Likely Impossibilities

Mass in B minor at the Musikverein: Neue Harnoncourt Ausgabe

October 18, 2010 1 Comment

Nikolaus Harnoncourt is never one to adopt the conventional wisdom about anything. Sometimes his interpretations seem to radically rethink a piece in a wonderful way, but sometimes they seem odd just for the sake of being different. This Mass in b minor had some of both and some dubious justification to go along with it, but overall was an austere and transparent interpretation with a lot of beauty. The Harnoncourt pictured above was not to be seen, we got a more meditative type.

Bach, Mass in b minor. Musikverein, 16/10/10. Conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt with the Concentus Musicus Wien, Arnold Schoenberg Chor, and soloists Genia Kühmeier and Elisabeth von Magnus, sopranos; Bernarda Fink, alto; Michael Schade, tenor; and Florian Boesch, bass-baritone.

I’m not overly familiar with sacred music, so this is going to be brief. This performance used a 2010 Neue Bach Ausgabe edition that is reputedly improved (I’m not disputing that it is better, I just don’t know the details), and also celebrated the uncovering of Bach-Archiv Leipzig evidence that suggests Bach may have been writing the piece for, yep, Vienna. The operative part of this theory (besides “ooooo, Vienna!”) is that Bach did envision a performance of this work in his lifetime, contrary to many accounts that he was just writing it as a private magnum opus. Since it’s a Catholic missa longa, this would have to have been somewhere other than his Protestant Leipzig post. Previous theories have proposed he was writing it for Dresden or Berlin, so this isn’t a wholly new idea. But, you know, Vienna wants a claim on one of the few great composers with whom they don’t already have an obvious connection. If you wish to read more about this, you can do so in German in the Musikverein’s September/October magazine here.

But Harnoncourt’s new thing for this performance was another matter. Periodically he gave material usually assigned to the chorus to the soloists. The program reproduced a handwritten note in which he detailed these changes, writing that he “believes that this is Bach’s intention.” Evidence? Anyone? No? For all you Bach nerds, here is the note with the details, click to enlarge:

I think it’s kind of funny that he believes he still has to justify this decision as Bach’s intention. Particularly when we’re talking about a piece that, whatever the intention, never was performed during its composer’s lifetime and today remains somewhat hypothetical. And we are presented with his handwritten note like a fragment of a manuscript; we should take it in trust that Harnoncourt has some open line of communication with Bach’s Intention. I’m open to new ways of performing anything, but to assert you know something that makes this a more “authentic” reading and then not offer any evidence is disingenuous. Also, in my opinion, unnecessary. If your version sounds better than it should justify itself. Truth is, the changes seemed relatively slight and I don’t have a strong enough view on this work to offer any kind of verdict. But there are your innovations, such that they are.

So onto the performance itself. The Concentus Musicus Wien, here around 25 musicians strong, produces a silky, glassy sort of string sound, less grainy and aggressive than your more recently-founded period music groups. The brass are remarkably in tune and have that delightfully buzzy quality I love about HIP instruments. It’s lovely, but except for the trumpets it isn’t very loud, and was frequently overpowered by the approximately 50-member Arnold Schoenberg Chor, singing with precision and clarity.

Harnoncourt’s interpretation seemed to take its cue from the Kyrie: funereal, stile-antico, static, intimate. Repeated details were emphasized: the precisely placed rising figure at the end of “eleison,” in the second Kyrie, the unequal eighth-note figures in the Laudamus te. The high point of the evening came in the majestic, solemn Credo’s Et incarnatus est and Crucifixus. Counterpoint never seemed thick or busy, everything sounded clearly. Even the most triumphant moments had a valedictory quality.

The quintet of soloists was also fantastic. Bernarda Fink was the standout on the alto part with a highly expressive and communicative account of her arias that never seemed overly dramatic or fussy. In the two soprano duet, Genia Kühmeier’s vocal purity was an odd match for Elisabeth von Magnus’s darker sound, but both were excellent. (Von Magnus was replacing the ill Dorothea Röschmann. As soon as Kühmeier started I could tell she and Röschmann would have been a match made in vocal heaven, but oh well, von Magnus’s Laudamus te was appropriately intricate.) Michael Schade and Florian Boesch both sounded similarly outstanding on the male parts.

I believe this performance is being recorded for CD, it’s not exactly your average imposingly grand Mass in b minor but is certainly worth a listen.

Note: The premiere of Cardillac at the Staatsoper last night was a big success for all concerned. More here tonight.

Review

Ariadne auf Naxos at the Theater an der Wien: Art isn’t easy

October 16, 2010 2 Comments

The bar has been raised for the richest man in Vienna: one must now have a space shuttle. The rich (though not unseen) patron of Harry Kupfer’s new Theater an der Wien production of Ariadne auf Naxos holds his party in his private hangar. He is not a man of taste or of restraint, and none of his guests have much interest in anything Ariadne is selling. And Kupfer doesn’t seem to have a lot of faith in the transcendent power of art in modern times, either. This production had cool visuals, an amazingly sung Bacchus from Johan Botha, and an excellently staged Prologue, but for me it never really took off. Maybe I’m just not cynical enough.

Strauss-Hofmannsthal, Ariadne auf Naxos. Theater an der Wien, 14/10/10. New production by Harry Kupfer, sets by Hans Schavernoch, costumes by Yan Tax lights by Hans Toelstede. ORF Radio-Symphonieorchester Wien conducted by Bertrand de Billy with Anne Schwanewilms (Ariadne), Mari Eriksmoen (Zerbinetta), Heidi Brunner (Komponist), Johan Botha (Bacchus), Nikolay Borchev (Harlekin), Jochen Schmeckenbecher (Musiklehrer)

This production sure is colorful. Literally. The female party guests get bright red and the commedia dell’arte characters look like they’ve been assaulted by someone wielding a confetti gun. And the Glitter Fairy threw up on them, too. The set isn’t large but its industrial look isn’t quite minimal or monochromatic either, and sometimes we have video projections too. It looks awesome, but it’s very, very busy. The tasteless desert island set is a small roped-off square in the middle of the hangar space, filled with broken-off statue bits of wings, I assume representing Ariadne’s condition but also the opera seria’s antiquated, museum-like place in a world of space shuttles and clutter.

