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| Echo des Weltuntergangs |
| Der Tagesspiegel, Berlin |
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Den Musikern des Berliner Sinfonie-Orchesters dürfte vor
der Begegnung mit Lothar Zagrosek etwas mulmig zumute gewesen sein: nicht
nur, weil der Stuttgarter Generalmusikdirektor ab nächster Saison ihr
neuer Chefdirigent ist, sondern auch, weil der letzte gemeinsame Auftritt
mit Zagrosek acht Jahre zurückliegt. Wer kann nach so langer Zeit schon
abschätzen, ob sich ein Dirigent und ein fast komplett erneuertes
Orchester überhaupt noch verstehen? Oder ob sich die Berufung Zagroseks,
ähnlich wie diejenige des glücklosen Michael Schönwandt bald nach der
Wende, nicht als existenzieller Fehlschlag erweisen würde?
Die Musiker können beruhigt sein: Das Publikum im Konzerthaus applaudierte
frenetisch; und auch der künstlerische Ertrag stimmte. Zagroseks
klarsichtiger, aber keineswegs unterkühlter Stil findet Resonanz: Man
spürt geradezu ein Aufatmen im Orchester, dass nach dem Pultautokraten
Eliahu Inbal hier künftig ein entspannterer Geist herrschen wird. Zwar
hatte Inbal das etwas ramponierte und durch starke Personalfluktuation
verunsicherte Orchester in den vergangenen Jahren in Facon gebracht,
erhellende künstlerische Akzente konnte der ehemals gefeierte Mahler- und
Bruckner-Interpret jedoch kaum mehr setzen. Das scheint jetzt anders zu
werden: Auf Anhieb findet das BSO unter Zagrosek zu jenem gemeinsamen
Atem, der jedes sinfonische Werk tragen muss, wird eben nicht nur präzise
gespielt, sondern Musik gemacht.
Die Uraufführung des Stücks "Herbst Wanderer" des Japaners Toshio Hosogawa
ist in diesem Zusammenhang freilich mehr als Atemübung zu verstehen: Das
knapp halbstündige Opus für Klavier, Saxofon, Schlagzeug und Streicher
(mit dem Trio Accanto) garniert seine organische Entwicklungskurve zwar
mit allerhand Klangreizen von auratischen Streichernebeln bis zu
fernöstlichen Gebetsglöcklein, bietet darüber hinaus jedoch wenig
Erkenntniswert.
Zentraler Verständigungspunkt zwischen Dirigent und Orchester bleibt das
große klassisch-romantische Repertoire. Mahlers "Lied von der Erde" stellt
insofern eine gute Wahl für die Kontaktaufnahme dar, als das Stück den
Musikern neben der geballten Strahlkraft des Tuttiklangs auch
kammermusikalische Finesse abfordert. Und tatsächlich macht Zagrosek
Kammermusik im orchestralen Rahmen, betont bei flüssigen Tempi den
Liedcharakter der Nummern, setzt auf Natürlichkeit, statt jede fallende
Notensequenz gleich zum Abschiedsseufzer zu zerdehnen. Das kommt nicht nur
den beiden fabelhaften Solisten Petra Lang und Jonas Kaufmann entgegen,
sondern sorgt auch für Balance zwischen der artifiziell entrückten
Chinoiserie des Stücks und der spätromantischen Klanggewalt, die hier nur
untergründig, wie das grollende Echo eines Weltuntergangs, spürbar bleibt.
Und so freut sich nicht nur das BSO auf seinen neuen Chef (noch einmal
heute, 20 Uhr). Jörg Königsdorf |
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| Review: Gheorghiu Triumphs in 'Traviata' |
| By RONALD BLUM, Associated Press Writer, Sunday, February
5, 2006 |
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Angela Gheorghiu sang the first note of "Sempre libera"
and off she went, like a sprinter spurting ahead of the field, leaving
conductor Marco Armiliato and the orchestra to chase.
More than seven years after she was to appear in the premiere of a
Metropolitan Opera production planned around her Violetta, Gheorghiu
finally appeared in the Franco Zeffirelli staging of Verdi's "La Traviata"
on Saturday night and scored her biggest triumph yet at the Met.
At times the opera seemed to become Gheorghiu vs. Armiliato, and the
soprano won out in the quest for her preferred pacing. In Act II, there
was hardly the specified pause before her "Dite alla giovine" solo as
Armiliato went along. But even with the tempi tussle, Gheorghiu gave a
captivating performance that left some wet eyes in the audience as
Violetta collapsed and died at the final curtain.
Gheorghiu combined with the ebullient Alfredo of tenor Jonas Kaufmann, who
was making his Met debut, and the grave Germont of Anthony Michaels-Moore
to make it a night of Verdi the way it used to be, one that had the crowd
applauding and yelling approval from start to finish.
Gheorghiu, a 40-year-old Romanian soprano, made her international
breakthrough as Violetta at Covent Garden in 1994 under the baton of Sir
Georg Solti. With her long, black hair and sexy appearance, she is a
moving actress and singer, vividly bringing to life and then portraying
the death of the courtesan who succumbs to consumption.
Met general manager Joseph Volpe originally had wanted Gheorghiu and
Roberto Alagna, her husband, to sing the production premiere in November
1998. But seven months before the opening, he announced they hadn't signed
their contracts, which has been issued two years earlier, and were being
replaced.
Volpe left the impression they didn't like Zeffirelli's opulent (some say
unnecessarily so) designs. The couple's then-spokesman called it a
scheduling conflict, and Gheorghiu later attributed it to a
misunderstanding.
Zeffirelli's busy sets were received with applause by the audience, which
also cheered the final-act scene change the director created by having the
stage elevator shift the action from Violetta's bedroom back to the
house's first floor.
Some tweaks in the staging improved matters, with Gheorghiu's Violetta a
bit more hyperkinetic than those at the Met in recent memory, dancing
around the stage in the opening scene. She also showed off striking new
gowns conceived for this revival by Raimonda Gaetani, the original costume
designer. In Act I Gheorghiu wore a corset and petticoat, topped by a long
silk-looking red jacket with blue lining that she throws off (with a
little difficulty) for "Sempre libera." She had a huge straw hat for the
opening of Act II, and for the ball scene at Flora's, she wore a
shimmering white gown and headdress.
With three superior actors on stage, Zeffirelli elaborate sets didn't seem
to swallow up the singers so much. The silly dancing ballerinas in cow
suits during the matador scene at the ball in past seasons were jettisoned
in favor of the slightly less silly prancing men wearing bull heads.
Kaufmann displayed dashing looks and a big shiny voice that bodes well for
his future. Program notes say he already is scheduled to sing heavier
roles such as Parsifal, which does not. He was said to be singing with a
cold, which might explain the tentativeness he showed early on as he tried
to find the right volume.
Michaels-Moore gave a strong performance as a dignified and elegant
Germont, who convinces Violetta to give up his son so the family honor can
be restored and his daughter's engagement not interfered with. His voice
keeps improving, and he matched it to the acting needed in this conflicted
character.
Members of the audience coughed repeatedly as Violetta was on her deathbed
during the quieter moments in the final act, making it unclear whether the
greater illness was on stage or in the seats. |
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| NYTimes: A Violetta to Conquer the Scenery |
| By BERNARD HOLLAND |
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The Metropolitan Opera had Angela Gheorghiu in mind when
it put together its present production of "La Traviata" eight years ago.
Franco Zeffirelli was brought in to do one of his opulent designer jobs on
the Verdi favorite, but in rehearsals what operatic diplomats like to call
"artistic differences" sent Ms. Gheorghiu on her way. Replacement
strategies were visited by bad health and bad luck, and in the end this
"Traviata" was sent out into the world resembling (as I wrote at the time)
the aftermath of a neutron bomb attack: the gorgeous structures intact but
not much human action going on inside them.
Having Ms. Gheorghiu back on Saturday night doing her supercharged star
turn as Violetta did a lot to legitimize Mr. Zeffirelli's immodesty. If
his interiors devour the attention of operagoers - and if his hopeless
infatuation with the Met's stage elevator insists on creating unnecessary
and diversionary scene changes - he can be countered only by singing
personalities large enough to stand up to his upscale world. When Renée
Fleming did the part here in 2003, minute-by-minute, microscopic attention
to Violetta's fragile emotional state never quite compensated for a voice,
however lovely, that sounded underpowered for so big a part in so big a
house.
Ms. Gheorghiu throws herself admirably into the same role but never loses
her head. What penetrates is not so much the size of the voice as the
dramatic energy that pushes it out from within. She has youthful good
looks, moves well and is a meticulous actor as well as a good musician. I
like the way she pushes tempos forward in Act II. Anthony Michaels-Moore
as Germont and the evening's admirable young conductor, Marco Armiliato,
did not always quite keep up, but washed away were the dangerous excesses
of sentimentality in a part so crowded with sentiment in the first place.
The Met greeted a new tenor as Alfredo: Jonas Kaufmann, a young German
with a beautifully constructed voice, suspect perhaps in its upper reaches
but otherwise filling the house nicely with an unforced clarity. Mr.
Kaufmann approaches every musical detail and theatrical nuance with great
care; he also looks good next to Mr. Zeffirelli's ravishing furniture and
clouded mirrors. I hope I'm not being unfair in finding something clinical
in the completeness of his performance.
Mr. Michaels-Moore was blunt and aggressive to a fault, as if mistrusting
his ability to project in large spaces. John Hancock, tall and imposing as
Baron Douphol, made a strong impression. Diane Elias, Leann Pantaleo,
Earle Patriarco, LeRoy Lehr and Eduardo Valdes took other parts. Kristine
McIntyre was this year's stage director, and Maria Benitez the
choreographer. Solo dancers were Sara Erde, Desiree Sanchez Meineck and
Griff Braun. |
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| NEW YORK CITY – La Traviata, Metropolitan Opera,
2/4/06 |
| Opera News/ Mai 2006 |
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After artistic differences, illnesses and other
announced holdups, on February 4 Angela Gheorghiu finally assumed the role
of Violetta in Franco Zeffirelli’s 1998 re-mounting of La Traviata. The
production, originally conceived for the Romanian diva, features lush,
gorgeous period interiors for Violetta’s townhouse and country villa,
although Flora appears to have rented a glitzy Vegas showroom (complete
with showers of pink and purple sequins) for her trashy soirée. The Met’s
stage elevator receives a nice round of applause when Violetta rises from
her deathbed to descend once more her grand staircase, as her salon, now
cobwebbed and covered with tarps, revolves into view.
New costumes by Raimonda Gaetani for Gheorghiu — a long rose-red duster,
which the soprano removed with some difficulty before “Sempre libera,”
and, later, a beige tea-gown with huge ugly roses — jar with the scenic
palette, although a Mexican wedding dress (complete with mantilla)
perfectly complements Flora’s dancing bulls.
Moving naturally and creating believable relationships, all three leads
possess ample musicianship and stage smarts. While Gheorghiu’s Violetta
seems a hyperkinetic teenager in Act I, bopping all over the set and
splashing a lot of champagne, her characterization avoids sentimentality
by maintaining a feisty steeliness one might expect in a “working girl.”
Gheorghiu’s slender, dense voice doesn’t always fill the house, but the
tone is consistently glamorous, and she handles the role’s notorious vocal
demands with intelligent pacing and stylistic command. Conductor Marco
Armiliato provided speedy tempos, yet often the soprano seemed to be
pressing for an even quicker pace.
