily declare either an out-and-out triumph. His celebrity culture take on Acis will probably upset a few (I bet they were livid that there was no interval during which to walk out in a huff) but really, he loads almost everything potentially offensive — sex, drugs, a boy-boy kiss — into Damon's (Kanen Breen) first aria and the rest is reasonably harmless. As I Tweeted, I think the sets and costumes (and a lot of the stage action) could easily be appropriated as  the first act of a modernish Traviata with no alteration necessary. His Dido was spookier and more intimate than my faint memories of the 2004 production, which I saw in Melbourne — I imagine that says more about my memory than it does about any revising Nolan has done, though. Although I could have sworn Kanen wore green body paint as the Sorceress last time — this time he wore a sort of vulgar parody of Dido's royal robes, which was quite effective. 

Fine singing from top to bottom, some of it remarkably so. I was reminded yet again how fortunate we are in our chorus: they were as stellar as ever, even with a lot of new faces (including a number I recognised from Conservatorium productions) and their delivery of both operas' final, haunting choruses was some of the best singing we heard all night. I don't know what you're doing, Michael Black, but don't ever stop. Just a few names to highlight for the moment: Shane Lowrencev overshadowed (literally and figuratively) his colleagues in Acis as a monstrous yet weirdly charismatic Polyphemus — shades of Don Giovanni. I thought Taryn Fiebig was better as Belinda than Galatea, more stylistically assured and steady of tone. A very pretty cameo from Margaret Plummer as the Second Woman Spirit in Dido. And after much anticipation — especially from me — Yvonne Kenny delivered a Dido as regal and beautiful as she is. You either love the vibrato or you don't — it's pretty pronounced these days — but nothing can disguise the fundamental beauty of timbre or the exemplary control she clearly has over her vocal resources, whatever their current limitations. She owns the stage the moment she appears (crucial in a role with so little stage time) and her final laments is just as crushing and gorgeous as I'd hoped. I've waited three years to hear her in this role and I wasn't disappointed. One final note: I think it was a very smart move on the part of Opera Australia to engage not only Antony Walker but his band (The Orchestra of the Antipodes) as well. Fabulous.

That will more than suffice for now. A more focused and less rushed report in a few days, I hope.

Birthday

As we continue to mourn the unexpected passing of Opera Australia's Music Director, Richard Hickox, let's nevertheless pause for a moment to celebrate another vital figure in Australian opera. A very happy birthday to the great and gorgeous Yvonne Kenny AM. 

The two worked together on a number of very fine recordings for both Chandos and EMI — I particularly treasure their recordings of Howells' song cycle "In Green Ways", the two Lennox Berkeley operas (A Dinner Engagement and the beautiful Ruth) and Vaughan Williams' Dona nobis pacem. In Australia, perhaps their most notable collaboration was in Handel's Giulio Cesare, which included the now infamous milk bath scene. 

Courtesy of YouTube user cmielak, here's a clip (audio + photo only) from that production: Cleopatra's "Da tempeste il legno infranto".

Yvonne Kenny: Vienna, City of My Dreams

The cover is less than wonderful, I will give you that. But then, there are only so many ways to package an operetta album. Elisabeth Schwarzkopf pulled off stern and sophisticated for hers, but ABC Classics is less brave than that, and justifiably so. So, I bite my tongue and I accept the purple feathers — which are her own — and the swinging chandelier — which is not — and I thank heavens for small mercies, that she is not wielding a glass of artificial champagne. Inside, there is another photo, less glitzy, more natural and much more her. I poached it for the album art on my iPod. It comes closer to representing what this recital is. The too-purple cover represents what it is not.

What it is not is a "swirling, vibrantly-coloured" album. Nor is it "a blaze of gypsy fire". And it does not cause any "glittering ballrooms" to "come alive". Which is not to say it is not as evocative or appealing as these descriptions are trying to suggest: but these kitschy descriptions have little, if anything, to do with the warm, intimate and very grown up kind of operetta actually presented in this recital. It certainly is richly coloured, but if it's the nasty, garish colours of the frocks a schlock-merchant-who-shall-remain-nameless designs for his dancing girls that you're expecting, seek elsewhere. She isn't for you. (A redundant observation, I suspect, because the same is true of this blog.)