The Prologue is really excellent. It’s bustling without being too crowded or unfocused, it moves quickly all over the stage and establishes all the characters very quickly, including a Tenor with an affection for Zerbinetta. Everything is modern, more or less, though the party guests do sport tall Baroque wigs. The Composer’s black and white suit stands out among all the color, in the opera Ariadne and Bacchus will also wear black and white. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what this symbolizes.

The Opera features a lot of milling-about by the supernumerary party guests, who are considerably more interested in Zerbinetta than Ariadne. Occasionally TVs showing stock reports appear. Ariadne languishes on her broken wings almost unnoticed, her isolation becoming the abandoned state of high art in modern culture. Bacchus, wearing a tux and waving a hanky, is the commodified form of culture for the masses, giving us effortless tenorial thrills and similarly uninterested in Ariadne–he ends up with Zerbinetta. Ariadne, confusingly, ends up with Harlekin, joining the modern world at last. I guess?

You can’t deny that Kupfer has a point of view, but I’m too much of an idealist, and I like Strauss’s music too much, to go along with it. In this production, high culture doesn’t seem to be something worth saving. While I can understand putting Ariadne in the background as an interpretive decision, it and the confusing finale undermine too much of the music without making a good point in return. The party guests don’t give Ariadne a chance, but Kupfer doesn’t give her one either. It’s easy to show superficial rich people ignoring culture, but what’s the point? The guests appreciate Zerbinetta and company, of course, but the troupe’s antics are too sweet and harmless to have any kind of satiric bite in this context.

Musically, this was yet another production to show that the Theater an der Wien can for the most part stand up to the Staatsoper in quality–often by hiring many of the same people. The ORF orchestra conducted by Bertrand de Billy got off to an uneven start but filled the theater in the Opera without ever being too loud (this theater is perfect for this opera in size, I believe Strauss actually pointed this out himself at one point). Ensembles were excellent. Anne Schwanewilms brought understated simplicity and sensitive lyric singing to Ariadne, but she, perhaps due to this production, lacked presence and her tone often turned harsh and metallic (though her volume was fine).

Mari Eriksmoen was plucked out of obscurity to replace post-partum Diana Damrau as Zerbinetta. She gave a competent account of the role with confidence, stamina, good diction, and good intonation, but the voice itself is small and colorless, and she didn’t even try the trill on the high D. She does have great stage presence, though, and her modern, no-nonsense Zerbinetta never lapsed into cutesy. I suspect the enormous applause at the end had something to do with the general Viennese fondness for women who are young and skinny, though.

Johan Botha was unquestionably the musical highlight of the evening with an effortlessly sung Bacchus with his usual clear, light but incredibly powerful tone. He sounds like he could sing this in his sleep, and I can’t imagine anyone sounding better in this role today. He was a good sport embodying the multitude of tenor clichés handed to him by Kupfer–yes, including that hanky–but still, the guy can’t really act. Interesting work-around, I suppose.

Heidi Brunner had a few excellent moments as the Komponist, singing some lovely rich high notes, but also some rough patches between registers and sloppy phrasing. Jochem Schmeckenbecher was again (I saw him at the Met in February) a good if blustery Musiklehrer and Nikolay Borchev made a positive if fleeting impression as Harlekin. The Nymphs et al. were all perfectly adequate.

I do like Zerbinetta’s yellow and green striped tights, though. If you tell me where I can get some of those I would wear the heck out of them in all sorts of inappropriate contexts. Proof that I really did choose the right blog name here, I guess.

I think I’m alone in not liking this one too much. If you would like to read a more ecstatic review you can start with the two major Viennese newspapers, Der Standard and Die Presse. There are three more performances, on October 17, 20, and 22. It is not sold out and the standing room line was remarkably low key.

Photos copyright Werner Kmetitsch/Theater an der Wien
Next: Mass in B minor at the Musikverein with Harnoncourt tonight.

Review

Tristan und Isolde in Zürich: Neither mild nor leise

October 12, 2010 3 Comments

Claus Guth’s Opernhaus Zürich production of Tristan und Isolde is inspired by the events that inspired the opera: Wagner’s 1850s affair with Mathilde Wesendonck, which happened in, you guessed it, Zürich. The result is a twisty journey through fantasy and memory, all wound up with 19th-century morality, and a worthy companion piece to Guth’s great Vienna Tannhäuser. It’s totally fascinating, and a very different experience than your usual dreamy abstract Gesamtkunstwerk.

Bernard Haitink was also apparently inspired by Zürich for his conducting. Apparently he took one walk around, decided it was too damn quiet, and what the city needed was a Tristan that was excellent and yet most notable for being tremendously loud.

Wagner, Tristan und Isolde. Opernhaus Zürich, 10/10/10. Production by Claus Guth (revival), sets and costumes by Christian Schmidt, lighting by Jürgen Hoffmann. Conducted by Bernard Haitink with Barbara Schneider-Hofstetter (Isolde), Peter Seiffert (Tristan), Michelle Breedt (Brangäne), Martin Gantner (Kurwenal), Matti Salminen (König Marke)

Claus Guth’s production is set in a seemingly concrete 19th-century bourgeois world, its elegant furnishings and garden modeled on those of Zürich’s Villa Wesendonck (today an art museum), its situation loosely analogous to that of Mathilde Wesendonck’s affair with Wagner with her banker husband Otto in the König Marke role. But Guth doesn’t push this parallel too far (and the premiere cast, pictured above, bears a much closer resemblance to the historical figures than the current one, pictured elsewhere in this post–though no photos involving Isolde have surfaced), and besides, he has other things on his mind as well.