Tenor Jonas Kaufmann made an impressive house debut as Alfredo, with a
warm, baritonal sound and brooding good looks. Even though his covered top
notes lack an Italianate ring, he is not afraid to sing with nuance or to
explore the lower end of the dynamic spectrum, and his conversational
delivery and naturalness of phrasing were most attractive.
Anthony Michaels-Moore’s Italian has improved over the years, but it is
still unacceptable in an international house. His voice projects well
(which seems to be the baritone’s primary concern), but the sound is
unattractive, although he brought unaccustomed subtlety to “Di Provenza.”
The Met’s chorus offered fine work, and the orchestral playing, especially
the delicate opening of Act III, was top-notch.
JUDITH MALAFRONTE |
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| A headstrong, yet
extraordinary Violetta |
| By MARION LIGNANA ROSENBERG, Newsday, February 7, 2006 |
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Talented, beautiful and breathtakingly stupid in her
public pronouncements, soprano Angela Gheorghiu may be opera's most
maddening star.
Gheorghiu seems to spend more time in recording studios than in theaters,
though she is one of her generation's most enthralling stage animals. A
thoughtful and cultivated musician, she too often sings alongside her
husband, tenor Roberto Alagna, who is not half the artist that she is. As
celebrated for her pique as for her voice, with the darkness and sheen of
a black pearl, Gheorghiu was to have starred as Violetta in Franco
Zeffirelli's 1998 Metropolitan Opera production of Verdi's "La Traviata,"
but withdrew following
an inane dispute over designs.
Gheorghiu deigned to let New York see and hear her Violetta at the Met
Saturday night, and it is a portrayal that would triumph even in the most
dismal surroundings. She can convey complex emotional states through sound
alone. The keening, blade-like thrusts of her high notes in "Sempre
libera" tell of a sick woman's wounds and desperate hunger for life. "Dite
alla giovine" is a whispery, tear-drenched thread of sound, painful to
overhear. Without sacrificing tonal or musical integrity, Gheorghiu gives
her every utterance in the opera's final scene the cast of a whimper or
gasp, the glimmer of her veiled timbre flickering like a dying flame.
Though she indulges in some scenery chewing during the encounters at
Violetta's country house, Gheorghiu is a superb actress. Her performance
abounds in telling details: a fluttery restlessness even in repose at
Violetta's soirée; terror and disbelief when Alfredo declares his love for
her; a sad, distracted little wave when her guests depart.
Quibbles? Gheorghiu sings florid music well but without the ultimate
degree of fastidiousness. She cannot or will not follow a conductor's
beat-"Sempre libera" nearly turned into a train wreck, and she tends to
barrel onward at her own pace, heedless of her colleagues. Still, as a
complete portrayal of one of opera's greatest roles, her Violetta is an
extraordinary achievement.
The Met's "Traviata" features two prodigiously loud singers alongside
Gheorghiu. Making his company debut as Alfredo, tenor Jonas Kaufmann is a
dashing young man with a dark, throaty, not especially supple voice that
he shades with care. He brings impetuous fire to a role that can sometimes
pass for a Milquetoast, and there is a thrilling erotic undercurrent to
his clash with Violetta at Flora's party.
Anthony Michaels-Moore is a hardhearted Germont, shrinking back in
distaste when Violetta asks him for a fatherly embrace. At its best, in
"Di Provenza," his singing combines a beautiful legato line, verbal point
and admirable finesse.
Franco Zeffirelli's production remains as pointlessly cluttered as ever.
Marco Armiliato presides over a performance marred by bad old cuts and the
untidiness that comes from being up against a diva determined to have her
own way. |
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| NYmag:
Brangelina Sings! |
Well, not quite. But Angela Gheorghiu and Jonas Kaufmann
do as much for the eyes as for the ears.
By Peter G. Davis
Published Feb 26, 2006
That eternal symbol of grand opera in all its silliness—an overweight,
middle-aged singer in a horned helmet bellowing out high Cs to an equally
unattractive partner—will probably never die, but the Metropolitan Opera
has been doing its best lately to dispel the myth. Two of Verdi’s most
popular operas, Rigoletto and La Traviata, recently returned to the
repertory, each featuring a love couple that could easily compete with Tom
and Katie or Brad and Angelina. It’s too late to catch Anna Netrebko and
Rolando Villazón in Rigoletto, but there’s still time to take in Angela
Gheorghiu and Jonas Kaufmann as the fated lovers in La Traviata. They both
look fabulous, and connoisseurs of singing might approve as well.
Gheorghiu first won international fame as Violetta back in 1992, when she
sang, recorded, and filmed the part at Covent Garden. It’s taken all this
time for her interpretation to reach the Met—a tale too involved to retell
here, but suffice to say that it has to do with the sort of spiteful
diva-management disagreements that all too often deprive the fans of their
red meat. The Met’s current 1998 Traviata production, in fact, was
originally intended to star Gheorghiu and her husband, Roberto Alagna,
until the tenor’s suggestion that his brother redesign part of the
production was declined and a new cast had to be found. All that is
forgiven and forgotten, and Gheorghiu has finally come to claim her
role—although without Alagna, with whom she now sings less frequently. But
that is another story.
Perhaps the wait was worth it. The glitzy Franco Zeffirelli production is
now merely tasteless rather than downright vulgar—the famous dancing cows
at Flora’s party have long since been put out to pasture, along with much
other decorative nonsense. Several Violettas have competed with the
scenery over the past few seasons, but Gheorghiu is the first I’ve seen
who can actually upstage her surroundings and get somewhere near the heart
of this classic courtesan. She looks stunning, in the mold of Garbo and
Callas: a dark-haired, impeccably gowned lady of the camellias with a sad
cameo face, dangerous fragility, and an air that commands attention
without hogging the scene. It’s a vocally complete portrait as well, with
the feverish coloratura of the first act all precisely in place, the
heartbreak of the duet with Germont limned with lyrical understatement,
and the pathos of the death scene reaching up to touch tragedy. Her
carefully made vocal points would probably be even more affecting in a
smaller house, but an important singer has at last had a Met triumph.
Jonas Kaufmann not only has the look and easy stage bearing of a rock
star, but he also has a flexibility seldom heard in German tenors—he sings
Parsifal and Florestan with distinction, as well as lyrical roles like
Alfredo. If his voice lacks the ringing lift up top that one ideally likes
in a Verdi tenor, the overall tone is smoothly burnished, beautifully
focused on the notes, and always disarmingly musical. Anthony
Michaels-Moore’s rather gruffly sung Germont, complete with an
interpolated high B-flat at the end of his aria, is adequate, and
conductor Marco Armiliato gives everyone onstage helpful and idiomatic
support. All that is very nice, but what makes this Traviata
special is the grade-A glamour generated by its two attractive stars. |
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| Fierrabras de Schubert au Châtelet, une résurrection |
| Paris, Théâtre du Châtelet, le 12 mars 2006 |
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 Schubert
et l'opéra : sujet inépuisable et frustrant, tout comme ce spectacle
courageux et désarmant à la fois. Et pourtant Fierrabras eut assez souvent
sa chance, certains ténors et non des moindres (Munteanu, Alva, Wunderlich
lui même) suscitèrent des revivals mais toujours pour les studios de
radio. La mise en scène de Claus Guth, au vrai sens du terme éducative,
avec son Schubert omniprésent, ce pianoforte gigantesque, cette cour de
Charlemagne noyée dans des costumes romantiques qui semblent autant de
personnages sortis tout droit des tableaux de Carus, fait mouche. Mais sa
distance intellectualisée met une barrière supplémentaire entre l'action
et le spectateur, Schubert en introduisant une autre, plus puissante
encore, avec sa musique qui veut sans cesse s'échapper des contingences
dramatiques. Si l'on ajoute encore la direction analytique de Franz
Welser-Möst, on comprendra que Schubert et le théâtre fassent non plus
deux, mais à peu près trente six.
C'est la pensée frustrante qu'engendre cette résurrection mieux
qu'exemplaire, utile et dont on peinera à détailler toutes les
exceptionnelles qualités. Welser-Möst, tout analyste qu'il soit, joue avec
un art certain des subtilités mélodiques et de l'instrumentation souvent
fragile de Schubert, et les musiciens de l'Opéra de Zürich pourraient
apprendre à ceux de l'Opéra de Paris ce qu'est un orchestre de fosse :
netteté des attaques, clarté absolue des équilibres, un vrai jeu
d'ensemble qui colle au texte et sert la scène.
On sait que Jonas Kauffman est le ténor du moment. L'écriture de
Fierrabras se coule avec bonheur dans sa voix longue, solaire, où le mot
est toujours intelligible, et sa silhouette juvénile enchante. Subtile
Emma de Juliane Banse dont le soprano lyrique s'étoffe chaque saison un
peu plus, et toute une équipe de chant qui illustre bien la santé d'une
des premières maisons d'opéra d'Europe, décidément menée avec ténacité au
succès par Alexander Pereira. Si le Châtelet pouvait inviter d'autres
spectacles zurichois, à commencer par l'Ariane et Barbe Bleue de Dukas où
brillait dans le rôle titre Yvonne Naef sous la baguette de John Eliot
Gardiner….
Jean-Charles Hoffelé |
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| Opera News 6/2006 |
| PARIS — Fierrabras, Théâtre du
Chatelet, 3/12/06 |
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The Châtelet season continued with a rare opportunity to
see a staging of Schubert's Fierrabras, generally considered the
composer's most widely known opera, conducted by Franz Welser-Möst in a
staging from Zürich Opera. The generally accepted view that Schubert was
not a great operatic composer will hardly be challenged by this production
(seen March 12), but it did make an intelligent and coherent case for the
singspiel. It was a clever idea of director Claus Guth to update the plot
from the reign of Charlemagne to the time of the opera's composition.
Schubert appeared onstage as a composer in action, handing out bits of
score to the cast and controlling the evening with a Svengali-like
presence, emphasized by the giant piano which dominated Christian
Schmidt's set. The cardboard cutout characters were moved like marionettes
through this drama of inter-religious relationships. This neatly disguised
the fact that the dialogue is stilted; the dramatic structure of the work
might generously be described as improvisational.
There is much beautiful music in the score, especially the choral moments,
here well sung by the Swiss chorus, and some of the more pastoral solos
capture the composer at his most lyrical. The least successful scenes are
the bombastic moments of would-be drama, which somehow seem to have been
alien to the composer. It is interesting that a composer who could create
an operatic situation within the confines of a three-minute song should
have had such difficulty in sustaining any dramatic tension in a
three-and-a-half hour opera. Conductor Welser-Möst obviously believes in
the work, and he drew expressive playing from the Zürich orchestra . The
opera was cast from strength. Jonas Kaufmann, fresh from his triumphant
debut at the Met in La Traviata, was as fine an exponent as one could hope
for in the role of Fierrabras, whose selfless nobility is the positive
message of the opera. His voice carried almost Wagnerian weight and
intensity of declamation in a role that did not really exploit his vocal
talents to the full. He was well supported by sopranos Juliane Banse, as
Emma, and Twyla Robinson, as Florinda. Banse was the more powerful of the
two but lacked grace above the staff, while Robinson brought an admirable
sense of grace and urgency to her scenes. Firm-voiced and
well-characterized contributions came from basses Gregory Frank and
Günther Groissböck, baritone Michael Volle and sweet-voiced tenor
Christoph Strehl.
