Rossini's "Barber" at the Met

I don't like Rossini, and I've known this for quite some time. The beauty of student ticket prices lured me to a performance of Il Barbiere di Siviglia on Thursday night at the Metropolitan Opera, and to my great surprise, I had a wonderful time.

Vocally, the cast was acceptable. The three principals–Franco Vassallo in the title role, Elina Garanca as Rosina, and Jose Manuel Zapata as Almaviva–dispatched their many coloratura lines with ease and agility, but in the rapid-fire dialogue passages were often muddled and unintelligible.

Musically, I can't get excited about any of Rossini's music. His melodies aren't that memorable; his orchestration is bland; and his structure is maddeningly predictable. First, the aria or ensemble will start off with a simple tune, which is then elaborated by some impressive vocal fireworks. Finally, it concludes with everyone singing faster and the orchestra playing faster–the famous "Rossini Crescendo." Is this supposed to be exciting? Maybe once or twice. But how many different pieces in one opera can follow this pattern? Pretty much all of them.

What took me by surprise was the production's endless humor. After seeing Macbeth, Die Walküre, and Otello in recent weeks, an emotionally light evening was much needed. The cast's charisma was sparkling, with a sharp sense of comedic timing that was most evident in the recitatives. Some of the laughs originate with Rossini's music, but much of them came from a staging that clearly placed humor as a top priority. After all, they brought a mule on stage for seemingly no reason other than the fact that mules can be funny without doing anything.

For people that are convinced opera is large women with breastplates and horns, the Met's hilarious production is welcomed and refreshing. But for people that go to the opera to be emotionally affected, they should probably look beyond the frustrating music of Rossini.

"Otello" at the Met

Otello is generally considered Verdi's dramatic masterpiece, and even though I am not the composer's biggest fan, the drama and power of his penultimate opera is undeniable. Gone are the clear recitatives, arias, and ensembles that marked his previous works; Verdi creates an environment in which the music and action evolve seamlessly. Many people can whistle Verdi's famous melodies, but leaving the theater after seeing Otello, you probably won't have any of its tunes stuck in your head. If you're anything like me, however, the tragedy will simply leave you stunned and emotionally exhausted.

The title role makes tremendous vocal demands on any singer, but the acting requirements are even greater. Otello's entrance as the victorious hero and loving husband quickly deteriorates into the suspicion of his wife's infidelity before culminating in a murderous rage, and the tenor must project this psychological spiral. It's no surprise that the Moor of Venice has been a signature role for singers like Placido Domingo and Jon Vickers, two men who brought both a strong voice and powerful emotions to the stage.

In the Metropolitan Opera's current production of Otello, South African tenor Johan Botha undertakes this challenge and succeeds only partially. His voice was beautiful, with power and pure, golden tone, yet I never felt Otello's paranoia or fury. The climatic scene in Desdemona's bedroom was a particular letdown. As Otello accuses his wife of betrayal and sentences her to death, Desdemona begs for her life, but to no avail. Otello's hysteria builds, and he murders her. At this most frenzied instant, Botha seemed cold and detached–a heartless executioner more than a betrayed husband. (By comparison, at this moment in a 1971 live performance with Herbert von Karajan at the Vienna State Opera, Vickers seems to literally go insane right on stage–one of the most truly horrifying moments I have ever heard.)

Much like Botha's Otello, the Iago of baritone Carlo Guelfi was technically well-sung but lacking in spirit. Iago is surely one of the most vile characters in the opera repertoire–he even refers to himself as "primordial slime"–but Guelfi never explored those emotions. It's not about singing the all right notes; he does that beautifully and resonantly. For me, it's about creating an entire personal. This can be done in any number of ways: the manner in which you carry yourself on stage, a specific inflection on a revealing word or phrase, a special quality to the voice, etc. I despised Iago for his jealous and destructive manipulations, yet Guelfi could have pushed his character much further, into even greater depths of evil.