It becomes apparent that this tidy world is not as literally realistic as it appears. Brangäne and Isolde are visual doubles, with Brangäne seeming to represent the socially acceptable half of Isolde’s self, while the soprano half escapes into another world with Tristan. In Act 1, as Isolde describes healing Tristan, Brangäne physically relives it, in the second act Brangäne wears a black dress to Isolde’s identical white one, and at the very end of the opera, Marke slowly takes Brangäne’s hand, as if Isolde had not just expired in front of them. The characters wander through mirror-image and double rooms on a relatively simple turntable set used to effectively dizzying effect.

As Tristan and Isolde narrate Isolde’s earlier healing, Tristan relives it, lying bloody on Isolde’s bed, a position he will return to near the end of the opera. Their dream life is recursive and ill-defined, an attempt to leave reality that inevitably fails. The second act explores further alternate and parallel realities, as Tristan and Isolde chase each other through Isolde’s house, seemingly in the midst of a dinner party. They sweep the place settings off a formal dining table, to collapse on top of it. It is unclear what really happens and what is imagined as they wander through crowded rooms, unconscious of others, but then something breaks, and they are exposed, and Tristan forces Melot to stab him. In Act 3, Tristan languishes with Kurwenal in a desolate, deserted streetscape, eventually managing to return to the dream world with Isolde.

It’s an immensely interesting and remarkably exciting production. “Exciting” as in you genuinely can’t wait to see what is going to happen next. Suspenseful, even. This isn’t really a concept you often associate with Tristan stagings, I know. They are supposed to help you submerge yourself in the well of the music, to forget the boundaries of sound and vision. This one doesn’t do that, or at least it didn’t for me. It isn’t a Gesamtkunstwerk, it’s an intricate reading of a text we already know. There is friction between the text and the production; you can’t get upset because Act 1 doesn’t take place on a boat. But Guth makes you rethink things you’ve seen many times before, possibly a textbook example of Regietheater. As a Tristan I don’t think it’s for everyone. But that’s the beauty of Regietheater, isn’t it? It doesn’t presume to be for everyone, or for all time.

The focus of this performance was on an absence, that of erstwhile star Waltraud Meier, who walked out after a dispute with Bernard Haitink. I can see why. I thought that the tiny Zürich opera house would be a great place to hear an intimate account of the score (and excellent for Meier, whose voice is not of Nilssonian dimensions). But I forgot to send the management an email about this and Haitink did just about the exact opposite, leading a very loud, exciting, yet fantastically detailed interpretation with this top-notch orchestra. I’m not sure if he looked up at the stage once over the whole course of the evening. He often drowned out the singers and was clearly more interested in making sure the viola arpeggios were sufficiently turbulent than anything to do with the dramatic action. (Considering his number of vocal cues, I suspect the invisible prompter had a busy night.) It sounded great, the orchestra did at least, but it isn’t my preferred style.

Barbara Hofstetter-Schneider was Meier’s short-notice replacement as Isolde, and a very good Isolde she was, too.* She bravely took on Haitink’s super-orchestra and, most of the time, won, with an excellent dark-hued middle voice, somewhat less luxuriant top notes, and super diction at consistently high volume. At the beginning of Act 1, I thought, she can’t do this all night. But she did, with amazing stamina, right up to an on-pitch if short final note. It was not subtle but that we wouldn’t have been able to hear that. Her Isolde doesn’t have Meier’s charisma or heartbreaking intensity, but it was wonderfully sung and acted with honesty and dignity. If this is what Wagner singing is like at regional German houses (her usual haunts), we’re missing out in the US. (Zürich is a very small house, though, presenting different challenges.)

Peter Seiffert was announced as ill but sang anyways. This was my second time around with his Tristan. The first, at the Met under Barenboim in 2008, was a shaky experience (I believe it was his role debut). For the first act in Zürich, I thought he his interpretation had greatly grown. While not the Heldentenor of one’s dreams his tone is alright, he fit into the production well enough and sang with confidence and expression, as much as he could under the orchestral circumstances. In Act 2, his pitch and support began to falter and I began to dread Act 3. With good reason, because sick or not, no one should be onstage sounding like that. His vocal death preceded his character’s death by about 15 uncomfortable minutes and I hope he didn’t do any damage.

The supporting cast was uniformly strong. Matti Salminen is as old as dirt and nothing needs to be said about his wise König Marke other than he sounded as amazing as ever. Martin Gantner was almost unfair luxury casting as Kurwenal, terrifically sung and touchingly acted (during the opening of Act 3, he spent a long time despondently throwing beer caps into a boot). Michelle Breedt was a lyrical but lovely Brangäne, sometimes covered by the mighty Haitink but floating her “Habet acht” perfectly. The English horn player deserves specific mention here as well for a great solo, but the program did not identify him or her by name.

So not a definitive Tristan, but an awesome one, even without the reason I bought my ticket. I do hope a tenor other than Seiffert will be singing the next time I see this opera, though. And I think we should hope for a WWI Parsifal from Guth next.

All photos copyright Suzanne Schwiertz/Opernhaus Zürich

*Doesn’t the Isolde from this production premiere, Nina Stemme, currently have some time on her hands? I know she does because I have a ticket for the Rusalka she canceled. ‘Tis a shame we didn’t get her. Not a spot on excellent Schneider-Hofstetter, but Stemme and Meier are together currently the last word in Isoldes as far as I’m concerned.

Review

Lucrezia Borgia: The diva quantified

October 7, 2010 2 Comments

Last night’s Staatsoper Edita Gruberova Show, otherwise known as Lucrezia Borgia, featured the unusual sight of the orchestra onstage as well as many confused tourists who hadn’t grasped the meaning of “Konzertant” on the schedule. But Gruberova has a cult in these parts, and the crowd was more local than usual. Parterre’s Quantification of the Diva recently named her the greatest “contemporary diva,” a decision greeted with confusion by many Americans. But I think that if you’re Euro, or at least if you’re Viennese, there’s little question that this judgment is correct.

