Tag: opera

New Zealand Opera’s Tosca a triumph at all levels

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Tosca by Puccini (production by New Zealand Opera)

Conducted by Tobias Ringborg; directed by Stuart Maunder

Solo voices: Orla Boylan, Simon O’Neill, Phillip Rhodes, James Clayton, Barry Mora, James Benjamin Rodgers, Wade Kernot, Matt Landreth

Assistant director: Tamsyn Matchett; set designer: Jan Ubels; Costume designer: Elizabeth Whiting, lighting designer: Jason Morphett

St James Theatre, Courtenay Place

Saturday 10 October, 7:30 pm

The Wellington run of Tosca no doubt benefitted after uniformly positive reviews and word-of-mouth reports from Auckland.

The reports from Auckland were not mistaken; here was one of the most impressive and successful productions from this company yet.

In Wellington, the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra was in the pit, and it was, of course, a superb collaboration that obliged the audience to notice Puccini’s masterly dramatic orchestration and the ways in which, under the experienced Tobias Ringborg, it supported and enlivened the story and the characterisations.

The chorus too, recruited separately for each city, was conspicuously excellent in the important episodes where it shone – nowhere better than in the Te Deum at the end of Act I; there, together with the fine boys’ choir.

And I was delighted that so many New Zealand singers were on stage: all but Orla Boylan in the title role.

Updating of opera and theatre has become almost de rigueur for today’s stage directors, and it can serve an opera well, when the story is generic in character. Here, it is shifted from 1800 to the 1950s and the programme note offers various parallels with the original time when Italy was partly and temporarily under Napoleon’s control.

As stage director, Stuart Maunder, demonstrated his skill and experience in guiding his characters in realistic behavior, in sensible and coherent action, whether a formal church ritual at the end of Act I, or the uneasy disposition of Scarpia’s henchmen in Act II. Costumes conformed to the chosen era and the stage design and lighting contributed imaginatively to the changing moods and emotional states described by the music and words.

After the unmistakable, ominous chords that launch the opera, Angelotti bursts through the doors of a dark, wood-panelled church of Sant’Andrea della Valle, having escaped from prison wearing suit and tie. And James Clayton carried his agitated yet commanding role splendidly.

Expectations were high for the appearance of Simon O’Neill as Cavaradossi, a role that he has not been very conspicuous in, though he has sung it in Hamburg and Berlin. Though his strength lies more in the heroic, military roles, called the Heldentenor in Wagner and German works, he employs vocal power and elegance to portray a convincing artist, political activist and lover for whom love is not, actually, the strongest force; who never allows any of the pious sneers of the Sacristan any leg-room, and whose resolute resistance to tyranny is always foremost. ‘Recondita armonia’ came across, as it should, very fine, a somewhat portentous, pretentious efflorescence, in contrast to the Sacristan’s simplistic piety, and also to Tosca’s more elemental erotic impulses.

How good it was to have a Sacristan of the experience and histrionic subtlety as Barry Mora in the role! There was droll wit in some of his ritual gestures relating to Satan and the pretty non-existent religious paraphernalia in the church.

The Scarpia of Phillip Rhodes was perhaps the unknown quantity. I had seen Phillip in several slightly smaller roles for New Zealand Opera as well as in Hawkes Bay as a journeyman singer in the late 1990s. This time it was the real thing. Though not tall, and dressed in what I suppose was a 1950s Mafioso style of a ‘spiv’ rather than a gold-braided police chief, the confidence of his movements, the colour and quality of his voice created a character of authority. His arrival in the church at the end of Act I and assumption of command, the ugly ranging of his henchmen around his chamber, and his approach to wine and women – his credo – in Act II, ‘Ha piu forte sapore’, came across with chilling force. Though the opera has him at ease with aristocratic manners and interests, he’s more the low-life crook who’s got to the top through violent means than a corrupt aristocrat.

Then there’s Tosca. Orla Boylan is tall, and had all the presence of a diva as well as a voice of strength and character; but there was little electricity in her relationship with Cavaradossi; or much irresistible sex-appeal in her demeanour, other than her position in the arts world, that might have driven Scarpia in his determination to rape her. But her singing did it all, from the ‘Non la sospiri la nostra casetta’ as she tried to seduce a slightly distracted Cavaradossi in Act I, and the show-stopper, ‘Vissi d’arte’; these were totally convincing and her style, again like O’Neill, not primarily of a sensual, lustful nature. So the streak of steel in her nature conformed with her stabbing Scarpia several times, just to be sure. Deep down, perhaps her performance was saying that she lived for art and love, but more for art?

The other characters were well taken. James Benjamin Rodgers as Spoletta, Wade Kernot as Sciarrone and the small roles of the Gaoler (Matt Landreth) and the shepherd boy (Archie Taylor) were not only excellently cast but also, for the first time in several years, almost all were New Zealanders (James Clayton now lives in Wellington).

Unusually, the curtain remained down throughout the first ten minutes of Act III, with the shepherd boy’s charming singing which sets a bucolic scene, designed to create a stark visual contrast with the ugly scene of Cavaradossi’s execution, Castel Sant’Angelo. The melody of his movingly sung, pathetic aria ‘E lucevan le stelle’ permeates the whole act.

As for the execution itself, though the firing squad had taken aim, Spoletta suddenly grabbed Cavaradossi, forced him to his knees and shot him with a handgun at point-blank range. A difficulty remained for Tosca: she sees this, and there can be no mistaking that Scarpia’s ambiguous remark to Spoletta, ‘as in the case of Palmieri’ had meant a pretend firing-squad execution was itself a pretence and her lover is dead.

Yet she still approaches Cavaradossi urging him to get up.

Tosca has positioned herself on a platform four metres or so above the roof of the Castel Sant’Angelo and we witnessed a much more than usually breath-taking leap to her death.

The period change in this production deserves a little further consideration.

Where the time and place of an opera are very clearly prescribed by the background story, here a play, as well as by the librettist and composer, in Napoleonic Rome in 1800, the matter is a little more complicated. One needs to think hard whether any real advantage will be gained by moving it forward 150 years. It’s in the 1950s and the programme note draws comparisons with post-war Italy, the presence of the Catholic church, ‘a regime dominated by foreign interests’, and the mafia in the background, and suggests, rather tendentiously I think, ‘a time of secret police, of terror, suspicion and corruption supporting a fragile, conservative regime’. Maybe that’s sufficient.

Earlier productions of Tosca
In the preview articles for New Zealand Opera’s 2003 production of Tosca, New Zealand Opera News, which I was editing, devoted a good deal of space to the much more detailed back-story of Tosca that was narrated in the play by Victorien Sardou, which had been a world-wide success from its Paris premiere in 1887. It was one of most famous roles of the great French actress, Sarah Bernhardt.

The magazine also printed a list of all the New Zealand productions of Tosca that had been recorded.

The New Zealand premiere was in January 1917 in Auckland, the first port of call of the Gonsalez Italian Grand Opera company.
1919/20 Willamson Grand Opera Co
1932 Williamson Imperial Grand Opera
1949 J C Williamson Italian Grand Opera
1961 New Zealand Opera Company (nation-wide tour)
1973 National Opera Company/Auckland Opera Trust (in Auckland only)
1980 Dunedin Opera Company
1984 Wellington City Opera
1985 Mercury Opera, Auckland
1990 Canterbury Opera
1992 Wellington City Opera
1993 Dunedin Opera Company
1996 Canterbury Opera
Opera Hawkes Bay
Opera New Zealand (formerly Auckland Opera, and performed only in Auckland)
2003 NBR New Zealand Opera (both Wellington and Auckland)
2005 Canterbury Opera

Nine different productions in the fifteen years after 1980! None after 2005 till the present. And that typifies the drastic decline in the range of operas produced all over the country after the flourishing decades of the 80s and 90s.

NZSM Voice-Students at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Arias from Opera, and Songs
New Zealand School of Music: Vocal students of Richard Greager,
Jenny Wollerman, and Margaret Medlyn,
with Mark Dorrell (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Tuesday 6 October 2015, 12.15pm

A varied programme was provided, both in terms of the styles of voices, and of the composers whose music was sung.  The items were all solos, unlike the equivalent programme two years ago, when ensembles were included in the programme.  There was a nice mixture of the familiar and the less familiar.

Each singer sang two or three (or in one case, four) items.  I have grouped the items by each singer, but in most cases they sang one song and returned later in the programme to perform more. It was a pity that no programme notes, words or translations of the songs were provided.

