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Prima la musica, poi le parole
Thoughts, reviews and diva worship — a life operatic in Sydney, Australia
Updated: 1 year 5 weeks ago When digital technologies unite, how happy their stateThose who disapprove of my incorporating Twitter into this blog should avert their eyes now: you won't like this. Now, if you're still reading, you might like to know that I've decided to mark the opening of Opera Australia's Winter Season with a bit of an experiment: for the first time, I'm going to try Twittering/Tweeting (I'm still not sure of the verb) from the opera. Let me make this very clear: not during the performance. That's something which a few people around the internet have been suggesting but I could never ever do it. No. But before, and during interval, and perhaps on the train ride home? That I think I might be able to manage. And it might even be quite fun. So, join me if you wish: as usual, my latest updates will appear in the sidebar to your right; and if you want to see more — or if you prefer a slightly larger font size — my full Twitter profile and feed are here.One more thing: I'm attempting, maybe a bit optimistically but maybe not, to establish a hashtag for Opera Australia discussion. For the last couple of days, I've tagged most of my OA-related updates with "#oa2009". So if anyone else out there is in the Twitterverse (yes, I said it, sorry) and happens to be posting messages about this year's season, I'd warmly invite you to use the same tag. Then anyone could search #oa2009 and see what was being said. Wouldn't that be nice? Anyway, the fatal hour comes on apace and it's time I put my heels on and boarded a train to Circular Quay. See you there, perhaps. Breaking newsOpera Australia has just announced that Lisa Gasteen has withdrawn from their upcoming production of Fidelio due to an ongoing neck injury. She'll be replaced as Leonora by Nicole Youl. “We are however thrilled that Nicole Youl has accepted our invitation to perform this role at such short notice. Miss Youl has enjoyed great success in several major roles in recent years, including Cio-Cio-San in Madama Butterfly, Mimì in La bohème, Lenora in Il trovatore and earlier this year Santuzza in Cavalleria rusticana,” he said. Marie who?The other night I posted a couple of links on Twitter to a soprano named Marie Te Hapuku. I was about to twitter further about her but then decided I'd rather give her a proper blog post: so here it is. I came across Marie sort of accidentally, searching YouTube in an idle moment for clips of New Zealand singers. The first result was a video of her singing Bernstein's "A Julia de Burgos" at St Andrew's on the Terrace in Wellington (source of quite a treasure trove of New Zealand musicians on YouTube, including Dunedin's Own Michael Gray) which I promptly watched, thinking: Marie Te Hapuku? Never heard of her. The opening phrases didn't grab me; but then the rest of it very much did. I was really very taken with her, and so naturally, I followed the link in the description to her official site, still wondering who this Marie Te Hapuku was and I'd never heard of her. Until I reached the Biography page of her site, looked at the photo, and had a flash of recognition. Because it turns out that Marie Te Hapuku — as has no doubt been long known to every single New Zealand opera fan except me — used to be Marie Adele Macarthur. And I haven't just heard of Marie Adele Macarthur, I've heard her. In the flesh. Three times. Marie Adele was Donna Elvira in the 2005 NZ Opera Don Giovanni which I travelled to two different cities to hear.Looking again at the clips from that St Andrew's recital, I feel I ought to have recognised her; but then, I wasn't expecting to. And maybe I should have recognised her voice, but the truth is that, although she was a very good Elvira, she certainly didn't strike me then as she does now. There are probably various reasons for that: repertoire, setting, my own changing tastes and — last but not least — the fact that I attended those three performances in divadienst pursuit of the Anna, Patricia Wright. I still don't know that I'd choose Marie as my ideal Elvira — I prefer a leaner and silverier voice —but in the big Verdi repertoire, which, now as then, seems to be her true operatic bread and butter, I'm finding I like her a lot. YouTube also contains film of her in Aida and Stiffelio, and her big, warm, expansive sound is hugely appealing. Likewise in the audio provided on her website, which includes not only a rather exciting "Merci, jeunes amies" but also a thoroughly disarming "Pokarekare Ana". I'm not proclaiming a new grand passion here. So why the big blog post? Just the pleasure of a new discovery, really — even if that new discovery has turned out to be a rediscovery. And I regret slightly having missed the boat four years ago. Now, here I am, slow on the uptake as ever and wondering what might lie ahead for her. The only two upcoming engagements listed on her website have been and gone and she's not, as far as I can see, listed for anything on Operabase. Still, I hope that she's got her fair share of glory ahead of her. And I have to say, I think Opera Australia could do a lot worse than to try and get their hands on this voice. After all this, a video of the lady in question seems in order. Here she is singing Aida's "O patria mia" in Phoenix last year. Many more clips to be found here. Magdalena Kožená: Vivaldi AriasMagdalena Kožená and I have an agreement. I buy all her CDs; she makes sure I never regret doing so. The system works very well indeed. I own and regularly listen to all of her recital discs, and while I wouldn't necessarily recommend every single one of them to every single person on the planet — her Handel, for instance (the Italian cantatas or the recent operatic arias disc) is not, I think, to everybody's taste — as far as I'm concerned she's a bit of a golden girl. She has done no wrong, or at least no deadly serious wrong. Magdalena's latest solo disc is of Vivaldi arias. I'm pleased to say neither of us has reneged on the deal: she's great, and I love the CD. I didn't fall for it all at once and in a heap, as I have for some of her others but in its odd, eerie little way, this one has been steadily snaking its way into my psyche and I'm finding it more compelling with each listening. That's not to say it's flawless. The idiosyncrasies of her singing are pretty well established now, and they don't look like going anywhere, so those not enamoured of her voice or stylistic tendencies will probably not have their minds changed by this album. At just under 78 minutes, it's also, let's face it, too long. I think this is why it's taken a few hearings for this one to creep up on me. Like it or not, and as magnificent as many of them are, Vivaldi's arias do not have the dramatic individuality of, say, Mozart's or Handel's. Taken in isolation, they'll often reveal real richness and expressive detail, but shoulder to shoulder like this, a hint of sameishness inevitably emerges. It's