Over the years, my objection to the opera press in general has rarely had to do with reviews of my own performances. What always upsets me about critics is their failure to report the shared sense of something so unusual happening that no one who witnesses a particular performance will ever forget it. I still don't know why critics dash out of the theater before observing an audience's reaction. Do they think the public doesn't know what's good or bad?... [There was] a performance by Itshak Perlman, Pinchas Zuckerman, and Isaac Stern in celebration of Stern's sixtieth birthday. Getting the world's three best violinists to play together was as momentous an event ... as putting together a pop concert with Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, and Barbra Streisand would be. The next day the reviews were fine, but none of the critics commented on the unique nature of the occasion or the extraordinary reaction of the audience.
I do believe criticism is necessary, but criticism is not a defined art form. It's just one person's opinion... A critic may have read more about opera than most of the other people in the audience, but that's about it. A critic's art also lies in their writing ability... critical writing that is boring is just as unacceptable to me as critical writing that's uninformed.
Both quotations from Beverly Sills' memoir entitled Beverly, by the singer and Lawrence Linderman.
I think it's really interesting to read things like this from one of the world's best-loved performers, someone that you cannot imagine ever got a really bad review. Certainly she would have, or at least productions she was involved with were reviewed badly; otherwise the second quotation would be odd coming from her. But I think her first point is even more pertinent at the moment.
It made me think about our experiences of music or of theatre, and how they can be coloured by "what we're listening out for". These days, in a bit of a vocal rut, I listen to singing with an extremely technical ear, and having had a sampling of many types of productions over the last few months, I watch with a director's eye. Thus, if the singing or production is not of relatively high quality, I have been known to tune out.
However, it's so important to me, and I remind myself of this all the time, not to forget that there may be other elements that make a performance special: the personnel involved (special collaborations? Debut? Farewell performance? Signature role?), the occasion (opening of La Scala? New production or commission?) or simply, personal reasons (first visit to Deustche Oper?) and those things are often much more important to your attitude going in, and therefore your experience, than the cut-and-dry, easily reviewed elements.
I'm of the opinion that if you decide you're not going to like it, you're not, and vice versa. Certain critics that write for the Toronto Star come to mind. But I find you're also in the position to decide how the audition or performance is going to go, too, and it can be a slippery slope if you've gotten into a negative cycle. As much as we should not take criticism from critics, colleagues, teachers, and directors to heart, it's pretty hard not to, and then it is useful to remember Beverly: It's only one person's opinion.
What it comes down to, in no particular order, is: audience reaction. personal bests. contribution, large or miniscule, to music history. Maybe. I mean, I cannot think what else could matter if you are doing your best, your audience is moved, and especially if our tradition benefits in some way from the occasion in which you participated.
It's been a hard, hard audition season for me. The criticism that I have received has been surprising, but consistent. Maybe that is the sign it should be taken to heart. I still have to be careful that I don't allow that criticism to define my conception of my artistry. After all, I know myself best, and I really know whether or not that's something that is under my control. And I wouldn't want Beverly to think I'd lost sight of the real reason we do this: to move people.
Bonjour, c'est moi.
- Danielle
- Your average Canadian soprano sallies forth into the big bad world of classical music in search of integrated, meaningful experiences as a performer and spectator. Currently in Baltimore, MD, pursuing a Masters degree in voice performance under the tutelage of Phyllis Bryn-Julson. Special interest in contemporary and experimental classical music, as well as interdisciplinary projects.
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
20 March 2010
18 March 2010
breaking on through
I was not exactly excited to sing in St Catharine's yesterday night. Mostly, it's because it's been a really long time since I put on a gown and sang Puccini - a year, to be exact. I haven't been feeling too great about my singing lately, either, which I'll go so far as to say is understandable after a very unsuccessful audition season and a nagging feeling that what I really need is to get back in the studio with a teacher who's willing to really kick my butt.
But it began well. It was a beautiful day. The drive west was spectacular, easy and in good company - I rode with Grenville, the violinist for the evening (which was in essence a sort of variety show, presented as entertainment at a wine tasting event for the clients of Investors Group of Niagara). We weren't sure what to expect from the event, having only been in contact via email with the presenter and the other acts.
I was pleasantly surprised. Also involved were Alchemy Unplugged, Mark Lalama of considerable and varied fame in his own right, and Elton Lammie. We had opera, popular Italian song, Beatles covers, original pop, remixes of Canon in D... and it was all gloriously mixed by an expert sound team resident to the venue, which was an enormous complex called Bethany Community Church.
That's right. I sang into a mic. And I sang to tracks.
It was my first Karaoke experience, and I can't say I was thrilled to be doing it. Principles aside, because certain things can't be avoided and I am all for entertainment value, my reticence had to do 100% with comfort level. I was afraid to sing with my full voice knowing it would be amplified, and had visions of horrible technical malfunctions, leaving me to sing a cappella, or worse, to someone else's track. I had never dealt with the prospect of an inflexible, conductorless orchestra - the recorded tempo was the tempo I was stuck with, whether it was the tempo I liked in my voice, and their interpretation of the music was the one I had to reconcile myself to, whether I thought there should be a breath here and a fermata there, or not. And if I needed an emergency breath, I'd better make up the time myself, because they sure weren't stopping for me. This, you can imagine, is a really frightening and uncomfortable experience if you are accustomed to things being the other way around. Orchestras normally follow soloists, and I am the soloist. How could this end well?
