Skip to main content
Read page text
page 30
Gramophone Awards Shortlist 2016 Opera Click on a CD cover to buy or stream from qobuz.com Donizetti Les martyrs Joyce El-Khoury sop �Pauline Michael Spyres ten �Polyeucte David Kempster bar �Sévère Brindley Sherratt bass �Félix Clive Bayley bass �Callisthènes Wynne Evans ten �Néarque Simon Preece bass �A Christian Rosalind Waters sop �A Woman Opera Rara Chorus; Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment / Sir Mark Elder Opera Rara F c ORC52 (3h 28’ • DDD • S/T/t) The knotty gestation of Les martyrs, explained in impressive and patient detail in Opera Rara’s characteristically excellent documentation for this release, has traditionally been seen having left the work as neither one thing nor the other: too Italian for Paris, too specifically Parisian in form to have had a lasting wider appeal. When Poliuto failed to get past the Neapolitan censors, Donizetti reworked it into Les Martyrs, expanding its three acts into four and recomposing all the recitatives – Eugène Scribe, no less, was on hand to adjust the text, returning to the same Corneille source used by Salvadore Cammarano’s Italian libretto. At its (much delayed) 1840 premiere, the Parisian critics complained it wasn’t French enough and it more or less sank without trace – living on briefly only in Italian translation. Poliuto, meanwhile, achieved a modest toehold of its own in the repertoire, not least in the 1960 La Scala production starring Callas, Corelli and Bastianini, variously available on disc. Here Opera Rara has restored Les martyrs to its original splendour, Mark Elder conducting the new critical edition of the score in full, and with his love of the music shining through in ever bar. Indeed, the conducting and playing are arguably the recording’s greatest glory. The OAE’s sound is wonderfully sparkly and transparent, everything beautifully balanced – listen to the playing in the three dances of the Act 3 divertissement to sample the sheer quality on display. The wind soloists are wonderful, taking the spotlight in several aria introductions. Elder’s conducting is limpid and flexible, the rubato natural and seductive; I wondered only if he might have submitted more completely to the dramatic momentum as the Act 2 finale gathers a head of steam. One can understand why Berlioz called the piece a ‘Credo in four acts’, though, and in its plot, the story of the Christian convert Polyeucte martyring himself in ancient Armenia, doesn’t provide much scope for character development. Polyeucte’s position is too fixed, while I pity any director trying to stage convincingly the almost comically swift eleventh-hour conversion of his beloved, Pauline – or, for that matter, their subsequent throwing to the lions. The most  interesting character is probably Sévère, the proconsul in love with her but  also determined to save him. But while the grand opéra set pieces are magnificent and the ensembles stirring, there are no arias to match, say, Léonor’s ‘O mon Fernand’ in the contemporaneous La favorite. There’s no faulting the commitment of the singers here, however. As Polyeucte, Michael Spyres offers plenty of bel canto style and beautifully schooled phrasing – plus a remarkable top E. Joyce El‑Khoury’s tone can become a little occluded and is not flattered by the close‑ish balance but her performance as Pauline is hardly less remarkable, and tireless in bringing the character to life. Similarly, David Kempster can sound a little woolly of tone as Sévère but he sings with nobility and finesse. There’s fine support from the basses Brindley Sherratt and Clive Bayley, and the tenor Wynne Evans; the Opera Rara Chorus is on terrific form, too. Doubts remain about the work itself, then, but there’s little doubting Opera Rara’s achievement in letting us hear it sound so thrillingly fresh. Hugo Shirley Mascagni . Leoncavallo ◊ Y Mascagni Cavalleria rusticana Liudmyla Monastyrska sop �Santuzza Annalisa Stroppa mez �Lola Jonas Kaufmann ten �Turiddu Ambrogio Maestri bar �Alfio Stefania Toczyska mez �Lucia Leoncavallo Pagliacci Maria Agresta sop �Nedda Jonas Kaufmann ten �Canio Dimitri Platanias bar �Tonio Tansel Akzeybek ten �Beppe Alessio Arduini bar �Silvio Salzburg Festival Children’s and Theatre Choir; Salzburg Bach Choir; Saxon State Opera Chorus; Staatskapelle Dresden / Christian Thielemann Stage director Philipp Stölzl Video director Brian Large Sony Classical B b ◊ 88875 19340-9; F Y 88875 19341-9 (161’ • NTSC • 16:9 • 1080i • DTS-HD MA5.0, DTS5.0 & LPCM stereo • 0 • s) This new Cav and Pag is doubly treasurable. Not only – as the label’s blurb loudly but rightly proclaims – does it capture Jonas Kaufmann singing both Turiddu and Canio for the first time in this 2015 Salzburg Easter Festival production, but the tenor also sings them fabulously well. Once we get beyond Tiriddu’s song to Lola, delivered instrospectively but – in the context – effectively on stage, there’s none of the self-regarding overinterpretation that for me can mar Kaufmann’s performances in the theatre (although many prize his mezza voce more highly than I do). Instead we have plenty of the thrilling, untrammelled and ringing sound that the tenor is capable of at his best, with no loss of sensitivity in terms of musicianship or acting. Happily, Kaufmann’s outstanding central performances are well matched, both musically and scenically. Philipp Stölzl’s production captures something of the expressionist feel and period of early German cinema – and in so doing also underlines the parallels between that stylised aesthetic and that of commedia dell’arte, exploited in Leoncavallo’s work. He directs everyone skilfully and makes ingenious use of a compartmentalised design in each work – six boxes, three across and two down, that can function independently, sometimes to have filmed close-ups projected onto them. It’s an 30 GRAMOPHONE AWARDS 2016 gramophone.co.uk
page 31