Donizetti, Lucrezia Borgia. Wiener Staatsoper in concert, 6/10/10. Conducted by Friedrich Haider with Edita Gruberova (Lucrezia Borgia), José Bros (Gennaro), Michele Pertusi (Don Alfonso I), Laura Polverelli (Maffio Orisini)

Edita Gruberova is a miracle of vocal longevity. She made her Staatsoper debut in 1970 but still has impeccable control over every aspect of her voice, as well as her regal stage manner, which makes her a complete and very charismatic performer. From her first entrance, in a shiny dress and sporting fluffy hair, she radiated great confidence in her own perfection. She’s got some great vocal tricks, her favorite being quietly hovering around a high G for an unfathomable period of time and slowly crescendoing. Her phrasing, carefully planned and exact in every move, can be mannered, but it has a certain inner coherence and expressive commitment that made it not bother me. And the high dramatics of poisoner/tormented mother Lucrezia Borgia fit her intense but imperious style very well. The enormous challenges of the role didn’t seem to bother her until the marathon of the final scene–where, considering Lucrezia is dying, some vocal weaknesses can pass as dramatic effect.

It’s enough to make you barely notice that the sound itself can be dodgy in the usual ways of an aging singer. Her tone, which in her prime was never a model of warmth, is thin in the middle, shrill on the top, and hooty in the chest voice. Once I began to hear these well-disguised problems they began to stick out more and more. I have to admire her–a lot–but I didn’t feel the love.

Judging from the wild cheering, It seemed like most of the audience did. A fellow standing-room member told me about how long he and Gruberova (and the standing room section) go back, which I think was just as important an element to his bravas as anything that actually happened onstage that night, well-preserved as it was. Maybe, at this point, you need that history.

The lack of staging of course didn’t help anything either (there were no props with the exception of a chair for Gennaro to sit on to indicate his death). Gruberova, along with José Bros as Gennaro and Michele Pertusi as Don Alfonso, did not use music, and the trio’s interactions had some basic acting, but never enough to develop into anything. It also didn’t help that I was unlucky in my standing room spot and they left my field of vision a few times. (There is a DVD of Gruberova singing this role staged in Munich, with Pavol Breslik and Alice Coote as a first-class Gennaro and Orsini, and the Christof Loy production isn’t too bad once you get over the fact that it probably cost about 5 Euros. )

The non-Gruberova singers were variable. Bros gave a solid, respectable but rather unmemorable Gennaro. Nothing wrong with it or his bright lyric tenor voice except they weren’t exciting (and a few strained high notes in the first half). Laura Polverelli was a dramatic and forceful Orsini, I think she would have done well with a staging. Her tone is heavy on the vibrato, though. The all-around best singing of the night came from classy bass Pertusi, with elegant phrasing and dark but flexible sound.

The Staatsoper orchestra, an organization to which universal opinions are often ascribed, is said to not like playing bel canto. I thought Friedrich Haider’s tempos were perfectly reasonable, but the orchestra indeed sounded wrong, too soft-grained and misty. A sharper attack, crisper rhythms and more forward energy would have helped.

But the orchestra wasn’t why anyone was there, they came for the Gruberova (and stayed for the Pertusi). And I am glad that I got to see both her skill and her rapport with what truly can be called “her” public, even if I’m not a member of it.

Next: I’m going to Switzerland for Calixto Bieito’s Aida in Basel and Waltraud Meier’s Isolde in Zurich… oh, shit. Dammit. First Nina Stemme, now Waltraud Meier cancels on me. The Bieito and the chocolate better be good and the nine hours on the train better be comfortable. Positing on these not until next week sometime.

Photo: Der Standard

Review

Der Rosenkavalier in Budapest: Heut’ oder morgen…

October 3, 2010 No Comments

Budapest’s magnificently gilded opera house is a relic from Hungary’s glory days, when the city was the joint seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But while it was a high point for a nation that considers itself very important (just check out the size of the Hungarian Parliament), the Dual Empire period was the beginning of the end for Habsburg power. On the cusp of World War I, Strauss and Hofmannsthal’s Der Rosenkavalier would appear, a Habsburgian comedy in the same rococo guise as some parts of the opera house. Rosenkavalier in Budapest, you might say, has baggage.

Review

Ich kann nicht sitzen: Standing Room at the Musikverein and Philharmoniker

September 26, 2010 1 Comment

Vienna’s Musikverein is famous for its golden-ness, its acoustics, and one of its home orchestras, the sexist bastards known as the Wiener Philharmoniker. Indeed, the place sure is shiny and sounds pretty. The Wiener Symphoniker, ORF RSO Wien, Tonkünstler-Orchester Niederösterreich, and lots of touring orchestras play there too, as well as many recitalists and chamber music groups.

The Musikverein, located just south of the Ring off Karlsplatz, is an unmissable stop on the tourist trail, but is hardly a model of institutional innovation. Individual programs can be good, but tend towards the conservative. The season as a whole lacks variety (something we will look at more shortly in my Duplicate Programming Watch), there are few reduced-price ticket programs, and their website is a bit on the primitive side (though it nicely identifies the encores performed at past concerts). However, if you’re in Vienna and haven’t seen and heard it, you really have to go.

Their standing room isn’t the best and sometimes resembles a contact sport, but it gets the job done, after a fashion. Also, if you were thinking of going to the New Year’s Concert, you should probably forget about it. I can’t help you with that, anyways.

1. Basics
The Musikverein has two main spaces: the Großer Saal (big hall) and Brahms-Saal (a recital hall). The Brahms-Saal doesn’t have standing room, but you can get restricted-view seats for around 5 Euros. The Großer Saal is where you will hear orchestras and a few bigger-deal recitals and chamber groups. Both are rectangular “shoebox” theaters with one balcony; the standing room in the Großer Saal is located in the back of the ground level, under the balcony.