If wishes were changes, if timing were perfect, if I ruled ABC Classics with an iron, sopranocentric fist, this CD would have happened earlier. It would have happened in 2002, at the time she recorded Sylva Varescu in Die Csardasfürstin for Naxos, also under Richard Bonynge. It was one of the very best years for her voice. She had the high range sparkle of her youth, mingled devastatingly with the darkening, ever more interesting middle voice of maturity. She didn't sound a thing like a real showgirl, but who the hell cared? She sounded like beauty personified. It's one of my most treasured of her recordings.

But life is life, this CD didn't happen then. It happened now. Some of those advantages have begun to fade. Others remain as present as ever. So I say, but why would you believe me? On the face of it, I know, I am the least qualified critic of her singing in the world, since I am the person who went (and remains, in case you were wondering) crazier for her than anyone else — well, anyone else I know of — in the world. But there is another side to that coin. Listen to a voice every day for four years (yes, really — well, almost) and you start to know its ins and outs. Admire and adore a person and you learn to acknowledge faults without allowing those faults to shake your regard. Maybe we think of diva worship as a blind affection but this is something else, it is not about obliviousness to faults; it is about hearing every fault and caring not one little bit. I love the faults as much as the glories, sometimes even a little bit more. This doesn't, of course, make me any less biased in my final assessment, but at least it makes the path to that assessment a bit more realistic.

I don't have the vocabulary, or the detailed understanding of recording production, to explain exactly what it is, but it is clear from the first track that this disc has been recorded in what I can only describe as a very considerate manner. The voice seems very far forward. The orchestra seems to be over there somewhere. The conditions allow Yvonne to sing soft where, in live performance, she possibly would not. Arias which could easily stand grander, more soaring delivery are instead quieter, simpler affairs. Arias which are meant to be quiet, simple affairs — "Im chambre séparée" and "Einer wird kommen" for instance — are captivatingly intimate. Others will say, and have said, "the high notes are not what they once were" and so on. This is obvious. And true.

But here's the deeper truth — as lovely, as thrilling, as exquisite as those high notes were, and occasionally still are, they were never, ever, the most important, or most gorgeous, or most interesting part of her voice. And maybe that is especially true now, but it was always so. The sensual middle, which brought a certain frisson to even the rest-home hits of Simple Gifts; the commitment to text; the knock-out phrasing; the joy-filled agility; the smile in the voice; the rigorous technique concealed within singing which sounds as natural as breathing — that's where the money has always been. So it is no surprise, and no particular disappointment, to find that beauty in this recording has been sought and cultivated away from the high lying passages. These are dashed off with as much shine as can be mustered, impeccable style, the odd harsh edge but never downright ugliness. The heart of the disc, its moments of real delight: these are elsewhere.

So listen to the scrupulously observed acciaccature (I think?) of "Grüss dich Gott", or the perfectly measured rhythm of "Mein Liebeslied muss ein Walzer sein". Be drawn into the beguiling whisper of "Wien, du Stadt meiner Träume" or the cabaret purr of "Toujours l'amour" or the exotic lilt of the opening of "Hör ich Zymbalklänge". Appreciate the affection with which a favourite like "Vilja" is sung, even if, like me, you never need to hear it ever again.

And then, yes, there are more problematic tracks. With the orchestra kept so firmly in check, arias like the Nuns' Chorus, and "Heia, in den Bergen ist mein Heimatland" and the raucous gypsy climax of the abovementioned "Hör ich Zymbalklänge" have their purpose defeated. What these arias really need is BIG singing and BIG orchestra, and in this recording, that's not what they get. They charm (me, at least) in other ways: in phrasing, in spirit, in sense of humour. But "Oh Marie, wie entflieh'" is ultimately too strained to fly through the cloister as it ought, and "Hör ich" comes to pieces as it speeds up — not a patch on Pilar Lorengar's magnificent rendition.