Gramophone Awards Shortlist 2016 impressive effect that’s very well captured in the video direction. There are pros and cons to the concept, inevitably, and the cool palette of colours in Cav, in particular, reflects little of the drama’s sun-baked atmosphere and attendant hot-blooded passions; a heady air of easy rusticity is replaced with a sense of heavy industrial smog. The Alfio-asgangster conceit is more believable (thanks largely to Ambrogio Maestri’s larger-thanlife portrayal) than the idea of Mamma Lucia as a sort of town clerk. But we get an unexpected level of detail in the characterisation, particularly when it comes to the depiction of Santuzza and Turridu’s domestic situation: a quiet, pervasive sadness hangs over their urban garret, into which Stölzl has added a choirboy son. It all helps make the two main characters more than just embodiments, respectively, of jealous womanly vengeance and immature macho irresponsibility and narcissism; Liudmyla Monastyrska’s Santuzza, sung with rich and generous tone, is especially moving. The filmic nature of Stölzl’s vision, meanwhile, serves to alter one’s perception of Mascagni’s episodic score by cleverly aligning its gearshifts with scene changes. Pagliacci feels more conventional, with Canio’s troupe bringing muted colour to the same worn-down world. Again there are pros and cons. Stölzl elicits a terrific central performance from Kaufmann once more: his clown comes across as threatening, short-fused and world-weary from the start – given an extra edginess by the addition of a Mephistophelian goatee – and he turns in a towering performance of ‘Vesti la giubba’ as one long crescendo. But I was less keen on the crowd milling around during Tonio’s Prologue (its members distractingly singled out in the camera direction), and it’s a shame that Stölzl’s arrangement for the play-withinthe-play sets up no fourth wall for Canio to tear angrily down at ‘No, pagliaccio non son’ – watch Vladimir Galouzine in Giancarlo del Monaco’s Madrid production (Opus Arte) to see how shockingly visceral this moment can and really should be. But, on his own terms, Stölzl creates a drama of real intensity. Maria Agresta is a fine, exciting Nedda and Dimitri Platanias sings eloquently as a subtly malevolent Tonio. Alessio Arduini’s Silvio is pleasingly mellifluous, and his duet with Nedda, played out in a line-drawn expressionist landscape, is happily uncut – though the hurried removal of his shirt at the start of it strikes me as inconsistent with the production. Underpinning the whole enterprise is the luxurious support of Christian Thielemann and his Staatskapelle Dresden. There’s a grandeur and sumptuousness to the sound and an occasional expansiveness to the conducting that are some way from being authentically Italianate, perhaps, but Thielemann is always aware of the drama and the beauties of the playing are many – the gentle way he has with Cav’s famous Intermezzo is understated, for example, but no less moving for it. Maybe stick with Del Monaco’s staging in Madrid for a more conventional modern version of both works, but this new account, built around two of Kaufmann’s finest performances, is compelling and fascinating. Highly recommended, especially at Sony Classical’s low price. Hugo Shirley Selected comparison: López-Cobos (1/08) (OPAR) ◊ OA0983D; Y OABD7018D Tchaikovsky The Queen of Spades Misha Didyk ten �Herman Tatiana Serjan sop �Lisa Larissa Diadkova mez �Countess Alexey Shishlyaev bar �Count Tomsky Alexey Markov bar �Prince Yeletsky Oksana Volkova mez �Polina Vadim Zaplechny ten �Chekalinsky Tomasz Slawinski bass-bar �Surin Mikhail Makarov ten �Chaplitsky Anatoli Sivko bass �Narumov Olga Savova mez �Governess Children’s Chorus of the Bavarian State Opera; Bavarian Radio Chorus and Symphony Orchestra / Mariss Jansons BR-Klassik M c 900129 (169’ • DDD • T/t) Recorded live at the Philharmonie im Gasteig, Munich, October 4‑13, 2014 While Eugene Onegin is Tchaikovsky’s most popular opera, there’s a fair argument that The Queen of Spades is his best. A gripping drama, it requires performances where you believe in Herman’s psychological descent as the desire to learn the secret of the three cards from the old Countess consumes everything, including his love for Lisa. The opera has been lucky on disc, dominated in recent decades by recordings from Valery Gergiev and Seiji Ozawa, both from the early 1990s. They are joined by this resplendent account from Mariss Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, recorded in concert. Jansons has a fine pedigree in Tchaikovsky (his cycle of the symphonies for Chandos still holds strong) and he paces the opera unerringly well, building tension superbly. His Bavarians respond with atmospheric playing, burnished strings and dark woodwind coloration to the fore. Alexandra Maria Dielitz’s excellent booklet essay explains how the Mariinsky director tried to persuade Tchaikovsky to set Pushkin’s story as an opera, ‘a Russian Carmen’. Parallels are drawn in deciphering fate from cards, but Tchaikovsky also channels Bizet in his children’s mocksoldier chorus. The Bavarian State Opera children’s choir offer characterful singing, if not as earthily Russian as Gergiev’s urchins. Jansons keeps the Mozartian pastiche light and fleet-footed, and even employs a fortepiano for Lisa and Polina’s duet to give a period feel. Tatiana Serjan is a vibrant, fearless Lisa, as one might expect from a soprano who tackles the roles of Abigaille and Lady Macbeth. Hers is a voice with plenty of ‘blade’ when required, yet she can shade it beautifully. Her aria by the River Neva, as she awaits her final confrontation with Herman, is heartfelt. I prefer her to Mirella Freni, past her best when recording the role for Ozawa, while she matches Maria Guleghina (Gergiev) for drama. Misha Didyk, a less than convincing Manrico at La Monnaie (Bel Air, 2/15), surprises with his baritonal depths here as Herman, as well as a ringing top. There’s vivid characterisation too, thrilling in his encounters with Serjan’s Lisa, without the occasional spills of Vladimir Atlantov (Ozawa) or Gegam Grigorian (Gergiev). Larissa Diadkova’s Countess happily relies more on secure vocal technique than scary histrionics and Oksana Volkova is a rich-voiced Polina. When it comes to the baritones, Jansons can’t quite compete with Ozawa. Alexey Markov is less refulgent of tone than Dmitri Hvorostovsky but sings a noble account of ‘Ya vas lyublyu’. Similarly, Alexey Shishlyaev lacks Sergei Leiferkus’s sardonic bite as Tomsky, but his narration of the legend of the three cards is effective, despite his upper notes being pushed. With an excellent recording – despite applause and some stage noise – this is a highly recommendable version of Tchaikovsky’s opera which pulls the listener into the drama. Mark Pullinger Selected comparisons: Ozawa (11/92R) (SONY) 88697 52771-2 Gergiev (10/93) (PHIL) 438 141-2PH3 Verdi Aida Anja Harteros sop �Aida Jonas Kaufmann ten �Radamès gramophone.co.uk GRAMOPHONE AWards 2016 31

