Recording
Jose Cura
Verismo .
Philharmonia Orchestra
Erato 3984-27317
Whether singing or writing, it is always a good idea to lead from strength. So, here’s the good news first: Jose Cura’s Verismo album – on which the tenor both sings and conducts – contains a decidedly un-hackneyed selection of arias, mostly from the operas of Leoncavallo, Catalani, Giordano, Cilea, Franchetti and Mascagni, which are seldom performed or recorded in their entirety. In addition, the cover photograph of the exceptionally handsome singer is a stunning and very compelling choice. If only we didn’t have to deal with the recording inside, we could quit while we are ahead.
The prologue and baritone aria (“Si puo?”) from I pagliacci is a curious choice for an opener in a collection of tenor arias. The instrumental prelude reveals immediately Cura’s weakness as a conductor, and the vocal is an object lesson in what can happen when a singer works outside of his proper Fach. From the beginning of the prologue, there is no tension in the rhythmic line. The first big tune in the prelude, the “ridi, pagliacci…” theme, is slackly launched, then allowed to droop and die by degrees as the momentum drains away. The twisting, sensuous theme of Nedda’s guilty love fares no better.
When the singing starts and does Cura conduct before he sings, or after? it seems that is vocal techinque is forcing him to do “work-arounds,” dramatically and musically. For example, if he can’t manage a fortissimo where one is written, he does a fortissimo where is is not written. Since the tessitura lies too low in Cura’s voice, the big notes of the melodic line do not to ring out and there is a shocking lack of legato or “flow.”
Strangely, matters do not improve when Cura moves on to the tenor repertoire for the remainder of the album. Each note seems to be produced by a method different from the one next to it, as does every change in dynamic level from forced forte to wooly, unsupported piano. There is a generous amount of spread and wobbly tone and, again, that complete absence of legato. One hears no real phrasing, just chunks of sound that splatter and fall wherever they land. It seems evident to me that Mr. Cura’s career is being swept along by a high-powered marketing campaign, even though his technique is too unformed to sustain it. It is a shame – and yet so typical of this era – that a singer’s gifts can’t be fully developed first, then put on public display instead of the other way around.
-Freeman Günter
Performance
Opera Orchestra of New York
Donizetti’s Adelia,
Carnegie Hall,
Thursday, November 11, 1999
Over the years Eve Queler has specialized in presenting concert performances of bel canto opera rarities. This time she has achieved special distinction with Donizetti’s ultra-rare Adelia, the last of the composer’s mature operas to be resurrected. Her choice was a good one. Despite a plot too silly to mention, the libretto provides situations for an abundance of good tunes and exciting choruses that made for an evening of unflagging musical pleasure. If Adelia is not Donizetti’s masterpiece, neither is it a work to dismiss. One can think of several respected operas in the permanent repertory that yield less pleasure than Adelia, especially when presented as it was by OONY.
This work abounds in splendid choruses that, in effect provide the structure. The Opera Orchestra Chorus, trained by Italo Marchini, sang them magnificently, with the enthusiasm and commitment they require and deserve. Bravo!
Mariella Devia, as the eponymous heroine, was in excellent voice. Firm, even, responsive to her every musical desire, it was warmer than I remember it from her performances with OONY of a few years ago, and her trill is noticeably improved. Clearly, and despite her considerable accomplishments, she considers her voice to be a work in progress; she has not rested on her laurels. Once again, she proved herself an absolute mistress of the bel canto style, coloring, shading, exquisitely floating phrases in all parts of her range, and embellishing with both musical taste and concern for the drama. An appreciative audience rewarded her with ovation after ovation.
Warren Mok, a New York debutant, sang Adelia’s love interest, the dashing Oliviero. Mok has much to offer: a voice of good size, capable of shading and variation in its considerable dynamic range, an easy flexibility coupled with a legato line that rarely resorted to aspiration. When he permitted, there was a nice “squillo” quality. However, its basic timbre suffers from a production too low in the throat, giving it an overly covered quality. One hopes he can overcome this method and find one that would enable him to better develop his gifts. He came into his own at Oliviero’s final cabaletta in Act III, “Tu la vedrai,” which he took at an alarmingly fast speed and with complete success. A long ascending scale, taken at a terrific pace with perfect legato and repeated in the second verse, was a delight to hear. The audience rewarded him with a stamping ovation, which he well deserved.
