Song recital: Verdi and Wagner

Hall of St Botolph without Bishopsgate

14 November 2013

Verdi's L'esule (the exile), sung by the great Carlo Bergonzi. From here.

A birthday celebration capturing the best of these composers.

Nationalism in Verdi and Wagner was the theme second and final free lunchtime Song in the City concert. If it was more interesting than the first concert, this may be due to my familiarity with the concert layout – dramatised readings from the composers interspersed between their songs, arranged thematically – or my mood on the day, rather than something intrinsic to the programme.

Each composer was active during the exciting period when their respective nations were born; both were patriots; and their operas have yielded nationalistic interpretations more than any other comparable great operas, save perhaps Mussorgsky’s. It’s easy to feel their songs must also reflect nationalism.

Yet from another perspective, neither composer was nationalistic. Wagner’s thoughts on art may link with his patriotism, but they are universal. Verdi’s ability to vividly express human passions would likewise seem to transcend parochialism. Most straightforwardly, both artists set their works in various countries; neither were dogmatic patriots.

Their songs reflect this, especially Wagner’s, whose early songs were often in French, including those with a patriotic ardour. He hated France so it is peculiar to hear Mary Queen of Scots lamenting leaving the country with such operatic histrionics. Was Wagner deliberately overdoing it in the style of Meyerbeer, or was that the only style he knew at the time? Did he share the poem’s sentiments, was he sending them up, or was he drawing a more general conclusion about exile, as Verdi does in his setting of a poem of that title?

Leaving aside these biographical reflections, encouraged by this programme, the song is more of a dramatic aria, though you wouldn’t guess it was by Wagner. It reminds me of an early Verdi piece, or of Elisabeth’s longing for France in Don Carlos, though not as good as that. But compared to the general tone of these composer’s songs, it’s welcome to hear something closer to their hearts ie drama.

In his maturity, Wagner applied his distinctive style to song through the Wesendonck poems, and we heard several of them here. They struck me as even more effective than in last week’s recital, perhaps because surrounded by greater contrast such as the earlier French aria-song.

It’s a matter of mood. The Wesendonck songs are closely related to Tristan & Isolde, and share that work’s suffused, elongated erotic tension. When contrasted with songs of longing, as last week, their remarkable mood doesn’t seem that original, and perhaps art songs had already achieved something of the subtlety that Wagner sought on stage.

When contrasted with ‘dramatic’ songs, ones appropriate for feelings of patriotism or exile, the achievement seems greater. Director (and pianist) Gavin Roberts, when programming, seems to have intended to point out this difference.

It’s especially interesting because some characteristic mature Verdi seems to be present in his songs here. L'esule is really a tenor aria from any of the operas up until Otello, and the effect was spectacular, even if it did suggest the great composer didn’t vary his approach to the tenor voice very much.

And the final drinking song, presented slightly awkwardly by all four singers, is also a classic Verdi theme, having little to do with nationalism, but what the hell.

Song recital: Verdi and Wagner

Hall of St Botolph without Bishopsgate

7 November 2013

Angela Gheorghiu singing Verdi's uncharacteristically light-hearted Stornello. From here. 

Minor works by great composers presented brilliantly. More, please.

This is the first of two extremely enterprising – and free! – lunchtime song recitals from Song in the City dedicated to these great musical dramatists, both born 200 years ago.

Focussing on their songs, rather than aria arrangements, displays integrity but also presents problems. Neither composer is at his best in the song form, which is more peculiar for Verdi than Wagner, whose orchestral mastery is a greater part of his appeal.

The theme of this concert was love and/or obsession, and stressed the similarities of these contemporaries. A series of dramatised readings from their letters helped, interspersed with the songs. In these readings, both composers emerged as an intense Romantic, with Wagner prone to poetic excess and Verdi crustier but still passionate.

Confirming that in their early years, neither had a distinctive voice, the songs were similar in verse and musical setting.

The first two songs even had the same verse, from Goethe’s Faust, Part One, Gretchen’s spinning song, set most memorably by the young Schubert, and perhaps set most effectively by Carl Loewe. Against such competition neither opera composer comes out well.

If this were a competition, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that Verdi comes off worst, for Wagner wrote the Wesendonck Lieder at a point where he had achieved miracles within opera, far beyond Verdi’s ambition. Verdi’s songs, and most of Wagner's, are much earlier.