It ended well. It was a great exercise in listening. I pretended there was a conductor but that he was not looking at me, and I followed him as best I could. The monitor provided about as much orchestra in my ear as you can hear from the stage, and so overall, it approximated a performance within my realm of experience more than I could have imagined.
I was so thankful for the extremely warm reception we got, and the other artists did good business on their CD's. It's an idea I have been toying with, and the evening really drove home a point - audiences want to leave with more than a memory. They want to own their experience. I directed them to my website (which I am also overhauling), but music is not available for download there. Do I really expect them to continue to visit my Myspace page to listen to obscure 20th century music that I enjoy, and so do many of my colleagues, but has very little relevance to the audience that, like it or not, is much bigger and would rather hear me sing something they know?
Here is the impasse. I don't consider myself a crossover artist, though I sing musical theatre when I can and I enjoy doing this type of concert with other, non-classical musicians. I think my background as a classical artist is something I can bring to the table, and I want desperately to extend the audience for this music. But I have to remember that I am also an entertainer, and that my livelihood, my "life's blood", as Pavarotti (the legendary crossover artist - let's be honest - he was, at least a little) put it, is the audience. If they go away having been bored or alienated, I have failed. How to serve the music, and also serve the audience?
Perhaps a look at Pavarotti's ventures can begin to answer this question. I just finished reading the famous publicist Herbert Breslin's expose/bio on the great tenor. He tempered his concert repertoire with simple, moving popular song when he began to do arena concerts. O Sole Mio shared the stage with Nessun Dorma. It was in this way that his already considerable fame and his careful programming catapulted Nessun Dorma to nearly anthem status, and got it into the mainstream consciousness. Few people would consider that "modern classical music", but guess what -- it's 20th century opera. Yep. GO PAV.
So what if I made a little CD with some arias, Ave Maria, and some musical theatre, English art song, and maybe The Prayer? Who would crucify me? Certainly not last night's audience, and I bet I could sell a few copies besides to them. Have I compromised the value of those arias by juxtaposing them with "popera" and other music from popular genres? I don't think so; so long as I'm true to the style in every case, nothing is compromised. And that way, everyone's happy.
But it began well. It was a beautiful day. The drive west was spectacular, easy and in good company - I rode with Grenville, the violinist for the evening (which was in essence a sort of variety show, presented as entertainment at a wine tasting event for the clients of Investors Group of Niagara). We weren't sure what to expect from the event, having only been in contact via email with the presenter and the other acts.
I was pleasantly surprised. Also involved were Alchemy Unplugged, Mark Lalama of considerable and varied fame in his own right, and Elton Lammie. We had opera, popular Italian song, Beatles covers, original pop, remixes of Canon in D... and it was all gloriously mixed by an expert sound team resident to the venue, which was an enormous complex called Bethany Community Church.
That's right. I sang into a mic. And I sang to tracks.
It was my first Karaoke experience, and I can't say I was thrilled to be doing it. Principles aside, because certain things can't be avoided and I am all for entertainment value, my reticence had to do 100% with comfort level. I was afraid to sing with my full voice knowing it would be amplified, and had visions of horrible technical malfunctions, leaving me to sing a cappella, or worse, to someone else's track. I had never dealt with the prospect of an inflexible, conductorless orchestra - the recorded tempo was the tempo I was stuck with, whether it was the tempo I liked in my voice, and their interpretation of the music was the one I had to reconcile myself to, whether I thought there should be a breath here and a fermata there, or not. And if I needed an emergency breath, I'd better make up the time myself, because they sure weren't stopping for me. This, you can imagine, is a really frightening and uncomfortable experience if you are accustomed to things being the other way around. Orchestras normally follow soloists, and I am the soloist. How could this end well?
It ended well. It was a great exercise in listening. I pretended there was a conductor but that he was not looking at me, and I followed him as best I could. The monitor provided about as much orchestra in my ear as you can hear from the stage, and so overall, it approximated a performance within my realm of experience more than I could have imagined.
I was so thankful for the extremely warm reception we got, and the other artists did good business on their CD's. It's an idea I have been toying with, and the evening really drove home a point - audiences want to leave with more than a memory. They want to own their experience. I directed them to my website (which I am also overhauling), but music is not available for download there. Do I really expect them to continue to visit my Myspace page to listen to obscure 20th century music that I enjoy, and so do many of my colleagues, but has very little relevance to the audience that, like it or not, is much bigger and would rather hear me sing something they know?
Here is the impasse. I don't consider myself a crossover artist, though I sing musical theatre when I can and I enjoy doing this type of concert with other, non-classical musicians. I think my background as a classical artist is something I can bring to the table, and I want desperately to extend the audience for this music. But I have to remember that I am also an entertainer, and that my livelihood, my "life's blood", as Pavarotti (the legendary crossover artist - let's be honest - he was, at least a little) put it, is the audience. If they go away having been bored or alienated, I have failed. How to serve the music, and also serve the audience?