Luka Venter was, sadly, the only male on the programme.  His light tenor voice was suitable for the Monteverdi opening aria, ‘Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi’ from L’Orfeo, which he sang in robust style, with clear words. Despite this not being a big voice, it was used well, amounting to an effective presentation.

Later Luka sang the sublime and well-known ‘Morgen’ by Richard Strauss.  It receivedappropriate phrasing and emphasis.  I couldn’t help being reminded of Renée Fleming’s wonderful performance with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra recently.  Here, it was sensitively sung and played, but perhaps it required a fuller voice.

However, Luka must be congratulated for tackling the greatest variety of songs (and languages) in the programme, including the earliest one, the Monteverdi.  Finally he sang Manuel de Falla’s ‘Seguidilla Murciana’ from Siete Canciones Populares Españolas.  While sung accurately and with panache and commitment, the voice was not sufficiently mellow or sultry for this song.

Next we heard from Hannah Jones, the first of the five women, all of whom were sopranos. Singing Donizetti’s ‘Chacun le sait’ from La fille du régiment, she was not always spot on with intonation in the difficult, high introductory part of the aria.  Later on, the high notes were very secure.  Her sound was very pleasing, and pronunciation and enunciation of words were excellent, as was the case with all the singers.  A little more variation of tone would have added to a dramatic performance.

Her second piece was a song by Rachmaninoff, which translates as ‘Oh, never sing to me again’.  She conveyed the Russian language and idiom well, and the drama of the song; this was a very fine performance.

Elyse Hemara, like Hannah Jones, had been noteworthy in the School of Music’s  operas this year – Dido and Aeneas, and L’enfant et les Sortilèges (Elyse in much smaller roles).  Her voice has a lovely quality throughout.  Expressive singing was enhanced by excellent words.  Her singing was very accurate and ‘Una voce poco fa’ from Il Barbiere di Siviglia by Rossini demonstrated her considerable range.

Later she sang three short songs by Ned Rorem, a contemporary American composer notable particularly for the huge number of songs he has written.  ‘Stopping by woods on a snowy evening’, ‘Ferry me across the water’ and ‘Love’ featured clear words, while tone and presentation were excellent.  Elyse appeared to know the songs really well, so that she could concentrate on communicating them to the listeners.  Her tone was attractive, and her vowels immaculate.

She was followed by Alexandra Gandionco, who gave us first ‘Mondnacht’ from Liederkreis Op. 39 of Robert Schumann.  This singer has a pure, open sound which is gorgeous.  After the excesses (sometimes) of opera, this was a beautiful pool of calm delight.  It illustrated what I had just been reading about soprano (and mezzo) Christa Ludwig, that there is an opera voice and a lied voice.

Her second song was from Gounod’s Faust: ‘Faites-lui mes aveux’.  This did not suit her as well as did the lied, and her tone was a little breathy, though it improved.  Her top notes were very good.

Rebecca Howie sang Schumann’s ‘Widmung’ from Myrthen with feeling and gusto, but intonation was occasionally slightly wayward.  Just a little rubato here and there would have made the performance seem less breathless.   Her next piece was the lovely Mozart aria ‘Ach, ich fühl’s’ from Die Zauberflöte.  A pleasing tone was evident, but again, some notes were not quite nailed.  As with her lied, the performance was a little mechanical, as though she was not right ‘inside’ the music (another Ludwig quote), and having to think about it too much.  Nevertheless, she had a variety of tone colours.

Katherine McIndoe was ‘L’enfant’ in the recent opera, and performed extremely well.  Today’s first offering was also in the French language, though written by Benjamin Britten: ‘Parade’ from Les Illuminations.  The drama of the poem (by Rimbaud) was in her vocal tone and in her face.  She was thoroughly involved in that drama, and her French pronunciation was excellent.  Katherine then sang ‘Summertime’ from Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess.  It’s a song heard frequently, but here it was beautiful.

Katherine was the only performer to choose three twentieth-century songs – or was the last one twenty-first century?  It was by recently-retired Professor of Music at Otago University, John Drummond, with words by well-known comedy playwright, Roger Hall.  It was entitled ‘Prima Donna’.  There have been other songs that spoofed opera themes and the role of the soprano heroine, but I don’t recall any of them being as intelligently funny as this one!   

Katherine’s soprano wished to make a living from dying, and demonstrated this energetically, including with a rather convincing knife.The music was appropriately operatic, and the excesses involved were hardly greaterthan they are in some operas.  The humorous words were very clever.  Katherine sang in a thoroughly believable way, with great timing and panache.  The piece was difficult and demanding, and was given a very musical and entertaining performance.

Brilliant writing made this parody of opera heroines a great way to end the concert. Mark Dorrell’s accompaniments were sensitive or dramatic as occasion required.  He was never too loud for the singers, but had plenty of spirit when opportunities arose.

Delightful, witty Così fan tutte from Wanderlust Opera

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Così fan tutte (Mozart) in concert
Wanderlust Opera: produced by Georgia Jamieson Emms

Musical director: Bruce Greenfield (piano)
Narrator: Kate Mead
Georgia Jamieson Emms (Fiordiligi); Bianca Andrew (Dorabella); Imogen Thirlwall (Despina); Cameron Barclay (Ferrando); Robert Tucker (Guglielmo); Matthew Landreth (Don Alfonso)

English translation by John Drummond, Ruth and Thomas Martin and Georgia Jamieson Emms

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 15 August, 7:30 pm

It’s best to start with comment about the somewhat unfortunate timing of this wonderful enterprise. A clash with the university school of music’s double bill, running four performances from Thursday to Sunday. On top of that, many vocal enthusiasts would also have been torn by having to choose between the last day of the Big Sing, the choral competition/jamboree/gala of secondary school choirs, held this year in Wellington.

Because of conflicting commitments among the cast, no alternative date could be found however, and the audience (around 100) was a bit smaller than I’d expected: it certainly deserved a full house.

Though it was not a fully staged performance, there were many other features that contributed to a sparking, highly entertaining show; the mere absence of sets and costumes of the era didn’t deny the singers plenty of histrionic scope. Recitatives were replaced by a ‘performance’ by Kate Mead, named ‘narrator’. She was much more than that; in a flamboyant black and silver costume, she entered arm-in-arm with Bruce Greenfield, took her place on a platform on the right while Greenfield went to the piano, which served very well as orchestra.

He launched impulsively into the overture, hitting the keys with staccato ferocity. But after only a minute the overture was cut short and Kate took over to set the scene, with detail rich in witty hyperbole, insight, oxymoron, cynicism and meticulous Neapolitan geography. (If you’re interested, Piazza Carolina is close to the great San Carlo Theatre; their five-storey house is on the corner of Via Gennaro Serra – check it out next time you’re in Naples).

Kate’s dramatic elan ran the risk of upstaging more than one of the real performers. Like the singers, she spoke in English, which, in theory, negated the need for surtitles; but as usual, they’d often have been a help, as voices vary in clarity and carrying ability. (I have to confess a very strong preference, always, for the original language, with surtitles of course). So the scene was promptly set for a comedy in which there was no hope of rational intelligibility.

The other most important actor was the one-man-orchestra, the piano, which did get in the way sometimes, and made it hard to catch some of the Italian-inflected English. But it was always worth paying attention to the sheer brilliance of Greenfield’s playing of the delicious score.

However, the more important thing is the singing.

The three men, in dinner suits, established their characters at once, voices very distinct, though Cameron Barclay’s self-confident Ferrando was at first a little better projected than the Guglielmo of Robert Tucker whose well-grounded baritone slowly distinguished itself. The sisters’ several duets were nicely differentiated in timbre, and models of emotional excess. Bianca Andrew as Dorabella, the more susceptible of the sisters, used her fine penetrating mezzo wonderfully; Georgia Jamieson Emms benefitted as a result of the different character of her voice and personality, easily capturing the nature of Fiordiligi. They both wore glamorous, timeless, ball dresses.

Matthew Landreth as Don Alfonso did not, early on, quite command the nonchalant, Figaro-factotum character that Da Ponte and Mozart envisaged, but by the advent of the quintet, ‘Sento, o dio’, he was fitting comfortably into the texture of the performance.

It’s true that quite a lot was left out (there were 17 numbers listed in the programme from a total of 31 usually numbered in the score), though none of the well-known arias and ensembles was missing, like the divine trio ‘Soave sia il vento’, Fiordiligi’s ‘Come scoglio’ with a conspicuously splendid piano accompaniment; or tenor Ferrando’s touching ‘Un’ aura amorosa’. As an opera without a chorus, it is famous for its beautiful duets, trios and quintets, and they were often more beguiling than the solo arias.

