Legend has it that “La forza del destino” is a cursed opera, associated with tragedies that seem to haunt every new production. From companies falling into bankruptcy after staging it, to severe technical and production errors arising after the famous overture, and even the deaths of artists linked to the work—this reputation seems to have marked its history. This year, however, Teatro alla Scala defied that superstition by choosing this opera to open its 2024-25 season, an especially significant event since “La forza” hadn’t inaugurated a Scala season since 1965. Fortunately, this year’s production avoided major misfortunes, save for one minor incident which, though anecdotal, had no significant consequences.

The “mini-misfortune” revolved around the tenor role, marked by unexpected instability. Originally, Jonas Kaufmann was announced to play Don Alvaro, but he canceled weeks before the premiere due to family reasons. In an intriguing coincidence, the Gran Teatre del Liceu in Barcelona was staging the same opera with Brian Jagde in the leading role, which facilitated his emergency inclusion at La Scala and allowed him to perform at the traditional Dec. 7th opening night. However, the birth of Jagde’s child forced him to cancel some of the scheduled performances in Milan. In his absence, Luciano Ganci once again came to the rescue of the Milanese theater, recalling his impromptu recital appearance after the cancellation of the Hommage to Puccini on Nov. 29th, which had involved the opera’s leading stars. For the Dec. 19th performance, which is the subject of this review, Jagde returned to the stage, portraying the ill-fated Spanish lover.

In terms of media impact, La Scala’s new production was a resounding success. The opening night on Dec. 7th, broadcast live on Italy’s main television channel Rai1, achieved a 10.2% audience share during its four-hour runtime, equivalent to over 1.6 million viewers. This percentage surpasses last year’s results, when “Don Carlo” was viewed by 1.4 million people, though the 2019 “Tosca” record, with 2.85 million viewers, remains unbeaten. A common denominator among these three productions—besides Riccardo Chailly’s musical direction—is the presence of Russian soprano Anna Netrebko in the leading role. It is likely that her figure significantly contributed to capturing such a vast audience.

Thoughtful Production

The stage direction of this renowned title was entrusted to the experienced Leo Muscato, who delivered a meticulous and thoughtful interpretation of the theme of war, reimagining the work through a timeless historical perspective. The Italian director set the scenes across different eras, ranging from the 18th century in the first act to contemporary times in the fourth. This decision underscores the universal and tragic message of the opera: war is a constant in human history, regardless of the period in which it is set. While this choice might seem dramaturgically confusing, it proved to be an effective way to reinforce the central concept. The bold reinterpretation of this Verdi classic in a modern key resulted in a spectacular production, possibly the most impressive at La Scala in the past five years.

The post Teatro alla Scala 2024-2025 Review: La Forza del Destino appeared first on OperaWire.

Cape Town Opera’s “Porgy and Bess” created an extraordinary cultural confluence in its Chinese premiere at the Poly Theatre. Closing the 27th Beijing Music Festival on 12 October 2024, this production brings together 39 singers and 75 musicians as Gershwin’s South Carolina masterpiece, reimagined through South African artistry, finds new resonance on the Beijing stage.

It arrives at a moment when cultural dialogue between China and Africa is more vital than ever. Festival director Zou Shuang envisions this centerpiece performance as more than just an artistic showcase- it becomes a living bridge where Chinese audiences discover the rhythms and spiritual depths of South African artistry while honoring the work’s timeless power. Director Noa Naamat’s staging softens the opera’s raw portrayal of race, drugs and social struggles, opting instead for a visual poetry of minimalist sets and vibrant costumes. Dynamic lighting shapes this gentler vision, crafting intimate moments that let the performance’s emotional depth shine through.