to Magdalena's credit that that sameishness doesn't take over completely. Her direct, heartfelt engagement and the dusky loveliness of her voice have a knack for hooking you back in and bringing the music to life, just as you're starting to think one slow, plaintive Vivaldi aria is much like any other. And when she hits one of her relatively few flurries of coloratura insanity, it's with such pizzazz and apparent fearlessness that one can't help but sit up and take notice.She has commented that the advantage to selecting repertoire for this disc was that there were no compulsory "hits", but I'd argue that that's not entirely true: people like Cecilia Bartoli (are there people like Cecilia Bartoli?) have made some of Vivaldi's arias, if not hits, at least a bit better known than the rest. Luckily, several such arias have made the cut. Not the irresistible "Sventurata navicella", Cecilia's best encore from her filmed Vivaldi concert; but the extraordinary "Gelido in ogni vena" is there — a long and harrowing vision of a father confronted with the realisation that he has ordered the death of his own son. It's hard to forget Cecilia in this aria: her performances of it are incredibly moving, both musically and visually, as is the film from recording sessions for it, where she looks simply torn apart by the end of it. At first glance, Magdalena's plainer approach seems a little on the cool side; but the sheer directness and simplicity has begun to get to me, and in their own pared-back way, they're just as affecting as Cecilia's heart on her sleeve. There is also an aria which is not a hit but should be, and maybe Magdalena will make it so. I'd never heard the adorable "Solo quella guancia bella" from La verita in cimento and I fell in love with it immediately: just a simple little declaration of love, but with a bouncy rhythm and infectious tune that can't help but make you smile. She strides powerfully, if not always precisely, through the militant fireworks of "Armatae face et anguibus" from Juditha triumphans (another Cecilia hit, not to mention Fiona Campbell's fantastic rendition in Pinchgut Opera's 2007 production) and "Anderò, volerò, griderò". And while I must be honest and confess that, sitting here and looking at the tracklist, I couldn't tell you which of the slow arias is which, I can say with equal honesty that she brings her special brand of truth and beauty to all of them. These are static arias, mostly, and Magdalena wisely concentrates on their emotional, rather than narrative, content. She hones in upon the expressive centre of an aria and settles there for the duration, singing with unwavering focus, luminous tone and — I keep coming back to this word — a sense of truthfulness. The complicated family histories, military victories and amorous adventures of Vivaldi's heroes and heroines don't, for once, need to be deciphered: what you need to know is, for the most part, there in her voice. Andrea Marcon and the Venice Baroque Orchestra are with her every step of the way, supporting and enhancing the refined intensity of these performances just as vividly as they did the explosive extremes of her Handel arias. This Vivaldi recital might not burst with colour and vitality as Cecilia's does, but Magdalena has struck her own, very different path to the heart of this music, and it's an intriguing and quite beautiful one to pursue alongside her. Magdalena sings VivaldiI had hoped to write something about Magdalena Kozena's new disc of Vivaldi arias, but time and my modem have conspired against me. So that will have to wait until (I hope) tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll let Magdalena do the talking...
...and the singing.
Reviewing the situationI noticed this press release [PDF] on the Opera Australia website last night, and now this morning The Age and The Australian have the full story. Opera Australia chairman Ziggy Switkowski has ordered "a three-month top-to-bottom review of all its current and future operations", to be carried by "yet-to-be appointed external management consultants". A few choice quotes from The Age:Switkowski said a "fresh set of eyes" would look at how the company could be more efficient with its government funding ... but the review will also look at management structures, programming schedules, repertoire, and marketing strategies. And this could be promising: [T]he review of the OA's communication strategy would look at alternatives to advertising in traditional media in favour of more website, email, texting and YouTube communication. Not to mention this! "Another decision is whether we should be advertising the brilliance of our opera stars and give them bigger public profiles in how we communicate. I think there is a good case for that," Switkowski said. To which I say: Yes! Finally! About time we stopped burying the very real, if not Netrebko-wattage, star power among our ensemble and associate artists in tiny-print cast lists! This, too, is worth noting: The OA board has interviewed a shortlist of local and foreign applicants for the role of artistic director after the death of music director Richard Hickox last year. The board will interview a final shortlist of two by the end of the month. Exciting stuff. Meanwhile, both articles carry assurances from Ziggy that Adrian Collette's job is safe. And in related news, Switkowski has also announced new policies on board selection. The full article is here. And the crucial paragraph: The OA has declared that its board members should be appointed for two three-year terms and this can be only extended for another term with unanimous board support. It has also stated that its board membership should be limited to 10 members, with an equal number of men and women. The board should have no more than five members from the same city, at least three members should have arts industry experience, and skills in arts marketing and fund-raising were needed. This ought to make a few people a bit happier, I should think. Winterson of my discontentSince I can't seem to think of anything to write about, I might as well argue with Jeanette Winterson. That's not an obscure figure of speech: I really do have a bone to pick with her. Flicking through this month's Gramophone, I came across Jeanette's (sorry, I don't feel scholarly enough tonight to call her "Winterson) little article at the back, the usual "Classical Music and Me" kind of spot. It's pretty innocuous stuff and this is not some kind of vitriolic taking to task. She likes Wagner and Natalie Clein and other things and good for her; she's just edited a collection of opera-themed short stories (called Midsummer Nights) so I suppose in some ways she and I are probably kindred spirits. But. There's one comment she makes which bothered me. And it still bothers me. She said she detests (I think that was her word — I don't have the magazine here to check) surtitles in opera. She thinks they get in the way of what she deems the essential experience of opera, which she describes as "surrendering". Even leaving aside for now the obvious