Perhaps a look at Pavarotti's ventures can begin to answer this question. I just finished reading the famous publicist Herbert Breslin's expose/bio on the great tenor. He tempered his concert repertoire with simple, moving popular song when he began to do arena concerts. O Sole Mio shared the stage with Nessun Dorma. It was in this way that his already considerable fame and his careful programming catapulted Nessun Dorma to nearly anthem status, and got it into the mainstream consciousness. Few people would consider that "modern classical music", but guess what -- it's 20th century opera. Yep. GO PAV.
So what if I made a little CD with some arias, Ave Maria, and some musical theatre, English art song, and maybe The Prayer? Who would crucify me? Certainly not last night's audience, and I bet I could sell a few copies besides to them. Have I compromised the value of those arias by juxtaposing them with "popera" and other music from popular genres? I don't think so; so long as I'm true to the style in every case, nothing is compromised. And that way, everyone's happy.
15 March 2010
New outlets for opera?
Media, media, media.
To an artist, it means so many things. It can refer to our modes of expression -- visual media, electronic versus acoustic music -- or more readily, television, newspapers, radio, and all those other outlets that bring us publicity and exposure, criticism and accolades, and more recently, artistic possibilities. We've been creating for TV and radio for a long time. Now, with the youtube symphony orchestra behind us, it's easier to imagine creating art and music via web.
It's recently been brought to my attention that artists have begun to move in that direction with the help of the online alternative universe, Second Life. A band that I was researching appears to use Second Life to access audiences around the world, people that might not ever get the chance to come and hear them, or, for that matter, discover them. They take a line out of their real-life studio and basically create a webcast, which is not really a new idea because it's a lot like radio. In Second Life, the music that the community is hearing is being played by real people but also, simultaneously, their Second Life avatars, on a Second Life stage, and the audience is made up of the real people who are listening, and also their avatars. Two universes exist at once, and the venue is the Internet, so that the audience, which has bodies, unlike a radio audience, can be made up of people who are sitting in their living rooms in Cameroon, Egypt, Manitoba, and New Zealand, all at the same time. So it's a whole new level that is added to the performance, and it's mindblowing.
The implications are endless. Think of the possibilities. An entire company of operatic avatars simultaneously online to partake in a performance of Verdi's Requiem -- Jonas Kaufmann singing into his microphone from Zurich while the concertmaster saws away in Mannheim, and Levine conducts into a camera from his Manhattan apartment that broadcasts to each artist - and I can be there, in avatar form, to see their avatar forms make it happen. And isn't it only a matter of time before talent scouts, agents, and publicists begin exploiting online communities like Second Life? I think they probably do already, to some extent -- Facebook is a testament to that. But Second Life goes way beyond Facebook.
Does it scare you? I'm a bit of a Luddite, and it does scare me, a lot, actually. But I think that in order to survive in this fairly hostile artistic environment (or at least that is how I see it), you have to carve out a niche, and if all the real life niches are taken, why not carve out a virtual one?
It may not be for everyone. In fact, it may not be for me. A Met broadcast in HD leaves something to be desired for me; you just cannot beat being there.
But it's a thought.
To an artist, it means so many things. It can refer to our modes of expression -- visual media, electronic versus acoustic music -- or more readily, television, newspapers, radio, and all those other outlets that bring us publicity and exposure, criticism and accolades, and more recently, artistic possibilities. We've been creating for TV and radio for a long time. Now, with the youtube symphony orchestra behind us, it's easier to imagine creating art and music via web.
It's recently been brought to my attention that artists have begun to move in that direction with the help of the online alternative universe, Second Life. A band that I was researching appears to use Second Life to access audiences around the world, people that might not ever get the chance to come and hear them, or, for that matter, discover them. They take a line out of their real-life studio and basically create a webcast, which is not really a new idea because it's a lot like radio. In Second Life, the music that the community is hearing is being played by real people but also, simultaneously, their Second Life avatars, on a Second Life stage, and the audience is made up of the real people who are listening, and also their avatars. Two universes exist at once, and the venue is the Internet, so that the audience, which has bodies, unlike a radio audience, can be made up of people who are sitting in their living rooms in Cameroon, Egypt, Manitoba, and New Zealand, all at the same time. So it's a whole new level that is added to the performance, and it's mindblowing.
The implications are endless. Think of the possibilities. An entire company of operatic avatars simultaneously online to partake in a performance of Verdi's Requiem -- Jonas Kaufmann singing into his microphone from Zurich while the concertmaster saws away in Mannheim, and Levine conducts into a camera from his Manhattan apartment that broadcasts to each artist - and I can be there, in avatar form, to see their avatar forms make it happen. And isn't it only a matter of time before talent scouts, agents, and publicists begin exploiting online communities like Second Life? I think they probably do already, to some extent -- Facebook is a testament to that. But Second Life goes way beyond Facebook.
Does it scare you? I'm a bit of a Luddite, and it does scare me, a lot, actually. But I think that in order to survive in this fairly hostile artistic environment (or at least that is how I see it), you have to carve out a niche, and if all the real life niches are taken, why not carve out a virtual one?
It may not be for everyone. In fact, it may not be for me. A Met broadcast in HD leaves something to be desired for me; you just cannot beat being there.
But it's a thought.
30 January 2010
Ich bin ein donut!
The dust has settled a little and I have a few minutes to write something.