Renée Fleming, on the other hand, excelled vocally and dramatically as Desdemona. For a singer of her stature, it almost goes without saying that her voice is gorgeous, but unlike Botha, she was willing to sacrifice sonic quality when appropriate, particularly as she prayed for forgiveness and compassion in her poignant "Willow Song" and "Ave Maria" at the beginning of Act IV. In fact, in her several duets with Botha, Fleming's charisma and magnetism overwhelmed her co-star.

The rest of the cast and chorus were all very good, if unspectacular. Conductor Semyon Bychkov kept the Met Orchestra on a short leash, never really allowing their full might to be released. After hearing James Levine and Lorin Maazel conduct the orchestra in January, I know it's capable of far greater levels of expression. His tempos were fairly brisk, and the orchestra did achieve a full-blooded climax as Otello smothers Desdemona. But there were many other significant moments leading up to that point that I felt were dramatically underplayed.

Despite my complains, I have to admit that the production had a great effect on me. Such is the visceral power of the music and the story. Some have suggested that Verdi's setting of Otello is an improvement on Shakespeare's original place, and, while that's a limb I'm not willing to venture out on, the opera is unlike anything I've ever experience. Its brutal portrayal of jealousy and shame will remain with me, a reminder of the darkness of the human soul.

(Photo of Placido Domingo as Otello at the Vienna State Opera)

Fleisher Op-Ed Reveals Moral (Political?) Dilemma

Pianist Leon Fleisher is back in the news, but not for his playing or his recent Kennedy Center Honor. In Saturday's Washington Post, Fleisher writes about the deep moral struggle he faced. On the one hand, he received a prestigious award that recognized his lifelong contributions to American arts and culture; on the other hand, he received that award from President Bush.

Seven years into the Bush's presidency, I think most Americans--even those of us who initially supported him--now disapprove of a majority of his administration's policies. Fleisher acknowledges that he deeply respects the Office of the President, but confesses that he is so "horrified" by the president's actions that he didn't even want to even step foot in the White House for a pre-gala reception. Eventually, he decided to attend.

I'm no longer a Bush supporter, and some of Fleisher's complaints--particularly concerning torture and the environment--are valid. Yet I have a significant problem with his fundamental dilemma. Attending a White House function does not imply complete agreement with the administration's politics. And using this stage as an opportunity for political protest, in my opinion, would have been disrespectful to both the award and the Kennedy Center itself; it's a fundamentally apolitical event.

Fleisher spoke out through his article and by wearing a peace symbol and purple ribbon--the First Amendment guarantees those rights. Would he have had the right to skip the reception in protest? Certainly. But I for one am happy that he chose not to. There are so many opportunities to debate what is right for our country, the Kennedy Center Awards should be nothing more than a celebration of our country's greatest artistic talent.

Slatkin, National Symphony at Carnegie Hall

Two years ago, I heard the National Symphony Orchestra give an overblown performance of Mahler's Eighth Symphony. Granted, the piece itself is a little (a lot!) bombastic, but that doesn't mean there's no room for subtle, detailed playing when Mahler calls for it. Instead, the orchestra had a dynamic range that never dipped below mezzo forte, and many of the winds and brass simply did not seem up to Mahler's demands. On Thursday night, the NSO and its outgoing Music Director Leonard Slatkin traveled to Carnegie Hall and sounded like a whole new orchestra.

The centerpiece of their program was a powerful, multifaceted reading of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. Tempos were brisk, but almost universally well-judged; my only disagreement was with Slatkin's "Promenade"--a tune that I feel needs a little space to breathe. The performance actually got off to a rough start. Slatkin almost fell of the podium, and "Gnomus" suffered through some sloppy ensemble and an embarrassing early entrance by the ratchet. However, it was quickly evident that Carnegie Hall had brought out the NSO's best. Most impressive were the dark, rich strings and brass in "Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle" and "Catacombae." Lighter, more whimsical movements--"The Tuileries" and "Ballet of the Chicks," for example--were crisp and delicate. Even in "The Great Gate of Kiev," the work's unapologetically over-the-top finale, Slatkin maintained control. Unlike their Mahler performance, the loud moments had impact and weight, and never felt like glorified noise.