Page Text

View plaintext

Gramophone Awards Shortlist 2016 Opera

Click on a CD cover to buy or stream from qobuz.com

Donizetti Les martyrs Joyce El-Khoury sop �Pauline Michael Spyres ten �Polyeucte David Kempster bar �Sévère Brindley Sherratt bass �Félix Clive Bayley bass �Callisthènes Wynne Evans ten �Néarque Simon Preece bass �A Christian Rosalind Waters sop �A Woman Opera Rara Chorus; Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment / Sir Mark Elder Opera Rara F c ORC52 (3h 28’ • DDD • S/T/t)

The knotty gestation of Les martyrs, explained in impressive and patient detail in Opera Rara’s characteristically excellent documentation for this release, has traditionally been seen having left the work as neither one thing nor the other: too Italian for Paris, too specifically Parisian in form to have had a lasting wider appeal. When Poliuto failed to get past the Neapolitan censors, Donizetti reworked it into Les Martyrs, expanding its three acts into four and recomposing all the recitatives – Eugène Scribe, no less, was on hand to adjust the text, returning to the same Corneille source used by Salvadore Cammarano’s Italian libretto. At its (much delayed) 1840 premiere, the Parisian critics complained it wasn’t French enough and it more or less sank without trace – living on briefly only in Italian translation. Poliuto, meanwhile, achieved a modest toehold of its own in the repertoire, not least in the 1960 La Scala production starring Callas, Corelli and Bastianini, variously available on disc.