I arrived here on a train from Den Haag -- it still amazes me that only 6 hours can pass and I am in a different country -- on Wednesday, and was greeted by a Canadian blizzard that had decided to holiday in Germany this year. The next day was already a million times better, however, and I got the chance to wander around the core for a first glance at Berlin and see the New Museum, which has just been reopened following post-war renovations. I did spend about an hour wandering around looking for the music school at which I had an audition today (for the Britten Pears program) - Berlin is just SO BIG that it takes you forever to walk around buildings and get from one block to the next. Moreover, you never run into anyone -- the city appears empty because it is so spread out. Also, the buildings in their Cold War splendour rise up around you like humungous building blocks. It's an intimidating city.
I can't say just yet that it's my absolute favourite. There hasn't been a spark for me with Berin just yet, though I approached one viewing the information at Checkpoint Charlie and the markings showing the former location of the Wall. It more just makes me heart hurt than anything, though, that this city is so full of pain and suffering in its history, and the tourist attractions are basically grim recollections and testaments as if the inhabitants of the city have resigned themselves to reliving the horror each day so that it will never be repeated. I'm not saying that all tourist attractions are sunshine and rainbows, and certainly Italy has its share of pain and suffering in its history too, and many, many other countries, but this city has a different flavour. Maybe because the Wall fell in recent history, the atmosphere of the time still lingers in the air.
One thing I can say about Berlin -- opera, opera, opera!!! Literally -- there are three houses. I took my couchsurfing host to his first opera tonight -- Lohengrin (everyone marvel at the courage of this first-timer to take on such a beast as that). Ben Heppner sang the lead but I was also blown away by Ortrud, played by Waltraud Meier. She got the biggest shout outs from the audience, too.
I'm spending the weekend here and I have an evening train to Freiburg on Monday. I'll be pleased to leave the snow but I know that I will be leaving Berlin with the intention of coming back.
I arrived here on a train from Den Haag -- it still amazes me that only 6 hours can pass and I am in a different country -- on Wednesday, and was greeted by a Canadian blizzard that had decided to holiday in Germany this year. The next day was already a million times better, however, and I got the chance to wander around the core for a first glance at Berlin and see the New Museum, which has just been reopened following post-war renovations. I did spend about an hour wandering around looking for the music school at which I had an audition today (for the Britten Pears program) - Berlin is just SO BIG that it takes you forever to walk around buildings and get from one block to the next. Moreover, you never run into anyone -- the city appears empty because it is so spread out. Also, the buildings in their Cold War splendour rise up around you like humungous building blocks. It's an intimidating city.
I can't say just yet that it's my absolute favourite. There hasn't been a spark for me with Berin just yet, though I approached one viewing the information at Checkpoint Charlie and the markings showing the former location of the Wall. It more just makes me heart hurt than anything, though, that this city is so full of pain and suffering in its history, and the tourist attractions are basically grim recollections and testaments as if the inhabitants of the city have resigned themselves to reliving the horror each day so that it will never be repeated. I'm not saying that all tourist attractions are sunshine and rainbows, and certainly Italy has its share of pain and suffering in its history too, and many, many other countries, but this city has a different flavour. Maybe because the Wall fell in recent history, the atmosphere of the time still lingers in the air.
One thing I can say about Berlin -- opera, opera, opera!!! Literally -- there are three houses. I took my couchsurfing host to his first opera tonight -- Lohengrin (everyone marvel at the courage of this first-timer to take on such a beast as that). Ben Heppner sang the lead but I was also blown away by Ortrud, played by Waltraud Meier. She got the biggest shout outs from the audience, too.
I'm spending the weekend here and I have an evening train to Freiburg on Monday. I'll be pleased to leave the snow but I know that I will be leaving Berlin with the intention of coming back.
05 January 2010
ketchup catch up
In the interest of playing catch-up, my second post today will take us back to December 20, when I fought my way, tooth and claw, into the second-last available seat at La Scala and settled in to see Emma Dante's new production of Carmen.
I LOVED IT!
Half the symbolism went right over my head - I went home and did a lot of googling - but the overwhelming feeling that I was witnessing some sort of pagan cult ritual was what was really important about the production. The costuming and props recalled, I am told, a lot of Sicilian religious imagery, and in my opinion, there was something more deep-seated than that. The images and symbols meant something to me though I didn't know what they meant; Emma Dante has succeeded, I think, in touching some part of the collective unconscious of her audience that, depending on education and experience, will be articulated more or less easily by each member, but nonetheless felt.
Let me give you a few examples.
Micaela, ever the angelic voice on Don José's shoulder, had a black robe pinned up around her that opened to reveal a white dress beneath, which denoted "Don José's mother"; something as simple as white and black imagery made the shift between the two characters impossible to mistake. She was accompanied by a robed priest, lanky and topped with a broad-brimmed hat that my googling told me was a "padre hat", typically worn by itinerant priests of rural congregations, as well as 4 altar boys, who set up a cross at a 40 degree angle to the ground wherever she went and prayed fervently while she sang.
I wish I could find a picture of the quadrilla of the toreador Escamillo for you. Nowhere in my googling could I find a quadrilla that dresses like this traditionally, so I have to assume there is some religious significance. There were 6 or so, and they were dressed in long white robes with sticks in the arms, so they could swish their sleeves when they danced. Their headdresses were comprised of white masks with white veils, recalling the KKK, but topped with an elaborate arrangement of white flowers. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen and if you know anything about this type of costuming, leave a comment!