absurdity of trying to encapsulate the operatic experience in a single concept, let alone a single word — not to mention the mistake of imagining that what you consider the essence of opera is, or should be, the essence of everybody else's experience too — I cannot entirely comprehend this wholesale dismissal of surtitles.She thinks they get in the way. And she says, blithely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, that you don't really need them anyway, because you can figure out what's going on onstage by reading up on the story beforehand. (I'm paraphrasing here, but only slightly.) I confess, I am amazed. I would have thought of all people, a writer, somebody to whom the sublime complexity language is presumably a vital concern, would see that surtitles have a great deal to offer. Maybe they can present an occasional visual or mental obstacle, but let's not forget the huge obstacle they clear away — as far as possible, they remove the language barrier. Surtitles allow us to appreciate more than just the broad strokes which a synopsis provides: they give us all the detail. Yes, the music on its own says a hell of a lot — I'd never say otherwise — but there is a reason opera uses music and words. The words — the specific words which that librettist chose and that composer set, the words which that character is singing and that singer is interpreting — matter. And OK, maybe they don't matter to everybody as much as they do to me. Despite the title of this blog, I've no desire to rehash the ancient parole/musica argument, and having admonished Jeanette for doing so, I'm not now going to try and tell you that my approach to opera should be everybody else's. I'm extremely surprised, though, that she's happy to dismiss surtitles like this without admitting even the possibility of their contributing in a very meaningful and life-enhancing way to the operatic experience of many people. What I really can't get over is her suggestion that the purpose of surtitles can be served equally well by merely boning up on the plot ahead of time. As if a broad strokes understanding of the story were all that anyone could need. As if all the complex dialogue or lyric poetry or punning wit of a libretto (even a mediocre one) serve to do is add a bit more detail to a story whose full richness can still be understood from a programme note or your handy Grove. Would Jeanette suggest that reading the Wikipedia synopsis of Pride & Prejudice is as rich an experience as reading the novel, or that downloading a pixelated Artchive image of an Ingres is as good as seeing it in a gallery? Should we check IMDb and then watch foreign films without subtitles? Are the Cliffs Notes all we need after all? No, I don't for a moment imagine she'd advocate anything of the sort. An appreciation of the details, and of the style in which those details are realised, can vastly enhance our appreciation of the whole. In opera, surtitles are a fantastic way to reveal those details, and yet she urges their removal. It's beyond me. Just think what we would lose if we functioned along the lines she's apparently suggesting. The poetic humanity of the Marschallin's "Da geht er hin". The ins and outs of Gregor v Prus. The contradictory yet curiously well-rhymed sentiments of a Rossini ensemble. The jokes in Figaro — imagine the poor singers, too, performing a comedy to an audience who can only laugh at visual humour. Even the most shameless showpiece of a rum-ti-tum bel canto rondo e scena makes a bit more sense when we can understand more than just a vague emotion, and what's the good of an old-fashioned "Sangue!" if we don't know what that man shaking his fist is actually bellowing? It's true that all of these things can be appreciated without surtitles — if one understands the language. And many of us do, whether by study or osmosis. That's not necessarily an option for everybody or at every moment, though; surtitles ensure that all the thrills of a nuanced operatic text are available to everybody who wants or needs them. Maybe reading them does prevent the exact romantic "surrender" which Jeanette desires (and requires?) but her surrender is not necessarily yours or mine, nor is surrender necessarily what we're seeking. I also have trouble agreeing that reading does absolutely prohibit fullblown intoxication. And if it does, you can always just not read them. There's no need to dislike them or wish them away — they're not compulsory, so just ignore them. Lord knows, I do. Most of the seats I book don't let me see them anyway. If it's something I'm particularly obsessed with, then I'll do my best to learn the text beforehand: that, for me, is the only real replacement for surtitles. Whether I do without them or not, and whether I can see them or not, I'm very happy indeed that they're there. Opera isn't what I say it is, or what Jeanette Winterson says it is, or in fact what anybody says it is. It's whatever you, in the moment, know it is. There are all kinds of ways and means to appreciate it, to understand it, to love it madly. Surtitles are now an important part of that for a lot of people. I believe their potential to enrich the operatic experience far outweighs their potential to distract. Jeanette believes otherwise. But at least my blogging drought is broken at last. Take that, Winterson. ElinaI've already posted links to it here and on Twitter. But Wanderer has reminded me just how brilliant this little video is, so pardon the repetition (and my one-track mind — but you're used to that) as I now embed it. This is the official Nederlandse Opera trailer for their Vec Makropulos. It features conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin and our own Cheryl Barker, looking even more Pre-Raphaelite than usual in her red wig and singing the living daylights out of Janacek's excruciatingly wonderful music. I also like the part where she bites a man (Jaroslav Prus?) on the neck. And for the millionth time, I Want To Be In Amsterdam. Forever youngUpdate 21.5.09: Seems I don't need to play aggregator. The Nederlandse Opera website is doing it for me, supplying all the assistance a sad tragic devotee such as I could ask for to make up for the agony of not being there. They've got reviews (in Dutch, but short version: they love her — of course), a selection of extremely gorgeous photos (be still my beating heart!) and even a YouTube video which, being stuck on dial up internet, I haven't yet seen, but as soon as I hit "save" on this post, you can guess where I'm heading next. Thank god for the internet: until the opera fairy pays my fare to Amsterdam, these tantalising glimpses are my only sustenance. Anyway, it's not about me, it's about Cheryl, who is proving yet again how gloriously sensational she is. As always, brava, and vive la reine. A slightly belated toi toi toi and all that to Our Own Cheryl Barker, who opened in the Netherlands Opera's production of Vec Makropulos last night. And while Amsterdam basks in the glow of Cheryl's devastatingly gorgeous Marty, I'm on holiday in the frozen