Tickets are bought in advance on the Musikverein website or at the ticket office, located on the north side of the building (look for signs for the Konzertkassa). They go on sale at the same time seats do (two months minus one week before the concert) and cost 6 Euros. You can buy as many as you want. They are usually easy to get even the day of the concert with the exception of Wiener Philharmoniker concerts, which often sell out.

2. Wiener Philharmoniker standing room tickets
Standing tickets for many Philharmoniker concerts at the Musikverein are sold by the Philharmoniker directly. You can see the orchestra’s schedule here. The tickets for concerts in the first two categories, “Abonnementkonzerte” and “Soiréen”, are sold at the Philharmoniker’s ticket office according to their (totally different) policies. The Philharmoniker’s office is a five-minute walk north from the Musikverein on the Ring (Kärtnerring, just counter-clockwise from the Oper, the “outer” side). They sell the standing tickets for each Abonnementkonzert and Soirée starting the Monday morning before the concert, in person only. You can try later in the week too but don’t count on anything.

The Musikverein’s printed program says “ausverkauft” for all the Abonnementkonzerte and Soiréen, but that doesn’t mean the standing room is sold out, just that the seats are. Which they always are. (What’s the difference between an Abonnementkonzert and a Soirée? Unless you are a subscriber or aspire to become one [good luck with that], the only difference is Soiréen are always on weekdays, Abonnementkonzerte on weekends.)

Tickets for the Philharmoniker concerts listed under “Zusätzliche Konzerte” are available at the box office of whatever venue or organization is producing the concert following that presenter’s policies–the Musikverein, the Konzerthaus, etc. For example, the October 19 Philharmoniker concert with Mahler 6 is already on sale at the Musikverein box office, but standing tickets for the previous weekend’s Bruckner Abonnementkonzert won’t be on sale until Monday, October 11 at the Philharmoniker box office.

Don’t ask me why it’s like this, I’m guessing it has something to do with a contract signed in approximately 1893. Things don’t change very fast here–just look at these groups’ websites.

3. The evening of the concert
Once you have your ticket, no matter where you bought it, show up an hour or so before the concert and get in line for the hall to open. If it’s a big concert and you want to be able to see anything at all, show up earlier. If you don’t care if you can see, show up whenever. Check your coat and large bags downstairs beforehand, you can’t bring them into the hall. There are two lines, one for house left and one right. When it’s time to claim spots the ushers let everyone in and there is a rapid free-for-all into the big open space that constitutes standing room. The first row of spots disappear in the blink of an eye, go as fast as you possibly can. The people in the front can lean on the bar marking off the space and see stuff, as long as they aren’t behind a pillar (which always happens to me). Everyone else is just standing in the big open area, craning their necks. The big disadvantage is that you don’t have anything to lean on unless you are in the front. It’s pretty uncomfortable.

If an usher appears in standing room 10-15 minutes before the performance, run towards him or her as fast as you can, because he or she might have free extra tickets and will give you a seat. It only happens occasionally, though.

Not the best way to experience a concert, if you ask me, but seats at the Musikverein can be pricey and hard to get. The Staatsoper standing room is an excruciating process for a big reward, this is an easy process for a less awesome prize. But it works.

Review

Ich kann nicht sitzen: Standing Room at the Vienna State Opera

September 24, 2010 16 Comments

So, you’re visiting Vienna and you want to go to the opera. Your guidebook suggests that you avail yourself of the many cheap standing room (Stehplatz) tickets sold on the day of each performance, but that’s just about all it says. If you want to know waaaay more than is necessary about the mechanics of the ritual that is the Wiener Staatsoper’s standing room, here’s your guide.

I’m assuming you’ve already decided to go to the Vienna State Opera (Wiener Staatsoper). If they’re not your thing for some reason but you still want to go to a performance in Vienna, you should also consider the Theater an der Wien, Musikverein, Konzerthaus (no standing room), or Volksoper. I will write about these venues’ ticket policies later.

And: if you have any aspiration to see actual art onstage, absolutely never buy a concert ticket from anyone dressed as Mozart. Read on for something way better.

1. Should you do standing room?
Standing room’s great advantages are its low price (3-4 Euros), nonrequirement of advance planning, and, from the orchestra level standing room, fantastic sight lines. The seats for many performances sell out well in advance, particularly in the cheaper price categories, but almost all standing room tickets are sold the day of the show, and the view can be better than from seats costing over a hundred Euros. But you are, you know, standing for the whole opera. If you think you can easily grab an empty seat, think again. If you have problematic knees or any other health issues that could interfere this is probably not a good idea. Make sure you’re going to be able to enjoy it. I still hold a grudge against Manon Lescaut from an uncomfortable standing room experience.

The view from the first row of Parterre standing room

Also, pick your opera carefully. The Staatsoper schedule, available in the lobby and on their website, includes the length of each opera. Consider your operatic experience and general interests before going to anything long and/or that you think you may find dull. E.g., unless you are a Wagner fan, Parsifal is probably a bad idea. It might convert you but that long on your feet listening to grass grow might also make you want to shoot yourself. The Staatsoper plays one or two shortish golden oldies every week (Magic Flute, Barber of Seville, etc.) that are suitable for just about everybody. (But realize that these ones often get some combination of the least starry casts, most ramshackle productions, and most indifferent orchestra, if you care about that.)

2. When should I get in line?
Tickets go on sale 80 minutes before the opera starts. If you want a prime spot, you’re going to have to wait at least a little before that. There are three sections: Parterre (just above orchestra level) , Balkon (balcony), and Galerie (gallery). Parterre gets great views, but unless you are in the first two or three rows the sound is mediocre due to the overhang. Galerie sounds great and while it’s the top level of the house, it is not a big theater by American standards and from the center the view is still good (the side Galerie spaces have very bad sight lines). The upper level is less claustrophobic; the back half of Parterre can get very warm and crowded. You also don’t have to wait as long for Galerie spots because most of the early people take Parterre. I don’t recommend Balkon, it’s got all the drawbacks of Galerie with few of the advantages.