The cigarette girls were nuns with flowers in their mouths who undressed, jumped in a bath, and frolicked in the water like sirens while the men gaped and Carmen sang the Habanera; the gypsy girls frequently had choreography that recalled rabid beasts. In fact, the only people that seemed untouched by symbolism were Carmen and Don José themselves, and maybe that is because the opera does a fine job of setting Carmen up as the archetypal femme fatale that is the demise of the Everyman, José, and that's enough symbolism as it is (by the way, Jonas Kaufmann is no Everyman. Apparently that wasn't even his best show, and I wanted to cry every time he opened his mouth. He also spent a good deal of the scene in Carmen's den with his shirt off, which was fine with me).
As you might have guessed the singing and direction (Daniel Barenboim) was exceptional across the board and the 25-year-old Anita Rachvelishvili was a sensational Carmen. Apparently she's booked all over the place for the role now. What a heady feeling it must be, at 25, to look up into the theatre and see a full house on their feet for you, and that house be one of the toughest crowds in the world to please. I feel like I witnessed a bit of history in the making.
19 December 2009
a Trittico à la Danielle
I was in London twice this month, and my timing was impeccable, as I was able to catch a concert version of Otello (Verdi) with Gerald Finley as Iago!!! with the LSO on Dec 3 and Der Rosenkavalier at the Royal Opera on Dec 13.
While Finley's interpretation of Iago was pretty much revolutionary and well-matched by the masterful playing of the LSO with Sir Colin Davis at the helm (and would we have expected anything different? The LSO IS RAD), I am sad to say his colleagues paled in comparison.
Otello was actually a pinch singer, whose name I am embarrassed to forget (the program is safely packed away in the suitcase heading to Canada with my mom) and I forgive him for any indiscretions (ie vowel modifications) he committed during the performance. I bet he'd gotten off the plane that morning; these things must be considered.
Entrances were made during the music, as it was a concert performance; Ms Tufano, who had 3 lines as Emilia, sashayed onstage with as much ado as she could muster during a very dramatic bit of Otello's, completely upstaging him, in a black strapless number that left absolutely nothing to the imagination from my seat in the rafters. She took her seat and proceeded to drink water, play with her hair, and rifle repeatedly through her score before completely botching her miniscule bit in the ensemble near the end of the first(?) act. I was unimpressed.
Anne Schwanewilms as Desdemona left a little to be desired as well -- absolutely not artistically, though, and I am sure she had a pretty voice, but I couldn't hear her at all for a good 90% of the opera. Good thing the orchestra was making pretty sounds.
As I mentioned, Finley absolutely stole the show. His Iago was ruthless and technically impeccable. The colours he achieved -- at one point subsiding to barely a whisper that was audible in every corner of the hall -- brought shivers and the notion that here was a man who had not a good bone in his body.
Der Rosenkavalier was certainly more polished, well-balanced, and overall, enjoyable. It boasted Sophie Koch (who is DROP DEAD GORGEOUS) as Octavian, Lucy Crowe (young and up and coming and really quite charming) as Sophie, and Soile Isokoski (no idea who she is, but a nice light lyric) as Marschallin, and the three made a very very dynamic trio. The cast included Thomas Allen as Faninal, which was a treat, and Peter Rose was an excellent Ochs. The production was a revival of the 1986 Covent Garden production , for which I give them props: the dress the Te Kanawa is wearing on the front cover is worth the price of admission (£12.50, I stood) alone.
I left the theatre that evening feeling as though I myself had done the opera: drained but wired, as you often are after a show, and craving human contact. I ended up writing something like 6 pages in my journal. I felt as though the performers really took me on a journey; I was inspired as I am not very often inspired after a night at the theatre. I can't say much more about it because some things you don't have words for.
The third opera of my Trittico is Carmen, here in Milano, which I have gotten sneak peeks of by way of my obliging colleague who is singing a supporting role. Sitting in on rehearsals of the opera that will open La Scala's season and chatting with JONAS KAUFMANN (who should be People's next Sexiest Man Alive, if only because he's SUUUUCH the Gentleman) is certainly how I like to spend my Friday nights. Tomorrow I will stand in line for one of 140 10-euro gallery seats to see the finished product. This is Emma Dante's new production which has gotten a lot of hype; from what I saw in rehearsal, there is a good deal of Roman Catholic imagery, as well as many allusions to the Sicilian mafia. It isn't really updated, though; it seems as though it will be suspended in time as more of an allegory than anything.
Stay tuned...
While Finley's interpretation of Iago was pretty much revolutionary and well-matched by the masterful playing of the LSO with Sir Colin Davis at the helm (and would we have expected anything different? The LSO IS RAD), I am sad to say his colleagues paled in comparison.
Otello was actually a pinch singer, whose name I am embarrassed to forget (the program is safely packed away in the suitcase heading to Canada with my mom) and I forgive him for any indiscretions (ie vowel modifications) he committed during the performance. I bet he'd gotten off the plane that morning; these things must be considered.
Entrances were made during the music, as it was a concert performance; Ms Tufano, who had 3 lines as Emilia, sashayed onstage with as much ado as she could muster during a very dramatic bit of Otello's, completely upstaging him, in a black strapless number that left absolutely nothing to the imagination from my seat in the rafters. She took her seat and proceeded to drink water, play with her hair, and rifle repeatedly through her score before completely botching her miniscule bit in the ensemble near the end of the first(?) act. I was unimpressed.