Under Kazem Abdullah’s direction, the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra doesn’t merely accompany but actively shapes the drama. Their reading of Gershwin’s score reveals both its classical refinement and vernacular vitality. The orchestra paints a sonic landscape that feels at once authentic and revelatory: from the opening notes, their nuanced interplay brings the world of port loaders, fishermen, street vendors, and beggars to vivid life. The strings excel in atmospheric passages and maintain clarity through rhythmically complex passages, with especially moving performance in the spirituals. Though occasional clarity issues emerge in softer passages, woodwinds demonstrate exceptional agility during “Clara, Clara.” The brass section’s jazz inflections prove especially effective in the hurricane’s approaching fury and Crown’s menacing scenes.

Illuminating Vocal Performances

The vocal performances illuminate both individual journeys and communal bonds. Otto Maidi’s Porgy moves fluidly between heroic strength and touching vulnerability, his resonant bass-baritone wielding consonants like weapons in moments of determination while revealing delicate sensitivity in passages of tenderness. “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin’” becomes both a personal declaration and a universal statement of resilience.

Nonhlanhla Yende brings vocal ambition to Bess, particularly in “Porgy I’s Your Woman Now,” where her powerful high notes declare both strength and yearning for freedom. Yet, in tracing her path between independence and dependence, her dramatic transitions often lack definition, leaving pivotal moments without their full emotional impact.

From this central relationship, the drama expands through a rich supporting cast. Siphamandla Moyake’s Clara opens with a hauntingly layered “Summertime.” Her voice floats beautifully between bluesy inflections and operatic lines, capturing both struggle and hope of Catfish Row.

Pumza Mxinwa’s Serena delivers a heart-wrenching “My Man’s Gone Now.” Her grief touches something universal in all of us. The night’s biggest surprise comes from Mandisinde Mbuyazwe’s Crown and Siphamandla Moyake’s Sporting Life.

Mandisinde’s Crown radiates dangerous charisma with his rough-edged sound, and his command of descending bass lines is particularly impressive. As Sporting Life, Siphamandla brings perfect wit to “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” his jazz-infused phrasing making every note both question and entertain. He skillfully undercuts the community’s religious certainties while keeping Gershwin’s delicious sense of humor intact. Together, these characterizations vividly reveal the ever-present temptations and dangers facing the community.

Embodying the bittersweet rhythms of life in Catfish Row, the chorus becomes the beating heart of this production. Their voices navigate complex passages with precision while never losing their essential humanity. Whether in the Six Simultaneous Prayers during the hurricane scene or celebrating the tender union of Bess and Porgy, the ensemble transcends mere technical excellence to achieve genuine authenticity, infusing each phrase with a spirit that is uniquely their own—powerful enough to make the world grow small.

Inspiring & Community-Building Production

Each production of “Porgy and Bess” carries its own distinct aesthetic and cultural identity. In an era where cultural discourse often seems trapped between extremes, this Chinese premiere reveals something profound about music’s community-building power. The singing here creates a Catfish Row that transcends its specific setting, where spirituals and blues, gospel fervor and operatic refinement coalesce into something universal.

What emerges is a performance both precisely crafted and deeply spontaneous, where formal excellence meets raw emotional truths. Through the alchemy of these voices, whether raised in spiritual ecstasy or touched with blues tinged sorrow, the stage transforms into a living community. Here, black operatic voices soar with jazz-like freedom, creating a neighborhood that exists simultaneously in South Carolina, Johannesburg, and Beijing, yet speaks to us all.

The post Cape Town Opera 2024 Review: Porgy and Bess appeared first on OperaWire.

The holiday spirit resonated powerfully at the Elbphilharmonie’s recent Christmas-themed concert, a year-end highlight crafted by the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists. Christophe Rousset’s much-anticipated debut as guest conductor, stepping in after Sir John Eliot Gardiner’s departure as artistic director, brought a fresh sense of artistic renewal and festive splendor. Drawing from the rich traditions of French and German Baroque music, Rousset and the ensemble took the audience on an enchanting musical journey, showcasing their exceptional artistry and energy. 