With Alfonso’s pecuniary persuasion, Despina (Imogen Thirlwall) has entered the fray; her performance is vivacious and her initial hesitation to be complicit in Alfonso’s scheme quickly falls away.

The implementation of Alfonso’s plot is followed by a big sextet, as the two Albanians are introduced, and offer the most taxing of all suspensions of disbelief with the most improbable of disguises in all theatre, sporting moustaches and with unstable fezes (plural?), still wearing dinner suits, but with loosened ties.

Despina assumes great importance in Act II, starting with her perky ‘Una donna a quindici anni’, in her attempt to modify the girls’ self-denying virtue. With a few cuts in the score, we miss the agonising vicissitudes of the four as Despina’s principled counsel slowly takes root, especially in the Fiordiligi, the more virtuous of the two, leading precipitately to a double wedding officiated by Despina the notary.

To be sure, one missed the often hilarious, accelerating marital climax that a well-staged performance can offer, but the combination of fine singing and nearly believable acting was not a bad substitute. The outcome from the collapse of earlier assumptions about human behaviour is often left obscure; though I feel that an enigmatic outcome makes better dramatic, psychological sense, here the return to the original pairing was clear (perhaps it would be more acceptable in the provinces).

This splendid, entertaining, Wanderlust Opera enterprise is a serious attempt to find a way to bring opera to wider audiences. Georgia Jamieson Emms and her co-conspirators are to be congratulated on their courage and success which, given some financial support, has the potential to relieve operatic starvation in parts of the country.

The plan is for this performance to become fully staged under director Jacqui Coats and to travel next year to Wanganui, the Kapiti Coast, New Plymouth and Carterton. What is clearly needed is a change of attitude by Creative New Zealand which has a wretched history over many decades of rejecting applications for assistance by admirable, small opera groups.

 

NZSM Students’ operatic double bill moves and delights

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music presents:
PURCELL – Dido and Aeneas
RAVEL – L’Enfant et les Sortilèges

Students and Staff of Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music,
Victoria University of Wellington

Casts and supporting musicians

PURCELL – Dido and Aeneas
Dido – Alicia Cadwgan / Aeneas – Declan Cudd / Belinda – Ester Leefe
Handmaidens – Hannah Jones/Rebecca Howie / Sorceress – Olivia Marshall
Spirit – Luana Howard / Witches – Shayna Tweed / Elyse Hemara
Sailor – Luka Venter / Covers – Olivia Sheat/Griffin Nicholl

Conductor: Donald Maurice

RAVEL – L’Enfant et les Sortileges
The child (Katherine McIndoe) – Cover (Pasquale Orchard)
The mother (Luana Howard) / The sofa, The cat (Daniel Sun)
The armchair, The shepherd (Emma Carpenter)
The clock (Luka Venter) / The teapot, The little old man (Declan Cudd)
The fire (Hannah Jones) / The Chinese cup, The shepherdess (Olivia Marshall)
The princess (Olivia Sheat) / The tree (Joseph Hadow) / The dragonfly (Olivia Marshall) The nightingale (Esther Leefe) / The bat (Shayna Tweed)
The squirrel (Rebecca Howie) / The frog (Griffin Nicol) / The owl (Elsa Hemara)
The footstool (Bethany Miller) / Cover (Julian Chu-Tan)

Conductor: Kenneth Young

Chorus: Julian Chu-Tan, Nicole Davey, Alexandra Gandionco, Sophia Gwynne-Robson, Joseph Haddow, Elizabeth Harré, Sally Haywood, Canada Hickey, Emma Cronshaw Hunt, William King, Eleanor McGechie, Bethany Miller, Griffin Nichol, Garth Norman, Pasquale Orchard, Nino Raphael, Karishma Thanawala

Musicians from Te Kōkī NZSM and guest players from the NZSO

Director: Frances Moore / Design: Alexandra Guillot / Talya Pilcher (lighting)

Memorial Theatre, Victoria University, Wellington

Thursday, 13th August, 2015

One has come to expect a high standard of performance, interpretation and artistic creativity from students at Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music, based on the success of some of their recent activities. This latest production was, in effect, “double the pleasure”, as it  brought to the stage two works so utterly different as to turn our sensibilities on their heads, yet capture our sympathies as strongly in each case.

Beginning the programme was Henry Purcell’s most well-known work for the stage, Dido and Aeneas – a story featuring a whirlwind romance which ends in despair and death, one whose description sounds like verismo opera! Rather than seek to reinforce the “grim reality’ scenario with a companion-piece like, say, Puccini’s Il Tabarro, the School most enterprisingly went instead for Maurice Ravel and his setting of Colette’s whimsical tale-with-a-moral L’Enfant et les Sortilèges.

Each of the works had its own particular set of qualities and disciplines, making the choice of the two a happy one from both the performers’ and the audience’s point of view. Conductor and orchestral players were different but many of the singers appeared in both productions. Unlike Purcell’s work, which sported more-or-less full-blooded operatic characters, Ravel’s featured a single leading singer in tandem with a kind of “parade” of colourful characters, personifications of both animals and normally “inanimate” objects come to life.

From this point alone it could be gleaned that the experience for all of us across the two halves of the evening was different and wide-ranging on many counts, but for this listener at least, extremely satisfying. There were one or two moments which lacked sweetness and grace, mostly in the Purcell work, where at the Overture’s beginning the players’ determinedly vibrato-less tones were straightaway laid bare, and took time to generate warmth and ease. As well, there was a slight stage hiatus during Aeneas’s deer-hunt, later in the piece, those on stage seemingly “stranded” by the action – or rather, its disappearance – for a few moments.

Otherwise, the presentation throughout both works flowed hand-in-glove with the music, a state of things by no means a “given” in contemporary opera production, but one here fruitfully and organically upheld throughout. Director Frances Moore mentioned in a programme foreword the capacity of both operas to go beyond a naturalistic storytelling setting, and this was beautifully achieved by simple means – powerful, direct staging, ramps and platforms made in an instant into castle ramparts, assembly halls, forest glades, witches’ dens, child’s nurseries and scented gardens. Costumes, props and lighting also played their part in evoking these wide-ranging scenarios created by the stories and the music.

I thought the “girls’ school” origins of Purcell’s work nicely delineated by the production’s directness – simple, striking modern-day costumes of white, two handmaidens to the Queen “filled to the brim with girlish glee” in their movements and interactions , and Dido herself spectacularly clad in red, regal and dignified as befitted a monarch. In the best sense a student-ish enthusiasm informed the work of those on stage, exemplified not only by the singing but by lovely touches such as the aforementioned horseplay between the Queen’s handmaidens, and the endearing goofiness of one of the witches during the “coven” scenes. It all enhanced the presentation’s theatricality, both liberating and ensnaring our sensibilities and interest, and putting them all the more deeply at the service of the story.

Properly dominating the stage was the Dido of Alicia Cadwgan – right from her first, heartfelt protestations, her voice resonated with queenly sorrow, her character poised precariously between imperiousness and vulnerability. With both voice and “presence” she was able to bring out all of the character’s greatness of heart and implacable sense of truth unto herself, making her eventual betrayal by her suitor Aeneas the death-blow to her own existence. Her delivery of “Your Councel all is urged in vain” here threw Aeneas’s irresponsible protestations into boldly-exposed relief, making us truly believe that death, for her, was the only course, “the only refuge for the wretched left”. It was, for me, a beautifully-wrought portrayal, in every way.

No other character in the opera matches that of Dido’s in depth or breadth of utterance – but her serving-maid, Belinda, played by Esther Leefe, and the two handmaidens, Hannah Jones and Rebecca Howie, respectively, sang and acted with both spirit and sensitivity, the duet “Fear no danger to ensue” making a lovely sound, as well as amends for an earlier, slightly out-of-kilter “The greatest blessing Fate can give”. And Esther Leefe’s “Pursue thy Conquest, Love” made an excited, and not inappropriately breathless an impression, as Belinda urged her Queen towards her wooer, the Trojan hero, Aeneas.

Declan Cudd as Aeneas, the all-conquering hero, cut a very dapper figure in his dress coat and scarf, ready to charm the uncertain Dido with honeyed words. He sang accurately, if somewhat drily – one suspects his voice has yet to properly “bloom”, though having to be, as the role decrees, more politician than lover in utterance didn’t help him generate very much romantic feeling. It’s certainly not the most grateful of characters to play, and in the Second Act he’s reduced to “talking up” his pursuit and shooting of a deer to make the venture sound more heroic, though he made the most of the declamation “Yours be the blame, O Gods”, after being sent a bogus message, allegedly from Jove, to sail for Rome immediately, thus abandoning his recently-wooed Queen.