depths of New Zealand, awaiting reports of her blazing success. So I'll post links to reviews and so on here and on Twitter as I find them (can't resist) but beyond that, probably not a vast amount of blogging until I get back to Sydney at the end of the month. Les oiseaux dans la charmilleThis is just a quick note to officially acknowledge what you've probably already noticed: after a long period of resistance, I have finally succumbed (thanks mostly to the #operaplot experience) to the dark pit of addiction that is Twitter. I don't blame you if you disapprove. All I will say in my defence — and you might have suspected as much from its inclusion in the sidebar — is that I promise not to use it to broadcast the minutiae of my boring domestic existence. My plan is to restrict my Twittering (that might not be the correct verb — I'm very new at this) to matters at least tangentially operatic: all the little thoughts and links and bits of trivia which are either too brief to blog about at all, or which end up buried in list posts under the heading "Various". Otherwise I doubt it will have much effect on either the frequency or content of my usual blogging. So there it is. Prima la musica has entered the Twittersphere and you are welcome — but most certainly not obliged — to follow me there. Les mamelles de TirésiasI love Francis Poulenc madly. I haven't entirely forgiven him for only writing three operas, but he's still one of my top six operatic composers. Alas, chances to see any of those three operas staged in this country are pretty maigre on the ground. Opera Australia did do a short, Melbourne-only season of La voix humaine in 2006, but they haven't staged Les dialogues des Carmélites since 1984 and I don't know that they've ever done the zaniest of the trio, Les mamelles de Tirésias. But there is, of course, life beyond the national company, and the Sydney Conservatorium proved the point this weekend with its own staging of Les mamelles. I think even a less than wonderful production of this opera could still have made me happy: ordinary Poulenc is still Poulenc, after all, and the libretto of Les mamelles is so magnificently mad that you would have to work very hard indeed to ruin its humour. Maybe that's true and maybe it's not — I can safely say all of this because the Con's production was wonderful. Director Narelle Yeo did a beautiful job of animating everything that is fabulous and surreal about this opera, proving along the way that a low production budget is no obstacle to brilliance, and Philip Chu led the orchestra through a lively reading of the score, any lack of polish nicely compensated by the sheer sense of fun. I adored every moment. I laughed till I cried. I wish I could tell you why but I'm it won't translate. You had to be there.And that's only one side of the story. An utterly delightful production only takes you so far — you need a strong cast of singers, too, and the Con happily provided this in spades. Tenor Michael Butchard was simply gorgeous as the Husband, singing stylishly and resplendent in his housewife drag. I loved his helpless perplexity in the face of his wife's sudden transformation, and he was hilarious as an overworked mother of thousands, alternately cooing at and throwing his babies. Simone Easthope was a suitably glamorous and over-the-top Thérèse, and pulled off her spectacularly demanding Act I aria with aplomb. Jonathan Alley showed off a striking stage presence and equally striking baritone in his delivery of the Theatre Director's Prologue. David Commisso (in a pink hat) and Simon Halligan (in a fat suit) had a rollicking good time as M. Lacouf and M. Presto respectively, a pair of cartoonish cowboys; Commisso's singing in particular was some of the most impressive of the evening. There was a variety of ever more surreal cameos: Celeste Haworth as a literally (and disconcertingly) two faced Newspaper Vendor; Lorenzo Rositano as the incredulous Reporter; Jennifer Bonner and Eleanor Lyons as the latest Son (a pair of tuxedoed hoofers); Rachel Bate as a very diva-ish Elegant Lady; and Alison Manifold (Large Woman) and David Hidden (Bearded Man) as a good, child-bearing couple who looked like something out of Punch and Judy. But as usual, I'm ignoring conventional review hierarchy and saving my personal favourite till last — the show-stealing John Donohoe as the Gendarme. I loved John in Rodelinda last month but this performance was even better. His singing was rich and expressive and he was outrageously funny, playing both the Gendarme and — through the miracle of costuming — his own ostrich. Yes, ostrich: that's what he rode in on, not a hobby horse as in the libretto. It was a stroke of genius and Donohoe exploited it to perfection — even in the background, his antics were hard not to watch. The memory of this burly baritone tiptoeing about in silver tights (ostrich legs, you understand) while fixing a lascivious eye on the housedress-clad Husband is not likely to fade anytime soon; likewise his superb vocal assurance. This is a bit of a rave: giving a singer a paragraph to himself is generally a sign that I've officially become a fan. John Donohoe is definitely going on my Watchlist. The illegible surtitles were a bit of a drawback. But this wasn't their fault — the Music Workshop is clearly in need of a better projector — and frankly, what good are surtitles in an opera as nutty as this? It still wouldn't make much sense and nor should it: that's part of its charm. My only other problem isn't really a problem at all: I just wish the season could have been longer. There were just two performances — one for each cast — and I wasn't able to make it to the second. I would love to see this show again, with either cast. It was a total delight. And I'd still very much like Opera Australia to have a bash at it — but whether they could beat this one for sheer joyous insanity, I don't know. [Meanwhile, you might be wondering what became of the other young singers' concert I attended recently. So I'll just be upfront and tell you now that I won't be blogging about it. Sydney Lyric Opera is what it is and can do what it likes, but on the basis of that gala, it's not something I can write about without coming across as either far more gentle or far more brutal than is entirely fair. We'll see what the future brings, but that's how things is for the time being.] Sydney Lyric OperaI know that I have a talent for being slow on the uptake, but all the same, I was surprised to find that I'd failed to notice the creation of a brand new Sydney opera company until just days before its launch — almost too late to book. In fact, it was only a spot of tangentially related Googling which led me to this article in the Brisbane Times — otherwise I'd possibly still be in the dark. Anyway, in a nutshell: tonight at the Independent Theatre in North Sydney, the newly created Sydney Lyric Opera will launch its 2009 season with a gala concert of highlights from Tosca and Cavalleria Rusticana. The concept is pretty bare bones: concert performances of standard