STEPHEN MUDGE |
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| "Die verkaufte Braut" von Bedrich Smetana |
| Aufführung ohne böhmische Folklore: Menschen von hier und
heute in ihrer kleinen, engen Welt |
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Von böhmischer Folklore, sonst oft Markenzeichen von
Smetanas Erfolgsoper "Die verkaufte Braut", ist in Stein Winges
Frankfurter Inszenierung nichts zu sehen. Für den norwegischen Regisseur
könnte das Stück überall auf der Welt angesiedelt sein.
So zeigt er Menschen von hier und heute in ihrer kleinen, engen Welt,
hermetisch abgeriegelt in einem stilisierten Dorf mit spiralartiger
Häuserfront als weißes Fachwerkgerüst, rundum zugemauert von weiß-blauen
Kachelwänden (Bühne: Benoit Dugardyn). Putzfrauen halten alles
blitzsauber.
Mit einem brillanten Bühnen-Gag stellt Winge dieser peinlich reinlich
gehaltenen Innenwelt eine unkonventionelle, die Freiheit des Künstlers
symbolisierende Außenwelt gegenüber. Mit Getöse durchbricht das Gefährt
des Wanderzirkus die hintere Kachelwand; die Hippie-Insassen mischen die
Dorfgemeinschaft gründlich auf und geben dem Happy-End mit den beiden
glücklich vereinten Paaren einen übergeordneten Akzent: Der aus der Fremde
heimgekehrte Hans kriegt seine Marie und wird im Dorf akzeptiert, sein
Stiefbruder Wenzel, zu Hause als Stotterer diskriminiert, beginnt mit dem
Wanderzirkus und der Tänzerin Esmeralda ein neues Leben. Heiratsvermittler
Kecal ist der Gefoppte und darf am Ende statt Klinken die Kacheln putzen,
damit an der Oberfläche alles schön sauber bleibt.
Neben einigem Stillstand hat der Regisseur, unterstützt von Hege Tvedt,
allen Akteuren viel Turbulenz verordnet. Die schlüssige Werksicht findet
in der hervorragenden musikalischen Umsetzung ihre Entsprechung. Roland
Böer zeigt schon in der akkurat und durchsichtig musizierten Ouvertüre
einen frischen Zugriff, der den ganzen Abend über anhält.
Drei großartige Gesangssolisten sorgen für Glanzpunkte: Maria Fontoshs
Marie trifft mit jugendlich-strahlendem, in der Mittellage herrlich
abgedunkeltem Sopran die Bandbreite der wechselnden Gefühle. Jonas
Kaufmann gibt dem Hans die Züge eines Sunnyboys und wartete mit auf
Hochglanz polierten Spitzentönen auf. Ausstaffiert als pomadiger, smarter
Manager ist Gregory Frank der Heiratsvermittler Kecal, der in der dunklen
Bass-Tiefe nicht passen muss, sondern sogar an Volumen noch zulegen kann.
In der Höhe prunkt er mit funkelndem Bariton-Glanz.
Albrecht Schmidt
29.5.2006 |
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| "Verkaufte Braut" neu in Frankfurt ( Boer/Winge) |
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"Auf der Bühne erhebt sich ein Arrangement aus hohen,
spitzgiebeligen Fachwerkstrukturen - eine Art Kletter- und
Durchkrabbelinstallation. Alles ist in Weiß gehalten, auch die später
hereingetragenen Tische und Sitzbänke, auf denen Volk und Liebesleute
fleißig herumtanzen und -springen, die Männer fleißig Bierkrüge
schwenkend, die Frauen als rasende Putzteufel mit den Staubwedeln die
Kacheln traktierend. Wie in anderen Fällen auch verleiten solcherart
szenisch-technische Konstruktionen auch in dieser Frankfurter
Neuinszenierung zu einem unfreiwilligen, formlosen Überaktionismus. Für
Regisseur Stein Winge verzappelt sich die Szene. Man fürchtet Schlimmes.
Mühevoll entwickelt sich das Figurenspiel, erhalten die dramatis personae
genaueres Profil. Im Verlauf der Handlung gewinnt die Aufführung dann aber
doch größere Dichte und Plausibilität, zumal das sperrige Fachwerkgestell
allmählich in einer Ecke zusammengedrückt erscheint, die Spielfläche davor
freieren Blick auf die Figuren gestattet.Das hat durchaus auch
symbolisch-dramaturgische Bedeutung: In dem Maße, in dem das Paar Hans und
Marie ihren Liebes-Freiheitskampf aufnimmt, verbarrikadiert sich die
übrige Gesellschaft in ihren Mauergestellen. Einen eigenen Freiheitskampf
führt auch der stotternde Wenzel: Dem Regisseur gelingt hier im Verein mit
dem Sänger Carsten Süß eine eindringliche, fast psychoanalytische
Studie.Jonas Kaufmann als Rückkehrer Hans beeindruckt durch seinen
kraftvoll-heldischen Ton und einen vehementen Spieleinsatz. Maria Fontosh
steigert sich immer intensiver in die seelischen Nöte der Marie hinein,
sie kann die Partie auch vokal eindrucksvoll differenzieren. Gregory
Franks Kecal gewinnt im Verlauf der Aufführung an spielerischer und
gesanglicher Statur.Für eine solide musikalische Basis der Aufführung
sorgte Boer mit dem Frankfurter Opernorchester. Leichte
Unkonzentriertheiten zu Beginn wichen alsbald einem rhythmisch
akzentuierten, ausdrucksvollen Musizieren."
FAZ vom 23.05.2006 G.Rohde |
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| Offenbach-Post: Doppelbödige Posse um "Verkaufte
Braut" |
Smetana-Singspiel in Frankfurt mit tollen Solisten und
Tiefgang
Am Vorhang aus Delfter Fantasie-Kacheln wird schon eifrig gewischt, bevor
die Ouvertüre loslegt. Während sich in lichter Höhe Bühnenarbeiter mit
Bier zuprosten. Der Sauberkeitswahn macht in Bedrich Smetanas "Verkaufter
Braut" Sinn. Denn im Komischen Singspiel um eine verhinderte Zwangsehe
haben alle Dreck am Stecken - bis auf einen. Und diesen armen Tölpel hat
Regisseur Stein Winge in seiner Inszenierung an der Oper Frankfurt
besonders ins Herz geschlossen.Doch obwohl der Norweger - mit
Ibsen-Dramen offenbar eng vertraut - die dunklen Stellen des heiteren
Bühnenstücks genüsslich aufspießt, verliert die Liebesgeschichte nicht an
Drive, geschweige denn an Sentiment. Da stehen Kapellmeister Roland Boer,
das hohe Tempi vorlegende Frankfurter Museumsorchester und eine
Solisten-Riege vor, die szenisch wie musikalisch erstaunliche Fitness
bezeugen. Und dafür gab es am Ende der Premiere am Willy-Brandt-Platz viel
verdienten Beifall.
Von wegen Operette - schon die Ouvertüre hat es in sich, vom Dirigenten
Boer leicht aufgeraut, der sich mächtig ins Zeug legt. Auch bei jenen
klanglichen Ingredienzen, die später in den Klarinetten-trunkenen
Liebesarien, den derben Bauerntänzen oder den kontrapunktisch-schwierigen
Verhandlungen um einen Ehevertrag gebraucht werden. Das Opernorchester
scheint hier in allen Sektionen böhmisch geprägt. So lustvoll werden Polka
oder Furiant aufgezäumt, so innig die Klanggarnitur bei den Szenen einer
beinahe verhinderten Liebe, die, in deutscher Sprache gesungen,
unmittelbar rüberkommen.
Winges böhmisches Dorf ist ein rundlicher Turm aus durchsichtigem
Fachwerk, der sich in einer Art inneren Bezirk wiederholt (Ausstattung:
Benoit Dygardyn), in dem die solchermaßen abgeschottete Gesellschaft ihre
Spielchen treibt. Das atmet Kittelschürzenmief, und Blaumänner gibt es im
Wortsinn (Kostüme: Jorge Jara): Kaum eine Komische Oper, in der das Bier
nicht nur in Strömen fließt, sondern auch noch besungen wird. Die Folgen
stellt der Regisseur in einem Tableau aus, das für Breughels deftige
Kneipenbilder Ehre einlegt.
Und wenn die so genannten kleinen Leute mit täppischer Eleganz Polka oder
den wilden Furiant tanzen, dreht sich die Bühne dauerhaft. Da hat der Chor
wieder einmal allerhand zu tun, zeigt sich in Schmetterlaune und noch im
dicken Klanggewoge fein abgestimmt, wie er tanzt oder den Liebeshandel
neugierig begafft (Einstudierung: Alessandro Zuppardo).
Keine Spur von Zwangsheirat im heutigen Sinn: Eher fühlt sich Marie, die
einen anderen heiraten soll als den geliebten Hans, von allen verschaukelt
- und sie versteht auch selbst kräftig auszuteilen. So macht sie sich
unbekannterweise an den Tollpatsch Wenzel heran, den sie doch gar nicht
will, erzählt ihm Märchen und gibt ihm einen langen, allzu langen Kuss.
Eine Paraderolle für Maria Fontosh, deren feiner lyrischer Sopran auch so
manche dramatische Klippe nimmt, mühelos Druck aufbauend.
Warum ihr Hans, der mit Brechtscher List den Heiratsvermittler foppt und
schröpft, indes erst so spät verrät, dass er Wenzels Bruder ist, bleibt
Smetanas und seiner Librettisten Geheimnis. Jonas Kaufmann gibt ihm das
Profil eines Liebenden der durchaus auch Zuhälter-Qualitäten an den Tag
legt. Und er besitzt einen Tenor, der höchste Töne schwerelos erklimmt -
dazu mit einem wunderschön warmen Timbre gesegnet. Die tiefen Töne hatte
dagegen Gregory Frank gepachtet, ein ungemein geschmeidiger Bass, der zwar
zur Premiere gelegentlich an etwas langer Leine mit dem Orchester
verbunden scheint, aber ideal den Drahtzieher-Part ausspielt. Am Ende
steht er außen vor und muss - offenbar mittellos - den Kachel-Vorhang
putzen.
Passen Franz Mayer als an Krücken gehender Bauer samt seiner ihn andauernd
spießbürgerlich befummelnden Gattin (Sonja Mühleck) sowie Dietrich Volle
als Grundbesitzer und Margit Neubauer als seine neureiche Frau auch
stimmlich wie nach Maß, so liefert Carsten Süß als Wenzel zwischen
Stottern und tenoraler Kantilene eine prächtige Charakterstudie ab. Dem
Komplex geladenen Sympathieträger kann geholfen werden: Von der
wunderschönen Esmeralda (Tamara Weimerich), die samt dem souveränen
Zirkusdirektor (köstlich: Altmeister Carlos Krause) und dem "Indianer"
Gérard Lavalle per VW-Bus bürgerliches Mauerwerk durchbricht und Wenzel
zum Bärendienst verpflichtet. Fortan herrscht zwischenzeitlich Kleinkunst
auf der Opernbühne.
