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Operawire, Nov 1, 2021 |
By Lois Silverstein |
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Liederabend, Berkeley, 25. Oktober 2021 |
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Jonas Kaufmann & Helmut Deutsch in Recital
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Famed Tenor Delivers a Riveting Musical Feast |
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How can we wrap up a drop of joy? A shower? That’s what it was in Zellerbach
Hall, Berkeley, Sunday, Oct. 24th as Jonas Kaufmann and Helmut Deutsch
brought both, and more. As soon as the melodies of Franz Liszt wafted over
the hall, anxiety, doubt and curiosity melted away, and we were moored in
magic. Kaufmann was overall in excellent form, and Helmut Deutsch as well,
bringing the piano into its own, note by note.
It was “wunderschön,”
a miracle, the whole way through.
Pleading for Restraint
Kaufmann began his performance with an eloquent plea, in fluent English, for
clapping restraints. He explained how the preparation he and Deutsch made,
for the lieder recital, and while it was not narrative, it followed a
carefully designed aesthetic plan. To applaud after each song could easily
disrupt the flow of this. “Could you please restrain yourselves as far as
possible?” he asked cordially. He was an artist, afterall, I thought,
despite his popularity, and despite critics casting some aspersion at him
for a similar request, it seemed apt. And since this was Berkeley, and the
audience admired as well as respected such a request, we all settled back to
aesthetic restraint and respectful silence.
Throughout the concert,
despite the degree and quality of emotion unfolding through the music,
restraint complied. This did not constrict the building of feeling or
beauty. It was not amazing but satisfying that beauty and caring for art
overrode wild appreciation. His brief words added another dimension of
welcome to the already primed crowd.
The body of the concert, two
parts separated by a brief pause, not an intermission, focused on Liszt
lieder from Kaufmann and Deutsch’s latest album, “Freudvoll und Leidvoll,”
was followed by an array of well-chosen lieder from the larger lieder
repertoire – Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Mahler, and Wolf, among others. It
was both moving and thoughtful. Instead of focusing on Kaufmann’s star
power, or opera arias, we listened, absorbed and traveled into what Kaufmann
called a “fantasy world” created by the musicians and poets. It was a full
plate, too, 22 lied in total, in all, and all aspects of love, where love
and loss, longing and losing, acceptance and despair, ruled. Of this, he was
more than master, and performer.
Opening with Liszt’s “Vergiftet sind
mein Lieder,” Kaufmann threw down the gauntlet: the lover in anger and
disappointment at his beloved, and yet with a plea: “Und dich, Geliebte
mein.” The expansive comparison of love and anger was a mark of many of the
poems Liszt chose to set to music, in the tradition of Romantic poets of the
time.
Immediately on its heels, the plaintive “Im Rhein, im schönen
Strome” allowed Kaufmann’s more lyrical sound to emerge. On the upper notes,
there was definite strain, but he overcame the harshness and regained ease
in the pianissimo conclusion. Again, the metaphor of an elaborate comparison
of his beloved to the eyes of the Madonna, underscored the degree of feeling
the composer and the poet and now the singer aimed to compress into a 12 –
line poem.
The two “Freudvoll und Leidvoll”selections that followed
set two poems of Goethe, and brought Kaufmann the story-teller forth even
more than in the previous selections. He expanded the range of colors –
anguish to contemplation, yearning to trembling. The palette was notable as
was the thoughtful storytelling. Full of joy and full of sorrow – this was
the arc here.
By the time he sang the well-known and beloved “O lieb
so lang du lieben kannst,” the downbeat of the concert’s overall landscape,
we were settled home. The contrasts of volume, pitch, and timbre emphasized
the carpe Diem theme – Seize the day. All too soon we stand over the grave
and mourn, a statement of love for another as well as cri de coeur for our
own mortality. A couple of moments of hollowed out sound occurred after the
initial beauteous round notes that bloomed at first, perhaps due to the
projection. But again, Kaufmann righted the ship. Was this the moment to cry
wolf – Kaufmann’s voice on a downward trend? I think not. I would say,
however, a long roster of songs, a continuous route of concerts here, there
and everywhere, a full schedule of opera to follow, recordings, et al –
needs to be reconsidered in the future. Guard the gold, some would say,
hoard it (and then critique him for not plumbing the depth he might!) but
then too, attend to qualitative performance rather than bulk and quantity.