By pairing Charpentier’s “Messe de Minuit” with “Noëls sur les instruments,” Rousset crafted a well-balanced first half through thoughtful programming. The graceful carols served as a charming prelude, while faster-paced pieces after the mass added a spirited finale. This structure not only created a satisfying musical arc but also subtly referenced the tradition of earlier parody masses, where compositions were built on pre-existing tunes. 

Rousset’s direction emphasized dynamic interplay between choir and instruments, highlighting Charpentier’s masterful use of Baroque orchestration. The orchestra’s jubilant tones—especially from the violins, flutes, and basses—captured both the spiritual depth and intricate beauty of the Baroque style. While the positive organ was more limited in tonal range than a grand organ, its rich resonance filled the acoustically stunning Elbphilharmonie. 

Standout Vocalists

The vocalists were standout, blending clarity and expressiveness with remarkable finesse. Their “Kyrie” and “Gloria” radiated festive joy, with soprano lines soaring above the rich choral harmonies. The soloists brought dramatic contrast to the following movements, their voices intertwining with heartfelt precision. A particularly striking moment came with the soprano’s tender “Quoniam tu solus Sanctus,” full of lyrical warmth. The choir’s dynamic control and nuanced articulation shifted the mood effortlessly from the solemn “Crucifixus” to the exuberant “Agnus Dei,” leaving the audience deeply moved by Charpentier’s seamless blend of sacred and popular traditions. 

The second half showcased the young soloists’ brilliance. It opened with Bach’s “Schwingt freudig euch empor,” BWV 36c, a cantata bursting with joy and energy. The oboe d’amore’s lively solo set a cheerful tone, seamlessly leading into the choir’s bright and powerful entrance. Soprano Hilary Cronin’s aria offered a moment of contrast; her voice diverged from the ascending melody, followed by a thoughtful pause that highlighted the interaction with the instruments. Tenor Ruairi Bowen, warmly supported by the oboe d’amore, delivered an emotionally resonant performance. Each soloist sang with clarity and expression, balancing introspective passages with jubilant outbursts.

Rousset’s Inspiring Interpretation

The concert concluded with Bach’s “Unser Mund sei voll Lachens,” BWV 110, a festive cantata composed for Christmas Day 1725. The French-style overture, featuring flute, trumpet, and timpani, set a celebratory tone from the first bar. The choir’s fugal entry filled the hall with joyous energy, drawing appreciative murmurs from the audience. The young soloists embraced a more operatic style in this secular cantata, vividly portraying characters from the joyful to the contemplative while maintaining a dynamic connection with the listeners. Mezzo-soprano Rebecca Leggett conveyed deep introspection and doubt in her aria, offering a reflective counterpoint to the exuberant bass aria. In the latter, Florian Störtz’s commanding voice soared over bold trumpet fanfares and dazzling coloraturas, stirring the crowd. The final triumphant chorale faded, the concert hall erupted with enthusiastic cries of “Merci!” from Rousset’s devoted French fans, adding a heartfelt and spontaneous touch to the evening’s celebration. 

Though the concert faced a conductor change, Mr. Rousset’s debut with the English Baroque Soloists more than made up for any initial disappointment. For devoted Baroque enthusiasts who might have attended Sir Gardiner’s performance with his newly formed ensemble, The Constellation Orchestra, just a week earlier—featuring a similar program—this was a rare opportunity to compare the artistry of two distinguished early music specialists. Ultimately, Rousset’s interpretation stood out for its vitality, elegance, and emotional depth, leaving a lasting impression on all present.

The post HamburgMusik 2024-25 Review: English Baroque Soloists / Monteverdi Choir / Christophe Rousset appeared first on OperaWire.