repertoire in highlights format. Hardly cutting edge, but it's intriguing nonetheless, and anything which 1. presents affordable opera and 2. gives developing artists a chance to sing core repertoire is (theoretically anyway) to be encouraged. As far as I can tell, accompaniment is piano only: their musical director is a pianist, no orchestra is named anywhere and besides, I can't see an orchestra fitting comfortably into the Independent Theatre. Their first season includes six operas: Tosca, Cavalleria Rusticana, La bohème, Lucia di Lammermoor, Roméo et Juliette and La Traviata. Yes, it seems they're getting through practically all the hits in one season. But perhaps the money they're saving on orchestra, sets and costumes might translate in future seasons to a few more risks in repertoire — I'd like to see something more like a half-and-half programme, three old favourites and three quirkier choices.I can't claim to recognise any of the names among the performers, but that's not entirely surprising and nor is it discouraging: in fact there's a particular thrill in seeing a performance full of unknown quantities, and their qualifications are a reasonable assurance that it won't be disastrous. I do share Elke Neidhardt's concerns (as quoted in the above linked article) about choosing such big and challenging repertoire for relatively young and inexperienced singers (their Tosca, for instance, is, to judge by her résumé, a light lyric soprano with nothing very spinto about her) but at the same time, I think the circumstances of the performance probably prevent this being a major concern — a selection of arias and ensembles in concert with piano is quite a different creature to singing the whole role on stage with orchestra. My only real misgiving is the marketing. I mean, I don't claim to be at the centre of Sydney's performing arts world, but I thought I was reasonably aware of operatic goings on in this city, so it seems strange to me that I only learnt about this company's impending launch via a news article, and that I still haven't seen any other real publicity about it. Where's the press release? The splashy email advertisement? The posters and pamphlets scattered through your local classical music retaile? The listing, at the very least, in 2MBS's Fine Lines newsletter? If somebody who spends as much time in opera-related internetting as I do only learns about this at the last minute and by accident, how do you catch more casual passers-by? (Although, I've just checked the booking site and it seems they're more or less sold out, so they must have found them somewhere.) The website, too, needs some work. Yes, it's relatively clean and tidy and not an incoherent mess, but the graphic style of it does not say to me: Young, Shiny New Opera Company. It looks like the website of a company that's been around for several years and could do with a bit of an update. And I have an aversion to Flash heavy sites: I don't want to sit around waiting for it to load, and I don't need pageflipping animations every time I click on a link. The scrolling buttons within windows are too slow, the text is tiny, and the fact that it's all Flash makes it impossible to copy and paste that text or to link to individual pages. It would be nice, too, if the "Season" link offered dates at the very least for the six upcoming productions, even if their casts haven't been decided. And on a related note, a friendly hint: applying a Photoshop filter to another company's production still (the Graham Vick Lucia with Natalie, the Netrebazon Bohème film, Angela's Traviata at La Scala) doesn't make it your image. It still needs the proper permissions and credits. As, I suspect, does that Tosca illustration, which I'm sure I've seen somewhere before. This probably sounds like unnecessarily cruel carping at a fragile young company, but believe me, I say it all out of love and good wishes — I want nothing more than for this company to succeed and be special, and, especially these days, a good website which reflects, promotes and enhances the quality of your company is very important indeed. All that said, it's still a darn sight better than the unnavigable mess that was Opera Australia's website before its spiffy revamp. Ma basta. I don't want to start drawing conclusions about this company before it's even begun. And I do hope that the above doesn't come across as negative. As I say, I wish nothing but joy and success for Sydney Lyric Opera. I welcome as many new opera companies as the city can sustain: it's about time we competed with Melbourne, which seems to have about a million small-to-medium companies doing all kinds of things, from Top Ten Hits to übermodern to magnificent obscurities. And even if Sydney Lyric's opening repertoire isn't massively exciting, the mere fact that somebody's had the guts and drive to actually start a new opera company is exciting. I hope the venture proves a brilliant success, and I'll be there tomorrow evening to see it all begin. Plots thickenAfter weeks of resistance, I finally succumbed last night to the operablogosphere's latest craze, The Omniscient Mussel's #operaplot game. For the 3 people in the world who've not heard about it yet, the idea is briefly this: via Twitter, summarise an opera in no more than 130 characters. The competition has been running for a while now and closes tomorrow afternoon Sydney time. The initial limit of 10 entries per person has now been lifted, but since the ideas haven't been flowing nearly as easily for me as they apparently have for some others, I think 10 will do for now. And since I'm at a loss right now for anything decent and substantial to blog about, I'm afraid I will fall back on old tricks and offer a list in lieu of content.
So, with apologies for any and all cringeworthiness, my #operaplot contributions are as follows: 1. Soluble, voluble sprite prays to moon for love. Gets wish and legs. Loses voice and the boy. Comes to a Grimm end. 2. It's just like The Sound of Music, but with ghosts & Freudian angst instead of schmaltz & Nazis. And the kids are even creepier. 3. Contestant on macabre Hungarian gameshow ignores all hints from the host and opens one mystery door too many. 4. PTSD victim? Shampoo ad? Bluebeard's ex? Or maybe she's just not that into you. Ask your brother. 5. 19yo SWF seeks Croat 4 marriage of love/convenience. No ties except 1 v. confused sister. R U my Mr Right? Photo on request. 6. Treehugger jilts transvestite & chases brother's girl. Girl's sister helps: she wants the brother. Springer: The Opera? Not yet. 7. Noble lady trapped in harem of surprisingly complex Pasha. Will her fiancé get to her before Stockholm syndrome does? 8. Mother-in-law from hell drives her son's frustrated young wife into the arms of another, into madness and into the Volga. 9. Parisian mistress rings ex for long and painful chat. Kills herself when she realises he'll never pay her phone bill again. 