Noise, however, played a central role in Liquid Interface by Mason Bates. The work, which was given its New York State premiere at this concert, is scored for a large orchestra and electronics. While Slatkin conducted, Bates performed on his laptop, producing a number of artificial effects. According to the composer's program note, the music "examines the phenomenon of water in its variety of forms." Many of his computer-generated sounds were exactly what you would expect in a piece about water--splashing droplets, gurgles, etc. It felt like I was either inside a submarine or watching my bathtub drain. Despite the many interesting and beautiful tone colors Bates wrote for the orchestra, I was simply too distracted by the comical sound effects to pay attention. For me, they didn't create a sonic world for the piece; they were clichés.

It could be argued that a piece about water that uses electronic sounds should include actual sounds of water. After all, wouldn't it be irresponsible for a composer to ignore the technological possibilities available to him? Shouldn't a piece about water sound like water? I believe this was the easy solution, however. Thrown in sounds we all recognize as liquid-related and everyone will understand. There was certainly no confusion about Bates's subject; his sound effects ensured that. But water can be effectively depicted without such explicit detail--Debussy wrote La Mer without today's technology. I hardly believe a cracking glacier would improve that masterpiece.

The worst moment, however was in the third movement, "Crescent City," when a New Orleans jazz riff spontaneously broke out. The passage have no obvious connection to the rest of the music; the composer offers an unconvincing and possibly inappropriate explanation in the program notes: "In a nod to New Orleans, which knows the power of water all too well, . . ." The piece had the potential to be colorful and evocative, but it seemed to pander to the audience with easily-understood sounds, reducing the music to its lowest common denominator.

The concert also included Liszt's Piano Concerto No. 2 featuring pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet. It's an unusual concerto--no defined movements, only contrasting sections that created a sense of rhapsody or fantasy. Liszt is considered one of history's greatest virtuoso pianists, so his music makes extraordinary demands on a soloist. Thibaudet breezed through the most volcanic passages, but he was hurt by a surprisingly poor piano. The lower register in particular was thin and metallic-sounding, and the orchestra, through no fault of its own, covered many of the piano's most dramatic sections.

While the loud, heroic moments were very powerful, Thibaudet and the orchestra excelled in the softer music. Expressive solos from the orchestra, particularly Principal Cello David Hardy, were matched by Thibaudet's subtle, yearning phrases. Hardy's sound seemed to float effortlessly, suspended above the surrounding drama and passion. Their duet was an otherworldly departure from Liszt's typical fireworks. And in a grandiose concert where the orchestra never shrank below enormous, this short, chamber-like interlude may have been the most impressive, memorable, and musical moment of all.

Syracuse Symphony's Beethoven Festival, Part Deux

With its recently concluded Beethoven Festival, the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra wanted to take listeners on a three-part journey into the music--and mind--of history's greatest composer. They presented several unique opportunities that aren't usually found in concert halls--a listening station that tracked Beethoven's progressing deafness and Beethoven trivia and fact sheet inserts to the program, among others. The most original and insightful was a demonstration by music director Daniel Hege prior to the performance of the Eroica Symphony; he took listeners on a brief guided tour through Beethoven's detailed sketch books, tacking the development of many of the Eroica's revolutionary passages. Very rarely do these pre-performance talks yield anything worthwhile, but Hege's presentation was fascinating, and I think we all learned something about Beethoven's compositional process.

The music itself, however remained the central focus. After the previous weekend's ragged performance, Hege and the SSO delivered an impassioned program on Friday, January 25. The opening piece, the Second Romance for Violin and Orchestra, was perhaps not the best choice; it's calm, subtle lyricism did little to grab the audience's immediate attention. Hege and soloist Andrew Zaplatynsky, the orchestra's concertmaster, combined for a restrained yet beautiful performance. I only wish they had gone further in their reading--more expressive phrasing, dynamics, and rubato. It seemed calculated rather than organic.