Bis auf Jonas Kaufmann gehören alle Akteure zum Frankfurter Ensemble,
dessen Qualitäten wieder einmal erstaunen. Die zweite Erkenntnis nach
dieser musikalischen Komödie mit Tiefgang: An der Oper Frankfurt hat das
Sommertheater schon früh begonnen. Und das ist gut so! |
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| Full-blooded ardour wins ovation |
| Rupert Christiansen reviews Jonas Kaufmann at Queen's
Hall, Edinburgh |
| The Telegraph, 25 August 2006 |
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No element of the Edinburgh International Festival gives
more consistent pleasure than the daily 11am recitals in the Queen's Hall.
The time is right, the acoustics are friendly and the audience informed
and enthusiastic - all giving rise to an atmosphere in which musicians can
comfortably perform to their best.
As did the Bavarian tenor Jonas Kaufmann. Blessed with the noble features
and black locks of a Pre-Raphaelite Jesus, he has recently become a big
favourite in Edinburgh and he is sticking around to sing Walther in the
concert performance of Die Meistersinger, which will bring Sir Brian
McMaster's directorship to a close next week.
This nicely plotted programme allowed him to display his baritonal tenor
to advantage. He doesn't have the post-choirboy sweetness of tone that
characterised his German predecessors Fritz Wunderlich and Peter Schreier,
but he can match their musicality and elegance, as well as providing the
extra decibels that they couldn't manage.
Sometimes, one wishes he could add a few more colours to his palette, but
he phrases warmly and thinks hard about words. Most importantly, he sings
with a passionate commitment that communicates emotion with
vivid immediacy.
A Schubert rarity, Die Burgschaft ("The Bond"), brought all these virtues
into play. It is a short solo cantata to a text by Schiller, alternating
recitative and arioso.
The music is hectoring and heroic, with a "fate" motif underpinning its
rather rambling structure. But Kaufmann brought the tale of two friends
united against tyranny to blazing dramatic life.
Four Slovakian folk songs by Bartók, sung in German, were less successful.
Here, Kaufmann sold the simple modal melodies too hard, inflecting the
doggerel texts with excessive artistry, and I found my attention
gravitating towards the piano part, which was impeccably played by the
accompanist, Helmut Deutsch.
There were no such complaints about the marvellously operatic performance
of Britten's Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo, which followed. Perhaps they
lie too high for Kaufmann's low-focused range, but he sang them with such
full-blooded ardour that one barely noticed the occasional technical blip.
The concert's second half was devoted to Richard Strauss. Kaufmann's new
CD of this repertory has won high praise and one could hear why. This is
his home ground and, after a lovely relaxed account of the Schlichte
Weisen ("Simple Ditties"), he went on to rattle the rafters with those
Romantic warhorses "Heimliche Aufforderung" and "Cacilie", provoking a
richly deserved ovation for himself and his unfailingly sensitive
accompanist. |
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| The Scotsman |
Jonas Kaufmann
*****
JAN FAIRLEY
QUEEN'S HALL
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JONAS Kaufmann gave us the tenor-baritone side of his
voice for Schubert's dramatic ballad Die Bürgschaft, telling this
thrilling tale of sacrificial friendship and humanising tyranny with
complete conviction. Kaufmann is a natural actor, his body gestures
underscoring his words, his burnished tones beautifully emotional.
If he wrong-stepped the programme by singing Bartók's Four Slovakian
Folksongs in German it did not matter, except that, as with Britten's
Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo Op 22, it brought home how occasional
glances at a score inhibit his otherwise unfettered expressiveness.
Kaufmann (without being sexist) has the looks of a flamenco singer and his
stance is similar, inhabiting the music as if every word was self-minted
in the moment. Best to have nothing coming between him and his audience,
as Strauss's Sclichte Weisien Op 21 proved.
Singing Strauss's Four Songs before the Vier Lieder Op 27 meant the
performance hiatus came near the end, creating that totally transforming
moment one prays for at a concert.
The rapturous Morgen became a glittering jewel as Kaufmann's voice became
a whispering stream of sound. Helmut Deutsch's piano was subtly stunning
throughout. |
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| Jonas Kaufmann, Tenor, Helmut Deutsch, Piano |
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The atmosphere at this concert crackled with excitement;
Jonas Kaufmann and Helmut Deutsch held the audience mesmerised for almost
two hours, from the Schubert extended ballad, 'Die Bürgschaft' - which
requires a singer of Kaufmann's calibre to maintain the dramatic
expression required by the narrative - until the end of their encore. The
second half was entirely by Richard Strauss, and was excellent with
Kaufmann's meticulous technique most obvious during Benjamin Britten's
'Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo' although he displayed his wonderful
characterisation and vocal power throughout the programme. Deutsch's piano
accompaniment was both dramatic and sympathetic; when it rested, I held my
breath as Kaufmann sang on alone, with a glorious beauty. These two great
artists presented a morning of extraordinary music.
The Queen's Hall, 24 Aug, 11:00am (12:45pm)
tw rating 5/5 [lr] |
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| Orpheus 11/12, 2006 |
| " Das Recital von Jonas Kaufmann am 24. 8. war ein
morgenliches Fest, das ich fast verpaßt hätte - Schuberts Bürgschaft
schien ein bemerkenswerter Aufwärmer mit nur ganz kleinen Einbußen bei den
Kopfnoten. Bartoks Vier slawische Volkslieder wurden zu eloquenten Duetten
zwischen Sänger und Begleiter Helmut Deutsch , der hier besonders viel
Gelegenheit zum Glänzen bekam. Für uns Briten waren natürlich die
Michelangelo-Sonette von Britten ein Ereignis, bei denen man sich wenig an
die (stimmlich) fragile Zusammenarbeit von Britten und Pears erinnerte,
sondern eine kraftvolle, gloriose und höhensichere Männergemeinschaft
erlebte. Diese erzitalienischen Lieder eines britischen Komponisten von
zwei Deutschen vorgetragen zu hören, ließ mich wirklich an
Multikulturalismus denken. Die zweite Hälfte ließ Kaufmanns Stimme noch
leuchtender aufscheinen - das Strauss-Programm zeigte ihn im Vollbesitz
seiner künstlerischen und stimmlichen Möglichkeiten bei voller Resonanz
und bester Höhe. Und manchmal schien es als ob Deutschs Klavier Glocken
und Klingeln gehabt hätte..." - Douglas Bennett/G.H.- |
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| Scotland on Sunday, 27. August
2006 |
Little Britten triumphs
SARAH JONES
(Auszug) |
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Flawless is not quite the word to describe tenor Jonas
Kaufmann, with accompanist Helmut Deutsch on Thursday. There's a hint of
the baritone in Kaufmann's rich voice. Yes, at times, it's a little sparse
in the higher reaches - but this is most notable when he is singing
repertoire with which he is not entirely familiar. Kaufmann has that rare
and moving rich brilliance of an operatic tenor, compelling in his opening
Schubert Die Burgschaft, the story of a man who leaves his friend in the
hands of a tyrant as surety for his own life.
Sung grippingly last year by baritone Christopher Maltman, Kaufman is
altogether different, adept at vocal characterisation, taking the audience
through rain, flood and famine, marriage and near-death. When Kaufmann is
at his best, he paints pictures with his voice - Die Burgschaft was a
10-minute one-man opera, as intended. |
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| Meistersinger, Edinburgh:
Special affair |
| by Michael Tanner/published by
The Spectator, 16 September 2006 |
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Brian McMaster’s 15-year period directing the Edinburgh
International Festival came to an entirely appropriate end with a concert
performance in the Usher Hall of Wagner’s great comedy Die Meistersinger
von Nürnberg, with a starry cast, the Festival Chorus and the BBC Scottish
Symphony Orchestra, much enlarged for the occasion, under the baton of
David Robertson. It was a thrilling affair, and it was greeted with even
greater enthusiasm, bordering on wildness, than that for Die Zauberflöte
two evenings previously. Either the audience is getting more unbuttoned —
surprising considering the extreme seniority of at least a large
proportion of it — or these two performances were really something very
special.
Meistersinger was special in several ways, though it was not a profound or
a great interpretation. It is an opera that we very rarely get a chance to
see these days, presumably because it demands such a large number of fine
soloists, and because the forces involved are so immense. Yet I have the
feeling that it is also under a cloud, regarded, thanks to Sachs’s closing
paean to ‘holy German art’, as a suspicious work. A considerable number of
soi-disant Wagner specialists spend much of their energy demonstrating its
contribution to the prehistory of Nazism, with special attention to the
alleged anti-Semitism in the portrayal of Beckmesser, and its supposed
contribution to a dangerously nationalistic fervour in the crucial period
of the late 1860s and early 1870s, when German unity was at last being
achieved.
One of the blessings of a concert performance, with only a minimum of
gesturing, is that these considerations, entirely bogus as they are in my
opinion, cannot be raised in its presentation, however much programme
notes may incite us to think along those lines. There are respects in
which this is the most visual of all Wagner’s later dramas, with a
complicated action and a great deal of by-play. Certainly the humour of
some scenes is largely lost without action, but that may be compensated
for by the greater attention the singers can devote to what is a taxing
score, though it is only Sachs who has an enormous role to sing,
comparable to the major roles in the other dramas.
It is, for anyone with the stamina to carry it through to its exultant
conclusion, the role of roles, and Robert Holl, who has sung it many times
at Bayreuth, clearly relished the chance not to have to act it — not that
he ever does, much. Sachs gives voice to sentiments that are darker than
those of any other character in Wagner’s oeuvre, regarding the world as
governed ineluctably by folly, so that it is only the man who sees the
illusoriness of all endeavour who can direct things to ensure that the
apparent successes of others, their hopes and happiness, can be sustained
for a bit longer than they otherwise would be — that is the most that
anyone can achieve. However, the music to which he voices these and other
equally depressing sentiments has such radiance that it is easy to
overlook the depth of this work’s pessimism, and Holl colluded with the
conductor to make sure that that’s just what we would do. Robertson
conducted with brassy cheeriness throughout, aided by the comparative
scrawniness of the strings, especially the higher ones, though there
appeared to be plenty of them.
Holl’s two-dimensionality shifted some emphasis on to the other roles:
that was above all the case with the gloriously resonant and intelligent
Pogner of Matthew Rose, a great bass in the making; and spectacularly with
the Walther of Jonas Kaufmann, who brought such deep understanding to his
first performance of this role that for once Walther became the cynosure
he should be: he built the Prize Song with surpassing skill, truly as a
remembered dream. Andrew Shore was a brilliantly subtle, firm-voiced
Beckmesser, and the lesser masters were played by singers from, in some
cases, the distant past. And Toby Spence was an ideal David, fussy and
mellifluous. Only the Eva of Hillevi Martinpelto was a disappointment —
but every Meistersinger has one. |
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| A fond farewell for McMaster's singers |
| By Andrew Clark, The Financial Times, September 3 2006 |
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| Meistersinger was a roll-call of McMaster singers,
including no less than two Tristans and a Wotan from his time at Welsh
National Opera. Robert Holl's Sachs was in glorious voice, and Andrew
Shore came hotfoot from Bayreuth to sing Beckmesser, a hugely promising
role-debut. But it was the younger talents who stole the show, among them
TobySpence's David and Matthew Rose's Pogner. Best of all was Jonas
Kaufmann, who lent Stolzing's Prize Song the softness of a Liedersinger.