10. Amatory lepidopterist traps fragile specimen among Nagasaki cherry blossoms. Fumbling to release her, he crushes her instead. CongratulationsWinner of the 2009 Lexus Song Quest is soprano Aivale Cole. Bass Wade Kernot was runner-up and soprano Julia Booth took third place. Alas, I wasn't able to listen to the streamed broadcast of the competition, so I have no real idea of how any of the six finalists performed or whether these placements would have matched my own experience. But judging by their ages and repertoire, the clips provided by the NZ Festival website and various reports/buzz I've heard regarding each of them, this result doesn't surprise me too much. Cole's in particular seems like an "about time" kind of victory. Congrats to all involved, those who placed and those who didn't. And many thanks to commenter Charlotte, who reported the results to me within minutes of the announcement. Meanwhile......bass Richard Alexander has found the best use yet for Bunnings. ...finals of the Lexus Song Quest will be held in Auckland tonight, with Siegfried Jerusalem adjudicating. Serious brownie points to anybody who manages to get the results to me before they make it to Google News. ...reviews for Opera Australia's new production in Melbourne of Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi are appearing and are mostly positive. See: The Australian | The Age | Australian Stage Online ...congrats to New Zealand's Own Anna Leese TM for a successful Canadian début as Musetta for the Canadian Opera Company and a warmly received new recital disc of Haydn songs. ...the always wonderful Jacqui Dark has made it (as Aksinya in Lady M) to Opera Chic. ...this will seem like a question out of nowhere, but does anybody know what became of the Sydney Symphony's plans to release the recording of their 2007 Don John of Austria on CD? Presumably they've been scrapped, which is hardly surprising, I suppose, but a shame nevertheless. I'd have loved a permanent souvenir of such an entertaining evening, and am still kicking myself for missing the radio broadcast. But perhaps I'm the only one. Green Room AwardsWinners were announced last night. Not surprisingly, Opera Australia won eight of ten categories in the opera division and half of those — quite rightly — were for the divine Arabella. It shares the Best Production award alongside Victorian Opera's L'incoronazione di Poppea and also won John Cox the Best Direction prize for John Cox. (His Un ballo di maschera is cited too, but that was a revival rehearsed by Luise Napier and come on, it's all about Arabella.) Amelia Farrugia is best supporting female for her turn as Oscar in Ballo, while Kanen Breen picks best supporting male for both his Cassio (Otello) and his Elemer (Arabella) — personally I'd give it to him just for Cassio, but the more nods for Arabella the better. It also received awards for scenery and costumes (Robert Perdziola) and lighting (Donn Byrnes). Best new operatic work is Alan John's Through the Looking Glass (with libretto by Andrew Upton), staged by Victorian Opera in collaboration with the Malthouse Theatre. Best conductor, interestingly enough, is for a real rarity: Peter Tregear, who led IOpera's production of the Duchess Anna Amalia's Erwin und Elmire. But of course I've saved my personal best for last. Best Male in a Leading Role is — who else? — Jonathan Summers as Iago. And Best Female in a Leading Role? Why, it's the one and only Cheryl Barker. Bravi tutti. See the full list of nominees and recipients here. La sonnambulaWhen I missed the only possible train two weekends ago, I thought I'd blown my chances of seeing the Met's La sonnambula for good. But fate was in my favour for once, and a glitch in that session meant the broadcast was re-screened last weekend. It meant going to a different theatre and buying a second ticket, but so what? Natalie alone is worth far more than that, and besides, I was determined to see this production. Anything which generates as much controversy as Mary Zimmermann's production of La sonnambula did on its opening night has to have something going for it. And so it does. I'm not about to defend this show from all the criticism it drew. A good deal of it was reasonably well founded, and those who outright hated are hardly likely to have their minds changed by a biased little creature like me. But personally, I loved it. Zimmermann's "let's set Opera X in a rehearsal of Opera X!" concept is not exactly new. Nor is it consistently logical. I don't care. I enjoyed this Sonnambula more than I thought I could enjoy a Sonnambula. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was wonderfully sung and acted, and for (almost) every questionable decision or nonsensical moment, there was one of beauty and insight.I even liked the finale, where the cast finally dons their ridiculously twee Swiss villager costumes and stages a cartoonishly traditional Sonnambula. I know this scene troubled even some of those who liked other aspects of the production. It's true it could (and perhaps should) be construed as deliberate mockery of those who might have expected — and preferred — a conventional Sonnambula. But for me — and it's true I was already predisposed to like it, just to be contrary — it felt like a fittingly joyful conclusion. All the anguish and heartbreak is out of the way, the personal backstage politics have been resolved and so this imaginary little opera company can get on with doing what it's there for — a nice production of La sonnambula — and Natalie's troubled Amina/soprano-singing-Amina can unite her personal and artistic happiness in a fun filled finale. Of course, my response might just have been influenced by the extreme adorability of Natalie in her Swiss dress and green shoes. (I want the green shoes.) Oh, Natalie. There was a time when everything I read about Natalie was praise. To the point that I assumed she was being overhyped and was reluctant to listen to her. These days I'm the one praising her left, right and centre, while elsewhere I seem to read more criticism than anything else, not all of it fair. Well, fine, if that's how you feel, but it isn't how I feel. Her voice has changed a lot and a lot of people are not happy about that. I am. I love her, and I love her on her own terms. I don't even want to argue that her acting compensates for any occasional threadbare patches in her voice (although I think it does) because as far as I'm concerned, those patches don't require compensation. I love how she sounds. I just do. And so I adored her Amina. The chance to see Natalie play a variation on her own personality — and, more broadly, to see her play a really and truly modern character — is one of the best things about this production. Even if for nothing else, Zimmerman's concept was worth realising just for that. She was as captivating as she always is, in that way that only Natalie ever is. Amina is loved and adored by almost everyone who comes into contact with her, which is why they're so devastated when it seems like she might not be perfect after all. Natalie's performance — however you choose to understand the Zimmerman/Dessay concept of the character — makes that mass affection