I liked the use of the theatre’s aisles to throw open the vistas of the hunting throughout the forest’s glades, and enjoyed the amusing, slightly tongue-in-cheek representations of Aeneas’s quarry, in stark contrast to the “Monster’s Head” which the hero makes a meal of describing. But even more fun with the space’s entrances and exits was had by the Witches who introduce the Second Act, the “Wayward Sisters” with their “dismal Ravens Crying”. Olivia Marshall made a gleefully nasty impression as the Sorceress, striking in appearance while bent upon evil, aided and abetted by a “Mutt-and-Jeff” pair of cohorts (Shayna Tweed and Elyse Hemara), one goofy, the other sharp and impatient, but each in their different ways nasty pieces of work. Together with the chorus assuming “coven camp-followers” roles, the grisly wraiths danced and cavorted throughout their ensembles, limbo-rocking beneath a piece of “infernal cloth” during “But ere we this perform”, and then using both stage and aisles for the wonderful echo effects throughout “In our deep-Vaulted” cell”, the reddish lighting backdrop appropriately suggesting the context of infernal forces.

Much was made of the contrast between the bustle and contented confusion of “Haste, haste to town” at the onset of rain, with the chorus sporting umbrellas and making a wonderful job of the pre-Handelian-like ensemble, immediately before the visiting of Aeneas by the spirit of Mercury. Both Luana Howard as the Spirit and Declan Cudd sang steadily and pointedly throughout, and managed to convey the essence of the exchange, involving Aeneas’s confusion and uncertainty, which resulted in his downfall. His plight and betrayal of Dido had already been rather cruelly lampooned in anticipation by the Sailor’s song (lustily delivered by Luka Venter), calling his shipmates to take their leave of their “nymphs” on the shore, promising them they will return though never intending to do so.

It remained for Aeneas to be sent packing by Dido amid all of his bluster, and for the latter to deliver perhaps baroque opera’s most famous farewell aria, “When I am laid in earth”. Again, Alicia Cadwgan was equal to the task, “pinging” her high notes thrillingly (the first a little more comfortably than the second, though, dramatically, the slight faltering on the later ascent wasn’t inappropriate!) and imbuing her more meditative lines with wonderful pathos and finality. By this time the orchestral playing had long “found” its voice, and the aria and final chorus was most sensitively and eloquently accompanied by the strings. Altogether an excellent performance of a great and difficult work, with the singing-lines everywhere exposed and merciless (a case of “only the very skilled need try this music”) – and these musicians brought enough skill and sensitivity to the task, working fruitfully with conductor Donald Maurice to produce a memorable result.

After this was a case of “vive la difference!”, even if Ravel’s delightful adaptation of Colette’s cautionary tale L’Enfant et les Sortilèges seemed, next to Purcell’s tragic masterpiece, more of a divertissement than usual. Of pleasure, however, there was no less, as the performers (this time with a different conductor, Ken Young, and a new set of instrumentalists) transformed the performing-spaces into a child’s world of wonderment, accompanied by those characteristically magical sonorities we associate with the composer of Ma Mere L’Oye and Daphnis et Chloe. All credit to director Frances Moore and designers Alexandra Guillot and Talya Pilcher for effecting such a convincing contrast between two very different kinds of realities.

Central to this child’s world is the character of THE child itself, the role here so very wholeheartedly acted and sung by Katherine McIndoe, and nowhere more touchingly than during those moments of “growth towards empathy” on the character’s part. After being scolded by its mother and rejected by its “first love”, the storybook heroine, the child seeks solace at being in the garden, but is traumatized by the fruits of previous misdeeds, which caused the tree’s “wounds” and the dragonfly’s loss of its mate, caught by the thoughtless miscreant and pinned to the wall. In the midst of the resulting melee of acrimony, the child finds itself almost involuntarily bandaging the wounded paw of a baby squirrel, an act which brings about its eventual rehabilitation.

From the willfulness of the opening exchanges with “Mama”, through the despoliation and subsequent recriminatory interaction with the objects in her world to her remorse and eventual rehabilitation, Katherine McIndoe fully engaged our imaginations, and, towards the end, our sympathies. She was supported by a series of brilliant character portrayals whose range and detailing provided constant and “rolling” entertainment on the way to bringing about the story’s “uncovering of the self” at the heart of the matter – in this case, the underlying human desire for love.

It would be unfair to single out individual performances of these roles, as, despite the “one-after-the-other” aspect of the interactions, the opera SEEMS an “ensemble piece”, due to the production’s pace and cumulative tensions, which drew the characters unswervingly together for the final denouement. Suffice to say that the characterisations brought the objects and animals readily to life, either with great tenderness and pathos or with plenty of bubbling, roaring energy. Throughout they were supported by conductor and orchestra with alert, on-the-spot instrumental detailings, augmented at certain points with great washes of ensemble sound – all told, a splendid achievement from all concerned.

With productions such as these to the School’s credit, one hopes for further operatic delights in the not-too-distant future – as well as invaluable performing experience for the students (of a kind our home-grown singers don’t get as readily as they might in certain quarters), these efforts, always eagerly awaited, bring to our local operatic scene some much-welcomed enterprise, in the form of repertoire that we wouldn’t otherwise get to see. More power to Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Schumann a winner but Sibelius and Mendelssohn unconvincing in fine Bach Choir performances

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Romantic Fairytales from the Bach Choir of Wellington, conducted by Michael Vinten

Sibelius: The Captive Queen
Mendelssohn: Loreley
Schumann: The Pilgrimage of the Rose

Douglas Mews – piano
Soloists: Bianca Andrew, Marian Hawke, Maaike Christie-Beekman, Oliver Sewell, Christian Thurston, Roger Wilson

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 8 August, 3 pm

Michael Vinten and his Bach Choir had decided to explore some pretty unexpected choral repertoire with this concert of mid-nineteenth century, plus a rather out-of-season, comparable work from half a century later.

I have to praise that initiative.
However, much of the choral music composed during that era has not stood the test of time. The problem can be ascribed to Romanticism, which encouraged composers to find new modes of expression, focusing on their own natures, and on stories that could be interpreted through non-theatrical music.

Traditional opera subjects drawn from Classical Antiquity and the Bible and the Middle Ages were rejected. At the same time, large middle classes arose, developing a taste for pubic orchestral and choral concerts, with ever-increasing numbers of players and singers. These could attract the new audiences which felt out of place in the expensive splendour of opera houses, and who were without the classical education necessary to follow many operas.

Some German composers tended to scorn opera, especially the Italian and French – Rossini, Donizetti, Auber, Boieldieu, Meyerbeer. Some tried to reinvent opera in the Romantic-German manner, like Weber, Spohr, Marschner; but it took the genius of Wagner to make it work.

The fashion for orchestral music telling a story in symphonic poems, and large-scale, theatrical-type choral compositions became the Romantic oratorio.

The Schumann work was an example of the folk-tale oratorio; Mendelssohn’s unfinished opera an example of the failed Romantic folk-tale opera.

Sibelius’s The Captive Queen is a late example of the secular cantata/oratorio; it served a political purpose, the Queen symbolizing the Finns, and her captors, the Russian Empire. I imagine its disappearance after its first performances is explained by the same reasons that left me unimpressed. Finlandia was a much more successful idea.

It seemed a pedestrian work, in a kind of pious, Victorian, English manner, with the composer struggling to find a convincing vein or melodic inspiration that would lift its lame poetry above a level of embarrassment. It would have been a blessing, though a harder learn, to have sung it in Finnish.

However, the choir sang with energy and conviction, though the men sounded thin in their introductory verses, before being buoyed up by the women. The other handicap was the absence of an orchestra which would at least have lent the music colour. I guess my feelings about the music (not the performance) are summed up by my scribbled question: “Was Sibelius’s heart really in it?  At least the choir makes the most of it”.

Mendelssohn’s Loreley was his operatic attempt at the end of his life, probably inspired by the wonderful soprano Jenny Lind. He’d written singspiels in his teens, but only one was produced: Die Hochzeit des Comacho. Its reception did not encourage him to persist.

But I couldn’t help wishing that he’d devoted his last year to something in which his gifts were real, like another string quartet, in the spirit of the one in F minor, Op 80. Again, understanding the words was embarrassing; onomatopoeic effects sounded childish; the cries for vengeance half-hearted. I could detect no theatrical instinct in the composer.

The soloist who sang the role of Leonora was the accomplished Marian Hawke, who lent it genuine feeling, and the choir sang with energy, though perhaps rather too driven, without sufficient rhythmic and dynamic variety and liveliness.