There’s no exact science of timing. Show up earlier if it’s a weekend or holiday or if there are any big names in the cast. If you are not informed in these matters but want to plan ahead, then Google the leading singers and see if they seem to have recording deals, fashion spreads, or personal cults of fanatics who have a nickname for themselves. Put their name into YouTube and if many videos appear factor in some extra time, particularly if lots of them look like they came from cell phones, because the people who make those videos will be in line and they show up insanely early.

A long line outside in spring

If you’re shooting for a good Parterre spot and there are no superstars in the cast, it’s safest to just check out the line at around 3:30 or 4:00 (for a 7:30 curtain), earlier if you are very keen, see that there are only five people there, go do something else and come back later. If there are big names then adjust forward, if you aren’t aiming for front Parterre adjust backwards. If Anna Netrebko is involved budget much of the day, I am not kidding here. Rare operas, particularly twentieth-century ones, are invariably less popular than well-known ones.

But never count on getting even a crappy spot without waiting, because X baritone you’ve never heard of might happen to be an old Vienna favorite and everyone turned out in force and there are also three busloads of Japanese tourists in line. You never know, is what I’m saying. However, most cancellations/casting changes happen before noon, so you can cross that fear off your list.*

You can only buy one ticket each, so make sure your whole group is in line.

3. So I’m going to get in line.

Shorts are very much frowned upon and by some of the stricter ushers banned altogether. Wear comfortable shoes. Don’t even think about heels, fellow ladies. If you’re showing up early, dress for waiting outside (though the line is under an overhang). But be advised that the auditorium itself gets warm and the dense Parterre standing area warmer. Regulars bring folding chairs or stools for the line (see the pictures). You also will need to bring a scarf or string to mark your spot in the auditorium. Snacks and books are also advisable. If it’s a Wagner opera other than Dutchman or Rheingold, bring a sandwich to eat between Acts 2 and 3. You will be glad you did this! Standing tires you out more than sitting.

The line forms on the Operngasse side of the opera house. This is the west side, near the Albertina, parallel to Kärtnerstrasse and to the left when you’re facing the building from the Ring but behind the fountain. There’s a small sign reading “Stehplätze/Standing Area.” (“Stehplätze” actually translates as “Standing Places,” but whatevs.) Depending on when you get there, the line is either outside under the overhang or inside behind this door. Also, get to know your line-mates! Austrians can be hard to start a conversation with but they’re usually friendly once you break the ice. As long as you explain to your line-mates, you can leave the line to get coffee or food or go to the bathroom or even, on a long wait, to get a quick lunch. Once you’re inside the opera house, though, the ushers are watching and you should mostly stay in line. There’s a bathroom in the hall just to the right of the ticket window.

The line inside

There are many intricate little steps in the process. Just follow the people in front of you. 80 minutes before the opera starts you’ll buy your ticket, try to have exact change. Tell the ticket-seller which section you want. The places aren’t assigned, and after buying your ticket you jog down the hallway behind the ticket booth, past the coat check, and left into the main part of the opera house. You then go left again and up one short flight of steps. If you’re in the gallery, continue upstairs until you hit the line, if you’re in the parterre you wait on this level in two lines, one at each entrance into the orchestra section of the house. Around 50-60 minutes before the opera starts, the ushers open the doors and lead the lines into the auditorium itself and everyone rapidly claims their spot (each marked by a single title viewer) as directed by the ushers. Tie your scarf around the bar below the titles to mark your place. Make sure you put your ticket somewhere you will be able to find it again.

If you’re not devoted, you can skip this part after buying your ticket and have more time for dinner, but realize that everyone else is tying their scarf somewhere and when you show up later after the crowds have cleared only the least desirable spots will be left. Some of these are, shall we say, a little short on personal space. Also on sight lines, if we’re talking Galerie sides.

If you waited to get a place, you now have 45 minutes or so to eat dinner. I usually bring something with me, but there’s also a Würst stand near the line and some Turkish food stands that also have pizza on the Ring. There’s a big Anker bakery with sandwiches in the passage under the Ring. Also, try to sit down for a while. Check your bag and/or coat when you get back to the house, it’s required and you want as much space in standing room as you can get.

Go back to your marked spot before the opera starts and enjoy the show! Note that moving someone else’s scarf is NOT DONE. Like, seriously, seriously not done. If an apparently clueless tourist has taken your spot, kick their ass out.

Final Notes
If you want a program you’ll have to buy one from an usher. These are elaborate books with lots of pictures of the production’s premiere cast and articles in German and stuff, there’s a plot summary in English at the very back. You can also just get the pamphlet with the evening’s cast and forgo the book, ask for “nur die Liste.”

I consider the Wiener Staatsoper standing room one of the best opera experiences you can get anywhere. The house itself is maddeningly inconsistent, but as well as an unbelievable bargain the standing room is a fascinating sociological experience and has an energy quite different from seeing an opera from a seat. It’s not for everyone, but I think it’s one of the best things Vienna has to offer its visitors. So do not fear the ritual, revel in it!

*Useful vocabulary: erkrankt (fallen ill), abgesagt (canceled), Umbesetzung (casting change), springt ein (substitutes). If the opera is obscure, cancellations can prompt dramatically short-notice changes of opera.

Review

The Queen of Spades: The long dark tea-time of the soul

September 23, 2010 No Comments

You got a rotting old pile of a palace, you invite the young people in to spruce it up, and before you know it they’re lighting it up in rainbow colors. Such is the Old Countess’s problem in Vera Nemirova’s production of The Queen of Spades. As Russian history it’s dubious and as Chaikovsky opera it’s graceless, but between Anja Silja in full-on Madame Armfeldt mode, Angela Denoke’s dynamite Lisa, and the efforts of Neil Shicoff as Hermann, it works anyways.