Anne Schwanewilms as Desdemona left a little to be desired as well -- absolutely not artistically, though, and I am sure she had a pretty voice, but I couldn't hear her at all for a good 90% of the opera. Good thing the orchestra was making pretty sounds.
As I mentioned, Finley absolutely stole the show. His Iago was ruthless and technically impeccable. The colours he achieved -- at one point subsiding to barely a whisper that was audible in every corner of the hall -- brought shivers and the notion that here was a man who had not a good bone in his body.
Der Rosenkavalier was certainly more polished, well-balanced, and overall, enjoyable. It boasted Sophie Koch (who is DROP DEAD GORGEOUS) as Octavian, Lucy Crowe (young and up and coming and really quite charming) as Sophie, and Soile Isokoski (no idea who she is, but a nice light lyric) as Marschallin, and the three made a very very dynamic trio. The cast included Thomas Allen as Faninal, which was a treat, and Peter Rose was an excellent Ochs. The production was a revival of the 1986 Covent Garden production , for which I give them props: the dress the Te Kanawa is wearing on the front cover is worth the price of admission (£12.50, I stood) alone.
I left the theatre that evening feeling as though I myself had done the opera: drained but wired, as you often are after a show, and craving human contact. I ended up writing something like 6 pages in my journal. I felt as though the performers really took me on a journey; I was inspired as I am not very often inspired after a night at the theatre. I can't say much more about it because some things you don't have words for.
The third opera of my Trittico is Carmen, here in Milano, which I have gotten sneak peeks of by way of my obliging colleague who is singing a supporting role. Sitting in on rehearsals of the opera that will open La Scala's season and chatting with JONAS KAUFMANN (who should be People's next Sexiest Man Alive, if only because he's SUUUUCH the Gentleman) is certainly how I like to spend my Friday nights. Tomorrow I will stand in line for one of 140 10-euro gallery seats to see the finished product. This is Emma Dante's new production which has gotten a lot of hype; from what I saw in rehearsal, there is a good deal of Roman Catholic imagery, as well as many allusions to the Sicilian mafia. It isn't really updated, though; it seems as though it will be suspended in time as more of an allegory than anything.
Stay tuned...
Bartoli or Bust...??
I just got back from London, where I had the privilege of seeing Der Rosenkavalier in an excellent production with a stellar cast at Covent Garden. It prompted me to dig out a reflection I wrote after seeing La Bohème in a regional house in Italy.
October 15, 2009
I went to see an opera in Cremona on Tuesday night. It was La Bohème, a standard, and I was curious what the quality of a regional opera produciton would be here, and what the audience would be like. The theatre looked big and classy, and their season has a lot of interesting things: Weill's Seven Deadly Sins, Bernstein's Trouble in Tahiti, and La Voix Humaine which really piqued my curiosity, besides the usual fare (Verdi, Bellini, etc). Naturally, I wanted to check out any theatre company that would bring in Poulenc one-woman shows.
It turned out to be a real trial to get there. I worked until 6.30 that evening and caught a taxi to the Central Station for a 6.50 train. I was in a bad romantic comedy, chasing the lead to the airport, stuck in traffic, tapping my fingers on the armrest and praying for the light to turn green. I did make the train but only because I RAN; it got in at 7.50 and the show began at 8.30. I was in my seat in good time, but not without a few grey hairs.
Finding my way to the theatre was easy, but wandering around in the dark after the show trying to find my hostel was not. It turned out to be on the other side of town (which is actually maybe 1 km, but everything is relative) and thanks to the help of two very nice Cremonesi ladies, I arrived relatively intact at 11.45, a good hour after the rumpled, disgruntled priest who opened the door would have liked, by the looks of things.
I sat next to a tenor who was also there alone, and we got to chatting. When he learned that I was from Milano, he did a double take. "You came all that way to see THIS?" He got me thinking. I did come all this way, not without a good deal of effort, from the city of La Scala, to see what turned out to be a mediocre production of La Bohème, an opera that I will probably see a hundred more times in my life. To be fair, Cremona is about as far from Milano as Aurora is from Toronto, but Italy is a lot smaller than Canada, so what doesn't seem like a lot to me certainly does to your average Italian; you can also get home from Aurora late at night, while the trains from Cremona finish at 10 pm, hence my having to stay over.
Anyway, I sat there and thought about all the fuss I had to go to in order to get my butt in the seat that night. Was it worth it?
Well let's answer that quantitatively. I've definitely seen better operas, and definitely better Bohèmes, even on DVD or youtube. Some of the Bohèmes I've seen had singers that actually acted, even. They had a cool black and white 20's flapper thing going on, which really suited the production but isn't a new idea, really, but the music itself left something to be desired. The orchestra was often too loud for the younger singers (ie Rodolfo and Mimì), a common problem in my experience with Bohème, and the singers actually didn't have the most wonderful timbres, though they were technically pretty solid. As I said, very little acting went on and the direction definitely didn't help with that. The exception was Musetta, who admittedly has more to work with, as she is, after all, Musetta. My big complaint with the singing, though, was something that really surprised me-- there was a lack of understanding of the Puccini style. The singing was not speech-like in the lower register and there was a lack of refinement in general, phrases poorly shaped and demonstrative of an ignorance of the textual significance of the melody in certain places, especially in the ensembles.