McMaster's only questionable choice was the conductor. Ignoring close
Wagnerian associates such as Donald Runnicles and Richard Armstrong, he
settled for the bland David Robertson. But with the Edinburgh Festival
Chorus and BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra at their peak, this
Meistersinger was a fitting farewell for McMaster. |
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| Die Meistersinger |
| By Neil Fisher, The Times, September 5, 2006 |
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| There they were, lined up for inspection: the old and the
new, all paying tribute to Brian McMaster in his final fling as boss of
the Edinburgh Festival, in an opera appropriately celebrating both
tradition and renewal. There were old chums from McMaster's WNO days
-Richard Van Allan and Jeffrey Lawton, making cameo appearances as two of
the fusty mastersingers and the Wagnerian veteran Robert Holl as Hans
Sachs, while the youngsters Jonas Kaufmann, MatthewRose, James Rutherford
also got prominent positions. Not a night for keeping emotions in check,
particularly with the affectionate tribute delivered in praise of McMaster
before the performance kicked off. For some that was probably enough, yet
the chemistry never seemed quite right for a really roof-lifting
performance. For disciplined playing, the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
couldn't be faulted the brass were on particularly reliable form but they
often sounded flat-footed and colourless under David Robertson's
unexciting conducting, and the overture failed to soar. Nor did Holl's
experienced Hans Sachs deliver as much as it promised. His Sachs very much
the poet rather than the cobbler was lucid enough, but where was the
humanity and humour of Wagner's most engaging hero? Holl's sparring with
Andrew Shore's fluent but surprisingly earnest Beckmesser lacked
theatricality in a concert setting. The Swedish soprano Hillevi
Martinpelto, another McMaster favourite, is probably better suited to one
of Wagner's more hysterical heroines than the shy, girlish Eva. So thank
goodness for those flying the flag for the next generation. As a petulant,
passionate Walther, Jonas Kaufmann proved a revelation: yes, the role lies
at the very limits of his lyric tenor, but his ardent spontaneity was the
evening's highlight. Rose's Pogner made up in character and style what he
lacked in vocal weight, and Rutherford was an exceptional Kothner. Bonus
marks go to Wendy Dawn Thompson's fruity Magdalene and Toby Spence's
puppyish David, and to an enjoyably raucous Edinburgh Festival Chorus.
Not, in all, the dream finale to McMaster's 14 years at the top, but it
goes without saying that his successor has a lot to live up to. |
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| Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg,
Usher Hall, Edinburgh – 2nd September 2006 |
| © Neil Jones and Cairnstone Limited 2006 |
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For this, the last performance in his tenure as Edinburgh
International Festival Director, Brian McMaster had assembled a superb
cast and, if this was going to be something of an indulgence, the audience
certainly forgave him as the preperformance applause showed. And the
aforementioned cast also showed their approval by turning in a magnificent
performance.
Like fighter pilots, there are few opera singers who are both old and
bold, but two who are engaged the Usher Hall audience in a concert
performance of such convincing theatricality that it made you yearn for a
full on stage performance whilst, at the same time, almost forgetting this
wasn’t one.
The old and bold – if they’ll forgive the former adjective – were Robert
Holl and Andrew Shore, in the roles of Hans Sachs and Sextus Beckmesser
respectively. Their Act II interchange where Sachs marks Beckmesser’s
efforts was easily the highlight of the performance.
Die Meistersinger is, of course, as much a story of love between Walther
von Stolzing (sung delightfully by Jonas Kaufmann) and Pogner’s daughter
Eva (Hellevi Martinpelto) as the relationship between two local tradesmen,
between ‘old-fogyism’ and freedom of expression. And yet Holl and Shore
showed that, in pure entertainment terms, ‘old-fogyism’ has quite a bit
going for it even if it was the youngsters who touched the heart-strings.
The other Meistersingers were sung by as impressive a line-up of ‘old
masters’ as has probably ever been assembled in the UK with William
Kendall, John Shirley-Quirk, Jeffrey Lawton, John Mitchinson, John
Robertson, Phillip Joll, Glenville Hargreaves and Richard Van Allan.
Matthew Rose was simply splendid as a wonderfully upright, uptight Veit
Pogner; his very being just vibrated that a mere von Stolzing was never
going to be good enough for his daughter, while Toby Spence was
delightfully urchin like as Sachs' apprentice, David. Eva’s nurse,
Magdalene, was ably sung by Wendy Dawn Thompson and Paul Whelan made the
most of his imposing height to be magisterial as the night watchman.
Sadly, the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra gave a disciplined if
uninspired performance under the baton of David Robertson, while the
Edinburgh Festival Chorus added expert support together with an excellent
collection of students from the Alexander Gibson Opera School at the RSAMD
appropriately enough singing the roles of the Apprentices.
This was surely a fitting finale to 15 years of McMaster rule and an
appropriate choice with its celebration of tradition and renewal. |
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| The Scotsman |
| Die Meistersinger Von Nürnberg |
| ""Wagner was desperately keen that his sole venture
into the field of comic opera should be a success"" |
| By SANDY SCOTT |
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MAGNIFICENT Mastersingers! Wagner was desperately keen
that his sole venture into the field of comic opera should be a success.
More than that, it would be easy enough to argue that it is the greatest
opera ever written.
Just over halfway through work on his Ring cycle he broke off to compose
Tristan und Isolde and Die Meistersinger, setting the latter in 16th
century Nuremberg and weaving its various incidents around the key figure
of poet-cobbler Hans Sachs.
Because the musical content is constructed on symphonic principles that
constantly develop its many themes, the work is eminently suitable for
performance in the concert hall.
The orchestral score is full of interest throughout.
David Robertson and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra took obvious
pleasure in their glowing account of it.
The various choral sections benefit from larger numbers of singers being
able to take part than would be possible on the operatic stage.
Edinburgh Festival Chorus brought a new perspective to the big moments -
such as the assembly of the whole cast for the outdoor song contest that
concludes Act III.
Without becoming involved in storyline details here, the underlying
message Wagner wished to convey in his words and music is about keeping an
open mind when something new and unfamiliar comes along. Walther's music
represents the element of modernity and Sachs' attitude shows
understanding of it.
As Hans Sachs, Robert Holl sang magnificently and portrayed the character
well as a fair and open-minded judge of innovation.
At the other end of the scale, Andrew Shore's Sixtus Beckmesser -
Nuremberg's Town Clerk - brought out the narrow-minded spitefulness of one
who not only has a closed mind but also is predictably willing to rubbish
anything new or unfamiliar.
Toby Spence presented Sachs' apprentice David with youthful verve and
humour.
The amusingly mixed-up singing lesson he offers to Walther in the second
scene went particularly well.
Wendy Dawn Thompson, as his girlfriend Magdalene, had already made an
excellent impression in the opening ensemble.
The part of Walther involves having to sing the prize song twice. Jonas
Kaufmann gave a very fine account of the role and took sensitive care to
offer subtle differences of interpretation in the various repeats.
Hillevi Martinpelto dealt creditably with the complexities of the part of
Eva.
In addition to the Nightwatchman [Paul Whelan] and Veit Pogner [Matthew
Rose], nine more male soloists sang in the various ensembles that feature
Mastersingers' deliberations.
It would be hard to think of a more wonderful send-off for retiring
Festival Director Sir Brian McMaster. |
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| The Scotsman |
| DIE MEISTERSINGER VON NÜRNBURG ***** |
| KENNETH WALTON |
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WHAT a way to go. Brian McMaster's final statement as
Edinburgh International Festival director was issued through a piece of
programming epic in scale and overwhelmingly emotive. He chose a concert
performance of Wagner's Die Meistersinger as the climax to his final
festival and packed it with a cast geared to create a sense of occasion.
For instance, who'd have expected to see such immortal veterans as John
Shirley-Quirk, James Rutherford, Jeffrey Lawton, John Mitchinson or
Richard van Allen pulled out of retirement to take the stage as the
collective "Masters" - a deliciously poignant touch. Part of the fun lay
in trying to recognise who was who. And if the old power wasn't always
there, the essential charisma and magic was. This was a performance loaded
with character, fun (it is a comedy) and some seriously good singing.
Robert Holl sang the pivotal role of Hans Sachs with enormous warmth,
against which Andrew Shore pitched his Beckmesser as appropriately bitter
and pathetic. Jonas Kaufmann's Walther glowed with rich, golden lyricism.
Hillevi Martinpelto seemed to strain a little in the higher register as
Eva, unlike the consistency of Wendy Dawn Thompson as Magdalene
This was anything but a static affair. Neat little "production" touches
lit up the five-hour show. Toby Spence's shoes were presumably
deliberately scuffed to emphasise the boy in the apprentice David, a role
he sang with engaging zeal. Conductor David Robertson commanded a tight
ship, drawing hot-blooded playing from the BBC Scottish Symphony
Orchestra, and animated energy from the Edinburgh Festival Chorus and the
"Apprentices" of the RSAMD Opera School. It was worthy of such a special
occasion. |
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| NEW YORK CITY — Die Zauberflöte, the Metropolitan
Opera, 10/7/06 |
| Opera News/Januar 2007 |
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Die Zauberflöte is at heart an operatic bildungsroman, a
series of adventures through which the hero Tamino gains maturity and
spiritual awareness. This is often unclear in performance. Papageno's
slapstick, the Queen of the Night's high F and Sarastro's low E all vie
for our attention; in their midst, Tamino can seem like a young man who
wanders on now and again to make pretty tenor noises. No such confusion
afflicted the Met's October 7 matinée, the opera's season premiere. As
embodied by Jonas Kaufmann, Tamino emerged as the work's lodestar.
Kaufmann's brilliant tenor proclaimed the character's primacy; it became
the organizing principal around which the opera's universe of
extraordinary sounds was arranged. When he maintained his vow of silence
in Act II, the voice's very absence made itself felt: the distinctive
sound — lyricism writ large — remained a phantom presence.
Kaufmann was immensely helped by Julie Taymor's celebrated production (new
to this reviewer). I went to this performance expecting to be wowed by
spectacle; on that level, the production delivered, but what was
surprising was how apposite the visual inventions were to the work at
hand. By presenting Sarastro's realm as a succession of wonders, it
encourages us to share Tamino's awe through the various steps in his
journey. The disparate elements that comprise Zauberflöte can cause a
performance of the opera to come apart at the seams; Taymor's
interpretation made for an unusually coherent piece of musical theater.
The cool, instrumental beauty of Isabel Bayrakadarian's soprano, with its
subtle, quick vibrato, evoked great Mozart singers of past generations;
the only element that hampered her Pamina was her somewhat occluded German
diction. Nathan Gunn brought to Papageno's stage business an infectious
exuberance that unfortunately did not always carry through to his singing;
"Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen" in particular seemed to lie too low for him.
Tessitura proved a problem, too, for bass Stephen Milling; the voice
tended to disappear on those low notes where one expects a Sarastro to
assert his authority. Erika Miklósa was a lightweight Queen of the Night,
fluent at the top but lacking in bite below the staff. Eike Wilm Schulte's
shallow tone proved insufficiently noble for the speaker, but Volker Vogel
was a wonderful Monastatos — grotesque, funny and even touching. Conductor
Scott Bergeson led a judiciously paced performance and drew from the Met
orchestra luminous sonorities fully as magical as the marvels unfolding
onstage.
