Und in dem “Wie” da liegt der ganze Unterschied

On Friday night, most of the New York opera fanatics I know were at Peter Grimes at Carnegie Hall. Forgive me, but I enjoy Strauss far more than Britten and I went to Der Rosenkavalier instead, in its first performance at the Met this season. It’s an adequate but uneven revival, featuring a promising surprise debut by Erin Morley as Sophie but some miscasting elsewhere.

The biggest drag on the evening was Edward Gardner’s conducting, though drag isn’t really the right word. Because it was quite rushed, heavy, and thick, which is a bad combination for Strauss. There was little gradation of texture (particularly noticeable considering Vladimir Jurowski’s exemplary transparency in the Met’s current Die Frau ohne Schatten), and the orchestra was consistently too loud, often forcing the singers to belt when they probably were perfectly capable of doing something more subtle. Gardner seems to have little sense of Strauss’s rhythmic flow, either, and while fast, his conducting rarely danced, and when he slowed down (as he did for much of the solo music), it was just slower, without the sense of lingering on a thought. I wondered if he was shy of making it too sugary, but it didn’t seem like he’d found a plausible alternative. The orchestra played fairly cleanly, with a few clams in the horns and trumpets, but I missed the string sound of Munich and Vienna.

If Vienna was lacking in the strings, it was present in Martina Serafin’s regal Marschallin. She gave a classy, solid performance with beautifully clear diction and sense of the text. She’s sympathetic and natural onstage, and gives a good impression of spontaneity. Her voice is big enough to have won most of its fights with the orchestra, and it has an appealingly old-school grainy quality. But this was also a modest performance, lacking in some degree of magnetism. While the Marschallin might give up Octavian, she still is the most complex figure in the opera and often has the greatest command of the stage; Serafin seemed to have resigned that role as well. The only thing big about her Act 3 entrance was her dress.

Perhaps this was because the revival was planned around Elina Garanca’s Octavian, which is reputedly just such a major performance. But Garanca is pregnant, and was replaced here by Alice Coote. While I really like Coote, she is thoroughly miscast and we are left with something of a stardom lacuna. Coote’s solid, thick voice lacks the complex overtones and sheen that this role ideally demands, and its near-soprano range seems high for her. It also seems to be a bad match for her introverted, non-showy personality. She did best in Act 3, where her piping, shrill Mariandel had some funny moments. But in the straightforward ardor of Act 1 and the majesty of Act 2 she seemed out of her element.

The trio was completed by Erin Morley, a happy replacement for the “sick” Mojca Erdmann. Morley has been singing small roles at the Met for a while—things like Rhinemaidens and the Dew Fairy—as well as larger roles elsewhere. Her Sophie started off irrepressibly energetic, and her voice is a lovely high soprano, very well focused and controlled even in the highest reaches. She understandably spent a lot of the opera looking directly at Gardner, but this was an impressive role debut and I hope the Met gives her more good assignments.

There must not be too many Barons Ochs (Ochsen?) in the world of opera, because I’ve seen Peter Rose sing this thing a number of times in any number of very similar productions. His voice isn’t the largest, which was an issue here, and he had real trouble with the highest and lowest parts (the top note on the haystack line being a particular issue), but he certainly knows his way around the opera, gets the dialect, and can play the comedy without being as irritatingly crass as some.

The supporting cast was acceptable if not distinguished, with a pinched and high-note-challenged Italian Singer from Eric Cutler, an uneven but really funny Annina by Jane Henschel, a largely inaudible Valzacchi by Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke, an unmemorable Faninal by Hans-Joachim Ketelsen, and a very shrill Marianne Leitmetzerin by Jennifer Check. As the Police Commissioner, Richard Bernstein did his usual thing of singing everyone else off the stage and making you wonder why he wasn’t singing Ochs or Faninal (he is doing the same as Zaretski in Onegin). Only James Courtney, as the Notary, was guilty of heinous overacting.