In this very Viennese recital, I could take or leave the English selections. Still, the Novello pieces are sweetly sung. There's real feeling in "My Dearest Dear", despite its cloying title. In "Some day my heart will awake" (her second recording of this song) she wisely opts out of the high note, choosing instead to hold the note she does hit for a long, long time, letting it fade softly into nothing. She also sings the wrong word in the preceding phrase, which I love. There is only one song which should have been just plain omitted, and that's Kreisler's dreary "Stars in my Eyes", a song which does nobody any favours — not Yvonne, not Kreisler and not whichever cousin of McGonagall wrote the disastrous lyrics, which run, in part:

My song has wings,
Eternal springs,
No longer but a dream.
My cheeks aglow,
Emotions flow,
Like sunlight on a stream.

You get the picture. If only my telepathic suggestion had been detected, and this had been replaced with the sublime "Warum hast du mich wachgeküsst" (from Lehar's Friederike) but alas, 'twas not to be.

Having begun with a cheery hello, the Countess' "Grüss dich Gott" from Wiener Blut, the recital ends with a dreamy goodbye. Paul Abraham's Viktoria und ihr Husar might have a ridiculous title and a laughable plot, but there's nothing very silly about "Good Night". Schmaltzy in the best sense, sincere and tender. All the best qualities of her singing as captured on this recording culminate here, in this exquisite farewell. The blessings of this recital may be mixed, it's true, but it ends exactly as it should — with Yvonne working magic.

This, quite clearly, is not a review in any rational sense. It's not a recommendation. I have no idea what anyone else will make of this disc. I just know that, to nobody's surprise and in spite of any blemishes, I like it. Voices change from year to year, day to day even, but Yvonne is a treasure however she sounds.

Nur du allein

Solange Knowles, take note — "Australia's premier [sic] soprano" did it first, and a bit more stylishly. The purple feather bolero, that is. Which is my silly, flippant way of pointing out that Vienna, City of My Dreams, Yvonne Kenny's disc of operetta arias, is, at long last, very nearly here. Release date is September 6th and the link above will take you, should you feel so inclined, to a cover image and tracklisting. Just so it's clear, I do love the rest of the dress. I just don't know about the Big Bird Ginger Rogers homage.

To be slightly more relevant — I approve the tracklist. Way back in February I outlined my own wishes, and I'm happy to find that eight of my fifteen choices have come to pass. Although they are all the predictable ones; my quiet little left-field hopes have gone unnoticed, sadly — no "In einem Meer von Liebe", which would have made my year.

It didn't occur to me to wish for the Nuns' Chorus from Casanova, but I'm glad it's there. Likewise "Sei nicht böse" and, a particularly lovely choice, "Im chambre séparée." And then there are some admirable oddities. In particular, two selections by Paul Abraham. One, from Ball im Savoy, features, yes, a banjo! Also included is "Good Night" from the wonderfully titled Viktoria und ihr Husar. But if she was going to sing something from Viktoria, why not that much loved classic, "Meine Mama war aus Yokohama, aus Paris ist der Papa." It's a question that answers itself, I daresay.

The inevitable "Vilja-Lied" is there. I could have done without it, quite frankly, despite what should be a sentimental attachment. But it was always going to be included, so fine. Makes her third (or fourth) recording of it now — I guess she has a higher tolerance for it than I do.

There's only one serious problem with this disc so far, and that's the vile publicity blurb accompanying it. Seriously, who writes this stuff? I know I can get pretty florid. But phrases like "swirling, vibrantly-coloured new album", "blaze of gypsy fire", "lavishly-produced feast for the ears" and "romance, passion and sparkling humour of Vienna, city of dreams and delights" are bit much for even me to stomach. I know it's a very populist kind of album, but Yvonne is nothing if not classy and she deserves better. If the wording is an attempt to reel in the R*eu-buying crowd, I might need to injure somebody at ABC Classics.
 

