Lyric Opera of Chicago
Alcina (Handel)
November 1999
We live in a golden age of singing. There are numerous proofs of this all over North America, but none more vivid than the production of Handel’s Alcina in which the Lyric Opera of Chicago gave us a veritable “night of seven stars” to match any in operatic legend. Neither the much-praised neo-classic staging nor its copious nudity detracted (or distracted!) one iota from the magnificent singing of Handel’s difficult music. Nor did the plot. Characterization would seem to be of no importance anyway in an opera whose heroine is sung by a woman disguised as a man who is in love with a man sung by a woman in love with a sorceress who turns her lovers into animals, stones and ocean waves.
Reneé Fleming was in opulent voice as the sorceress Alcina. In the last couple of years, her instrument has gained further plushness and additional luxuriance, as well as a more even scale. The stronger, meatier area in the upper register has been better integrated with the rest of her voice. This velvet silver-most-sterling sound, infinitely supple, is completely under her control and she ravished the audience with floods of gorgeous singing, exquisite pianissimi, effortless passage work, and a thousand trills throughout her vocal range. Her legato is a wonder; no singer since Joan Sutherland has sung florid music with such fluidity, such grace, such gloriously sculpted phrases. Fleming is a magnificent artist at the apogee of her considerable powers. I question only her occasional tendency to take breaths in inappropriate places, breaking the musical phrase as well as the text, a recent fault I first noticed in her San Francisco Louise (also a marvelous portrayal): “L’amour étend sur moi [breath] des ailes….” But in the face of such vocal riches, perhaps this is niggling.
Natalie Dessay, as Morgana, Alcina’s equally fickle sister, threatened to walk off with the show. Both an Olympic-form athlete and phenomenal singer, she combined these attributes to stupendous effect. Her “Tornami a vagheggiar” was sung flawlessly, indeed spectacularly, as she rolled around on the floor, her gorgeous supermodel legs wrapped around Stephen Morscheck (the Melisso), all the while tossing off staccato arpeggios with inhuman perfection. She brought down the house here and throughout the performance with such singing, as well as her highly imaginative impersonation. Even her curtain calls were consummate performances. How such a slender frame (think Audrey Hepburn) could contain such a strong voice is a marvel, as is her astounding vocal control from the tiniest pianissimo to a tooth-buzzing forte.
As Alcina’s current lover, Ruggiero, Jennifer Larmore was also in peak vocal form and if a couple of notes were slightly flat, they served only to remind us that this remarkable singer is indeed human. Throughout the performance her warm, flexible mezzo soprano carried easily throughout the large house. In dramatic contrast to Dessay’s uninhibited performance style, Larmore sang her final aria “Sta nell’ Ircana pietrosa tana” standing absolutely motionless with her arms at her sides and her feet planted at the stage lip. The veritable flood of leaps, scales and figures of this impossibly difficult music poured forth on and on with phenomenal bravado and risk as she sang and sang. When she at last marched off stage the audience tore the place apart in a richly deserved ovation. This was golden age singing and her performance is unforgettable. Brava, Larmore, brava!
Rockwell Blake was in better voice than when I last heard him (as Jupiter in Handel’s Semele, in Santa Fe 1997). He sang beautifully, stylishly, making light of his difficult music and matching Natalie Dessay histrionically in their love scene, which concluded with his sweeping her up in his arms and walking offstage. This scene, incidentally, posed the only problem I found with the captivating neo-classical sets. The singers were performing in a room, fully enclosed except for a large door that looked out into the audience. Not only did the near wall block sight lines for audience members off-center, but it also cut the volume of voice projection into the auditorium.
Robin Blitch Wiper was superb as the boy Oberto, both in appearance and vocally. One would be hard-pressed to imagine anyone else performing this part better, or as well. And Steven Morscheck, as the tutor Melissio, was handsome in voice and appearance, his rich bass tones beautiful to hear throughout its range, his style elegant.
Kathleen Kuhlmann, whom I have long admired for her spectacular Rossini and Handel singing, was an ideal Bradamante vocally, although she had little to do but look worried and was given the least imaginative costume of the production. She did, however, get to change from a man’s suit into a woman’s dress in full view of the audience while singing “Non partiró” both magnificently and movingly, conveying all of Bradamante’s suffering and love.
The score was abridged of some recitatives, dance music and a chorus for a performing time of almost three hours, and John Nelson’s conducting was exactly what one would want, and exactly what I expected from so accomplished a musician.