Happily, Schumann’s Der Rose Pilgerfahrt (The Pilgrimage of the Rose) was quite a different story. We are usually encouraged to believe that Schumann’s last years saw a decline in his musical creativity. As a serious Schumann lover, I’ve always been reluctant to take that without a fight, and here, for me, was pretty persuasive evidence of his non-declining musical powers.

The programme note seeks to deflect criticism of the character and worth of the oratorio (if that’s what it is), by mentioning its “slight narrative”, “little drama”, the numbers only “loosely joined”. That may be, but even if the words themselves, again unfortunately, in English, are naïve and straining for effect, the music has a persuasively genuine feel, creating a situation and narrative that in the context of fairy-story, becomes listenable on account of the beguiling music.  It’s the same case as quite a few operas with feeble libretti which succeed because of the music.

Michael Vinten and the chorus seemed to have been inspired by the lyrical and varied music, varied in tempi, with triple-time numbers here and there, and changes of mood and feeling that respond to the sense. The women of the choir became fairies with sprightly singing.

Bianca Andrew was affecting as The Rose and other soloists performed engagingly: their individual as well as ensemble numbers contributed eloquently to the telling of the story. It was a pleasure again to hear Marian Hawke whom I had not heard for a long time, before she reappeared in Days Bay’s Rosenkavalier last year. Both she and Maaike Christie-Beekman contributed in a lively and committed way. Occasionally, soloists moved to sing together, as a trio (Maaike, Marian and Oliver Sewell) or quartet, and this lent the performance greater dramatic life.

Tenor Oliver Sewell sang the big role of Max, the young lover of the Rose, not attempting an operatic style, but handling the rather narrative part seriously, with sensitively shaded dynamics.  Roger Wilson was a well-cast Gravedigger drawing, as usual, on what one feels is to some extent his own personality; and Christian Thurston found the sturdy role of The Miller and a narrator’s bass aria near the end, ‘This Sunday morn…’, well suited to the character of his voice.

In all, conductor, chorus and soloists, as well as Douglas Mews accompanying at the piano (and I wasn’t so conscious here of the need of an orchestra to provide colour and variety) brought this neglected work to life in a surprisingly attractive way.

It was of course, by far the largest work on the programme (just over an hour) and made the concert as a whole quite rewarding. Schumann and the performers involved in his work made the journey very worthwhile.

 

Excellent opera recital with Friends of New Zealand Opera

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Friends of New Zealand Opera: a Winter Concert

Arias and duets from opera and musicals

Kristin Darragh (contralto), Barbara Graham (soprano), Kate Lineham (soprano) Warwick Fyfe (baritone), Bruce Greenfield (piano)

Hunter Council Chamber, Victoria University

Sunday, 21 June 2015, 4pm

Approximately 120 people came to hear a star-studded line-up of opera singers present a delightful programme of mainly well-known arias and duets.  Unfortunately, Australian baritone Warwick Fyfe was suffering from a severe throat infection (after travelling here from Australia on Qantas – how often I have heard about this happening to people!), and thus his contribution was limited.  For example, the first three items were to be from Lohengrin, but these had to be cut.  However, Kristin Darragh sang Erde’s aria ‘Weiche Wotan’ from Das Rheingold with great dignity, spirit and sonority.  Warwick Fyfe managed Wotan’s interjections; despite illness, his voice sounded strong, rich and very
expressive.

Kristin Darragh’s voice is so resonant that you could think it was amplified – which it certainly wasn’t.  She has an apparently easy delivery and a relaxed pose.  Despite all the carpet, the Hunter Council Chamber proved to be a good space for singers – an oblong box with a high, wooden ceiling.  I have heard many concerts there, but seldom vocalists, so it was quite an ear-opener.

Stuart Maunder’s introductions were brief and to the point.  The somewhat slimmed-down programme was given some additional substance by Maunder’s brief interviews with Warwick Fyfe and Kristin Darragh, the former introducing a considerable amount of humour.

Next up was Barbara Graham, singing Dvořák’s ‘Song to the Moon’ from Rusalka.  This simple yet gorgeous aria was sung beautifully.  I don’t know the Czech language, but it sounded pretty good, and clearly enunciated.  Barbara Graham has plenty of power when required.  This thought led me to notice that the piano lid was up for the singers, i.e. on the long stick.  This is not possible in some venues or for some voices.

Warwick Fyfe explained that with his ‘bug’ he was more comfortable in the lower register, that he less often used these days.  Therefore he sang the wonderful ‘O Isis and Osiris’ from The Magic
Flute.  The deep notes were full of tone, and if the singer had a little difficulty with breathing, it did not
seriously detract from Sarastro’s firm and satisfying aria.

Kate Lineham was on next, presenting ‘Porgi Amor’, as the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro.  She projected the lady’s sadness at the philandering of her husband, in both her voice and her interpretation, involving a little acting. Her voice has more vibrato than some, but mostly it was well under control although it did threaten to send some top notes off pitch.

Warwick Fyfe then surprised the audience by singing Papageno’s duet with Papagena: ‘Pa, pa, pa’.  This was in a higher register than his earlier aria, but he managed it well.  Barbara Graham acted out the role delightfully, not neglecting to sing it splendidly.

Throughout, that one-man orchestra, Bruce Greenfield, played the accompaniments with flair and dexterity, amply contributing to the mood and atmosphere of each piece.

Puccini was represented by the ‘Flower duet’ from Madama Butterfly, sung by Darragh and Lineham.  The two strong voices were well matched.  The former continued with the ‘Seguidilla’ from Carmen.  She seemed right at home in this spirited aria, and sang powerfully, with much varying of tone to give expression to the mood and words.

Another change from the printed programme took us into the world of the musical, beginning with My Fair Lady, from which Kate Lineham sang ‘Words, words!  I’m so sick of words’.  This was an apt rendition, with rich top notes.  This was followed by a song written for the musical Thoroughly Modern Millie, but excised from the show: ‘The girl in [flat] 14G’.  Barbara Graham sang and gestured with great spirit and glee a song that included a spoof on opera (heard from the flat below) and on Ella Fitzgerald popular numbers (heard from the flat above).  This was a very demanding item, and Barbara Graham produced great acting and singing.

Then Warwick Fyfe sang Australian Jack O’Hagan’s ‘Road to ‘Gundagai’, followed by Kristin Darragh’s ‘Maybe this time’, from Cabaret.  Liza Minelli she ain’t, but it was a good performance.  However, it does upset me  little to hear a fine operatic voice used so brashly.

‘Chanson Espagnole’ by Debussy, based on a Delibes song, was the penultimate offering, from Kate and Barbara.  The latter’s flexible and versatile acting and singing of this florid song was most commendable, and she matched well with Kate’s admirable performance.

Finally, from Saint-Saëns’s Samson and Delilah, Kristin Darragh sang with lovely, rich contralto tone a stirring aria in which Delilah prays for John the Baptist to fall in love with her.

This brought to a conclusion an excellent late afternoon’s entertainment, which despite difficulties, show-cased splendidly the artistry of two international opera singers, two fine local singers and one outstanding accompanist.

 

Marvellous Wagnerian farewell (Siegfried and Götterdämmerung) for conductor Inkinen and his Symphony Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Pietari Inkinen
Wagner Gala

Christine Goerke (soprano) and Simon O’Neill (tenor)

Episodes from Siegfried and Götterdämmerung

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday 12 June, 6:30 pm

I hadn’t heard Eva Radich’s interview with soprano Christine Goerke on Upbeat before the concert (and that has a bit to do with the unfortunate shift of the programme’s time from midday to 2pm). But I heard it on Saturday morning. It was one of those wonderful, animated, intelligent, thoroughly prepared interviews that Eva invariably achieves with articulate and gifted people that reveals many of the physical and psychological issues that a great singer faces.

And the session ended with a recording of her singing Brünnhilde in the first scene of Act III of Die Walküre (‘The Ride of the Valkyries’) recorded when she sang the entire music drama with the NZSO in 2012. Not only was it a thrill to hear her performance again, but being allowed to focus on her singing, without visuals or much awareness of her fellow Valkyries, was an endorsement of her stature as one of the best Wagner sopranos in today’s post-Nilsson world.

Before discussing the present concert however, I must express what I think many must feel, that it is a shame – a lack of nerve and financial confidence perhaps – that the wonderful Walküre has not been followed by comparable semi-staged performances of both Siegfried and Götterdämmerung; better still would have been the more complete visual realisation such as the Parsifal at the 2006 International Arts Festival.

In this review I will mention more of the events in both works, as the programme notes rather dwelt on matters like orchestral instrumentation, Leitmotive, but did not adequately identify the excerpts performed and make clear what was sung and what was not.

