Simon Rattle has been principal conductor of the Berlin
Philharmonic Orchestra since 2002, and this recording is their
10th anniversary present to one another. It is also timed to
coincide with performances of the opera in Salzburg with Rattle
and exactly the same cast of singers. At the Easter festival the
Berliners joined them in the pit for their final hurrah before
they controversially relocate their Easter operatic business to
Baden-Baden. For performances of the Salzburg production this
summer the Vienna Philharmonic take over.
Carmen isn’t a
piece you might initially link Rattle with, but his much-praised
work with Debussy and Ravel has shown that he is comfortable
with French music and, while this recording might not bring many
revelations, it is thrilling in many ways and is well worth
exploring. Rattle has assembled a good cast of singers crowned
by an outstanding principal pair. Magdalena Kožená, Rattle’s
wife in real life, doesn’t have a voice one naturally associates
with Carmen – her mezzo is lower than many famous sopranos who
have taken the role for a start, and she sometimes sings at one
remove from the character’s raw passion – but she brings
something compelling and exciting to her portrayal of the amoral
gypsy. She injects an unusual element of sexiness into her
traversal of the part, and she uses the natural depth of her
range – her middle and lower notes are extraordinary – to point
up the element of danger in the character, thereby sounding
sultry and alluring without ever sounding quite Mediterranean.
She showcases all of this in the Habańera: you might struggle to
visualise her dancing but the raw sexual power of the character
is undeniably there. There is a wonderful strain of insolence,
even mockery, to her voice as she defies Zuniga after the riot
in Act 1 and her ensuing Seguidilla is more alluring and more
beautiful than the preceding Habańera, and rightly so as this is
explicitly a song of seduction rather than a summary of her
character’s views on life. The gypsy dance that opens Act 2
builds to a thrilling climax: again, it’s hard to visualise
Kožená dancing to her own song, but the authority with which she
sings makes it very easy to imagine her compelling others to
dance to her tune. The colour of the orchestra is exceptional
here too, each aspect of the gathering frenzy captured to
perfection. She is no one-trick pony, however, becoming
something of a visionary as she describes the smugglers’ retreat
in the mountains, and a unique haunted quality enters her voice
once she sees her own death during the Card Trio of Act 3,
compellingly dramatic, especially in contrast to the carefree
nature of what has gone before.
She is partnered
by a thrilling Don José in Jonas Kaufmann. His interpretation of
the role at Covent Garden is already available on DVD. His
Berlin version doesn’t differ dramatically but is still
treasurable for enshrining a great performance, reinforcing his
reputation as a great interpreter of this role. In many ways his
dark, sexy tenor evokes the Mediterranean colour that Kožená
avoids: his top notes, as in the Seguidilla duet, resonate with
real, hot-blooded passion with never a tinge of affectation and
he is never less than exhilarating to listen to. There is beauty
aplenty – just listen to his remarkable Flower Song – but also a
scarcely concealed element of danger and, primarily,
psychological instability which becomes more pronounced as the
opera progresses. He clearly means business in the duel with
Escamillo and the moment at the end of Act 3 when he sings of
how fate has bound him to Carmen for ever is electrifying, a man
on the very edge of sanity. The final duet is a very satisfying
ending, built up like a slowly tightening screw, but it is
Kaufmann who dominates. A savagery, just short of a snarl,
enters his voice as he realises that he cannot have her and his
ultimatum, Pour le dernier fois, bubbles with barely restrained
passion. He then utterly changes the colour of his voice for his
final confession, Vous pouvez m’arręter, sounding totally
deflated and having lost his reason for living.
As Micaëla, Genia Kühmeier’s voice is perfectly contrasted with
Kožená’s. Hers is a bright, clear soprano which crests the top
notes with ease. The contrast is almost startling when hearing
her first duet with Don José straight after the Habańera. The
phrases where she invokes José’s mother are beautiful in their
purity, and the angelic nature of her Act 3 aria is a striking
contrast in the surrounding context of the smugglers’ lair.
Kostas Smoriginas doesn’t have quite the necessary macho power
to impress at his first entry: in fact, he is shown up badly in
contrast to a fantastically swaggering orchestral introduction
to the Toreador’s Song, after which he sounds effortful and
insecure, loud and blustery, and lacking in genuine character
portrayal. He grows into the part, the second verse more
convincing than the first, but it’s difficult to shake that
first impression and he isn’t compelling in the last two acts.