The production dates from 1969, as betrayed by the pastel carpet. It’s dated and dull. I am kind of amused at the enormous round of applause the Act 2 set (seen above) inevitably generates. I believe it is in fact intended to show the nouveau riche Faninal trying too hard in the interior decoration department, but that point may be impossible to convey at the Met, where too much is never enough. It is also tricky in an opera like this, which will never send one servant in to make an announcement when it can send in four who sing in counterpoint. (Also, you may have noticed that this opera is a bit long.) I was going to say, “you could make a production about that dynamic,” but then I remembered that Stefan Herheim already did, and I went to Stuttgart once to see it. (It was far and away the best Rosenkavalier production I’ve seen. You can watch a little bit of it here, somewhat NSFW.)

When I looked up this Met production’s age on the Met Archives database, I found a thoroughly entertaining review of its first performance by Irving Kolodin from the Saturday Review. He wrote:

Given such a variety of elements, a truly successful “Rosenkavalier” could emerge from only two sources: a powerful integrated dramatic supervision, or an overwhelmingly influential effort by the conductor. This “Rosenkavalier” was not blessed with either. Nathaniel Merrill’s direction solved, successfully, the primary problems of movement, displacement, and interchange of personnel on and off stage. But he had not, so far as I could determine, done much to stimulate characterization among those performers who had not brought a characterization with them, or achieve a totality among the characterizations that were offered.

I could not have put it better myself. He also notes, “Best of all, the [set designer] O’Hearn production gives every promise of durability.” Perhaps that virtue has carried this one a little further than it should have?

Let me say that my companion at this performance, who knew the score but had never seen the opera live, found it fairly satisfying. This is an opera impressive and multifaceted enough that any halfway decent performance offers considerable food for thought. (I catch something new every time, and I still regularly miss the point in Act 2 when Annina and Valzacchi switch sides.) But as an admitted Rosenkavalier addict (in my defense, I spent 2010, which was its 100th anniversary, in Austria and Germany, when everyone was producing it), this one is middle of the pack at best.

Der Rosenkavalier runs through December 13. Photo copyright Jonathan Tichler.

Strauss-Hofmannsthal, Der Rosenkavalier. Met Opera, 11/22/13. Production by Nathaniel Merrill (revival), conducted by Edward Gardner with Martina Serafin (Marschallin), Alice Coote (Octavian), Peter Rose (Ochs), Erin Morley (Sophie), etc., etc., etc.

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Richard and Hugo’s Pregnancy Patrol (Die Frau ohne Schatten)

Any sighting of the big and complicated Die Frau ohne Schatten at an opera house is an event. Strauss’s score is one of his most varied and exciting and unique (it’s not violent like Salome or Elektra, but nor is it hyper-romantic like Rosenkavalier or Arabella). The libretto is, shall we say, obscure, mixing spirits and mortals, symbols and talismans like a Zauberflöte without the proverbs, and even less logic. Where Die Frau ohne Schatten excels is majesty. This musically distinguished and beautifully designed Met revival captures that magic, and is definitely one of the must-sees of the fall season.


Strauss,
Die Frau ohne Schatten. Met Opera, 11/12/13. Production by Herbert Wernicke, conducted by Vladimir Jurowski with Anne Schwanewilms (Empress), Ildikó Komlósi (Nurse), Christine Goerge (Dyer’s Wife), Johan Reuter (Barak), Torsten Kerl (Emperor), Richard Paul Fink (Messenger), Jennifer Check (Falcon).

Before this performance, I read Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s novella version of the story. It’s a beautifully written story and clears up some of the more immediate confusions of the libretto. But on the larger issues I can’t say I’m that much more enlightened. (It’s only available in German, unfortunately.) The story is about a spirit brought into the world of humans by marriage to the Emperor–thus she is made the Empress. To remain in the human world, she needs to acquire a shadow (also meaning become pregnant). Her Nurse decides to manipulate a poor dyer’s wife out of her shadow and thus fertility. This does not go too well.