Fairytales often speak directly to our unconscious, revealing drives and truths that are not always apparent to our conscious selves. It is therefore not surprising that many tales are replicated across countries and cultures, even if the characters and details vary. The Slavic fable of Rusalka, for example, has counterparts with the French Melusine, Germanic Nixie and numerous others, including, most famously, Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid.” Although Rusalka is a simple story of a water nymph who relinquishes the power of speech so that she can become human to be with a prince with whom she has fallen in love, her motivations lie deep within the unconscious, taking in sexual awakening, resentment and a desire to return to an innocent state, and it was these aspects of the narrative that the director, David Radok, wished to explore.

A Journey Into the Unconscious

Although it is not a unique nor a particularly profound reading, Radok’s presentation, for which he also designed the scenery, was hugely successful. Not only did he capture the full dramatic and emotional dimensions of the work, but his ability to convey the drama within the context of Rusalka’s unconscious motivations was expertly rendered and allowed the audience to fully engage with his interpretation.

Act one opened to a stage that blended a large room in a house with windows and doors in a watery blue-grey colour with wooden walkways and reeds as would be found in a marshy area, and that stretched from inside the room to the outside world. This was Rusalka’s world; it was secure and safe, in which the walls represented the borders between the known and unknown, between innocence and knowledge. Rusalka, like many a teenager, was desperate to open the doors, to leave the secure and safe world behind, and to explore what else exists; the prince provided the impetus that awakened her sexual desires and thus set her on the path. Unfortunately, that door opens in only one direction; innocence is not something that can ever be regained.

Act two takes her into a world of luxury and frivolity, of betrayal and lust. It is a complex world of suffering, illusion and disappointment. Radok’s staging was brilliantly conceived to create the impression of wealth through chandeliers and the façade of a mansion and an outdoor area dedicated to dancing. He also ensured that Rusalka’s disillusionment was clearly portrayed through her detached meanderings between the dancers and attempts to find a way out through the dense undergrowth that surrounded the dancing area.

Act three finds her back in her original room, but everything has changed. The roof is leaking, and the plants are dying; everything looks to be in a state of decay. No longer human, but neither a nymph, she allows her resentment for the outside world to grow and retreats into her watery world, shuts the doors, and closes the shutters on the windows, but it is not innocence that she finds, only isolation.

It was a reading that fitted sympathetically with the surface fairytale narrative, with each complementing the other to provide a layered and satisfying staging. Radok also ensured that the visual presentation was sensitively developed to draw out the dramatic significance of the events and to manage the tensions. The costume designer, Zuzana Ježková, created a series of costumes that set the characters in the Victorian period, detailed to reflect the characters’ natures. The Water Goblin appeared slimy and unkempt in old blue and grey coloured garments, while the three wood sprites were in greeny blue, light shifts. Jezibaba’s blue and grey costume gave her the appearance of a matron or nanny figure. All appeared as if water was their natural habitat. The Prince and Princess, on the other hand, definitely came from the civilized human world and were dressed as wealthy Victorians of high status. It was the costumes of the chorus for the ballroom scene that really stood out. They were all attired in black with top hats, including the women, which gave them a sinister appearance; they were certainly not benign, nor did they act in a manner sympathetic towards Rusalka. The two worlds, the human and nonhuman, were visually clearly divided. Rusalka’s changing costumes reflected her movement between the two worlds but always in a way that ensured she appeared different from those around her.

Ivanović Oversees a Musically Engaging Performance

It was also a reading that complemented the score perfectly, which the conductor Marko Ivanović sensitively brought to life with the Janáček Opera of the National Theatre Brno. The pace and dynamic contrasts were carefully judged to support the onstage drama, if on occasions slightly understated, while the dance episodes were lively and graceful. It was also a reading that caught the beauty of the score.

Soprano Jana Šrejma Kačírková produced an emotionally compelling performance in the role of Rusalka. As the young and innocent water nymph, she was headstrong, rebellious, and yearning for love that she convincingly captured with a vocally expressive presentation, which she convincingly transformed into an insecure, bewildered and downtrodden young woman, before finally returning to the watery depths, hollowed out by her experience with humans.