believable. She's not just the pretty village maiden. She's fascinating and hilarious and complex and a total sweetheart and...and...and...well, if I lived in her village, I'd be only too happy to put my dirndl on and sing a zippy chorus in her praise. Could she be just as enchanting in a traditional production? I'm sure she could. That's one of my favourite aspects of this production. For all its teasing post-modern nonsense, it's such a strong showcase for the talents of its principal cast that it makes a very convincing case for Sonnambula in any setting as an interesting opera (dramatically and musically) and not just dull organ-grinder fluff. I'm far more inclined now than I ever would have been before to engage with a straightforward Swiss village Sonnambula, because the sheer novelty of Zimmerman's modern conception allowed it to highlight the essential beauty and appeal of the opera without battling contempt-breeding familiarity to do so. And now I know. So I don't have to see every subsequent Sonnambula set in a Manhattan rehearsal room to keep appreciating it, but I'm very glad to have had the chance to see it like that and if this one comes out on DVD, I will buy it in a heartbeat. Despite appearances, I have not forgotten Juan Diego. As if anybody could forget Juan Diego. I think I'd forgotten, since La fille du régiment, just how lovable he is, and then he descended that rehearsal room staircase, and I remembered. Of course, his Elvino is not the puppy-eyed boy Tonio was — he has a bit more bite to him — but he is still as irresistible as ever. I love the way he and Natalie work together. His way of singing is so different from hers, so much more in the strict bel canto tradition, scrupulous and meltingly legato, and his acting, too is a bit more straightforward, still dotted with a few of the old fashioned gestures of which Natalie has so thoroughly rid herself. And all of that is utterly in his favour. Two frenetic modernists together would be too scatty to take. But he has just enough golden age gloss to support her Thoroughly Modern Amina, and meanwhile her hyperrealism rubs off on his Elvino enough to keep him believable. I love them together, both as a pair of characters and as a sonic experience. And — this merits a new paragraph — good lord, how the boy can sing. I must confess that occasionally on disc, I find the edge in his voice a bit too much to take in large doses. But with the space and scope of live performance — even if relayed by satellite — I cannot get enough of that voice. Every little bit of it: the pianissimi, the runs upon runs upon runs, his gorgeous duetting, his depth of expression, all of it is very, very good. Not to mention that note. The one he holds forever, giving the entire chorus time to scuttle offstage before he finally releases it and falls to his knees, to show-stopping applause. It's hard at this point for whatever I add about the rest of the singers to sound anything other than tacked on, which is a shame, because they do deserve much better than that. I was especially mad about Michele Pertusi as the Count, so wonderfully suave and charismatic. Every day I become more of a baritone fanatic, and singers like Pertusi are the reason why. Jennifer Black is a bit of a revelation as Lisa: what a treat (for her and for us) to see this character given so much personality and implied personal history. For all her sharp asides, you can't dismiss her offhand as a bitch: she's too three dimensional for that, and she charts a real psychological development, so that her eventual volte-face actually makes sense. I'd read here and there beforehand about the scene on the windowsill and it was just as lovely a moment as I'd imagined. Jane Bunnell was just the right kind of matronly, bossiness and benevolence balanced nicely. The chorus, too, does a pretty fabulous job — it must be a nice change for them to have a chance to play real individuals (and perhaps themselves) rather than a faceless mob. One quibble: why did everyone show up to the second day of rehearsals in exactly the same outfits they'd worn the previous day? Hah. As if I should be looking for logic in this show. There are people who will tell you that this production was a travesty, a disaster, an abomination. And some of those people will tell you that it makes a mockery of La sonnambula itself, that it destroys the Beautiful Soul of a Bel Canto Gem, or words to that effect. Well, I don't know. Maybe it does. But in my case, it made me appreciate the opera more, not less. Yes, I laughed at it a bit, but it was with affection. I ended up with my opinion of this opera genuinely improved: and whether you think that's because of Zimmerman's ideas or despite them, it seems to me like an undeniably happy ending. Oh. One final note. My heartfelt congratulations to Barbara Willis Sweete, for finally managing to film one of these broadcasts properly. Seems she's finally figured it out. La sonnambulaWhen I missed the only possible train two weekends ago, I thought I'd blown my chances of seeing the Met's La sonnambula for good. But fate was in my favour for once, and a glitch in that session meant the broadcast was re-screened last weekend. It meant going to a different theatre and buying a second ticket, but so what? Natalie alone is worth far more than that, and besides, I was determined to see this production. Anything which generates as much controversy as Mary Zimmermann's production of La sonnambula did on its opening night has to have something going for it. And so it does. I'm not about to defend this show from all the criticism it drew. A good deal of it was reasonably well founded, and those who outright hated are hardly likely to have their minds changed by a biased little creature like me. But personally, I loved it. Zimmermann's "let's set Opera X in a rehearsal of Opera X!" concept is not exactly new. Nor is it consistently logical. I don't care. I enjoyed this Sonnambula more than I thought I could enjoy a Sonnambula. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was wonderfully sung and acted, and for (almost) every questionable decision or nonsensical moment, there was one of beauty and insight.I even liked the finale, where the cast finally dons their ridiculously twee Swiss villager costumes and stages a cartoonishly traditional Sonnambula. I know this scene troubled even some of those who liked other aspects of the production. It's true it could (and perhaps should) be construed as deliberate mockery of those who might have expected — and preferred — a conventional Sonnambula. But for me — and it's true I was already predisposed to like it, just to be contrary — it felt like a fittingly joyful conclusion. All the anguish and heartbreak is out of the way, the personal backstage politics have been resolved and so this imaginary little opera company can get on with doing what it's there for — a nice production of La sonnambula — and Natalie's troubled Amina/soprano-singing-Amina can unite her personal and artistic happiness in a fun filled finale. Of course, my