Chaikovsky, The Queen of Spades (Pique Dame) Wiener Staatsoper, 22 September 2010. Conducted by Tugan Sokhiev, production by Vera Nemirova, with Neil Shicoff (Hermann), Angela Denoke (Lisa), Anja Silja (Countess), Boaz Daniel (Yeletsky), Albert Dohmen (Tomsky), Zoryana Kushpler (Polina).

Nemirova’s production is set in the world of the Russia’s post-Cold War nouveau riche (riches noveaux?). Everything happens on a unit set, the stately entryway of a dusty, run-down palace. It is less a literal location than a way-station for all the characters and their various activities–this is not an opera you can put on a unit set and be realistic–but it’s atmospheric and has a nice faded grandeur and well-observed details. The non-Old Countess characters plot remodeling, stage a tasteless burlesque of an intermezzo on the grand staircase, and finally bring in slot machines and the multi-colored lighting plot of the damned (ugliest lighting ever, intentionally). It’s a simplification of the many layers of past and present found in the score, here crushed into a dusty gothic tangle, but I don’t think it’s exactly a distortion.

Intermezzo

When I tried to make sense of the concept as a historical setting I got a bit of a headache. The Old Countess laments the younger generation’s lack of style, skill, forethought, etc., and when you see the slot machines you have got to agree with her. But this is modern Russia and what came before that i.e. Communism wasn’t exactly known for its ravishing glamor. The opening scene seems to feature a just-barely-post-Communist wasteland, from there we move into ever-increasing decadence. But the Old Countess appears in the place of Catherine at the end of Act 2 and still is wearing the imperial-style dress in Act 3, which makes me think that the people are trying to dust off their grand palace and recover the imperial period but end up with tacky modernity instead? Of course this means the Old Countess is very old indeed, perhaps her initials are E.M.?

But I didn’t even try to work this out until afterwards, and maybe shouldn’t have bothered, because despite this Nemirova does a good job telling the story, without special effects except a few flapping windows. Anja Silja pretty much IS the Old Countess. Her voice can’t do much more than audibly carry a tune, but she has unstoppable charisma, and this role seems made for her, from her first entrance to the moment she spots Hermann behind her in her makeup mirror to her brief revival (unnecessarily put through a distorting speaker).

In his Staatsoper debut, Tugan Sokhiev led a well-paced account of the score with good attention to the changing moods–more variety than Nemirova, really. The climaxes all happened effectively enough, though the performance as a whole lacked the kind of explosive propulsion and wildness you get with Gergiev. In the central role of Hermann, Neil Shicoff was a compelling actor, though so clearly bonkers from the opening he didn’t take us on much of a journey. His voice is worn and not capable of much lyricism, and his rhythms were approximate, but his considerable commitment helped in the most intense moments of the score.

Lighting plot of the damned

Angela Denoke was the most convincing Lisa I have seen (I’m at four and counting). It’s not an easy part, you always wonder why Lisa doesn’t choose Yeletsky, but Denoke’s Lisa was every bit Hermann’s match in insanity and isolation even though the libretto never fills out her character’s motivations. Her voice is bright, almost white, very big in the upper reaches. She and Shicoff were impressive together, I’m not sure if they’ve done this opera together before but there was more interaction than you usually see at the Staatsoper.

Smaller roles were uneven: while Yeletsky can walk off with the opera with his fantastic aria, Boaz Daniel sounded under the weather and weak on the high notes. Albert Dohmen as Tomsky lacked top notes and resonance as well. One surprise highlight was Zoryana Kushpler’s beautiful dark mezzo and musicality in Polina’s brief aria.

This is the third production of this opera I’ve seen in the last two years. Like Elijah Moshinsky’s (gorgeous) Met production, it has a strange obsession with umbrellas (??). Thilo Reinhardt’s Komische Oper production is also set in modern Russia, but with less dust and more mobsters, it is vivid and exciting but more of a psycho-thriller take on the story. Nemirova’s production is less striking than either, but this performance was a worthy effort none the less.

Also, the Staatsoper shop has abandoned their usual soundtrack of crossover crap for the new Jonas Kaufmann CD, which first made me wonder who the hell thought screaming tenor verismo arias as background music was a good idea, but more on point made me wonder if he will ever sing Hermann. Which is to say he should, because that would be awesome. (Give me a few weeks, er, days to get over the fact that CDs cost 20 Euros here and I might write about this one.)

Next: Budapest Festival Orchestra with András Schiff on Tuesday.

Blurry Bows:

All photos except for the last one by the Wiener Staatsoper.

Review

Booming canons: Duplicate programming watch

September 20, 2010 2 Comments

There’s a hell of a lot of music out there. But it seems like I’m always hearing the same Mendelssohn overture over and over. A look at concert schedules proves that this is because I actually am. Duplicate programming happens. A lot.

While hearing pieces performed by different groups in a short period of time can be fascinating, can’t we be more creative and get to know a wider variety of music? Here is a list of works that have been programed more than once by different groups solely over the course of September and October at five major venues in Vienna (the Musikverein, the Konzerthaus, the Staatsoper, the Volksoper, and the Theater an der Wien). Granted, Vienna has a larger musical output than most cities, but, seriously, guys. I cede the two performances of a Szymanowski violin sonata as a delightful coincidence but can’t we give poor Tosca a rest for a month or two?

The winner is Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, performed by three different orchestras. Daaaa duh-duh daa da.