Kačírková possesses a secure, resonant voice, which she uses with considerable skill to present emotional states, in which her pleading with her father and then with Jezibaba were particularly well developed as she coated her voice with longing and desire overlaid with an insistent determination to get her own way. There is also a pleasing energy in the voice so that even when singing in a more subdued manner, you could sense a restless spirit ready to explode at any minute. Her ability to move the voice freely enabled her to capture Rusalka’s disoriented state in acts two and three as she moved her voice flexibly across the range, with neatly placed accents and dynamic contrasts that expertly caught her pain and grief. It was, therefore, slightly disappointing that her rendition of the showpiece aria, “Song of the Moon,” did not really take flight; it was pleasant enough, and she allowed her emotions to strengthen as the aria progressed, but overall, it was too understated to convince.

Tenor Peter Berger made an excellent impression as the Prince, whom he played as a weak-willed and frivolous character, totally at the mercy of his fast-changing passions. Even as an old man, when he returns to Rusalka, full of remorse, to ask her forgiveness, he readily accepts her kiss that he knows will kill him. It appeared as the easy way out rather than an expression of deep love, despite his passionate pleading. Vocally, it was a role that seemed to suit him almost perfectly. He possesses a voice with a passionate, sweet-sounding tone that moves securely and with agility across the range, allowing for a lyrically strong performance, which he delivered with confidence and emotional force.

Vodnik, the water goblin, was given an engaging yet not wholly sympathetic reading by bass Jan Štáva. He was suitably anxious about and supportive of his daughter Rusalka but was abusive and sexually aggressive towards the wood spirits. His singing had a determined, even fierce, quality that gave him an imposing demeanour. Although certainly not lacking in beauty, his crafting of the vocal line was focused on promoting the meaning of the text, which he furnished with emotional honesty.

Soprano Eliška Gattringerová was thoroughly dislikable as the Foreign Princess. She was cynical, vicious and served only her own interests. Her voice had a harsh, strident edge, which she used forcefully and energetically to assert her will over both the Prince and Rusalka, whom she treated as an inferior.

Mezzo-soprano Václava Krejčí portrayed the witch, Jezibaba, as hard, unforgiving and cold, and treated Rusalka with total contempt. She possesses an agile, secure voice over which she exhibits excellent control, which she used to create a compelling vocal portrayal that captured her vicious and opportunistic nature. Her forceful response to Rusalka’s pleading in Act three was expertly rendered as she spat out her lines full of bile, which also showed off its nuanced colouring.

No attempt was made by Radok to hide the fact that the three wood spirits were based on Wagner’s Rheinmaidens; if anything, it appeared he wished to draw attention to the fact. With their greeny-blue costumes that evoked connections with the watery depths and their playfully cruel taunting of the Water Goblin, one could so easily have mistaken it for the opening scene of “Das Rheingold.” Played by soprano Doubravka Novotná, and contraltos Ivana Pavlu and Monika Jägerová, they acted their parts as a group, yet each managed to maintain an individual identity.

Baritone Tadeáš Hoza gave a solid performance as the Hunter.

The choir of the Janáček Opera of the National Theatre, under the direction of Pavel Koñárek, produced an energetic and beautifully sung performance, played out the dance routines wonderfully, and acted out their Act two roles convincingly to create an oppressive, even threatening presence.

Overall, it was a high-quality presentation, for which Radok must take a large share of the credit. It was an imaginative and dramatically convincing reading, which in no way is meant to belittle the contribution made by the orchestra or the singers, who all gave strong performances and made it the most successful of the four operas I reviewed at this year’s festival.

The post Janáček Brno Festival 2024 Review: Rusalka appeared first on OperaWire.

Alongside the headline operas, the Janáček Brno Festival stages a number of student and alternative projects. One of the works on offer this year was a piece entitled “The Other City,” performed by Ensemble Opera Diversa, written by Czech composer and librettist, Ondřej Kyas, based on a 1993 novel of the same name by Michal Ajvaz.