The concert opened with the Prelude to Act III of Siegfried. It was a well-chosen, awe-inspiring introduction for an audience, few of whom had probably seen the work staged, with motifs relating, among others, to Wotan’s spear on which the ‘laws’ are inscribed and one touching the downfall of the regime of the gods.  That only takes a couple of minutes after which the first scene opens with Wotan (in Siegfried, The Wanderer) calling on earth goddess Erda (who had born Wotan’s many off-spring including Brünnhilde and the other Valkyries) to hear his account of the world’s condition and attend to her wisdom. I couldn’t tell whether the orchestra played, without voice, the Wanderer’s first lines of his call for Erde, skipping the rest.

Also passed over is Scene 2 where the Wanderer encounters Siegfried who is seeking the way to the fire-encircled rock on which Wotan had confined Brünnhilde at the end of Die Walküre. That fascinating encounter with its detailed etching of personalities and ambitions, ends with Siegfried breaking The Wanderer’s spear, thus finally destroying his authority and power: all wonderful stuff that one rather missed.

Simon O’Neill’s first appearance, after the Wanderer’s departure, is preceded by an ecstatic orchestral Interlude running through several motifs and seamlessly passing to the Introduction to Scene 3 where delightfully played wind passages capture the misty mountaintop. It sets the scene for Siegfried’s encounter, evading the ring of fire, to find the sleeping Brünnhilde, with calm violins before Siegfried murmurs “Selig Öde auf sonninger Höh”, and soon wakens her to lovely sequences of bassoons, bass clarinet, oboe, and harp.

Finally Brünnhilde wakes and slowly realises that this is the hero she saved while he was in Sieglinde’s womb. My memories of the wonderful Christine Goerke from her thrilling performance in Die Walküre in 2012 came back, as her performance unfolded. She presented a vivid impression of wonderment, with a penetrating, gleaming upper register that was perfectly integrated with the warmth and humanness of the lower part of her voice. There was both gentleness and intelligence in her portrayal, and even though the two stood on either side of the conductor, one could sense the rapport, growing slowly towards erotic attraction between them as the long scene progressed.

The two voices transmitted different characteristics, O’Neill’s seeming to emerge from a more self-observing and detached sensibility, yet heroic and hugely expressive, as the grain and intensity of his timbre created an engrossing drama. And his response to Brünnhilde reveals a sensitivity and gentleness that we get hardly a hint of in Siegfried’s relationship with Mime, in the first two acts of this part of the cycle. O’Neill approached that tenderness with genuine feeling, but one has to feel that he seems even more convincing when he has the opportunity to boast of his heroism in braving the flames, for example in “Durch brennendes Feuer”.

Because it is more frequently performed on its own, Die Walküre, with its Siegmund-Sieglinde love scene and Wotan’s moving farewell to Brünnhilde are better known high points. But this last scene of Siegfried is their match, and we await performances of it as soon as the NZSO can gather courage and resources.

Then after the interval, Götterdämmerung. Here, the whole span of the work was encompassed, starting with the opening of the near-40 minute Prologue where we meet the Norns, the equivalent of the Fates in Greek mythology, who reflect on the past of the race of gods and on what will happen. They weave a rope that determines the course of events, but it frays and breaks and they return to the depths of the earth. The Prologue presents a beautiful depiction of Dawn, the NZSO strings exhibiting Wagner’s genius not merely in the brass department, here for strings (if anyone had doubted).

Brünnhilde and Siegfried wake from their night(s? – we’re not really told how long the lovers are together) of ecstasy, and within minutes the devoted Siegfried, seemingly prompted by nothing, prepares to leave his lover on the rock, protected by the fire to be sure, in order to pursue heroic deeds. In any case we hear the exchanges between the lovers, with their ecstatic climax, followed by the orchestral Siegfried’s Journey to the Rhine.

Throughout, of course, a huge amount of the excitement of the performances derived from the superb playing by the orchestra, very conspicuously the horns – nine of them – with four picking up Wagner tubas at the start of Siegfried Act III, and in the Prologue to Götterdämmerung.  Other brass players tend to be less conspicuous, but their contributions, trumpets, trombones, the tuba, were always distinguished. Wagner’s oboes often catch the ear too, as in Siegfried’s journey to the Rhine which is not just a mighty brass fanfare, and the NZSO’s oboes are a joy.

Contrary to some belief, Wagner’s orchestra is not inconsiderate of singers: instrumentation complements rather than smothers the singer, diminishes and thins out to allow the voice and the composer’s own words to penetrate and be understood.

In the first and second acts proper, Götterdämmerung introduces a new race, the Gibichungs, introducing an entirely new element to the story. Their only known connection with the main figures in the Ring is through the Nibelung, Alberich, who is Hagen’s father. In Act I Siegfried arrives at the Gibichung castle where bizarre events take place: Siegfried is drugged and is at once attracted to Gutrune, sister of Gunther, the king of the Gibichungs; then Siegfried is persuaded to give Brünnhilde to Gunther in marriage and then, disguised as Guntyher, Siegfried returns down the Rhine to capture her. Brünnhilde is forced to ‘marry’ Gunther and the latter’s sister Gutrune ‘marries’ Siegfried;

Confusion proliferates: at the end of Act I Scene 2 we get our only sample of the act with a rich and beautiful orchestral interlude, a compendium of a number of the most evocative and relevant motifs; but there was nothing else from the first two acts; it precedes the scene where one of the Valkyries, Waltraute, attempts to persuade Brünnhilde to give the ring back to the Rhine Maidens; then Siegfried arrives at Brünnhilde’s sanctuary, disguised as Gunther, tears the Ring from her hand and forces her, protesting violently, to accompany him back to the Gibichung castle.

In Act II the confusion, for Brünnhilde, Gunther and Gutrune increases, exploited by Hagen, leading nevertheless to Brünnhilde being forced to ‘marry’ Gunther. Brünnhilde, unaware that Siegfried’s inexplicable behavior is the effect of a potion, eventually concludes that he has betrayed her, and  she falls in with Hagen’s plan to murder him.

At the start of Act III as Siegfried is hunting with Gunther, Hagen and co, he is tackled by the Rhine Maidens in another attempt to have the Ring returned to the Rhine; Siegfried refuses , is induced to tell his heroic history of forging the sword, dragon slaying. Then, after taking a reversing potion from Hagen, Siegfried recalls his marriage to Brünnhilde, and relates it: a ‘treachery’ that gives Hagen the excuse to kill him.

The performance picks up immediately after Hagen has killed Siegfried with his spear, and Siegfried, finally aware of the reality, addresses dying words to Brünnhilde. The sequence opens with the famous Funeral music for Siegfried and skipping the exchanges between Gunther, Hagen, Gutrune, devoted the last half hour to Brünnhilde’s concluding soliloquy, the Immolation scene, in which the orchestra demonstrated its astonishing command through the endless succession of Leitmotive, from many episodes of the cycle, with a panoply of brilliant orchestral colours and moving emotional structures.

Goerke sustained a level of energy, of vocal drama, that gave the audience a wonderful taste of the way the whole marvellous creation comes to an end, an end after four and a half hours of music, when most proponents of Brünnhilde’s role show at least some signs of tiredness, but she has been spared the huge challenge of singing the entire role.

The audience was even moved to come to its feet at the end, no doubt to mark both a great and momentous performance and the departure of a gifted musical director and chief conductor.

It was much more than a mere taste of the two parts of the Ring that had never been performed in New Zealand; but surely an enticement for many who will have heard this performance here and in Auckland and Christchurch, to call for an awakening to this astonishing music drama, as well as a reminder to New Zealand Opera and, one would even dare hope, the International Arts Festival in Wellington that some of the greatest dramatic music ever written still awaits full performance in this country, that calls itself civilised.

 

 

Cenerentola brilliant in every aspect – principals’ singing and acting, orchestra and chorus, production, sets and costumes from New Zealand Opera

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Opera

Rossini: La Cenerentola, or La Bontä Trionfa (in Italian with English surtitles)

Directed by Lindy Hume, with Musical Director Wyn Davies, Orchestra Wellington, Freemasons NZ Opera Chorus (Wellington), soloists Sarah Castle, John Tessier, Marcin Bronikowski, Ashraf Sewailam, Andrew Collis, Amelia Berry, Rachelle Pike

St. James Theatre

Saturday 9 May 2015, 7.30pm

While writers may disagree concerning whether La Cenerentola (Cinderella) is a comic opera, there is no doubt that New Zealand Opera played it as such, with much humorous activity.  Perhaps some of the symbolism and solemnity of this moral fairy tale was lost in the process, but the rich variety of visual and aural delights made for a thoroughly enjoyable entertainment.  The version of the story used by Rossini’s librettist Jacopo Ferretti was certainly not as grim as that by the brothers Grimm.  It was not until comparatively recently that this opera was seen as a masterpiece comparable to the composer’s The Barber of Seville and The Italian Girl in Algiers.