A recording is said to be planned. I should hope so. I also hope that this production, and San Francisco’s magnificent Louise as well, will be brought to the Metropolitan Opera in New York so that the east coast can experience these operatic riches. Howard Bushnell
The Washington Opera
La rondine (Puccini)
November1999
Toscanini once said that violations against the spirit of a work invariably begin with violations against the letter. Therefore, the Kennedy Center curtain rose on a highly molested hybrid of La rondine, the least beloved of Puccini’s mature operas. Marta Domingo, whose conception this is, decided that the reason La rondine is not more popular is that it is not tragic enough; nobody dies in the end. In order to beef up the body count, Ms. Domingo combed through various drafts of the work to come up with some extra texts to be fitted to melodic fragments that were then orchestrated anew. This new version, although quite effective in spite and not because of the tampering, needlessly confuses the case. It also falsifies the composer’s intentions, ignoring the fact that Puccini conceived the work as an operetta in the Franz Lehar tradition. It is supposed to be a bittersweet tale ending in a wistful sigh as the heroine, Magda, renounces passion (here referred to as “true love”) to return to her job as a kept woman.
That said, however, Washington’s La rondine is a splendid show, gorgeously set, lit and costumed and beautifully sung. The convincing theatricality of the staging and the naturalness of the acting struck me as ideal, a high water mark in the contemporary production of opera. Ms. Domingo is a stage director with sure theatrical instincts. The singers not only sang their music gloriously, but they also moved easily and well and looked great while doing it. I deplore the “looks-ist” standard as much as the next voice lover, but there is something to be said in favor of an entire cast of singers who are visually convincing in their roles. And that is what we had here.
Most nearly perfect in this generally excellent cast were tenor Marcus Haddock as the heroine’s young lover Ruggero, and soprano Inva Mula as the maid Lisette. It is time to stop fretting about who is going to be the “fourth tenor,” or for that matter, the next three when the current three wind down. And never mind those highly-hyped contenders cranked out by the publicity machines; as long as talents as convincing and unmistakably authentic as Marcus Haddock come along and without unrealistic fanfare opera lovers have nothing to worry about. Even if Haddock (along with everybody else) had not been visually believable as Magda’s student lover, his singing would have been a glory in any production. The clarity and beauty of his voice and his shapely phrasing of the lovely melodies were a constant joy. There were moments when his voice rang out with the kind of stabbing passion that opera lovers dream about, moments that shivered the soul and did sweet justice to Puccini’s melodic genius.
Inva Mula’s brightly ringing soprano with its suppleness and complete freedom in the messa di voce made me wish that the composer (or at least the director!) had given her character more to sing. I would have cast her as Magda, except that it was so delightful to see a maid portrayed with none of the soubrette simpering and cutesy-coy mannerisms that these roles inevitably inspire. She made Lisette a real person and her easy, lively-but-unforced acting and sweet singing make this debutante a talent to watch closely.
It was precisely this ease, this flexibility, which was missing from Ainhoa Arteta’s assumption of Magda, preventing it from being completely divine. In the big moments, such as the famous “Che bel sogno di Doretta,” Arteta manifested a tension, a sense of bracing herself in order to manage the technical demands and the extremes of range, both high and low. As good as she was, this compromised the romantic abandon so necessary for a completely satisfying realization of this role. I was too often aware of careful vocal placements, and of the difficulty of the music rather than of Magda’s rapture or sorrow. Bluntly put, this character is a prostitute who lies to her lover in order to steal the affection that would not be given to her otherwise. It is up to the singer to provide both the humanity and vulnerability that will make us care. The soprano’s slight but troublesome stiffness both of body and musical line was a hindrance to ecstasy. If not suggested by conscious acting choices, Magda’s sympathetic qualities can be supplied by sheer vocal appeal, but this voice, strong and clear but not especially sympathetic, did not go this extra distance. Unfortunately for Arteta, a dauntingly high standard has been set for this music, and she was not able to make me forget what Leontyne Price has always made of “Che bel sogno di Doretta.” Arteta is, however, in very good company in this respect.
The cynical poet Prunier was deftly sung and acted by Richard Troxell, an alert and charming actor who skillfully managed the difficult (for a tenor) tessitura of “Che bel sogno di Doretta,” which he sings before the soprano does. William Parcher, a handsome vocal and visual presence was a very distinctive, and distinguished Rambaldo, the wealthy banker who keeps Magda in great luxury and holds the nest open for this eponymous swallow’s eventual return. (In Puccini’s original, she does go back to him; in Marta Domingo’s version, she walks into the ocean, killing not only herself, but also the entire premise of the title.) Parcher got three additional duets with Magda and he used them wisely to amplify their relationship. He even managed to make Rambaldo a sympathetic character in spite of the fact that he strikes Magda at one point.
Emmanuel Villaume conducted with vigor and energy, propelling the opera nicely. He shaped and controlled the big second act ensembles with stirring effect. The dramatic credibility and musical beauty of the PBS telecast of this production should go a long way toward drawing the unconvinced into an appreciation of opera. Freeman Günter