Still, the rest of the supporting cast are very capable, with a
lovely quintet of smugglers in Act 2 and some suitably rakish
soldiers in Act 1.
Be in no doubt, however, that if there
is a star in this recording then it is the man on the podium.
Rattle’s reading of the score bristles with vitality and his
vision brings the Berlin Philharmonic to life in a way that few
other orchestras could manage for this opera, especially on
disc. Hearing this orchestra in an opera is akin to having a
ride in a Rolls Royce, and from the very first bars you know you
are experiencing something special: every semiquaver of the
prelude is articulated with razor-sharp precision, captured in
spectacular EMI sound which brings the strings forward but
balances them naturally against the brass and percussion. The
acoustic of the Philharmonie is also captured triumphantly, with
lovely depth and perspective and just the right amount of bloom
to the sound without losing precision. Rattle’s direction of the
music is inspired. The first appearance of the Toreador’s Song
in the prelude flows with such a persuasive swing that I can
imagine Rattle conducting with a smile and a wink, but the Fate
theme then bursts onto the scene in a way that is truly haggard,
the cellos and winds shuddering with the intensity of a torture
scene. Throughout the action Rattle conducts with a mixture of
red-blooded excitement and French élan. For a good example
listen to the introduction to the chorus of the cigarette girls
as they come out for their break in Act 1 (CD 1, track 5): in
the orchestral build-up Rattle whips up the orchestra into a
veritable frenzy of anticipation, before relaxing with almost a
Gallic shrug as soon as the main theme enters, swooning and
flirting its way onwards. It’s a lovely juxtaposition and it’s
merely typical of many such touches that Rattle finds throughout
the work. Even some cases which sound a little misjudged on
first hearing tend to deliver the goods in the end: the
Aragonaise is a little heavy, for example, but it carries
tremendous power and acts as a great curtain-raiser for the
fourth act.
I loved listening to this recording, and I
will do so again and again, as much for Rattle and his orchestra
as for the vocal riches of his principals. It won’t replace
classics such as those from Abbado, Karajan (twice) or, more
recently, Plasson, but any lover of the opera should find a
space for it on their shelves. This is made easier by the fact
that it’s available at close to bargain price in slimline
packaging, consisting of a very handsome hardback booklet that
contains an excellent contextual essay from Stephen Jay-Taylor
and lots of colour photographs of the Salzburg production. No
texts or translations are provided, but these are all made
available on line. Get it while it’s hot!
Robert
Farr has also listened to this recording
Bizet
died at the early age of thirty-six, shortly after the premiere
of Carmen at the Paris Opéra-Comique Theatre. The work was at
first coolly received with the audience finding the story of the
eponymous role somewhat immoral and her ending brutal. That
moral Puritanism, considering the goings-on in Paris society
during the recently demised Second Empire could be seen to be
somewhat hypocritical.
The Opéra-Comique presented works
with spoken dialogue and it was in this form that the opera was
premiered on 3 March 1875. However, Bizet cut and altered his
original intentions before the premiere and many of these
amendments exist, although I believe not all. Fritz Oeser
included the material that Bizet left behind in his performing
edition. However, it must be recognised that this is not the
form in which the opera first saw the light of day. Various
opera houses follow different practices in respect of the
version they use with many using that by Choudens. His edition
is based on the sung recitatives with music composed by Ernest
Guiraud, after Bizet’s untimely death, in place of the spoken
dialogue. This was perhaps to make the opera more widely
acceptable internationally whilst also recognising that spoken
French dialogue can present difficulties to a multinational
cast. Since the days of Solti’s 1973 production with Domingo and
Shirley Verrett, which I was privileged to see at a Royal
Performance, Covent Garden has followed Oeser whilst the
Metropolitan Opera uses a combination of dialogue and sung
recitative. The 2002 EMI Classics recording of Carmen conducted
by Michael Plasson with Angela Gheorghiu, a soprano, in the name
part, uses Choudens (see review).