This remained clear as he proceeded with another lied based on Goethe’s
story of the King of Thüle. We got plenty of vocal and vocal expression
here, strong and low notes, sometimes a bit as he ascended, brassy, but
always crisp articulation. Story and singer stayed in the landscape of
legend and yet reached out to us in this time and place. As did “Ihr Glocken
von Marling,” a touching account of a plea for protection. When Kaufmann
ended, his sound, like his presence, were relaxed, soft, human. It was more
than believable.
“Die drei Zigeuner,” was an apt follow-up to this
intimate near-prayer. Deutsch introduced the song with a gorgeous
compilation of trills and arpeggios leading us into the country scene of
human beings looking for insight for life’s trials. Kaufmann added many
gestures and expression as Liszt’s moments of atonality here made it at once
foreign and familiar. “Wie man’s verraucht, verschläft, vergeigt/Und es
dreimal verachtet (When life … turns dark, sleep it, smoke it, fiddle it
away)” maybe not the most profound of solutions, but it is a more than human
one.
The finale of the pre-pause moment was the exquisite “Die
Loreley,” and here again, the very dramatic story-telling Kaufmann coupled
beautiful round tones with the familiar story of the siren who lures a
boatman to death. Art? Love? Life? All, and embodied in the Circe about whom
he sings. We are left at the brief break under a spell, the singer being a
vessel in which the secret hides and only by vigilant attention can we
understand it rather than being grasped by it. The Second Part
Part II was colored and dramatized by variety which provided energetic and
bright rhythmic contrasts, liveliness, sprightly sound, and feeling.
Deutsch’s piano was more like a companionship rather than accompaniment, and
that made for rich texture of both sound and sense.
Schumann’s
“Widmung,” also emerged as if from a secret and maybe sacred place. Kaufmann
treated each phrase almost as a separate universe, although they were
carefully linked by finessed legato. Here as in Dvorák’s “Als alte Mutter,”
the quiet stillness and containment coupled with fine breath control gave us
more than cliche; it gave us insight as well to the text and its
implications. Despite many who don’t feel or admire Kaufmann’s choice of
expressive lines, or comment somewhat sourly on his individual choices of
tone or repertory, here again he sidestepped sentimentality by expressing
vulnerability and open-heartedness.
Brahms’ familiar lullaby at once
brought us back to childhood and kept us pinned to the musicality of this
still touching piece. The following Bohm, Chopin, and Tchaikovsky brought us
yet another dimension – rich, dark, powerful, Kaufmann’s voice full and
moving. His singing felt like speech, not from a lack of musicality, but
rather because he enabled down-to-earth articulation to temper fantasy. This
was an excellent choice; are we ever too cynical to miss out on genuine
tenderness? Zelinsky and Wolf brought additional tenderness, pleading, in a
somewhat different landscape with richer broader sounds and commitment to a
new dimension, each one putting down another layer of color and reminders of
the poet Shelley’s life as a many-colored dome of glass.
Mahler’s
magnificent “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen,” thematically and musically
brought this part of the concert to a close. “I am lost to the world/With
which I used to waste much time” are the last two lines. Like Wordsworth’s
“the world may be too much with us, late and soon,” the familiar question
shifted the lulling of our own attention. Deutsch’s opening piano here was
delicate and full of depth and introspective sound; Kaufmann entered here
seamlessly and joined forces, his range from lower to higher seamless, the
passaggio graceful and invisible. More to say on the subject? No doubt, but
convincing nonetheless, content and sound merged, the moment of departure
graceful and groomed, and as natural as it was fastidious. It was, as if
Kaufmann were singing now in his very own voice.
The Encores were at
least nine, three more than what Kaufmann and Deutsch performed in Carnegie
Hall, or the Kennedy Center, and it was a feast. Ranging from Liszt’s “Es
muss ein Wunderbares sein” to Schubert’s “Die Forelle” and Schumann’s
“Mondnacht” to Strauss and Wagner, “Träume,” Strauss,’s “Breit” and
“Morgen,” each one highlighting the rich vocabulary of German lieder he gave
us access to. So too, “Cäecile” and Lehar’s “Dein ist mein ganzes Herz,”
which just about brought the house down.
Throughout the evening, both
Kaufmann and Deutsch gave and gave, and after a program as full and rich as
80 short minutes would allow, he stepped forth to add more to the banquet.
Here, he sang with ease and abandon, singing out as if that was the only way
to sing. Was it the end of the long tour and returning home that allowed for
it? Or the respectful and thoughtful crowd that fostered it?
“Himmel”
to “Erde” (heave to earth), we rose and fell, reluctant to say goodbye,
reluctant for the feast to be done, a feast more extravagant than we
bargained for when we swam or paddled to Berkeley for a concert that
exemplified creativity, which we often forget how much we need.
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