FRED COHN |
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| Opera Review | 'Die Zauberflöte' Magical Puppets
Brought to Life by Opera |
| By VIVIEN SCHWEITZER Published: October 9, 2006 |
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 If
only all journeys to enlightenment were as whimsical and lighthearted as
the route chosen by Julie Taymor in her magical production of Mozart's
"Zauberflöte," whose revival at the Metropolitan Opera opened Saturday.
Ms. Taymor's vision of Mozart's opera, a fairy-tale allusion to Freemason
rituals, features elegantly cheerleading bear puppets, a hilariously campy
dance by Monostatos's slaves, the dramatic entrance of a white-winged
Queen of the Night and a charming duet in which Papageno and Papagena
dream of baby Papageni.
There is a sense of symmetry and proportion to George Tsypin's plexiglass
sets, which are dotted with suitably mysterious hieroglyphics and Masonic
symbols, around which Ms. Taymor's fanciful puppet serpents, bears and
birds writhe and flutter.
While the stage is filled with cavorting puppets, Ms. Taymor mostly allows
the singers to stand and deliver without contortionist poses or
acrobatics. Nathan Gunn was appealingly animated as the bird catcher,
Papageno, combining intelligent, vibrant singing with charismatic acting.
His comic timing had the audience in stitches.Next to his jolly
scampering, Jonas Kaufmann's Tamino seemed not only princely and virtuous,
but uptight and stiff. Mr. Kaufmann was fine vocally, but was perhaps
hindered by his stylized gestures and Kabuki makeup from expressing real
passion for Pamina.
How any man could not relent before the beautiful Isabel Bayrakdarian's
ardent Pamina was a mystery, but in the aria "Ach, ich fühl's" her concern
that her love for Tamino went unreciprocated seemed valid. Ms.
Bayrakdarian wielded her clear, bright, expressive voice to vividly convey
Pamina's anguish, just one highlight of her superb portrayal.
Stephen Milling was a fine Sarastro, imposing and stentorian, if slightly
strained in the lowest register. Volker Vogel was a strong, sneaky and
amusing Monostatos. Erika Miklósa, Queen of the Night, nailed her scarily
high notes in the aria "Der Hölle Rache" but didn't seem intimidating
enough for someone with such gruesome talons.
Ms. Taymor's production occasionally requires a high degree of sensory
multitasking. But given the erratic conducting of Scott Bergeson, whose
inconsistent tempos were sometimes completely out of sync with the
singers, it was better to focus on the visual stimuli.
If the opera finished on a somewhat anticlimactic note, it was perhaps
because Papageno's happy ending seemed more compelling than Tamino's
rather lackluster journey to enlightenment. But it was certainly an
enchanting ride. |
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| Proopera, Magazin, Mexico |
| Die Zauberflöte |
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En estos últimos anos la dirección del Met ha atravesado
momentos difíciles en lo que se refiere a afluencia de publico. Esta
situación ha sido generada en buena parte por la disminución de turistas
-una de las principales fuentes de ingresos de la taquilla-, la falta de
divos mediáticos capaces de atraer público y una proliferación de buenas
ofertas en otros teatros líricos americanos. Esto obligó a la dirección
del Met a mirar con buenos ojos e intentar captar parte del público que
asiduamente concurre a los espectáculos de Broadway y para quienes la
ópera es algo tan extraño como lejano.Tal parece haber sido el objetivo de
convocar a la destacada regista Julie Taymor para esta nueva producción de
La flauta mágica de Mozart. La directora de escena carga en su haber toda
una larga lista de éxitos, entre los que figura la puesta en escena de una
de las mas exitosas, taquilleras y premiadas comedias musicales
presentadas en Broadway: El Rey León, así como de varias renombradas
películas como Titus y Frida.Su debut en el mundo de la ópera no pudo ser
más auspicioso.
Taymor y su equipo han hecho un trabajo monumental con la ópera de Mozart.
Posiblemente ésta sea de lejos la mejor producción presentada en el Met en
los últimos años. Ayudada por un manejo lumínico excelente, un vestuario
de una creatividad superlativa y la utilización de desopilantes
marionetas, Taymor creó todo un mundo de fantasía y ensueño que funciona a
la perfección con el espíritu de la ópera mozartiana. Es así como en este
mundo de fantasía, los personajes de la ópera se entremezclan con animales
fantásticos, comida voladora y sinnúmero de efectos especiales que hacen
la delicia de grandes y chicos.En lo estrictamente vocal, ya desde las
primeras frases pudo intuirse cuan próximo se encuentra el rol de mino a
la vocalidad del tenor alemán Jonas Kaufmann, quien ya en el aria del
retrato "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön..." lució una impecable línea
de canto y una voz llena de gilidad y ductibilidad, atributos que hicieron
de su composición del Príncipe Tamino un modelo de virtuosismo vocal a lo
largo de toda la ópera. Mimado del publico local, el barítono americano
Nathan Gunn aportó sus magníficas cualidades de actor cantante para
componer un Papageno pleno de frescura y comicidad que supo meterse al
público en el bolsillo y convertirse en uno de los puntales del éxito de
la produccion.La soprano húngara Erika Miklósa es considerada una de las
mejores Reinas de la noche del momento y tiene condiciones
sobradas para detentar dicho título. Su canto fue de una espeluznante
precisión técnica que encontró todo su esplendor en la estratosférica
tesitura que le asigna la parte, sin que ello condicionara un ápice de la
expresividad ni del refinamiento con las que encaró su prestación de la
reina de las fuerzas del mal. No fue menos la soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian,
quien compuso una cautivante y musical Pamina de medios estupendos y
generosa emisión. El aria "Ach, ich fühl's..." y su dúo con Tamino fueron
dos de los momentos de mayor nivel vocal-interpretativo de la noche. Un
absoluto acierto resultó encomendar a Stephen Milling la composición de
Sarastro. El bajo danés posee un timbre resonante y opulento no falto de
la autoridad y la prestancia que requiere el rol del gran sacerdote. Su "O
Isis und Osiris..." fue entusiastamente recibido por un público subyugado
ante tanto derroche de buen canto. El coro estuvo correcto. A cargo de la
dirección musical, el director americano Scott Bergeson obtuvo de la
orquesta una lectura plena de vitalidad, dinamismo y claridad, siempre
atento a que el movimiento escénico fluyera sin inconvenientes.
opor Daniel Lara |
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| Pappano, che bella "Dannazione" |
| Il capolavoro di Berlioz esalta orchestra e coro,
generosi i cantanti di ALFREDO GASPONI |
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 ROMA
- Un grande sogno romantico colmo di poesia anche se destinato a
infrangersi. Così Antonio Pappano ha inteso La damnation de Faust ,
"leggenda drammatica" di Hector Berlioz che ha inaugurato ieri la stagione
sinfonica di Santa Cecilia all'Auditorium. E la sua interpretazione, dopo
due ore e venti di musica senza interruzione, ha preso il pubblico: alla
fine, dieci minuti di applausi. Al direttore, ai cantanti e al maestro del
coro Norbert Balatsch ha fatto i complimenti il presidente della
Repubblica, Giorgio Napolitano, che gli artisti sono andati a salutare in
platea mentre il pubblico batteva le mani. Accanto al capo dello Stato il
sindaco di Roma, Walter Veltroni, e il ministro della cultura Francesco
Rutelli.
In un certo modo, l'approccio di Pappano a Berlioz ha riservato una
sorpresa. Ci si poteva attendere che il maestro italaoamericano, con il
suo temperamento sanguigno, esaltasse soprattutto i momenti spettacolari
della Damnation , che ne è ricca, a partire dall'elegante Marcia ungherese
che marchia subito di grandezza la partitura. E in effetti qui, come nella
grottesca scena dei bevitori e nel Pandemonio conclusivo, la sua
interpretazione è stata accesamente teatrale.
Ma l'opera di Berlioz, in cui il protagonista, a differenza di quanto
avviene in Goethe, si sacrifica per la sua donna e precipita nell'inferno,
è innanzitutto interiorità, nella descrizione musicale del desiderio di un
amore impossibile e di abbandono alla divinità della natura. Pappano l'ha
inteso, ed ha capito che il diavolo di Berlioz non è un satanasso
ghignante, ma un campione dell'ambiguità: pittoresco e simpatico come
nella fosforescente Serenata , e con una nobiltà da angelo decaduto. E
dunque ha mosso orchestra e coro privilegiando delicatezza e mezzetinte,
come nella Danza delle silfidi , sorta di sonnambolico carillon; e come
nel translucido minuetto dei folletti. Una direzione ricca di atmosfera e
suggestione.
Il diavolo, in verità, stava realmente per metterci la coda, perché i due
cantanti protagonisti, il tenore James Kaufmann e il basso Erwin Schrott
si erano ammalati durante le prove. Ma, con grande coraggio, ce l'hanno
fatta entrambi: al primo i postumi della malattia hanno dato un tono
sofferente che ha reso il suo Faust ancor più tormentato ed estatico; il
secondo è stato un Mefistofele "gran signore", dicitore tanto solenne
quanto insinuante. Stupenda Margherita, Vesselina Kasarova, voce brunita,
dalle risonanze musorgskiane. Per riassumere la bravura dell'orchestra
basterà ricordare l'intensità degli interventi del corno inglese di Mary
Cotton Savini e della viola di Raffaele Mallozzi. Il coro ha festeggiato
il ritorno del grande Balatsch con una prestazione maiuscola e
intelligente, vedi l' Amen volutamente più ironico che mistico nella scena
dei bevitori. Da non perdere. Si replica lunedì e mercoledì. |
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| Faust senza redenzione |
| By Giuseppe Pennisi, Milano Finanza, Numero 211, pag. 2
del 25/10/2006 |
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Teatri In scena a Roma l'opera di Berlioz tratta dal
dramma di Goethe.
Pappano fornisce una lettura monumentale della partitura Buona prova per
il coro dei bambini. Spicca Jonas Kaufmann
L'Accademia di Santa Cecilia ha inaugurato la stagione 2006-2007 con La
damnation de Faust di Hector Berlioz. Si tratta di un'opera che viene
eseguita raramente a causa dell'imponente organico orchestrale e del
doppio coro (di cui uno di voci bianche) che richiede, nonché delle
difficoltà vocali che impone ai tre protagonisti. Dopo una prima
rappresentazione disastrosa alla Salle Favart di Parigi nel 1846, Berlioz
in pratica rinunciò a vederla eseguita sia in scena sia in forma di
concerto. Il successo le arrise solo 30 anni più tardi quando entrò
gradualmente nei programmi di complessi sinfonici e teatri. A Roma, dove
mancava da oltre dieci anni, le repliche terminano stasera, ma l'opera si
potrà ascoltare tra qualche mese a Parma e a Verona. Dei numerosi lavori
musicali ispirati dal Faust di Goethe, quello di Berlioz (il cui testo è
frutto di una collaborazione con il poeta Gérald de Nerval, differisce
dagli altri per vari motivi. In primo luogo, Faust non viene redento (e
assolto) ma il patto con il diavolo lo porta diritto all'inferno. In
secondo luogo, il patto viene concluso non a causa delle pulsioni
contrastanti nell'animo del protagonista ma per la noia proto-esistenziale
che lo porta a sedurre Margherita e a fare di lei un'assassina. Non viene
seguita, poi, una vicenda lineare ma, ipotizzando che l'ascoltatore già
conosca la trama, si susseguono 19 rapide scene.