Gioacchino Rossini was indeed a precocious talent, as the title of the essay in the programme by Peter Bassett declares, having written numbers of operas while still in his teens.  But not quite as precocious as the dates 1817-1868 shown above his portrait opposite the essay would indicate.  1817 was the date of the composition of Cenerentola.  Not Rossini’s date of birth, which was 1792.  The opera comes at the midpoint of Rossini’s opera-writing career: it was his nineteenth opera, and there were 19 to follow over the next decade, after which he wrote no more operas.

The Director’s decision to set the story in Dickensian London led to marvellously detailed and evocative sets from designer Dan Potra.  The opening set, seen by the audience as background to various high-jinks during the overture, was a huge library, obviously in a great house.  It returned at appropriate points through the story, doubling at one point as the wine cellar in the prince’s palace – when, as if magically, several book shelves transformed into wine-racks, liberally stocked with bottles, including (according to the ‘revised’ libretto shown in surtitles) Cloudy Bay!  Above the highest shelves were portraits of past British monarchs; thus the audience was immediately informed of the locale.

Among the entertainments during the overture was the showing on a screen in a gilt frame of a series of portraits (photographs from the nineteenth century or early twentieth) of prospective brides for the prince, who is under pressure to get married.

The overture is one of the best-known parts of the opera, and its liveliness was rendered with proficiency by the orchestra, under the opera’s musical director, Wyn Davies.  (Too often, including on radio, is it implied that he is there just to conduct the orchestra.  Not at all; he directs all the musical aspects of the production, including all the singers.)

Rossini’s usual good humour and ability to entertain an audience were immediately in evidence.  This joint production with Opera Queensland had much going for it, including not least a cast of principal singers who were uniformly of the highest standards, not excluding the two young New Zealanders as the step-sisters.

The scene transformed, through London fog, to a street view of Don Magnifco’s well-stocked emporium, where the opening duet from the step-sisters, Clorinda (Amelia Berry) and Tisbe (Rachelle Pike) takes place.  At the beginning, they sounded occasionally unsure, but this was soon overcome, and was about the only vocal problem (and a minor one) in the entire performance.

As Angelina (Cinderella), Sarah Castle was immediately impressive, in her first aria: a song in a simple folk-like idiom, about a king who decides to marry an innocent, beautiful but poor young woman for her goodness, rather than marrying for rank, title or money.  The subtitle of the opera means ‘Goodness Triumphant’.

Castle had the coloratura style required for Rossini’s florid writing to a ‘t’, and she and prince Don Ramiro (John Tessier) really lived the parts, as did the excellent Dandini (Marcin Bronikowski).  This character in particular, resplendent in a red suit while he was posing as the prince, and the sisters also, were required in this production to overact, or shall we say act up for laughs; this they did fully.  If at times this gave a vulgar tinge to the production, it obviously lived out Lindy Hume’s conception of these characters.

The many ensembles were excellent, disguising their considerable vocal difficulty.

The male chorus, through numbers of changes of costumes and roles, was energetic and well-voiced.  Some of its members were dressed as women, though obviously being men, most sporting beards.  This added variety not only to their appearance, but to the acting required.  Their set pieces were splendid, not to mention the typical Rossini patter songs, which require such vocal, verbal and labial agility.

Andrew Collis sang and acted his part of Don Magnifico… well, magnificently.  His movement, facial expressions and general deportment spoke of an older man, and one with ideas of improving his station in life.  No wicked step-mother in this story, but a cruel and vain step-father.

Ashraf Sewailam as Alindoro was outstanding, both vocally and in characterisation.  He had the right degree of magnanimous dignity, and his singing was a delight to hear.  However, it did bother me that, as a dignified tutor, he wore his top hat too far back on his head – a symbol of a scoundrel, which he certainly was not.  The hat should be worn squarely on the head (likewise the ‘lemon-squeezer’ military hat).  But so often in dramatic productions (and at other times) one sees them perched towards the back of the head.  (It was noteworthy that on Anzac Day Sir Jerry Mateparae wore his correctly.)

Costumes and props were numerous, colourful and appropriate, given the chosen setting.  Although this version of the story involved bracelets rather than the glass slippers (or should it have been fur?) that we are accustomed to, at a suitable moment when Angelina was being robed for her wedding, Don Ramiro placed new slippers on her feet – a nice touch.

The show was beautifully lit, and there was opportunity for some extraordinary effects, including during a storm with lightning, the chorus the while waving its umbrellas, bedewed with visible raindrops.

This was certainly a production requiring much acting, and also dancing, a particularly amusing sequence being when the chorus danced at the prince’s palace, with suitable seriousness.  The choreographer for this and other dance episodes was Taiaroa Royal.  At this point I thought I felt a slight earthquake – and then the word, and the actions of people suffering from one came up in the opera (to excess, of course!).  On consulting GeoNet later I found that there was a 3.4 quake west of New Plymouth at about the right time.  Did I feel it, or was it precognition?

Two other scenarios were used: the spacious grounds of the prince’s palace, bedecked Capability Brown-style with ornamental trees, which proved useful both because they could be moved, and because characters could hide behind them.  The perspective effect in this scene was beautifully achieved.

An unacknowledged keyboard player (perhaps Wyn Davies?) accompanied the recitatives that opened the second Act; meanwhile lots of stage business involved undressing and dressing Don Remiro as he sang a magnificent aria that included several wonderful high notes.  In this instance, I did find the amount of acting by members of the chorus detracted from the impact of his beautiful singing.

The delightful sextet a little later is one of the high points of the opera, as the main characters amusingly roll their r’s, particularly in the word ‘gruppo’ (knot) which they utter numerous times to describe the tangled web of relationships and characters, particularly the transformation of the ‘valet’ into the prince, and vice versa, and the transformation of Angelina into the prince’s betrothed.

The final scene of the opera took place in front of and on the balcony of the prince’s palace.  It appeared remarkably like the central section of the façade of Buckingham Palace.  It was created by conveniently turning around Don Magnifico’s emporium.

Every effort was made to extract humour from the opera, but pathos and seriousness were not absent, particularly in Angelina’s role.  The underlying themes of the exploitation of servants and the effects of the class system were not entirely lost.  Sets and costumes alone were a feast for the eyes; the singing and orchestral playing made up a feast for the ears.  Congratulations are due all round, not least to set-builders and costume-makers.

The season continues in Wellington on Tuesday 12 May at 6pm and Thursday 14 May and Saturday 16 May at 7.30pm.  The Auckland season opens on 30 May.

 

 

Opera Boutique with a boisterous Pergolesi double bill

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Pergolesi: Livietta e Tracollo and La Serva Padrona

Boutique Opera, Directed by Alison Hodge, with Musical Director, piano accordion and keyboard, Jonathan Berkahn.  Performers: Barbara Graham, Roger Wilson, Charles Wilson, Stacey O’Brien, Alix Schultze and Salina Fisher (violins)

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 28 February 2015, 7.30pm

Boutique Opera has not performed for a number of years; it was pleasing to see them back, with light-hearted material as last time – though Edward German’s Tom Jones was very different from the current offering.

Giovanni Pergolesi had a short life: 1710-36.  He wrote a number of operas, some more successful than others.  Both the works performed in this programme were written as Intermezzi, the light-hearted works performed as interludes in more serious operas by the same composer. Obviously the opera-goers in Italy at this period had the appetite for quite a long evening out, since each of the Intermezzi was approximately three-quarters of an hour long.

The first of the two has an alternative title, La contadina astuta, and was an intermezzo for Pergolesi’s opera Adriano in Siria.  The piece was new to me, whereas I have heard the second offering before, and it is relatively well known.

Jonathan Berkahn played the piano accordion for the overture and throughout Livietta e Tracollo as the ‘orchestra’.  It seemed an odd choice of instrument, and it is not one of which I am a fan, but one had to admire his multiple skills.

The operas were sung in English.  Barbara Graham (soprano) took the female lead roles in both, and she was in fine voice.  Her foil in the first was Charles Wilson, who began as Tracollo in disguise as a woman.  His father, Roger Wilson, and Stacey O’Brien both had non-singing roles – but they contributed substantially to the drama, especially the latter, as Fulvia, a friend of Livietta.  Roger Wilson was designated as a servant to Tracollo, but his old crone did not appear capable of much activity!