Restraint was nowhere to be found in the fiery, passionate performance of the Seventh Symphony. On occasion, particularly in classical and romantic works, Hege has chosen sluggish tempos, but he stormed through Beethoven's most energetic symphony, pushing the music and the orchestra relentlessly forward. In fact, Hege nearly took a tumble off the podium following an enthusiastic cue to the cellos and basses. Even the celebrated second movement, which some conductors seem convinced is a funeral march, maintained a moderate tempo--after all, it is an allegretto! The performance's overall impact was tremendous, as Hege grabbed his audience from the introduction's first notes and only released them after the blazing finale.

After intermission, the SSO was joined by an exceptional cast of soloists for a performance of excerpts from Fidelio, Beethoven's only opera. The biggest celebrity in the cast was Vinson Cole, an international superstar who has worked with many of the world's leading orchestra and conductors, including Herbert von Karajan, Sir Georg Solti, and others. He sang an expressive Florestan, yet at 57 years old, his voice has begun to show its age, losing some of its resonance. Soprano Aimee Willis, on the other hand, was at no loss for power; she soared effortlessly over the orchestra, particularly in a stunning series of high notes. I've only lived in Syracuse for seven months, but she may be the one of the best voices to appear in this area in recent memory. Two basses rounded out the main cast. Richard McKee, the recently retired artistic director of Syracuse Opera, sang Rocco with dignity and compassion. Jimi James, a popular local singer blessed with a dark, enormous tone, was a menacing Pizarro. Janet Brown, Eric Johnson, Robert Allen, and the Syracuse University Oratorio Society performed smaller roles well enough, but compared to the command and strength of the four principals, they were merely lost in the background.

For me, this was the most impressive concert the SSO has given all season. On more than a few occasions, I have accused them of mailing it in during a performance, merely sleepwalking on stage. Likewise, Hege's energy can also wane at times. But no one could question the commitment of the musicians on this night. It was refreshing and invigorating to hear--and see--them so passionately involved in the music. Of course, with their newfound fire and passion comes a loss of tonal beauty, particularly in the brass. Much like in last weekend's Eroica, chords often turned harsh and shrill as Hege exhorted them to play with ever increasing intensity. The strings, however, seemed to find another level in the Seventh Symphony, playing with more depth and resonance than I had yet heard from them.

I've enduring several uninspired concerts, but this performance demonstrated that the SSO can do much better. They may never play with the power, precision, and beauty of the New York Philharmonic, but they can bring energy, dedication, and emotion to a piece. And when they do, the results are evident. People go to concerts to be transported beyond the concerns of everyday life and to another world entirely. We go to concerts to be inspired, and if they so choose, the Syracuse Symphony surely has that ability.

(Photo by Christian Steiner)

Syracuse Symphony's Beethoven Festival, Part I

Throughout January, the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra has devoted three concerts to a celebration of Beethoven and his timeless music. Many classical music lovers likely grew up listening to Beethoven, developing an thorough knowledge of his music. In fact, the man sitting next to me conducted practically ever bar of the concert with his hand in his lap; he barely missed an entrance all night. And I'm sure he wasn't alone.

It begs the question, what purpose does a mini-festival of solely Beethoven's music--with the exception of a Mozart horn concerto--serve? Personally, I can't get enough. Beethoven was history's greatest composer, and I deeply love his music. Much like the New York Philharmonic, which has presented "Brahms the Romantic" (duh, could Brahms be anything but a romantic?) and "The Tchaikovsky Experience" in recent years, the SSO now celebrates a composer we all know intimately.

For me, the series is a marketing strategy, which is perfectly reasonable. To remain viable, orchestras need to make money, and Beethoven is big business. His masterpieces put bodies in seats--a major issue for the Syracuse Symphony, which has struggled with meager attendance all year. The orchestra included several attractions not typically found at a classical music concert--a clever listening station where people could hear music "through Beethoven's ears," taking his deafness into account; a pianoforte, the type of keyboard on which Beethoven performed and composed; and a wide variety of recordings of Beethoven recordings. Ideally, orchestras should present festivals spotlighting the composers we should know more intimately--Mendelssohn, Schumann, Schubert, or one of many important 20th century masters. Bard College has done this at its summer concerts, focusing on Shostakovich, Copland, and Janacek in past season. But they are well financed; orchestras like the Syracuse Symphony will continue to program based on both artistic and monetary considerations.