The clearest message that can be extracted from the libretto—that the Empress and Dyer’s Wife need to stop thinking so much about themselves all the time and realize their essential function as baby-making factories—is, um, not my favorite conclusion in all of opera. (It, as well as the novella’s obsession with food, probably have something to do with the time of the opera’s composition right after World War I, though it was begun before that.) While the music seems to make it all make glittering sense, productions of Frau have struggled to find a visual realization for the spectacular and causally confusing events, e.g. the earthquake at the end of Act 2, the Fountain of Life, and even the titular shadow. The last production I saw, Christoph Loy’s in Salzburg, threw in the towel entirely and put the whole thing in a recording studio (weak sauce).

On that front, Herbert Wernicke’s Met production is a great success, and actually lives up to the music’s energy and atmosphere. First performed in 2001, it’s being revived for the first second time and first since 2003. Wernicke died at a tragically young age in 2002, and the direction here is credited to J. Knighten Smit. The design—all by Wernicke—is the primary attraction. The world of the Empress, Emperor, and Nurse is a mirrored box, whose transformations are seen in various dramatic flickering lighting effects. In contrast to this glamour, the Dyer’s house is in a gritty sewer or subway, located below the box and connected by a fire escape staircase (one of the best uses of the Met’s scenic elevator I’ve seen). The upper level is timeless and mythic, the lower contemporary and realistic (Act 1 ends with the dyer Barak poignantly staring into an open refrigerator). The implication is vaguely Marxist: the Empress (surrounded by narcissistic mirrors) is exploiting the literal underclass, for whom she gradually learns compassion. The finale is Brechtian–or lieto fine-ian—with the lighting scaffold descending to reveal the stage mechanism and the singers addressing the audience directly. Since the music does not follow suit in any way, I found this gesture a little ineffective, but overall this is a very strong and convincing production.

The larger problem was the distinct lack of direction of the singers. The images are strong enough that I trust Wernicke’s vision remained at least partially intact, but it would have been a lot more engaging and stronger with less park and bark. The singers seemed left to their own devices, with varying and dissonant results. Anne Schwanewilms was a blank, impassive Empress, intentionally so, and her slim, cutting soprano also sounds otherworldly. It’s a very German sort of sound, somewhat squeezed and instrumental. The highest notes were difficult for her, and her enunciation of the words was not very clear, particularly for a native speaker. Overall, I found her performance of this role in Salzburg a few years ago more satisfying.

In contrast, Christine Goerke’s Dyer’s Wife was earthy and personable. This has been a major career breakthrough for her, with the kind of singing where we ask where she has been for the last five years (the answer does not involve an Incongruous Former Profession like morning radio host or roller skate saleswoman, she’s been singing in Europe, plus the Foreign Princess at the Met a few years ago). Her voice has an all-encompassing size and dark, rich color, best in the middle and bottom. She can blast out the high notes, too, as in the end of Act 2, which was great. Her Dyer’s Wife is a shy, unsatisfied housewife–a drastically different interpretation from the high octane Evelyn Herlitzius in Salzburg. I must admit I found Herlitzius’s edgy, intense singing more viscerally exciting, but Goerke is sure a whole lot more accurate and reliable, as well as more likable. (They are a textbook example of Ethan Mordden’s typology of the “Stimmdiva”–Goerke–versus the “Kunstdiva”–Herlitzius.)

The other singers were less notable, though all were pretty good. Ildikó Komlósi sounded worn and shrill as the Nurse, but this role is not exactly a walk in the park. Torsten Kerl coped with the high-lying role of the Emperor capably and reasonably musically (he repeatedly gets the opera’s One Big Tune, representing his and the Empress’s first encounter and the choice of the postshow subway sax/flute player), but did nothing resembling acting and his voice sounds a little on the small side. Johan Reuter made a very human Barak, but also a very lyrical one, and was not ideally audible. Richard Paul Fink as the Spirit Messenger was rather better on the volume front, and countertenor (!) Andrey Nemzer was alarmingly loud as the other messenger. The Young Man and the Falcon were both amplified, and sounded quite artificial.