A man known only as A walks into a secondhand bookshop in Prague, where he finds a mysterious tome. Intrigued, he sets out to discover its hidden secrets and is drawn into a parallel reality in which there exists an ‘other city,’ one that he is determined to find. He wanders the streets of Prague that he both recognizes and yet does not recognize, populated by strange characters and talking beasts. Not all are friendly; some even attempt to kill him, but A is not put off and ploughs on regardlessly. He must find the ‘other city.’

It is a drama that plays with the idea of reality and people’s desire to escape it and find a new one. This is what A is attempting, but it is a path strewn with dangers, and the more he engages with this new reality in search of the ‘other city,’ the more he loses his grip on the old reality. We are witnesses to A’s journey in which he fights a shark, is attacked for not having a weasel, talks to a bird called Felix with whom he has a discussion about the significance of the national epic, and visits a palace in the jungle, among many other weird and wonderful happenings.

Then again, maybe it is just a simple, entertaining fantasy. Either way, it all ends up with A back in the Prague he knew well, specifically in the underground toilet of the Slavia Café.

The opera is presented as a reflective piece. A has kept a diary of his wanderings, and it is through his writings that we learn about his journey in search of the ‘other city.’

The performance took place in a small theatre named ‘The Theatre on Orlí Street’ that seats around 150 people, depending on the size given over to the stage, which in this case was a fairly large space with room for an orchestra of about 25 to 30 musicians, two large video screens, a raised seated area for the eight soloists, and a substantial area for the singers to act out their roles.

A Low Budget Yet Successful Staging

Although the work was given a semi-staged performance, it could easily have been defined as fully staged; the only thing it lacked was scenery, which proved unnecessary as the black space, with one or two simple props, imaginative video projections, along with Anna Laborová’s sensitive lighting, proved more than sufficient to provoke the imagination into conjuring up A’s fantastical journey. In fact, any attempt to reproduce its visual aspects would have been more likely to dull the affect; it certainly would have placed restrictions on the imagination, which is essential for forming a meaningful appreciation of the work.

The director, Katerina Krivánková, and set and costume designer, Sylva Marková, did a fine job in ensuring the audience could follow the narrative, despite its sharp shifts, surreal meanderings and dreamlike dialogue.

There were two distinct areas on the stage. Character A was seated at his desk on one side, reading over his diary and reflecting on his journey while projecting images of the pages of the book and items on his desk onto the video screen using a small camera. The rest of the cast were seated on the other side on the raised area, including a slightly younger A, who played out the drama on the performance floor in the front middle part of the stage. All the characters were dressed in black apart from A.

Krivánková successfully injected each scene with energy and a well-focused momentum that carried the narrative forward, in which each character was clearly drawn. Only the most basic of props were employed, usually no more than a couple of chairs and a table, which gave the sets a minimalist appearance. Often, twisting and turning geometric shapes, designed by Tomáš Hruza, would appear on the video as they sung.

Fine Performances From a Committed Cast

Although the cast was relatively inexperienced, all the singers produced convincing performances, with tenor Michael Robotka, in particular, impressing in the roles of the Librarian, the Parrot Breeder, the Man with a newspaper and a Man in the pub. It was not just his technical competence but his ability to engage with his characters that caught the eye. As the Man with the newspaper, he skillfully moulded his voice to reveal his anxieties at having his daughter kidnapped. He also proved to be an excellent storyteller, able to draw in the audience with his sensitively fashioned monologue, in which he displayed a nuance and variety in his modes of expression.

Each of the three female singers also produced notable performances. Soprano Aneta Podracká Bendová’s singing voice has a captivating beauty, which she used sensitively to shape attractive phrases to portray the parts of a Woman on the boat, a Mysterious Girl and Fate.

Soprano Jana Vondrů produced a powerful reading of Alweyra, Klára and Fate, which allowed her to show off her ability to present different characters. Her singing has an appealing lyricism with a strong, secure upper register.