Surprisingly, the gap between the songs of the young-ish Verdi and the fully mature Wagner are not as great as we might think. Although the selections of those Wesendonck lieder heard here were definitely the highlights, the Italian’s similarly evocative settings around night or longing were also very effective.

We're used to hearing the Wesendonck songs in their orchestral versions, mostly by Mottl, but employing Wagner's advances in orchestration. The piano-accompanied originals, then, are not as interesting, at least on this showing.

Ironically, the concert ended with a song that pianist and director Gavin Roberts called an Italian approach to love, rather than the heavy ‘Wagnerian’ themes that had gone before. Ironic, because both composers were extremely high-minded, and if anything Verdi was temperamentally more serious than Wagner. That he also managed a soubrettish song says less about him being Italian and more about his interest in depicting a wide range of types of people.

The performances, in this small pretty hall, were uniformly excellent, singers admirably scaling down to meet the acoustics.

Rigoletto

Barbican

15 September 2013

A new star tenor? An example of his Duke of Mantua, if you are into that. From here.

An inspired concert performance of this dark-tinted drama.

Rigoletto not only announced Verdi's maturity as a dramatic artist, it is also better than most of his subsequent works. Perhaps Victor Hugo's source drama contributes but it is an uncomfortable, wholly Verdian idea to make the audience fall in love with the Duke, quite as much as Gilda does.

The second act is nearly perfect, though so distressing I can only assume applauding interrupting audiences aren't paying sufficient attention. The Duke sympathises with the abducted Gilda, swears vengeance, proclaims a new leaf, and is entirely convinced of it himself, according to the music. When he learns the girl was abducted for his benefit, he quickly forgets about her distress and focuses on his upcoming pleasure. When we finally see Gilda the tense duet with her father makes it clear she has been raped. Rigoletto gets bitter pleasure from the thought of vengeance, but the suddenly banal music shows it is a weak compensation.

Admittedly Gilda is a pathetic figure, of a type the composer avoided using again until his Desdemona, who is much more spirited. What might properly be her tragedy is transferred instead to her father, a more complex and unlikeable figure, even compared to the Duke.

It may be a flaw that we are manipulated into caring more for the two most unpleasant characters – the Duke and his jester – than for the person who sacrifices herself at the end. The drama’s verdict is damning. Both the fortunate sybarite and the wretched waspish Rigoletto survive, indeed thrive in some form, while the innocent lover sacrifices herself without meaning.

Given the bleak situation throughout the work, in direct contrast to at least the singing of the Duke and Gilda, this is much more of a conductor’s opera than is typically supposed. Recordings by Giulini and Sinopoli should have established that, and the recent Covent Garden performances with Eliot Gardiner confirm it.

I didn’t find Gianandrea Noseda quite as convincing as Eliot Gardiner, but my memory may be faulty, for it was still a very impressive performance with the LSO, even if they were reduced to ‘opera pit’ size. Only a few times did the prominence of the on-stage orchestra threaten to overwhelm the singing, but Noseda maintained the necessary momentum and when needed obtained suitably vigorous climaxes.

The cast were excellent, with some genuinely impressive acting, despite this being a concert performance. A highlight was when Rigoletto turns his back on his newly disgraced daughter: a response both understandable and horrific.

Dmitri Platanias was open-throated in the title role, and this is surely the only way to do it, much as it might wreak havoc with the voice. Desirée Rancatore was a limpid, girlish Gilda, though hers is a lyric not dramatic soprano voice. Saimir Pirgu’s Duke was appealing in both voice and appearance. Smaller roles were taken well.

Verdi, Tchaikovsky: concert

Royal Albert Hall

5 September 2013

Joseph Calleja singing Verdi's imperishable La donna è mobile, this time in context. 

From here.

A great composer filleted, but the concert redeemed through championing an interesting Tchaikovsky work.

The Verdi bicentenary has hardly been noticed at the BBC Proms: it has received less attention than the anniversaries of Wagner and Britten, and less attention than Tchaikovsky, whose complete symphony cycle was finished in the second half of this concert, as if to add to the insult. Verdi maybe rates a little higher than Granville Bantock, but I’m not even sure of that.

A selection of orchestral excerpts and five tenor arias is a highly misleading way to represent this great musical dramatist, even if the arias, from his early and middle period, give the impression they can stand alone. But this is utterly untrue of La Traviata’s wonderful prelude, and as it died away I felt cheated that the ball scene didn’t immediately follow.