Al Parco della Musica di Roma Antonio Pappano fornisce una lettura
monumentale della partitura con una visione scultorea dei tre
protagonisti, assecondato da un'orchestra in cui ciascun musicista suona
come se fosse un solista. I due cori sono in grande forma (notevole quello
dell'Accademia guidato da Norbart Balatsch, e sorprendente quello di
bambini diretto da José Maria Sciutto). Tra i protagonisti spicca il
giovane Jonas Kaufmann la cui tessitura spazia da tenero lirico nelle
prime scene a baritenore nell'ultima parte; perfetta la sua dizione
francese. La dizione, invece, è una difficoltà sia per Vesselina Kasarova,
una Margherita appassionata, sensuale e dolce, sia per Erwin Schrott, che
interpreta un Mefistofele dal timbro morbido, suadente e seducente ma non
sufficientemente diabolico. (riproduzione riservata) |
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| Giornale della Musica |
| La dannazione di Faust: concerto o
teatro? |
| Rom, 23.10. 2006 |
Ecco la scommessa dell'apertura della stagione sinfonica
di Santa Cecilia: riportare alla sua originaria dimensione concertistica
la "Damnation de Faust", che dalla fine dell'Ottocento conta una
consolidata tradizione di allestimenti scenici, i cui frutti migliori
vanno probabilmente ricercati proprio nel teatro contemporaneo andato a
nozze con la rapsodicità della narrazione da Berlioz.
L'approccio di Pappano è in questo senso duplice: un clima decisamente
sinfonico si avverte nelle prime due parti, con pregevole dilatazione dei
tempi a vantaggio di un fraseggio sinuoso, decise accelerazioni con
momenti di virtuosismo direttoriale come nella marcia ungherese,
vertiginosi crescendo all'insegna della tensione psicologica. Va detto che
in tutto questo non è stato d'aiuto Kaufmann, il cui timbro scuro bene si
sposerebbe al personaggio di Faust, ma appariva afflitto da problemi di
raffreddamento.
Dalla scena della taverna in poi, era però la dimensione più teatrale e
istintiva a prendere il sopravvento, facendo perno sul Méphistophélès
particolarmente amabile e intrigante di Schrott. Fascinosa la Margueritè
di Kasarova, cui si devono i migliori momenti di canto.
Ritrovando dopo molti anni come maestro Balatsch, il Coro ceciliano
conferma la sua classe marcando straordinariamente la differenza tra le
voci del popolo, della taverna, dei demoni fino agli spiriti celesti dove
si sono fatte valere le voci bianche. Altrettanto notevole è la
prestazione dell'orchestra, con spettacolari soli di viola e oboe: in
Pappano sembra avere incontrato un direttore ideale per una bella serata
di musica da cui si esce con la speranza che, senza i clamori della Festa
del Cinema imperversanti in questi giorni all'Auditorium romano, lui torni
sulla partitura per darle il colpo di grazia. |
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| Opera News, März 2007 |
| Carmen Royal Opera House |
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It's been twelve years since the Royal Opera performed
Carmen, which is a long time, even given the fact that that period
includes the closure and rebuilding of Covent Garden. It appears to be a
plank of the theater's current artistic policy to reinstate popular
favorites, presumably including Bizet's masterpiece, in sensible,
good-looking productions that will sustain regular revival. The choice of
director for the important assignment of visualizing one of the few operas
whose fame extends well beyond the charmed circles of opera initiates fell
on Francesca Zambello, working with designer Tanya McCallin, lighting
designer Paule Constable and choreographer Arthur Pita. The new Carmen
opened on December 8.
The general look of McCallin's Seville was realistic and idiomatic in
terms of costumes, and again realistic, with just a hint of
semi-abstraction, in terms of the lowering orange walls that formed the
adaptable unit set. The ease of moving these around into different
configurations helped the evening flow briskly (just one interval,
following Act II), as did the lithe, graceful conducting of music director
Antonio Pappano, whose way with the score delivered its passion and
psychological richness without sacrificing its Gallic lucidity.
Zambello's concentration on character and narrative placed what are
undoubtedly "numbers," even in Bizet's original, within a clear-edged
intellectual framework. The dance routines at Lillas Pastia's (the
character was presented here, in a minor deviation from the text, as a
woman, by Caroline Lena Olsson) were executed with vivacity and point. The
participation of some animals — a donkey in Act I, a horse for Escamillo's
entrances in Acts II and IV and somewhere, apparently (though I must have
blinked), a chicken — looked a bit old-fashioned, but it was fun, and the
cast was good enough not to be even momentarily upstaged.
It was led by the Gypsy of Anna Caterina Antonacci, whose sole previous
Covent Garden appearance was as Elcia in a short-lived staging of
Rossini's Mosè in Egitto back in 1994. (She's sung Rossini's Ermione and
Handel's Rodelinda at Glyndebourne more recently.) Antonacci is the real
thing. Though many of her roles are unequivocally soprano parts,
Antonacci's voice matched perfectly with the lower-lying Carmen, her tone
emerging free and easy and avoiding any chest-voice gutturals. She was
consistently musical and elegant. She was also dramatically formidable,
flawless in her stage flamboyance, her intelligence and her sense of
control. The Royal Opera could have found no one better to do the part.
Antonacci was finely matched by the Don José of Jonas Kaufmann, another
artist of significant musicality and intelligence. He's not a vocal bruise
of a corporal — indeed he's a little on the light side — but he deploys
his voice so cannily that one never really notices. Above all, he shaped
every line beautifully, making a great thing, quite properly, out of the
flower song. As an actor, he was expert and considered, charting José's
fall from grace into violence with a careful and revealing attention to
dramatic detail.
Making up the rest of the central quartet were the traditionally macho and
vocally healthy Escamillo of Ildebrando D'Arcangelo, who also had charm
and humor, and the gauche, pigtailed Micaëla of Norah Amsellem, the only
French principal, who made her character's gentle lyricism and good-girl
behavior blossom into an effective foil for Antonacci's raunchier
protagonist.
Every one of the smaller roles, too, had something special to offer, with
the young South African baritone Jacques Imbrailo's Moralès, British bass
Matthew Rose's Zuniga and Australian soprano Elena Xanthoudakis's
Frasquita all shining with particular brightness. |
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| Diapason, février 2007 |
| Don Jonas |
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Anna Caterina Antonacci, Jonas Kaufmann, Ildebrando
d'Arcangelo : ces trois-là ont du sex-appeal, ça ne se discute pas. Et ce
n'est pas un luxe pour Carmen. Autour d'eux, des petits rôles savoureux
pour le spectacle de fin d'année de la Royal Opera House, notamment
Fouchécourt, Bou et, pour Frasquita, Elena Xanthoudakis - elle a tout le
charme qui manque à la Micaëla quelconque et mal chantée de Norah
Amsellem. Dans la fosse, l'orchestre maison décidément somptueux, et
Pappano, agité. Les grands gestes, oui, mais sans le nerf, la pulsation
fine du chef-d'œuvre de Bizet.
A défaut de vision, Francesca Zambello a du savoir-faire. Un peu. Sa mise
en scène remplit le contrat avec un âne, un poulet, un,beau,cheval noir
sur lequel Escamillo entre en scène et chante ses couplets, des nuages de
fumée à la sortie de la cigarerie, des mouvements de foule assez réussis,
une fiesta spectaculaire à la taverne, une petite procession religieuse
avant la corrida... Tout cela joliment aseptisé. Peu de caractère
également pour le décor de Tanya McCallin, immense élément modulable
auquel les lumières de Paule Constable et la profusion de costumes,
certains dignes d'un Goya, donnent un peu de chair.
La soirée restera pourtant mémorable, pour un couple Carmen-José qui la
transfigure. Sans surprise, Antonacci offre un idéal de déclamation. Le
texte sonne avec une telle aisance que cette Carmen soprano ne manque
jamais de volume - les graves de l'air des cartes sont des tombeaux, les
"là-bas, là-bas" abandonnés en voix de tête un aphrodisiaque. Carmen
charnelle évidemment, farouche virevoltante et personnage qui aime se
donner en spectacle - interviewée Antonacci revendique cette dimension et
l'assume en scène ! La torche vive aurait pu jeter dans l'ombre son
partenaire : Kaufmann lui aussi triomphe. Et bouleverse. La qualité de
prononciation, le charisme, la richesse psychologique, la ligne au bord
des lèvres de "La fleur que tu m'avais jetée", sa densité sans poids, le
corps à corps désespéré de la dernière scène, tout fait de lui et dès
cette prise de rôle un de nos plus grands Don José. Pour l'heure, c'est en
Alfredo qu'il nous arrive à l'opéra de Paris, et Antonacci en Rachel. En
attendant qu'on les réunisse à nouveau dans une mise en scène plus
inspirée.
Gaëtan Naulleau |
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| Carmen, Royal Opera House,
London |
| by Michael Tanner, published The Spectator, 16
December 2006 |
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| The Royal Opera’s new production of Carmen — and about
time, too — has as its heroine a singer we are much more used to in
baroque or bel canto operas, the determined-not-to-be-pigeonholed Anna
Caterina Antonacci. Vocally, she is restrained to the point of sometimes
seeming underpowered, but she shows she can deliver the goods in the final
scene. Her acting is traditional hip swinging, with a fair amount of
audacious skirt lifting and wide-apart-legs provocation. It’s a decent
performance, but not a striking or memorable one. In that it’s in the
strongest contrast to the Don José of Jonas Kaufmann, which is in all
respects on a level that puts the rest of the production in the shade. He
is not at all a stage-hogger, it’s just that he has a magnificent tenor
voice, the finest heard at Covent Garden for quite some time, and is a
gifted, intuitive actor who conveys a strong sense of humanity; in that he
is like his great teacher Hans Hotter. Don José is very difficult to make
a plausible, coherent character of: indecisive, with a self-confessed
history of violence, it’s not easy to see why someone as tough as Carmen
would look at him twice. He can be interpreted as a psychotic, which is
how Jon Vickers, the finest José I have seen before Kaufmann, read him,
with a voice to match. Kaufmann makes him as dignified as possible, but
uncomprehending of so extravagant a phenomenon as Carmen, so that he
virtually achieves tragic dimensions. In the final scene he is so
harrowing that even after an evening of impertinent applause, beginning
halfway through the Prelude, I was still shocked at how soon the cheering
began. In the thankless role of Micaela, Norah Amsellem, on the second
evening of the run, sang adequately but flapped her arms to no purpose;
while Ildebrando D’Arcangelo’s Escamillo is so ill-mannered as to appear
in Lillas Pastia’s tavern riding his horse. Though subtlety would be out
of place in performing the role, D’Arcangelo is crude. The supporting cast
is strong, with a specially impressive Zuniga from Matthew Rose, who makes
a bigger mark with each role he sings. Antonio Pappano conducts with his
usual acute ear for unusual and telling detail. The work is produced, or
rather unproduced, by Francesca Zambello. Lots of people on stage,
especially children, none of them doing anything; the principals left, so
far as one could tell, to fend for themselves; not one enlivening touch,
all told what nearly amounted to sabotage. Fortunately Carmen, unlike its
heroine, is indestructible. |
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/archive/ |
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| Carmen |
| Fri Dec 22 Royal Opera House, timeout.com |
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| Miracles do happen. The ROH's new production of Bizet's
wonderful – but hideously hard to bring off – opera about the
cigarette-girl who can damage your health fields an eternal triangle who
are beautiful and sexy, lovely movers and compelling actors. Francesca
Zambello's direction, as we know, is good on crowds, with set pieces that
occasionally veer into out-to-the-front Broadway routines, and this
production piles on the effects, including poultry, mules and, for
Escamillo's impressive entrance, a superb black horse (though a slightly
breathless baritone lagged behind the conductor's beat and didn't sound
too secure in pitch in the saddle). But there are also moments of intimate
intensity, as in Act 2 when gypsy girl and besotted soldier crouch on the
ground like watchful animals, flawed wild creatures, doomed by a destiny
as unyielding as the sun-baked walls of Tanya McCallin's set. Not for the
first time the thought occurs that the work should be entitled 'José'.