I found that I had written about Charles Wilson in Tom Jones (2011), the following, which with adaptation of the character’s name, fitted exactly this time around too: ‘Charles Wilson made the most of his role as Tracollo, his acting exactly fitting for a farce, and raising many a smile.  Vocally, too, he was more than adequate, characterising his voice appropriately.’  However, he did have difficulty in that numbers of notes were set too low for his voice.  But his presentation of his role in the drama was realised with great feeling, appropriately overplaying the melodrama of the story of Livietta’s and Tracollo’s tortured relationship.  All ends well, however.

The disguise of Livietta as a French boy was very apt for Barbara Graham, who has won awards for French song; she got an opportunity to exercise that language.  Just as Charles is the son of a very experienced singer and singing teacher, so Barbara is the daughter of Lesley Graham, similarly qualified.  She sang and acted with great assurance; her voice was a delight to hear.

It was a pleasure to hear the two violins and pseudo-harpsichord accompanying the second opera, which was a much livelier work than the previous one – though that, too, had its moments.  Nevertheless, it must be said that Jonathan Berkahn performed wonders of tone and dynamics in the first opera.

A remarkable feature was the clarity of Roger Wilson’s words in La Serva Padrona, which had not always been the case with the characters in the previous piece.  His singing was strong and the voice was produced with full tone and great expressiveness; his acting, too, was convincing and full of amusing detail.

Director Alison Hodge can be pleased with her efforts in both works. There was plenty of amusing stage business in both operas. Costumes for Livietta e Tracollo would pass as eighteenth century, whereas those for La Serva Padrona were 1930s-1940s.

Simple props were adequate and appropriate.

Barbara Graham made a luscious maid on the make.  Hers was quite a demanding role. Her acting was lively and funny, while her singing in the many florid passages was lovely.  Her demeanour was perfect for the part of the devious servant.

Pergolesi’s music was full of energy and wit, and provided a fine vehicle for Graham’s talents as an actor as well as a singer. Instrumental parts underlined the solos deliciously, especially in Roger Wilson’s (Umberto’s) soliloquy in which he contemplates whether or not to marry his maid Serpina (her aim all along).  His low notes were meaty and meaningful.  The mock serious music was fully realised by the soloists, and Pergolesi must have had fun writing the charming final scene between master and maid.

The bright and humorous music and story, and the quality of the singing and acting created a most entertaining evening for the rather small audience – no doubt the entertainment coinciding with the NZSO and Freddy Kempf at the Michael Fowler Centre deprived Boutique Opera of potential audience members.

The season continues on Sunday 1 March at St. Andrew’s on The Terrace at 2pm, on Sunday 8 March at Expressions in Upper Hutt at 2pm, and on Sunday, 22 March at 2pm at Te Manawa Gallery Palmerston North.

 

Days Bay Opera in great success with early opera, La Calisto

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Opera in a Days Bay Garden presents:
Cavalli: La Calisto

Conductor/Keyboards – Howard Moody
Director – Sara Brodie
Producer – Rhona Fraser
Opera in a Day’s Bay Garden Orchestra

Cast: Jove, King of the Gods – Robert Tucker
Mercury, his Messenger – Fletcher Mills
Calisto, A Nymph in Diana’s band – Carleen Ebbs
Endymion, a love-struck Shepherd – Stephen Diaz
Diana, adored Cult-Leader – Maaike Christie-Beekman
Linfea, one of Diana’s Maidens – Imogen Thirlwall
Satirino, a Satyr – Jess Segal
Pan, desperately seeking Diana – Linden Loader
Sylvano, one of Pan’s People – Simon Christie
Juno, Queen of the Gods  – Rhona Fraser
Juno’s Furies – Katherine McIndoe / Rose Blake
Satyr Dancers – Christopher Watts / Jack Newton

Canna House, Day’s Bay, Wellington

Wednesday 11 February, 2015, 6:30 pm

Review modified and edited by Lindis Taylor from Peter Mechen’s notes for his on-air review for Upbeat!)

In Days Bay Opera’s growing record of enterprising opera productions, this one was perhaps the most adventurous yet; it was certainly the earliest. La Calisto was first performed in Venice in 1651 – the composer was Francesco Cavalli and the libretto was written by Cavalli’s most frequent collaborator, Giovanni Faustini. For the story of Calisto he had woven together two myths – the story of the nymph Calisto and her seduction by Jupiter, and of the shepherd Endymion and his love for the goddess Diana.

Francesco Cavalli was born in Lombardi in 1602, which places him between Monteverdi, whose extant operas appeared between 1607 (Orfeo) and the early 1640s (Ritorno d’Ulisse and Poppea), and the more-or-less-known names that appeared later in the 17th century, like Cesti, Steffani (who was featured in a Composer of the Week programme last year, the hero of Cecilia Bartoli’s Mission CD), Stradella, Alessandro Scarlatti (strange that the French opera composers Lully, Charpentier, Campra, get ignored in this context), and later, Vivaldi, Porpora and many others including of course, Handel, an Italian opera composer par excellence.

Cavalli wrote forty-one operas as well as a lot of other music – church music for performance at St Mark’s in Venice, where he was organist and choirmaster until his death in 1676 at the age of 73.

A surprising number of his operas have been staged in the past half century, including Australia. This seems to be the first in New Zealand.

La Calisto wasn’t one of Cavalli’s great successes; a revival at Glyndebourne in 1970 put it on the map. Accepting the conventions of the time, the opera has proved popular: the story is by turns erotic and savage, silly and profound, the music is catchy, and the action is swiftly-moving and filled with interest.

That was certainly the case at Days Bay – the action never flagged, but was kept nicely spinning, the story of a bunch of gods behaving badly – in fact, behaving like the human beings they’re supposed to be setting an example to. The director Sara Brodie achieved a balance between music, drama and setting – no one thing dominated, which was extraordinarily satisfying.  Entertainment rather than profundity was the main concern of conductor and director, though there was a level at which serious issues were well handled; the emphasis was on communication with the audience.

Given the open air performance, diction was generally clear. Characters were sharply-drawn and entirely convincing, and an ear for wit and a lightness of touch enhanced the buoyancy and energy of it all. There were no stage designs or sets – the house, the decks and the environment served excellently – but the costumes were amusing and suggestive.

There was very fine singing from local singers and the instrumental playing – a mix of violins, cello, double-bass, harpsichord, organ with two recorders, dulcian (an early bassoon) and a theorbo, under the lively and sensitive direction of English conductor and early music specialist Howard Moody who had been a colleague of Rhona Fraser’s in England – produced textures that were coloured with a keen sense of the period.

Duets and ensembles were as important as solo moments so that no one singer dominated, least of all the lead role, Calisto. Nevertheless, from her first entrance, Carleen Ebbs as Calisto made a richly sonorous impression, producing tones that illuminated the words’ intention – for example she contrasted nicely her chaste rejection of Jove’s initial advances, with her besotted acceptance of the bogus Diana as her lover (Jove in drag and singing falsetto). Ebbs is a voice to listen out for.

Another to impress was the Jove of Robert Tucker, whom I’d seen previously as Noye in the Festival’s production of Noye’s Fludde. His rich voice was matched by wholehearted acting as Jove, the characterization thrown into bold relief by his portrayal of Diana, sung in a falsetto voice, but with irruptions of male testosterone fuelling both the excitement and the tensions of possible discovery by Calisto of the deception.

As the lovesick Endymion, counter-tenor Stephen Diaz was magnetic, with a deportment allied to a voice which occasionally generated a kind of unearthly angelic quality. The object of his desires, Maaike Christie-Beekman’s Diana beautifully and convincingly maintained the balance between public disinterest while privately besotted with her handsome shepherd, her diction allowing the words their full expression.

Imogen Thirlwell always commands attention on stage as a fine actress, and her voice has such lift and energy, galvanizing any role she takes on. Here Linfea’s thoughts ran the full gamut of the lovesick maiden’s thoughts and feelings in a totally convincing fashion. And Rhona Fraser as Juno was just wonderful – properly imperious, implacable and vengeful – a force to be reckoned with (as a hapless young male audience member found out to his embarrassment, though he didn’t entirely panic at being suddenly thrust into the limelight!).

Simon Christie and Linden Loader gave characteristically solid performances as Sylvano and Pan respectively, as did Fletcher Mills as Mercury, Jove’s occasionally libidinous sidekick!

But it was the teamwork which impressed as much as anything, the ensembles, the co-operative dovetailing of tones, the delight in gaging exactly what and how much was needed in any given situation.