Magdalena Kožená as Carmen? Really? Like her husband Sir Simon
Rattle, I first fell in love with the Czech mezzo’s crisp, light
voice after hearing her in Mozart, and whilst I had enjoyed her
French Arias disc hugely, she’s not a singer I ever expected to
hear as Bizet’s visceral gypsy in a complete performance.
The role can take any number of vocal approaches and sizes:
as Kožená says in an insightful interview on the Berlin Phil’s
‘digital concert hall’, the first Carmen was a comic actress
with a classic soubrette voice, and Rattle explains that his
mission was to present the score in its original ‘opera comique’
incarnation rather than as grand opera. (Spoken dialogue is
retained rather than the recitatives which were added by later
hands, though the orchestral forces don’t appear to be
significantly reduced: the opera comique feel comes from
Rattle’s springy tempi and transparent textures.)
What
still seemed odd, though, was the decision to cast such a
slim-voiced singer opposite one of the heftiest tenors around:
chalk and cheese, surely? The first time I listened to the set,
the pairing seemed outlandishly incongruous – and indeed it is –
but the second time round it struck me that no other recording
brings out the crazily mismatched chemistry of the lovers to the
same degree: it sounds as if the protagonists from an opera
comique and a grand opera have been thrown together by some
twist of fate.
Carmen herself raises two fingers to
tradition and does everything on her own terms, and that is
precisely what Kožená’s cliché-free interpretation does. If
you’re looking for a gypsy with a smouldering chest-voice and
blazing vocal charisma then Kožená is (as she cheerfully admits
in interview) not your woman, but she brings out elements of the
role which are often submerged: there’s a laissez-faire quality
to her singing which is disconcerting at first but strangely
appropriate for a character who is capable of cool detachment as
well as passion. Unlike most other Carmens, Kožená’s stronger on
the former than the latter and so some of the big set-pieces
(where Carmen herself is playing to the gallery) go for
relatively little, but she’s at her best in the intimate
moments: the quiet resignation in the Card scene comes off
beautifully, and she’s chillingly matter-of-fact when bursting
José’s romantic bubble after the Flower-Song with a toneless ‘No
- tu ne m’aimes pas’.
Kaufmann’s Don José is more
of a known quantity: he has sung the role all over Europe, and
his already-legendary performance in the ROH’s 2007 production
is preserved on DVD. He’s made successful forays into heavier
German repertoire in the interim, and his dark-hued dramatic
tenor is now virtually bursting out of the part, but it’s all to
the good: one of his most precious qualities is his ability to
scale the voice down without any loss in intensity. His journey
from Nice Young Man to obsessive psychopath is even more
frighteningly realised than before: listen to the switch from
sad incomprehension to homicidal fury as he repeats ‘Tu ne
m’aimes donc plus?’ in the terrifying final scene, and shudder!
Kostas Smoriginas’s Toreador has a bluff charisma, but some
of the finest singing on the set comes from Genia Kuhmeier’s
clean-sounding but full-bodied Micaëla, neither matronly nor
winsomely girlish. The smaller roles are lightly cast in
accordance with the opera comique ethos, and the fizzy,
conspiratorial Act Two quintet is a highlight.
Kaufmann’s legion of fans will need no encouragement here; all
others can ‘test-drive’ via the sound samples and see how you
warm to Kožená’s Carmen-lite. If you can put aside any
preconceptions as to how the title role ‘should’ sound, I’ll
warrant you’ll find it a refreshing, unhackneyed take on an
opera which has been weighed down with clichés over the decades.
Oh, and the orchestral interludes are a knock-out.