The present recording
is taken from performances in the Philharmonie after the staging
at Salzburg the previous week. The Salzburg Easter Festival was
founded by Herbert von Karajan in 1967 to give the Berlin
Philharmonic operatic performance exposure. In recent years the
Festival has hit administrative and financial difficulties and
Peter Alward, sometime EMI link with Karajan and his recordings,
was appointed as Intendant, to sort it out. He had just about
done so when the BPO orchestral management unilaterally pulled
the plug and gave notice of taking the oligarch schilling,
rouble or mark and decamp to Germany to Baden-Baden at Easter
and cut Salzburg adrift. They did so despite shared productions
and presence in Madrid and the Met. With his connections Alward
has filled the vacuum with Christian Thielemann and the Dresden
Staatskapelle who will present Parsifal in 2013.
The
Berlin orchestral members would doubtless have felt more relaxed
on their home turf in Berlin after the inevitable tensions in
Austria. After all it was they, as a self-governing orchestra
who made the decision to quit Salzburg, not the conductor.
Whatever hopes of relaxation they had must have been short-lived
if Rattle’s tempi are anything to go by. He starts the overture
at some lick and at times his tempi verge on the frenetic with
singers, particularly the chorus, in danger of being left
behind. Nor does he let himself or the musicians luxuriate in
those musically wonderful and evocative entr’actes, particularly
that at the conclusion of act three (CD 2. Tr. 32).
In
any performance of this opera, whatever the virtues or otherwise
of the conducting and orchestral playing the singing is
paramount, particularly that of the eponymous role. A little
like his illustrious predecessor, Karajan, Rattle has a
reputation for some idiosyncratic casting in his operatic
endeavours. None, however, has been as questionable as casting
his present wife, Magdalena Kožená, as Carmen. In my review of
the previous EMI Carmen with the soprano Angela Gheorghiu in the
title role, I suggested that whilst she sang individual numbers
out of their context to ravish the ear, she just was not Carmen,
lacking the earthy, gritty passion and sensuality that are
essential to a performance, or recorded realisation, of the
role. The bad news here is that Magdalena Kožená does not even
ravish the ear, and seems to lack the ability to portray the
persona of the highly sexed gypsy woman who captivates and
entices men as an enjoyable pastime. The colour pictures in the
booklet show her as a raven-haired Carmen. I was reminded of
another cool queen, Anne Sophie Von Otter, who essayed the role
with similar hair at Glyndebourne (see review), with a little
more success. I have greatly enjoyed Magdalena Kožená’s lovely
mezzo voice in other repertoire, but did not do so in this
character in this performance.
In the role of Don
José, the poor soldier who is entrapped by the sensual allure of
Carmen we get the real deal with the singing and portrayal of
the tenor Jonas Kaufmann. He portrays the disintegration of José
from affectionate mother’s boy who will obey his mother’s wish
to marry Micaëla, to brutal murderer, with distinctive vocal
skill and nuance. His Flower Song (CD 2. Tr. 4) is phrased to
perfection and soaked in feeling, no mere vocal display from him
and with a controlled ending to die for. I did worry after his
Faust at the Met in December 2011 that his ability to spin a
phrase and use his lovely mezza voce was coarsening since his
move into Wagner roles. Not so; his singing is a tower of
strength here with his French among the best in the cast.
As Micaëla, Genia Kühmeier is full-toned and expressive with
only the need for greater clarity of words to put her alongside
Kaufmann as a significant plus in casting. With Kostas
Smoriginas as Escamillo sorely stretched at both ends of his
vocal compass, and unable to convey the egocentric brio of
Escamillo, such strength is sorely needed in this performance.
Among Don José’s fellow soldiers, vocal strength is not the
problem, rather the somewhat Germanic sounds that spoken
dialogue accentuates to the listener.
The presentation is
CD-size book form with several page spreads of photographs of
the stage production. The booklet content is high on style and
less so in essentials. A visit to a website is suggested for
biographies and libretto with translation. Whilst the
track-listing is good the synopsis is barely adequate and really
should be track-related as in the previous EMI issue under
Plasson. An essay encompasses something of the history of the
premiere, and Bizet’s death three months later. It also gives
some details of the complexities of performing editions and how
Bizet’s creation fitted into the Opéra-Comique tradition. The
essay is given in French and German as well as English.
Meanwhile if you want to see and hear a really sexy portrayal of
Carmen I commend the performance conducted by Pappano from the
Royal Opera House in 2008. It also features Jonas Kaufmann as
Don José, and with Anna Caterina Antonacci exuding sexual allure
from every pore and an Escamillo with visual elegance and vocal
brio it takes some beating. It also uses the Oeser edition.