At this point in his long and distinguished career, Paul Plishka may be called a veteran artist, with all that the phrase implies. His voice does not give the pure sonic pleasure it once did, but his understanding of both Donizetti’s music and the character of Arnoldo was complete, enabling him to perform an effective and moving portrait of Adelia’s tortured father.
The disappointment of the evening regarded another debutant, Stephan Pyatnychko. His part was far too small, and after his appearances in Act I, I noticed audience members scanning their librettos in anticipation of his next arias only to express disappointment – even disbelief – that such were not coming. Mr. Pyatnychko – and you had best get used to this name; you are going to be seeing it again – is an unreasonably handsome young man with an extremely beautiful baritone voice. Talents of this caliber do not sing small parts in concert performances, even if they are in Carnegie Hall. They sing leading roles for big fees in major opera houses. They also receive huge ovations. San Francisco will present Mr. Pyatnychko in La Traviata, Il Trovatore, and Rigoletto; the other great opera companies will surely follow. Meanwhile, we thank Eve Queler for giving us his first N.Y. appearance.
As Odetta, one of those thankless sidekick roles, Valerie Bernhardt’s clear, beautiful soprano was a strong asset in the ensembles, but her deadpan demeanor made for a hulking presence that was strangely at odds with the character’s sympathetic nature. As Comino, another “che dice” role, tenor Justin Vickers’ accuracy and fervor were appreciated, and he capped his arietta with a ringing top B flat.
Maestro Queler’s conducting was especially fine. The wonderful overture, with its tricky syncopations and quick attacks, was played expertly, as was the entire score. And she conducted throughout with complete understanding of the Donizetti style. Brava! I only wish the sheer volume of orchestral sound did not occasionally cover the singer’s voices, but perhaps this cannot be avoided in a situation where all share the stage. Sometimes, Maestro Queler gives us special treats, in this case a wonderful effect provided by horns placed throughout the auditorium. Kudos go to her and her fine forces for an exciting evening of unfamiliar opera.
-Howard Bushnell
Howard Bushnell, our “Opera Lover at the Opera,” is a lifelong student of the vocal art. He is the author of Maria Malibran: A Biography of the Singer (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1979).
Book
The Autobiography of Maria Callas: A Novel
By Alma H. Bond
Birch Book Press, 1998
219 pages
Although author Alma H. Bond is careful to state in her introduction that The Autobiography of Maria Callas: A Novel (Birch Book Press, 1998) is a work of fiction, it reads like what it purports to be: Callas’ own story. And that’s the problem; in order to buy into the experience, one is asked to read it as if it were a cry from the great singer’s own soul. It’s not, however, and despite her disclaimer for “my arrogance in presuming to think that one person can genuinely understand the heart and soul of another,” Bond is not, by the boldness of her imagination nor the effectiveness of her accomplishment, a skilled enough novelist to make this book anything more than an elaborate peek into her own fantasy of what it would be like to be Maria Callas. It is a fantasy, and, like many fantasies, this one would be better left unrealized. Bond has read the same books that all Callas worshippers have studied, and when she sticks to these sources, the clip-and-paste voice she achieves is quite like the one we all know to be Callas’s. When she strays into the realm of conjecture–as in her attempts to take the reader into Callas’ bedroom for a peek at her sex life, the result is simply that: a peek, and one of the most salacious and voyeuristic kind. And although one would dearly love to know what Callas really thought about her tragically premature vocal decline, the singer is not known to have discussed this with anyone, and she never acknowledged it publicly. The reader must constantly remind himself that these fascinating “insights” are total conjecture. At times like these, the voice of the narrator is disturbingly unlike any we’ve ever heard coming from Callas, and this book muddies the waters of what is actually known about her with its spurious “information.” In addition, there are enough musical errors to seriously undermine credibility for the classical singer. Even the most casual Callas admirer knows that Salome’s “Dance of the Seven Veils” is not a vocal selection, and that Callas never considered singing a single note composed by Richard Strauss.
Because of the vast influence of this unique singer’s gifts, the inner world of Maria Callas must be considered sacred territory. No matter how sincere her intent may be, Alma Bond is simply not worthy to violate the precincts of so important a temple.
-Freeman Günter