Here Opera Rara has restored Les martyrs to its original splendour, Mark Elder conducting the new critical edition of the score in full, and with his love of the music shining through in ever bar. Indeed, the conducting and playing are arguably the recording’s greatest glory. The OAE’s sound is wonderfully sparkly and transparent, everything beautifully balanced – listen to the playing in the three dances of the Act 3 divertissement to sample the sheer quality on display.

The wind soloists are wonderful, taking the spotlight in several aria introductions. Elder’s conducting is limpid and flexible, the rubato natural and seductive; I wondered only if he might have submitted more completely to the dramatic momentum as the Act 2 finale gathers a head of steam.

One can understand why Berlioz called the piece a ‘Credo in four acts’, though, and in its plot, the story of the Christian convert Polyeucte martyring himself in ancient Armenia, doesn’t provide much scope for character development. Polyeucte’s position is too fixed, while I pity any director trying to stage convincingly the almost comically swift eleventh-hour conversion of his beloved, Pauline – or, for that matter, their subsequent throwing to the lions. The most  interesting character is probably Sévère, the proconsul in love with her but  also determined to save him. But while the grand opéra set pieces are magnificent and the ensembles stirring, there are no arias to match, say, Léonor’s ‘O mon Fernand’ in the contemporaneous La favorite.

There’s no faulting the commitment of the singers here, however. As Polyeucte, Michael Spyres offers plenty of bel canto style and beautifully schooled phrasing – plus a remarkable top E. Joyce El‑Khoury’s tone can become a little occluded and is not flattered by the close‑ish balance but her performance as Pauline is hardly less remarkable, and tireless in bringing the character to life. Similarly, David Kempster can sound a little woolly of tone as Sévère but he sings with nobility and finesse. There’s fine support from the basses Brindley Sherratt and Clive Bayley, and the tenor Wynne Evans; the Opera Rara Chorus is on terrific form, too. Doubts remain about the work itself, then, but there’s little doubting Opera Rara’s achievement in letting us hear it sound so thrillingly fresh. Hugo Shirley

Mascagni . Leoncavallo

◊ Y

Mascagni Cavalleria rusticana Liudmyla Monastyrska sop �Santuzza Annalisa Stroppa mez �Lola Jonas Kaufmann ten �Turiddu

Ambrogio Maestri bar �Alfio Stefania Toczyska mez �Lucia

Leoncavallo Pagliacci Maria Agresta sop �Nedda Jonas Kaufmann ten �Canio Dimitri Platanias bar �Tonio Tansel Akzeybek ten �Beppe Alessio Arduini bar �Silvio Salzburg Festival Children’s and Theatre Choir; Salzburg Bach Choir; Saxon State Opera Chorus; Staatskapelle Dresden / Christian Thielemann Stage director Philipp Stölzl Video director Brian Large Sony Classical B b ◊ 88875 19340-9; F Y 88875 19341-9 (161’ • NTSC • 16:9 • 1080i • DTS-HD MA5.0, DTS5.0 & LPCM stereo • 0 • s)

This new Cav and Pag is doubly treasurable. Not only – as the label’s blurb loudly but rightly proclaims – does it capture Jonas Kaufmann singing both Turiddu and Canio for the first time in this 2015 Salzburg Easter Festival production, but the tenor also sings them fabulously well. Once we get beyond Tiriddu’s song to Lola, delivered instrospectively but – in the context – effectively on stage, there’s none of the self-regarding overinterpretation that for me can mar Kaufmann’s performances in the theatre (although many prize his mezza voce more highly than I do). Instead we have plenty of the thrilling, untrammelled and ringing sound that the tenor is capable of at his best, with no loss of sensitivity in terms of musicianship or acting.

Happily, Kaufmann’s outstanding central performances are well matched, both musically and scenically. Philipp Stölzl’s production captures something of the expressionist feel and period of early German cinema – and in so doing also underlines the parallels between that stylised aesthetic and that of commedia dell’arte, exploited in Leoncavallo’s work. He directs everyone skilfully and makes ingenious use of a compartmentalised design in each work – six boxes, three across and two down, that can function independently, sometimes to have filmed close-ups projected onto them. It’s an

30 GRAMOPHONE AWARDS 2016

gramophone.co.uk

read next page

My Bookmarks

Buy this Book
Skip to main content