Fortune smiles

Lest by my last post, you think me sharper than a serpent's tooth — this evening I am overflowing with gratitude. My fairy godmother has been hard at work, and two wishes have been granted.

The Antoinette Halloran/Rosario La Spina Puccini CD made it to iTunes today. The CD in its entirety is significantly cheaper online than in the flesh, but even so, all I wanted was Antoinette and so that's all I downloaded. Just as I expected, she's beautiful. And not just generically beautiful; Antoinette gives a series of intelligent, vivid and individualised performances. Her Mimi and her Tosca are easy to tell apart. (The Rodolfo and Cavaradossi she's paired with sound pretty identical.) Magda and Cio-Cio San are both singing of dreams, essentially, but they're very different kinds of dream and Antoinette makes the distinction clear. Every now and then, there's a turn of phrase which is quite startling in its beauty. At the end of "Si, mi chiamano Mimi", she manages the final, self-deprecating words — "Altro di me non le saprei narrare. Sono la sua vicina che la vien fuori d'ora a importunare" — without a trace of the irritating little-girlishness I've heard in others.  The climax of her "Un bel di" is quite alarmingly moving, determined optimism suddenly giving way to a savage, heartrending release of long pent-up fear and desperation. This kind of idiomatic and totally committed performance leaves recent bland releases by one or two other "stars of Opera Australia" I might mention quite in the shade. Right now her name tends to come preceded by the words "rising soprano". May she rise and rise, just as high as she wishes; should she desire it, I think she'd conquer hearts around the globe.

To the second wish. This one took a little longer in the granting.

Almost two years ago, I wrote a rambling post about the Dido operas of Cavalli and Purcell. It concluded with these words:

"I've been a fool for Purcell ever since The Fairy Queen introduced us. And, to keep this paragraph going in circles, I encountered The Fairy Queen on account of Yvonne. All of which makes me think that what I really would like is Yvonne Kenny as Purcell's Dido. Except that then, of course, you'd probably never shut me up."

Well, it looks as if you're never going to shut me up. In the course of various internet wanderings, I found this sentence at the end of Yvonne's Askonas Holt bio:

"Future engagements include Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas” for Opera Australia."

Usually if I express these wishes in writing, I figure it's a guarantee they won't be granted. This time, however, a cherished dream has come true. How cherished? Consider:

Dido's Lament was one of the very first operatic arias I came to know; when I started playing the piano again for fun, I had begun with showtunes, but when I ran out of them, I returned to "easy classics" books I'd used when I was taking lessons. Dido's Lament was one of my favourite pieces to play; all the more so when I realised it appeared on Barbara Bonney's Fairest Isle, another musical love which predates my proper conversion to opera fanaticism.

Purcell is among my favourite composers.

The reason I really started loving Purcell was the DVD of the ENO's Fairy Queen, starring Yvonne, which I loved so much I structured a semester long research paper around it.

One of the many reasons I really started loving Yvonne was, therefore, Purcell.

I'd rank Dido and Aeneas among my top five favourite operas.

I adore the character of Dido in any incarnation, musical or otherwise.

I already know Yvonne makes an astounding Dido. She is Cavalli's Didone. (I'm no longer anything like as indifferent to Cavalli's opera as I was when I wrote the above-linked post.) And I'm prepared to state, as somebody who is only about five recordings short of owning her complete recorded output, that her Didone is quite possibly the best recording she has ever made — electrifying, musically glorious and completely devastating. She inhabits that character with majesty, grace and breathtaking emotional intensity. If she brings that same glorious power to Purcell's Dido, then forget funeral pyres — she'll set the stage alight.

That makes two wishes. According to tradition, that leaves me with a third. I'll make it this — that the above news is linked to these paragraphs, from a recent article about Philip Picket, currently at the Perth International Arts Festival with the New London Consort:

"Pickett's research into music of the pre-classical period has led to some fascinating collaborations. With Peter Holman, a Purcell specialist, he has created a full-evening version of Dido and Aeneas.