Of course the orchestra is one of the main stars of any Frau, so I’m sorry to have arrived here last. Vladimir Jurowski conducted a beautifully delineated, controlled, very vertical account of the score. I heard lots of details and the singers were only occasionally drowned out. He is restrained, saving the full Straussian power for a few big moments. I kind of wish he were less parsimonious? It was a very beautiful and elegant reading, but Strauss is not a composer who thrives on frugality, and I would have appreciated a bit more sonic extravagance. (Caveat: I was in the damn rear orchestra again, where acoustics are bad. If i didn’t have so much work, I’d go again and sit in the Family Circle.) I also missed the momentum of Christian Thielemann’s Salzburg rendition, which I preferred by a small margin.

But this is nonetheless a musically distinguished and scenically remarkable production; go see it.

Photos copyright Ken Howard/Met.

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Norma again: Some Gaul

Like any good New York opera fan, I heeded the calls of prominent persons and went to go see Angela Meade and Jamie Barton headline the second cast of Norma last week. (Sorry that I’m slow to write, but some people indicated they were still interested so I figured better late than never.) I arrived with high expectations, but I only saw one breakthrough, not two.

Angela Meade sounds like she finds Norma a more natural fit than Sondra Radvanovsky did. Perhaps her singing sounds easier, period. She’s got a sweet, silky tone that slides easily through the coloratura and still has the force to fill the house. She struggled with breath in “Casta diva,” cutting several phrases short, but improved over the course of the evening and showed real force in the final scene. She’s fairly musical and varied her vocal color more than I have heard from her before, but has a bit of a tic when it comes to high notes, singing many of them pp, a few ff, and few anywhere in between.

But if her singing appears effortless, her acting is anything but. She is trying, but it’s a matter of indicating rather than embodying, and was rarely convincing. Most problematic were the several times where she brandished her dagger at someone–her children, etc.–where I never believed in the least she could stab anyone. I was up in the very last row of the Family Circle (more on that in a little bit), which is a bad place to see acting at all, but I could still detect a severe charisma and conviction deficit. So while this was a vocally successful Norma, and that’s nothing to sneeze at, it was not a particularly moving one.

But Jamie Barton’s Adalgisa was a complete performance. Her voice is large, not Stephanie Blythe-giant but big for this role. She’s got a dense, voluptuous, viola-like mezzo and not only phrases elegantly but sings with genuine dramatic intent and direction, and from what I could tell from up in the rafters is an expressive actress as well. The tessitura of Act 2 seemed a little high for her, but she got out that high C just fine. It was an exciting performance and I think we can expect more great things from her very soon. (Watch a video of her singing at the end of this post.)

As Pollione, Aleksandrs Antonenko was a holdover from the first cast. He was rather better this time around–still blunt, but less clumsy. You can read my thoughts on the crappiness of the production here.

It had been months since I had been up in the back of the Family Circle. Student tickets have been available for almost everything recently and they are (counting fees) less expensive, plus you get to see and don’t have to plan far in advance. But those seats are often in the back corners of the orchestra, where the sound is drab. I kind of forgot how glorious the acoustic is up high: you trade visual presence for aural presence. The further away it looks, the closer it sounds. It makes me wonder to what extent the size of the Met has been a determining factor in the house’s production aesthetic, beyond the difficulties of filling the large stage. Some of the most noisy and devoted patrons—though probably not the richest ones—are sitting where the architecture renders the visual aspects secondary. (Unless you go for the scenic equivalent of carpet bombing, and, well, who is the house’s signature director?) There is a certain school of thought that defines creative production and acting primarily as compensation for less than distinguished singing. While I am sure they found this Norma overall more satisfying than I did, I think that’s a limiting view and really a shame.

I will be missing the first FroSch later this week because I will be in Pittsburgh at the American Musicological Society’s annual meeting (do say hi if you’re there, readers). I’ll catch up with the Empress, Barak, and the gang next week.

Bellini, Norma. Metropolitan Opera, 10/28/2013.

Here’s Jamie, from last year’s Tucker Gala (which I wrote about here):

Photo copyright Marty Sohl/Met.

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