The overture to La Forza del Destino is more of a showpiece, but it was again jarring to hear Aida’s Triumphal March out of context, even if Verdi’s special trumpets are always worth hearing.

With one exception, the arias were from lesser-known Verdi operas, and oddly covered the same sentiment, a hero remembering past love. None showed the composer at his best, apart from the exception, La donna è mobile from Rigoletto. Tenor Joseph Calleja must be one of the finer Verdi tenors today, with an ardent, appealing tone that nonetheless pings as needed.

Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony is also poorly known, despite being composed between his mature fourth and fifth symphonies. It ought to be better known, if this performance by Xian Zhang and the Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano Giuseppe Verdi is any indication.

As the composer recognised, the first movement is the strongest, a powerful depiction of crushing melancholy or depression, which eventually overcomes any pleasant memories. The remaining movements are less inspired, culminating in a clattering finale that is supposed to represent a demonic orgy but is completely sexless, and too reserved in this performance to truly sound demonic.

If that doesn’t sound like the strongest recommendation, there is still much to enjoy, in Tchaikovsky’s tuneful, colourful manner. In this performance, it seemed longer than its inspiration warrants, and it isn’t a masterpiece on the level of his sixth, but the handling of the obsessive idée fixe seems to me better than in most of Berlioz and perhaps this is the best representation of that concept in music.

Verdi at the Proms

Royal Albert Hall

20 July 2013 

Verdi's Libera Me from the unperformed Rossini Mass (starts at 4:34)

A celebration for connoisseurs, but only rarely showing the composer at his best.

Verdi’s bicentenary is hardly noticed at the Proms, whereas Wagner’s is being celebrated at extreme length and cost. I would much rather this than the other way round, but still, one concert devoted to Verdi, and mostly obscure minor works at that, is not doing the great dramatist any sort of justice.

The first piece we heard isn’t even Verdi, but rather a string arrangement, or enlargement, of his string quartet. As a quartet, the piece may be a curiosity; in this distorted form it is merely tedious.

A late, occasional piece, the Ave Maria for soprano and orchestra, made a useful complement with the equally late Ave Maria in the slightly more familiar Four Sacred Pieces. Likewise the original version of the Requiem’s thrilling Libera Me linked closely with the Te Deum in the four pieces.

I was struck by two consistent approaches Verdi has in his overtly Christian music. On the one hand, through the Virgin, his sopranos pray for support, though typically in vain, at least in the staged dramas.

On the other, he presents God, or his believers, in the most fearsome and unyielding Old Testament style. This reaches a peak with the Dies Irae section of the Libera Me and the Requiem, but can be found also in the Te Deum, where the creator of this frightening world is appropriately presented as worthy of awe and terror.

Verdi was agnostic, but the programme notes are greatly undervaluing him by placing him in the same tradition as Brahms and Vaughan Williams. This concert forcefully confirmed that Verdi entered the beliefs of Christians with a dramatist’s skill, and presented two important aspects of them with his customary straightforward brilliance.

For Verdi, Christianity is about recognising that the horrors of the world are caused by God, perhaps justly (though perhaps not), and then about desperately hoping to supplicate that God, typically through the human closest to him, the Virgin.

Depending on preference, this music both supports and critiques the beliefs of Christians, and no other composer has done this so well. I cannot comprehend that Christians continue to find succour in Verdi’s religious works, but this in itself is the highest praise of this composer, who ought to be as controversial as his exact contemporary, Wagner.

Performances were excellent, and giving us an opportunity to explore this composer’s beliefs is priceless.

Don Carlo

Royal Opera House

21 May 2013 

Ferruccio Furlanetto (Philip II), eloquent at the opening of Act III. From here.

A good, but not great, production of an overwhelming masterpiece.

Verdi’s operas typically explore the standard, almost ubiquitous, suffering woman theme of serious Italian music drama. They also explore family relationships, like much of the non-musical theatre of the period. Only this work seriously examines existential concerns of our relationship with power and with faith.

Which is not to say Verdi didn’t employ his usual themes as a way to address these others. Elisabetta suffers, and Carlo has a murderous relationship with his father Filippo, but the overriding impression is rather the  painful way in which power and faith, while bolstering each other, do so only to make our lives worse.