response might just have been influenced by the extreme adorability of Natalie in her Swiss dress and green shoes. (I want the green shoes.) Oh, Natalie. There was a time when everything I read about Natalie was praise. To the point that I assumed she was being overhyped and was reluctant to listen to her. These days I'm the one praising her left, right and centre, while elsewhere I seem to read more criticism than anything else, not all of it fair. Well, fine, if that's how you feel, but it isn't how I feel. Her voice has changed a lot and a lot of people are not happy about that. I am. I love her, and I love her on her own terms. I don't even want to argue that her acting compensates for any occasional threadbare patches in her voice (although I think it does) because as far as I'm concerned, those patches don't require compensation. I love how she sounds. I just do. And so I adored her Amina. The chance to see Natalie play a variation on her own personality — and, more broadly, to see her play a really and truly modern character — is one of the best things about this production. Even if for nothing else, Zimmerman's concept was worth realising just for that. She was as captivating as she always is, in that way that only Natalie ever is. Amina is loved and adored by almost everyone who comes into contact with her, which is why they're so devastated when it seems like she might not be perfect after all. Natalie's performance — however you choose to understand the Zimmerman/Dessay concept of the character — makes that mass affection believable. She's not just the pretty village maiden. She's fascinating and hilarious and complex and a total sweetheart and...and...and...well, if I lived in her village, I'd be only too happy to put my dirndl on and sing a zippy chorus in her praise. Could she be just as enchanting in a traditional production? I'm sure she could. That's one of my favourite aspects of this production. For all its teasing post-modern nonsense, it's such a strong showcase for the talents of its principal cast that it makes a very convincing case for Sonnambula in any setting as an interesting opera (dramatically and musically) and not just dull organ-grinder fluff. I'm far more inclined now than I ever would have been before to engage with a straightforward Swiss village Sonnambula, because the sheer novelty of Zimmerman's modern conception allowed it to highlight the essential beauty and appeal of the opera without battling contempt-breeding familiarity to do so. And now I know. So I don't have to see every subsequent Sonnambula set in a Manhattan rehearsal room to keep appreciating it, but I'm very glad to have had the chance to see it like that and if this one comes out on DVD, I will buy it in a heartbeat. Despite appearances, I have not forgotten Juan Diego. As if anybody could forget Juan Diego. I think I'd forgotten, since La fille du régiment, just how lovable he is, and then he descended that rehearsal room staircase, and I remembered. Of course, his Elvino is not the puppy-eyed boy Tonio was — he has a bit more bite to him — but he is still as irresistible as ever. I love the way he and Natalie work together. His way of singing is so different from hers, so much more in the strict bel canto tradition, scrupulous and meltingly legato, and his acting, too is a bit more straightforward, still dotted with a few of the old fashioned gestures of which Natalie has so thoroughly rid herself. And all of that is utterly in his favour. Two frenetic modernists together would be too scatty to take. But he has just enough golden age gloss to support her Thoroughly Modern Amina, and meanwhile her hyperrealism rubs off on his Elvino enough to keep him believable. I love them together, both as a pair of characters and as a sonic experience. And — this merits a new paragraph — good lord, how the boy can sing. I must confess that occasionally on disc, I find the edge in his voice a bit too much to take in large doses. But with the space and scope of live performance — even if relayed by satellite — I cannot get enough of that voice. Every little bit of it: the pianissimi, the runs upon runs upon runs, his gorgeous duetting, his depth of expression, all of it is very, very good. Not to mention that note. The one he holds forever, giving the entire chorus time to scuttle offstage before he finally releases it and falls to his knees, to show-stopping applause. It's hard at this point for whatever I add about the rest of the singers to sound anything other than tacked on, which is a shame, because they do deserve much better than that. I was especially mad about Michele Pertusi as the Count, so wonderfully suave and charismatic. Every day I become more of a baritone fanatic, and singers like Pertusi are the reason why. Jennifer Black is a bit of a revelation as Lisa: what a treat (for her and for us) to see this character given so much personality and implied personal history. For all her sharp asides, you can't dismiss her offhand as a bitch: she's too three dimensional for that, and she charts a real psychological development, so that her eventual volte-face actually makes sense. I'd read here and there beforehand about the scene on the windowsill and it was just as lovely a moment as I'd imagined. Jane Bunnell was just the right kind of matronly, bossiness and benevolence balanced nicely. The chorus, too, does a pretty fabulous job — it must be a nice change for them to have a chance to play real individuals (and perhaps themselves) rather than a faceless mob. One quibble: why did everyone show up to the second day of rehearsals in exactly the same outfits they'd worn the previous day? Hah. As if I should be looking for logic in this show. There are people who will tell you that this production was a travesty, a disaster, an abomination. And some of those people will tell you that it makes a mockery of La sonnambula itself, that it destroys the Beautiful Soul of a Bel Canto Gem, or words to that effect. Well, I don't know. Maybe it does. But in my case, it made me appreciate the opera more, not less. Yes, I laughed at it a bit, but it was with affection. I ended up with my opinion of this opera genuinely improved: and whether you think that's because of Zimmerman's ideas or despite them, it seems to me like an undeniably happy ending. Oh. One final note. My heartfelt congratulations to Barbara Willis Sweete, for finally managing to film one of these broadcasts properly. Seems she's finally figured it out. NewsflashVia The Australian. After nineteen years on the board of Opera Australia, Rowena Danziger is standing down. Details of this and other outcomes of Thursday's AGM in Melbourne here. From the linked article:"I felt strongly that with the appointment of a new artistic director, you have to have board members who own that decision," the philanthropist and former girls school principal says. "The new (board) people can't be in a position where they might say: 'This was a decision that was made by somebody else."' |
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