So why, when I live in Milano and can be at La Scala in 15 minutes, did I even bother?
That's a really, really good question.
Opera fans and would-be opera fans, as well as opera singers and would-be opera singers, now are able to get their hands on a plethora of media showcasing la crème de la crème of opera then and now. Think youtube, HD broadcasts, and digital remastering of all the old vinyls. We can even subscribe to online players like the Met's and listen to historical recordings on demand. We have developed extremely sophisticated tastes as a result of this, and are less forgiving of things we perceive as faults but might actually just be differences in taste, style, or performance practice.
So if it's not Alvarez, Domingo, Fleming, Frittoli, why bother? Well, I want to be an opera singer, and at least a few other people reading this blog too, and there just isn't room for that many people at the top. There has to be stops along the way. Think about it. Let's say we decided that there wasn't any point in going to the opera unless it was as good a Violetta as Renée Fleming (I happen to like her Traviata). We'd all end up forswearing our regional and independent companies, not to mention university opera programs, and opera would be relegated to a handful of huge, well-oiled corporations worldwide, the Emperor of which would be the Met, churning out polished productions attended by the highest bidders. Nothing would exist in a lower price bracket or in a smaller city than London, Milano or Toronto.
It would also mean that a lot of us would be out of jobs with no hope of a career, and some of us want a different career than Covent Garden, anyway.
It isn't practical to declare an all-or-nothing situation when it comes to art; even though we all acknowledge that perhaps Pavarotti was the best of his kind, or Picasso, or whoever, all those other people doing the same work in their own way are reaching a miltitude of people on a variety of other levels.
Even if that means that some seriously mediocre theatre has to exist, that's OK. It just means we have to lower our standards to "realistic" and know what it is we are about to see before we see it. Because someday, it's going to be me up there, or you, in Teatro Ponchielli in a small Italian town, or some backwater German regional house, and all the bluehairs and twenty somethings who want a little culture in their Friday night expect me to do my best for them.
So I consider my travails not in vain; in fact, you can conceive of them as an investment in my career. In some small way my bum in the seat helps that theatre stay open one more year and have a budget to hire new talent, and therefore maybe me or someone like me when we're ready to grow up and get paid to sing. On top of that grassroots and independent opera and regionally funded companies not only diversify the industry and provide jobs on many levels and in a lot of ways (who else has to be there for the show to go on?) but they also provide a service to the community they are in, maybe a community who would not think to make a pilgrimage like I did to the nearest La Scala. A community that goes to opera because it's there and maybe wouldn't have otherwise is not a community on which opera is wasted. There's a little opera for everyone this way, and not just the die-hards.
October 15, 2009
I went to see an opera in Cremona on Tuesday night. It was La Bohème, a standard, and I was curious what the quality of a regional opera produciton would be here, and what the audience would be like. The theatre looked big and classy, and their season has a lot of interesting things: Weill's Seven Deadly Sins, Bernstein's Trouble in Tahiti, and La Voix Humaine which really piqued my curiosity, besides the usual fare (Verdi, Bellini, etc). Naturally, I wanted to check out any theatre company that would bring in Poulenc one-woman shows.
It turned out to be a real trial to get there. I worked until 6.30 that evening and caught a taxi to the Central Station for a 6.50 train. I was in a bad romantic comedy, chasing the lead to the airport, stuck in traffic, tapping my fingers on the armrest and praying for the light to turn green. I did make the train but only because I RAN; it got in at 7.50 and the show began at 8.30. I was in my seat in good time, but not without a few grey hairs.
Finding my way to the theatre was easy, but wandering around in the dark after the show trying to find my hostel was not. It turned out to be on the other side of town (which is actually maybe 1 km, but everything is relative) and thanks to the help of two very nice Cremonesi ladies, I arrived relatively intact at 11.45, a good hour after the rumpled, disgruntled priest who opened the door would have liked, by the looks of things.
I sat next to a tenor who was also there alone, and we got to chatting. When he learned that I was from Milano, he did a double take. "You came all that way to see THIS?" He got me thinking. I did come all this way, not without a good deal of effort, from the city of La Scala, to see what turned out to be a mediocre production of La Bohème, an opera that I will probably see a hundred more times in my life. To be fair, Cremona is about as far from Milano as Aurora is from Toronto, but Italy is a lot smaller than Canada, so what doesn't seem like a lot to me certainly does to your average Italian; you can also get home from Aurora late at night, while the trains from Cremona finish at 10 pm, hence my having to stay over.
Anyway, I sat there and thought about all the fuss I had to go to in order to get my butt in the seat that night. Was it worth it?
Well let's answer that quantitatively. I've definitely seen better operas, and definitely better Bohèmes, even on DVD or youtube. Some of the Bohèmes I've seen had singers that actually acted, even. They had a cool black and white 20's flapper thing going on, which really suited the production but isn't a new idea, really, but the music itself left something to be desired. The orchestra was often too loud for the younger singers (ie Rodolfo and Mimì), a common problem in my experience with Bohème, and the singers actually didn't have the most wonderful timbres, though they were technically pretty solid. As I said, very little acting went on and the direction definitely didn't help with that. The exception was Musetta, who admittedly has more to work with, as she is, after all, Musetta. My big complaint with the singing, though, was something that really surprised me-- there was a lack of understanding of the Puccini style. The singing was not speech-like in the lower register and there was a lack of refinement in general, phrases poorly shaped and demonstrative of an ignorance of the textual significance of the melody in certain places, especially in the ensembles.