The performance itself was uneven. After a plodding, sluggish reading of the Coriolan Overture, pianist William Wolfram joined the orchestra for the Second Piano Concerto, a work in Beethoven's classical style. Wolfram and conductor Daniel Hege seemed in disagreement throughout the performance, struggling to establish a consistent tempo and expressive approach. I felt that Wolfram wanted a more fluid, flexible beat and phrasing; Hege and the orchestra responded with bland, shapeless accompaniment. If the first half of the concert was a painting, the artist would have needed only one color.

After intermission, however, Hege and the musicians perked up, delivering a brisk account of the revolutionary Third Symphony, Eroica . Hege brought out many details in the score, particularly in dynamics and articulation. I disagreed with many of his choices, but it was refreshing to hear Hege more invested in the music, with something specific to convey. His gestures were intense, often punching and throwing his hands toward sections, like he wanted to start a fight with them. Unfortunately, the orchestra responded with a comparable sound--piercing, ugly, and harsh. In fact, the orchestra, especially the winds and brass, played quite poorly throughout Eroica; they suffered from sour tuning, poor tone quality, and stiff phrasing. Even when Hege tried to shape their passages, they failed to react. The strings were more in sync with Hege, but their thin sound kept them projecting any dynamic range.

The Beethoven Festival concludes on January 25 & 26 with the Second Romance for violin, Seventh Symphony, and a concert performance of Act II from Fidelio.

Maazel at the Met

Forty-five years since his last appearance, Lorin Maazel finally returned to the pit at the Metropolitan Opera. And after such a long absence, he seemed intent on elongating the experience as much as possible.

Maazel, the New York Philharmonic’s music director, opened his run at the Met on Monday, January 7 with a performance of Die Walküre, the second opera in Richard Wagner's Ring cycle, in which tempos fluctuated between sluggish and glacial. Wagner’s orchestra serves an important role, commenting on the story and heightening its drama, yet interludes consistently slowed to a crawl and when combined with the director Otto Schenk’s static action on stage, they sapped all momentum. Even the wild, windswept preludes to Act II and Act III (“Ride of the Valkyries”) sounded measured and tame.

Mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe, in a venomous performance as the manipulative Fricka, was superb. She cut through the orchestra, revealing Fricka’s disdain for her unfaithful husband, Wotan. Overall, however, the cast was a disappointment, and Maazel’s pacing did them no favors. James Morris brought compassion to Wotan, but over time his bass voice has lost power. As Siegmund, tenor Clifton Forbis seemed over matched by his demanding role; as Sieglinde, Siegmund’s twin sister and lover, soprano Adrianne Pieczonka proved more effective, conveying youthful passion and vulnerability. Soprano Lisa Gasteen struggled as Brünnhilde, Wotan’s powerful daughter: high notes, particularly in her famous Valkyrie Battle Cry, were inconsistent, and she strained to project and sustain long phrases. As a bland Hunding, bass Mikhail Petrenko lacked any terror or darkness.

Even the Met orchestra suffered in Maazel’s hands. Following such an inconsistent tempo can be a challenge, and after a tight opening act, its performance became littered with poor tone quality and fuzzy ensemble. The brass section in particular was pushed to the limit; fatigue was likely to blame for its increasingly abrasive, ugly sound.

Maazel is one of his generation’s greatest conductors, but he seemed to be in his own world. With singers and musicians gasping for breath, he stubbornly maintained his deliberate pace. This performance should have been Maazel’s triumphant return to the Met, but his idiosyncratic conducting made it little more than protracted self-indulgence.

(Photo by Chris Lee)