It's not the diva's fault: the tenor's role is a brilliant chronicle of an
emotional journey. José actually develops and changes, Carmen stays the
same. She has three show-stopping numbers, he has the Flower Song, which
Jonas Kaufmann turns into a passionate psychological drama, delivered with
such intensity (and burnished tone) that it scored the first night's
biggest ovation. Anna Caterina Antonacci's intelligent Carmen lightens her
soprano (the Standard, as ever on its own planet, referred to her 'rich
mezzo') to convey the music's Gallic nimbleness but at the moment lacks
vocal colour and character. Other good points: spoken dialogue is kept to
a minimum, and the onstage French induces no winces. No real weaknesses,
though the Micaela was in fluttery voice and fidgety histrionic mood.
Apparent updating to the time of the opera's composition (1870s) adds
little except some smart clobber for posh supernumeraries. Pappano evokes
sleek orchestral sound that highlights Bizet's refined scoring – is that
the trouble with 'Carmen'? We want sweat and Italianate bawling or Spanish
tang and resin, while Bizet has composed an archetypal French score,
elegant, stylish, witty, restrained (honestly; listen to the
instrumentation) to a story of lust, jealousy and murder. Given the work's
dichotomy, this peformance has much to enjoy as a sleek holiday treat. But
withers remain unwrung, geese unpimpled. |
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| London Opera |
| Wall Street Journal, by Paul Levy |
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Director Francesca Zambello's new "Carmen" at the Royal
Opera House is the sexiest production in a very long time, though its
raunchiness isn't entirely orthodox. In this women-on-top version, Carmen
-- sung lustily by soprano Anna Caterina Antonacci, formerly a mezzo and
who still has the smoky bottom notes -- and her cigarette girls and
gypsies (some of the dancers very big ladies indeed, put on a display of
carnality and lasciviousness for a tender, sensitive Don José and a less
than stud-like Escamillo).
This is "Carmen" seen from the point of view of female, rather than male
sexual desire. Jonas Kaufmann's finely detailed José is very much the
failed aspirant priest, a mother's boy who goes berserk when he gets his
first real whiff of female sexuality. A celebrated young Lieder singer,
the darkly handsome tenor's pianissimo top note at the end of Act II
evokes comparisons with Jussi Björling and Nicolai Gedda. Bass-baritone
Ildebrando D'Arcangelo's toreador, Escamillo, is a little upstaged by the
huge dark horse he rides.
But then Ms. Zambello breaks all the show-biz rules by working
successfully also with a live chicken, a donkey and an absolutely terrific
chorus of children -- her great talent is moving crowds around the stage.
The principal singers change for the five performances from Jan. 22-Feb.
3, and conductor Antonio Pappano hands over the baton from Jan. 8, though
Tanya McCallin's monumental Richard-Serra-sculpture-like terracotta
bullring set, of course, remains unaltered. |
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| Crescendo, Belgien:
A LONDRES, Carmen |
| Covent Garden, les 28 décembre |
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Pour fêter son 60e anniversaire, le Royal Opera de
Londres s’est offert, entre autres, deux nouvelles productions d’opéras
français qui n’avaient plus été à l’affiche depuis bien des années. La
dernière représentation de Carmen de Bizet datait de 1994, celle de La
Fille du Régiment de Donizetti de 1967........
............. C’est la régisseuse américaine Francesca Zambello qui
signait la nouvelle réalisation de Carmen dans des décors et costumes de
Tanya McCallin, une coproduction avec Den Norske Opera. L’élément le plus
original de la mise en scène réside sans doute dans le fait que Lilas
Pastia est une femme. Pour le reste, Zambello ne montre d'inspiration et
s’implique surtout dans les tableaux de foule, y ajoutant des effets
superflus voire encombrants -la fontaine publique sur la place dont l’eau
débordante est sans cesse torchonnée... Pour le reste, un spectacle et des
personnages assez stéréotypés, dans un décor unique de murs orange,
s'adaptant à vue aux différents lieux de l'action: pratique mais pas
toujours assez suggestif.
Antonio Pappano par contre nous proposa une lecture orchestrale haute
en couleur, vive et nerveuse, pleine de tension dramatique, transparente
et poétique -interlude- avec de beaux solos instrumentaux et un orchestre
en grande forme.
La distribution était dominée par le superbe Don José du jeune ténor
allemand Jonas Kaufmann qui débutait dans le rôle: physique idéal, jeu
naturel et expressif, belle voix claire et bien conduite, musicalité, et
style parfaitement adapté à l’opéra français. Anna Caterina Antonacci
campait une Carmen séduisante et sensuelle, jamais vulgaire, mais pas
vraiment attachante et sans grande personnalité, ce qui étonne chez cette
grande artiste toujours si engagée, assez pâle aussi sur le plan vocal.
Escamillo n’est pas le meilleur rôle d’Ildebrando D’Arcangelo qui a bien
le physique de l’emploi et la Micaëla de Norah Ansellem manque de charme
vocal et scénique. Les autres rôles étaient bien distribués, avec entre
autres Jean-Paul Fouchécourt en Remendado. |
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| Giornale della musica |
| La Carmen di Pappano |
Antonio Pappano e l'orchestra della Royal Opera House
sono i veri protagonisti della nuova produzione di Carmen al Covent
Garden. Pappano ha dimostrato in altre occasioni il suo talento
nell'esaltare i colori orchestrali, e fin dalle prime battute
dell'overture l'ascoltatore è catturato dalla fantasmagoria sonora della
Spagna immaginaria di Bizet. Si tratta di una lettura quasi classicista,
il cui rigore esalta l'intensità della scrittura senza mai abbandonarsi ad
una retorica vuota, ed è un piacere spiarne i gesti nei monitor di
servizio. Anche perchè purtroppo tanta intelligenza e creatività non
trovano un contrappunto nella regia di Francesca Zambello, che in un
tentativo al realismo astratto riesce ad accumulare una quantità
spiacevole di luoghi comuni. Un antico adagio suggerisce di evitare
bambini ed animali sul palcoscenico, cosa impossibile in Carmen, ma fare
entrare Escamillo a cavallo è una duplice crudeltà, sia nei confronti
dell'equino che di Ildebrando D'Arcangelo, che si trova a dover gestire in
sella una delle arie più difficili del repertorio, allo stesso tempo
troppo alta e troppo bassa. Zambello sembra a disagio nel muovere le masse
corali, e solo nei momenti coreografici gestiti da Arthur Pita (splendido
il secondo atto) si ha un senso di direzionalità nel movimento. Questa
doveva essere la Carmen di Anna Caterina Antonacci, la quale si conferma
una delle migliori cantanti-attrici del momento, ma per quanto la parte
lirica del ruolo sia gestita con grande intelligenza e musicalità, negli
ultimi due atti la voce sembra mancare del peso necessario per rendere la
performance indimenticabile. In compenso Jonas Kaufmann è un Don Josè
lirico ed intenso, dal timbro scuro ma dagli acuti sicuri, e l'unico a
creare un reale coinvolgimento emotivo.
Barbara Diana |
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| Variety.com |
Carmen
(Royal Opera House, London)
By DAVID BENEDICT |
The title of Bizet's "Carmen" might suggest that
everything rests on the shoulders of its famously tempestuous leading
character. Not true. As Covent Garden's hotly anticipated new production
thrillingly proves, this most dramatic of operas only achieves true
liftoff when all three partners in the central fervid love triangle are on
inflammatory form. But it's not just three powerhouse lead performances
that fire up the present proceedings. Director Francesca Zambello scores a
major hit by making spectacle respectable.
Where Hitchcock, according to rumor, treated actors like cattle, Zambello
(who's about to join the Disney stable with stage tuner "The Little
Mermaid") treats cattle like actors. A live donkey ambles across the sunny
Seville square of the first act, a clutch of chickens actually laid eggs
during the first-night performance, and toreador Escamillo (Ildebrando
D'Arcangelo) makes a suitably high-status entrance on the back of a huge
black horse.
The livestock looks all of a piece on Tanya McCullin's burnt-orange,
sculptural sets of curved walls smartly reconfigured for each scene.
They're complemented by late-19th century-style costumes that mercifully
banish Spanish gypsy cliches and stick to a peasant-style palette of
layered rusts, browns, greens and creams.
The second-act set may look pretty large for a secret smugglers' tavern,
but the place is packed with activity, thanks in part to 34 extra singers,
dancers and actors in addition to the already large Opera House chorus.
Arthur Pita's flamenco-style choreography has the supreme virtue of
looking natural. The vivid, foot-stamping dancing continues the gypsies'
dramatic line rather than merely operating as token display.
If all that suggests a Seville-theme-park approach, think again. Although
Zambello's almost widescreen grandeur risks swamping the story, as soon as
the heavily populated life of each location has been established, the
focus narrows. She and conductor Antonio Pappano ensure serious
storytelling via full-blooded, intensely characterized singing.
As Carmen, Anna Caterina Antonacci is the real deal. It's not simply a
matter of a ripe, well-supported mezzo sound. Her voice may not have the
aficionado's ideal brooding luster, but this is a rare, genuinely complete
performance from a true stage animal.
Hair piled up, wide-shouldered, slim-waisted and barefoot, she
effortlessly dominates every man in sight through her sheer infectious
enjoyment. Most Carmens go for generalized "torrid" acting. Antonacci's
superbly relaxed Carmen is a triumph of attention to detail. She's alive
to every moment of stage time, which makes her riveting to watch. Even
singing her "la-la-la's" -- the score requires that a lot -- she makes
every teasing phrase count.
She's given a run for her money in a career-making perf from Jonas
Kaufmann as Don Jose. Having specialized in Mozart, this role catapults
him into a whole new sphere. Out go the expected heroics; in comes subtle
phrasing in a role that normally consists of smoldering and showing off.
Kaufmann carefully builds intensity from a studiedly casual start to a
powerful love-wrecked final scene. Better still, instead of floridly
over-singing his second-act declaration of passion (a favorite tenor
habit), he pulls auds toward him by dropping to a brave, quiet, uncovered
sound at the very top of his voice. It also won't hurt his prospects that
he's a completely convincing actor who is tall, slim and handsome to boot. | | | | | |