Although the private scenes between Rodrigo and Filippo, then Filippo and the Grand Inquisitor, carry the weight of the work, that weight is created in the central public scene of the auto-da-fe, in which somehow Verdi succeeds in transfiguring the horrific. It is one of the most distressing scenes in all of art, yet oddly uplifting, as if the artist insisted that there must be a good outcome in the afterlife, contrary to all appearances.

Great voices are needed, but also good acting, and the production is critical. I’m not quite sure why Nicolas Hytner’s production doesn’t work for me, given its clear theatrical strengths.

For example, I hadn’t quite appreciated how indebted this work is to Scribe’s notions of a well-made play, in which every aspect contributes to the plot. Eboli’s song of the veil foreshadows her pretence in the garden, and so on. Hyntner is very good at this, but elsewhere presenting the opera as a grand old historical drama is detrimental, the costumes and pageantry a distraction.

Antonio Pappano has made this work something of a speciality, performing several different versions, and he and his orchestra endow the piece with beautiful, resonant tone. So I’m also not sure why I felt that both the conclusion of the auto-da-fe scene and the ending of the whole opera didn’t catch fire as in previous performances (pardon the pun).

The production also exaggerates Carlo’s role, with many scenes ending with him alone facing the grim façade of Filippo’s Escorial palace.

The voices were wonderful, being generally capable of both beauty and thrills. Unfortunately the acting was broad and conventional, a flaw also of the production.

Ballo

Opera Up Close, King's Head Theatre

14 May 2013

Pavarotti and Millo in the great love duet from this opera. 

More designed for the opera house, as here, than a tiny theatre.

Un Ballo in Maschera in a version more likely to confirm prejudices against opera than gain it new converts.

Does it make sense to attend a performance of a repertory opera in a version that gives very little sense of how it would sound in a normal opera house?

I’ve seen Opera Up Close productions of La Boheme and Carmen, as well as pared-down productions of ‘classics’ at Grimeborn and elsewhere, and all of these have worked, even if I am aware that they would sound different with a full orchestra, and that something important is therefore missing.

Verdi showed surprising patience as A Masked Ball was renamed and relocated before its first performance, though I doubt the composer or his librettists would thank Opera Up Close for their conceit of placing it within an Ikea-like store (named Ballo) in a gruesome part of north-west London.

Naturally, the new English version of the text has undergone a massive transformation in order to accommodate this, and would confirm a sceptic’s sense that opera texts are absurd, suitable only for comic verse, in this case mildly funny but not especially so.

In fairness, the original presents major challenges too, wherever it is set. But by having the assassination plot centre around a King, or at least a Governor, the work gains an aura of seriousness that it doesn’t deserve. But stripping that aura weakens the whole, so that we are left with a murder plot against a store manager.

This may be an effective criticism or demystification of the original, but it doesn’t produce a good drama in itself.

The Opera Up Close aesthetic of a piano accompaniment, in this case a wretched upright, strongly complements the sense that we are witnessing a critique of standard opera rather than a genuine artistic re-imagining of a masterpiece. (It doesn’t help that the original is not a masterpiece, in my view).

As an aside, given the common criticism of Verdi as using the orchestra like a guitar, perhaps it might make more sense to use a guitar accompaniment rather than a piano. But I feel the criticism is misplaced in any event – Verdi’s orchestration is often sublimely appropriate, like Gluck’s.

Musically, these events can be trying, as opera singers project so forcefully that their voices, even if light, are overwhelming in such a small acoustic. I suspect only spoken drama can work in the King’s Head Theatre. But in this performance matters were made much worse by the choice of a male soprano for Oscar, rather than the usual soprano in a trouser role. I don’t mean to be harsh to talented singers, but the sopranist voice needs to be astonishing to work properly, and not sound, as here, like a screech.

On the other hand, the Amelia this evening (there are two casts) was impressive, given acoustic limitations, with some delightful dynamic and breath control and generally aiming for a beautiful tone.

If the sounds were galling, at least the enunciation was flawless, and it is a rare experience to be able to understand every word.

So given the number of revisions, perhaps this should have been given as a spoken drama rather than sung?

I think the singing was justified if only because Verdi's magnificent introduction and duet in Act 2 still worked its ecstatic magic despite all misgivings, and some wooden tempi. And if this was the highlight of an otherwise vulgar evening, the blame for that lies as much with the original as with this revision.