The best-known version of the opera is that performed at Josias Priest's school for young gentlewomen in 1689 or 1690: a little masterpiece lasting about an hour. Pickett and Holman have reconstructed performances given in 1700 at Lincoln's Inn Theatre in London, which had extra music by the theatre's music director John Eccles. It included, for example, a prologue for Mars and Peace, a whole scene for the witches, trumpets, and all the spectacle of 18th-century opera.

"It's a full-length evening with a big orchestra, and it's very theatrical indeed," Pickett says. "Rather than being a gentle court masque, it's much more like our idea of an opera, with a lot of colour and drama. It's incredibly vivid.

"You can't appreciate some of these early works unless you hear them in different ways. They were performed in different ways almost every time they were performed. There was no such thing as one set way."

The opera has been performed in concert and will be fully staged by director Jonathan Miller for the Chelsea Festival in London in June. Pickett says there is talk of a possible tour of Dido to Australia in 2009."

I live in hope. And in the meantime, am very, very, very happy.

Heia

Australia's Favourite Soprano™ heads into the studio with Richard Bonynge and the MSO this week, to record the long-promised disc of operetta favorites. In different circumstances I might be bored and/or scathing about this. As it is, of course, I'm elated. And present herewith my own predicted/desired tracklisting.

Kalman
"Heia, in den Bergen ist mein Heimatland"
"O, jag dem Glück nicht nach"

Lehar
"Vilja-Lied"
"Hör ich Cymbalklänge"
"Meine Lippen, sie küssen so heiss"
"Warum hast du mich wachgeküsst?"
"In einem Meer von Liebe"
"Einer wird kommen"

Zeller
"Schenkt man sich Rosen im Tyrol"

Stolz
"Wien wird schön erst bei Nacht"
"Mein Liebeslied muss ein Walzer sein"

Strauss
"Klänge der Heimat"
"Draussen in Sievering"

Sieczynski
"Wien, du Stadt meine Träume"

Gershwin
"By Strauss"

Half of these are easy to predict — they're the arias included in the free concert which Maestro Bonynge and AFS™ will give later this month. "Vilja" is a given, though frankly I'd be happy never ever to hear it again. I wouldn't have included "Klänge der Heimat" except that, unless I've misunderstood, it appears she's to sing Rosalinde at West Park Green this year, which, if true, is a bit of a surprise. Rosalinde is one of my all time favourite operatic women; I wouldn't necessarily have thought she was on the horizon of AFS™, however. Most of the others are selected from Lucia Popp's operetta disc, the most wonderful operetta album of all time. "By Strauss" is just a wild guess. Of all the arias listed above, the one I'd love most for her to sing — and one I suspect shan't be on the CD — is "Warum hast du mich wachgeküsst", which has a bit less schmalz and a bit more genuine allure than most of the others. If she can pull off Rosalinde's Csardas, though, it will likely automatically become my favourite track. "In einem Meer von Liebe" would also be a lot of fun. As it's pretty certain "Wien, du Stadt meiner Träume" will be included, I'm also looking forward to that, as it's just the right kind of gorgeousness for her voice as is.

I've listen fifteen arias above but I'm sure the real thing shan't be so generous. Besides, as it's an ABC Classics release, and as ABC Classics seems unable to conceive of anyone putting up with a vocal recital which features the singer on every single track, we have to leave room for two or three overtures, ballets, intermezzi etc. (Yawn.) The title, I imagine, will either be something totally left field like "Sings Operetta" or "Operetta Favorites" or else will be, like the Music Bowl concert, "Operetta Magic". Or else something incorporating Vienna. I fear the cover will involve a seriously extravagant frock and a glass of champagne, but hope springs eternal for something a little subtler. And now all I have to do is wait until it's released, some time later this year, to find out just how wrong I am.