So why, when I live in Milano and can be at La Scala in 15 minutes, did I even bother?
That's a really, really good question.
Opera fans and would-be opera fans, as well as opera singers and would-be opera singers, now are able to get their hands on a plethora of media showcasing la crème de la crème of opera then and now. Think youtube, HD broadcasts, and digital remastering of all the old vinyls. We can even subscribe to online players like the Met's and listen to historical recordings on demand. We have developed extremely sophisticated tastes as a result of this, and are less forgiving of things we perceive as faults but might actually just be differences in taste, style, or performance practice.
So if it's not Alvarez, Domingo, Fleming, Frittoli, why bother? Well, I want to be an opera singer, and at least a few other people reading this blog too, and there just isn't room for that many people at the top. There has to be stops along the way. Think about it. Let's say we decided that there wasn't any point in going to the opera unless it was as good a Violetta as Renée Fleming (I happen to like her Traviata). We'd all end up forswearing our regional and independent companies, not to mention university opera programs, and opera would be relegated to a handful of huge, well-oiled corporations worldwide, the Emperor of which would be the Met, churning out polished productions attended by the highest bidders. Nothing would exist in a lower price bracket or in a smaller city than London, Milano or Toronto.
It would also mean that a lot of us would be out of jobs with no hope of a career, and some of us want a different career than Covent Garden, anyway.
It isn't practical to declare an all-or-nothing situation when it comes to art; even though we all acknowledge that perhaps Pavarotti was the best of his kind, or Picasso, or whoever, all those other people doing the same work in their own way are reaching a miltitude of people on a variety of other levels.
Even if that means that some seriously mediocre theatre has to exist, that's OK. It just means we have to lower our standards to "realistic" and know what it is we are about to see before we see it. Because someday, it's going to be me up there, or you, in Teatro Ponchielli in a small Italian town, or some backwater German regional house, and all the bluehairs and twenty somethings who want a little culture in their Friday night expect me to do my best for them.
So I consider my travails not in vain; in fact, you can conceive of them as an investment in my career. In some small way my bum in the seat helps that theatre stay open one more year and have a budget to hire new talent, and therefore maybe me or someone like me when we're ready to grow up and get paid to sing. On top of that grassroots and independent opera and regionally funded companies not only diversify the industry and provide jobs on many levels and in a lot of ways (who else has to be there for the show to go on?) but they also provide a service to the community they are in, maybe a community who would not think to make a pilgrimage like I did to the nearest La Scala. A community that goes to opera because it's there and maybe wouldn't have otherwise is not a community on which opera is wasted. There's a little opera for everyone this way, and not just the die-hards.
04 December 2009
London: Round One
the hyde park christmas MONSTER!
My first trip to London this year was early in the month of December, when it was just beginning to get chilly, and got dark around 4 pm.
(Europe in the winter never ceases to surprise me -- for example, the idea of temperatures so high as to allow rain all winter is such a novelty. 4 pm darkness would be something I was accustomed to if I were from Edmonton, but I'm not.)
A guy butted in front of me in the boarding pass line, I think without knowing he was doing it; his belated "so sorry, sorry" immediately tipped me off as to his provenance. When I spotted his passport I asked where he was from exactly; turns out we are from the same province, same city, same PART of same city.. and.. SAME HIGH SCHOOL. It is a truly small world.
Aside from a minor broken-boot incident that resulted in a day and a half of sopping foot in incessant downpours, the trip was really lovely. I stayed with an old singer friend and saw another few friends from school and my travels here; I was refreshed by the sight of familiar faces even in unfamiliar locales. London isn't that unfamiliar to me, as I spent three weeks exploring it in 2007 when a good friend was living there. So that probably helped too.
I finally ticked Brick Lane off my London bucket list with a soul-searing curry and a good friend from university. My soul was revived by a rambunctious and truly uplifting production of La Cage aux Folles. Who doesn't need a little drag in their life?
While I haven't been offered admission to the Royal Academy, I was placed on the waitlist for the final round of auditions for the Aix-en-Provence summer residency for lied and contemporary repertoire. A small success, but a pertinent one: the audition was a true learning experience. I went in to that audition about as cold as I could have gone into any audition; they were running early and I was running late, having got lost in the maze that surrounds Waterloo station. It was cold and I had walked for half a hour. I went in and the first sounds I made were.. well.. honks. But I am convinced that there is nothing I do better than contemporary repertoire and art song, especially if it's Hymnen an die Nacht, and I swear to you, there is nothing more valuable than your strongest warhorse on a bad day. That piece has pulled me through I don't know how many auditions. It's not just that though; we all have to enumerate our strengths and play on them, and one of mine is being myself on stage. (It's when you ask me to be a character that I freeze up.) And who better to be singing something as outré as Hymnen an die Nacht or as intimate as, say, An den Mond?
Lessons learned...
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