The list:

Bartók, Concerto for Orchestra (Budapest Festival Orchestra, ORF RSO Wien)
Beethoven, Sonata op. 27/2, “Moonlight” (Mitsuko Uchida, Gottlieb Wallisch)
Beethoven, Symphony No. 6 (Orchestre National de France, Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen)
Beethoven, Symphony No. 7 (Wiener Philharmoniker, Tallin Philharmonics, Camerata Salzburg)
Brahms, Symphony No. 4 (as my favorite symphony, nothing bad shall be said about this.) (Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich, Wiener Symphoniker)
Brahms, Piano Concerto No. 1 (Budapest Festival Orchestra, Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich)
Chaikovsky, Piano Concerto No. 1 (Wiener Symphoniker, Tonkünstler-Orchester Niederösterreich [both Musikverein, same week!])
Mozart, Die Zauberflöte (Staatsoper, Volksoper)
Puccini, Tosca (Staatsoper, Volksoper)
Szymanowski, Violin Sonata op. 9 (Leonidas Kavakos/Elisabeth Leonskaja, Lidia Baich/Matthias Fletzberger)

Enjoy your galloping warhorses, folks! And your Szymanowski.

Sources: Published programs
The photo

Review

Semele: Cecilia Bartoli we shall adore

September 18, 2010 1 Comment

Staging an oratorio like Semele is itself a questionable endeavor. The music is wonderful, but dramatically it does more telling than showing and there are many static stretches. Except for a few moments of wit and visual beauty, Robert Carsen’s elegantly restrained production is nothing more or less than unobtrusive. However, tearing through all that dull dignity is Cecilia Bartoli, an irresistible one-woman hurricane of something or other. Oh, and William Christie!

Handel-Congreve, Semele. Theater an der Wien, September 17, 2010. Les Arts Florissants conducted by William Christie with Cecilia Bartoli (Semele), Charles Workman (Jupiter/Apollo), Birgit Remmert (Juno), Malena Ernman (Ino), David Pittsinger (Cadmus/Somnus), Arnold Schoenberg Chor. Production by Robert Carsen, choreography and staging by Elaine Tyler-Hall.

Yes, this evening was very much the Cecilia Bartoli Show. Stage appearances by the rumored new Salzburg Whitsun intendant are rare, and she is extremely popular in Vienna. Despite the fine playing of Les Arts Florissants and some excellent performances from the rest of the cast, the audience and production’s attention was pretty much in one place.

Carsen’s minimalist production (originally created in Zürich and staged here by Elaine Tayler-Hall) is fairly strong in the Personenregie and does a good job of telling the story and developing the characters in a straightforward way without ever coming up with anything particularly interesting. The look is generically classy mid-century British. The spare settings amount to virtual visual quotations if you’ve seen a lot of Carsen.* I wish that Carsen’s impeccably coiffed and gowned ladies and tuxedoed or khaki-suited men would find clothes with a little more individual flair, but it looks pretty without getting in the way, which in this case is the salient point.

Getting in the way of Cecilia Bartoli, that is, who is anything but generic. She brings a kind of personal energy and charm that is hard to describe but bulldozes over most of the dullness in her path. Her voice is small and seemingly takes a while to warm up, however she was always perfectly audible and sings with a palpable joy that I think you have to be a true grump not to appreciate. She bubbles through all sorts of ornamentation with glee, she floats through slower stuff, and can even suggest, in “Endless pleasure,” endless smugness, in voice alone.

I know Bartoli has many detractors, but I found the usual complaints inapplicable. Aspirated coloratura? Slightly, but we’re not talking Deutekom here. Unsupported tone and obtrusive breaths? Nope. Her “Myself I shall adore” was taken slowly, which made me suspect that we were going to get some really crazy shit in the da capo. Indeed we did, and in the da capo she stumbled and did a full face-plant onto the stage. Then there was an audible gasp–I’m not sure if it was her or costar Remmert–and she got right up and started singing again, having missed only about a bar of music. Brava.

Also, “Myself I shall adore”? “Endless pleasure”? “You’ve undone me”? Does any opera (er, oratorio) have more suggestive aria incipits?

Charles Workman sang beautifully as Jupiter with a smallish but well-projected and refined lyric tenor. Neither Malena Ernman as Ino nor Birgit Remmert as Ino and Juno are contralto boomers and both seemed slightly miscast vocally, though Ernman had some impressive very low notes and Remmert indeed boomed in a few Wagnerian mezzo upper-register bits. Yes, that Malena Ernman. The tessiatura, though, seemed off for both of them. But Ernman acted her somewhat thankless role with striking emotional poignancy and Remmert, dressed as Elizabeth II look-alike and given the most comic business in the cast (along with Kerstin Erkman as Iris), showed fine comic timing.

The production has some lovely visuals: Sommus (sung with authority by Met regular David Pittsinger, who also sang Cadmus) rising from an evenly spaced sea of sleepers, Juno surrounded by a majestic cape, the stiff but beautifully coordinated choral masses (who occasionally, to indicate amorous moments, break up their statuesque observation to start making out with each other, could have done without that). It also has a few funny ones, best of all the staging of “Iris, hence, away,” with formidable Juno finally proffering a British Airways ticket. The Arnold Schoenberg Choir sounded excellent but I couldn’t understand a damn word they were saying. The principals’ English diction was excellent.

William Christie and Les Arts Florissants sounded fantastic, as usual, and the quiet moments of the score had intimacy and delicacy that would have been impossible in a larger theater, though a few experiments in really quiet singing barely made it up to me in the third ring. A few tempos in interludes seemed almost gratuitously fast, but the orchestral virtuosity is as thrilling as all the vocal doodads found elsewhere, and since this isn’t a piece with a ton for the orchestra to do it was nice to hear a group this good get to show off what it can do, if briefly.

Not exactly your average opera, but a great night out. This production is available on DVD in its Zürich iteration with some of the same cast.

All photos copyright Armin Bardel (from the Theater an der Wien’s excellent press site)

Video of this production, “Myself I shall adore”

*Dude has an aesthetic, at least. Though Cavaradossi’s painting is nowhere to be seen, the opening church looks a lot like his Tosca, and the giant diagonally placed bed with billowing sheets… well, that’s a general kind of setting, but it’s exactly the same as his Poppea. Something was also ringing bells from his Capriccio, but it’s been too long since I’ve seen that one to remember exactly what.

« Previous 1 … 30 31 32 33 34 Next »