Mezzo-soprano Alžběta Symerská successfully produced three clearly defined characterizations as the Waiter’s Wife, Felix the bird and Fate, in which she used her colorful palette and vocal expressivity to bring emotional depth to her characters.

As the three Fates, the three combined beautifully for one of the more memorable pieces of the work in a short but beautiful trio.

Bass Tomáš Chloupek gave expressively strong readings as the Head Waiter, the Historian, the Man on the Boat, and the Man at the pub. His singing was confident, often forceful and secure. One negative impression that stood out, however, was an inability to moderate the dynamics; he has an impressive, resonant voice but seemed determined to sing forte no matter the circumstance. As a Man on the Boat, his duet with the Woman on the Boat was beautifully delivered and displayed a sympathetic moulding of the vocal line; if he could have quietened the voice even slightly, it would have been almost perfect.

Bass Aleš Janiga, in the role of A, had a much smaller role than expected, with few opportunities to sing any of the standout pieces; nor was there much variation in what was required of him; he was always earnest, determined and focused but was for the most part a passive observer to the characters around him. His singing was firm, secure and well presented.

Bass Pavel Slivka was cast in the roles of the Maledict, the Merchant, the Barman and the Guardian of the Temple and displayed a notable degree of vocal versatility in the way he defined the roles through his voice. As the Merchant, his singing was clear and lyrical, while as the Maledict, he produced a more uneasy, mysterious sound.

Bass Libor Skokan gave solid performances in the roles of the Priest, the Waiter and as a pub regular, in which he showed off his pleasing timbre and expressive agility.

Lukáš Rieger gave a clear and earnest reading in the spoken role of A at his desk.

The Ensemble Opera Diversa, under the musical direction of Gabriela Tardonová, produced a very dramatic sound, moulding the at times intricate music to bring out its unsettled, energetic and often anxious qualities. It moved seamlessly between passages in which it sat at the forefront of the performance, highlighting significant moments and driving the drama forward, and passages in which it was content to sit in the background, supporting the singers and creating the necessary atmosphere.

Overall, it proved to be a worthwhile production. Musically it was excellent, and the imaginative, low-cost staging carried the drama convincingly, while providing the necessary space for the audience’s imagination to engage productively with the work.

The post Janáček Brno Festival 2024 Review: The Other Place appeared first on OperaWire.

Yet it is not exactly the feel-good opera advertised in Pentatone’s press release; rather, the eponymous Mr. Chips – “the teacher we all wish we’d had” – is a painfully grieving figure, an anachronism of sorts, happily projecting his nostalgia onto the devastating realities of the 20th century and its incumbent wars. A product of Old Europe, he does not belong in a world that has drastically outpaced his Victorianist ideals, let alone his antiquated sense for the Latin pronunciation of “Cicero.” Humor saves him from obliteration, but Mr. Chips is, in essence, of the same stripe as Korngold’s Paul in “Die tote Stadt” – someone who just can’t let go.

Not Letting Go

As his own librettist, Gordon Getty adjusts the plot to, essentially, operatic needs. The action is split into a frame story, and a metadiegetic level of Chips reliving his own memories. It oscillates between his 85-year-old self and episodes from his youth, most notably the tragically ending marriage to Kathie Bridges.

Evidently, the staging of embedded narratives is tricky. But on CD, the layering of storylines proves quite compelling, their friction, so to speak, adding to the main character’s psychological complexity. Kathie in particular is the driving force behind any of Chips’ actions. After her premature death, Chips projects the memory of her onto his very own idiosyncrasies, as when he reacts to his students’ pranks: “How Kathie would have laughed!”

“It was as if Kathie had become a part of him,” the ever so sympathetic Dr. Merrivale comments. Again, one distantly senses the echo of Paul’s pathological remembrance of Marie. Even the doppelgänger motif is of note, with the soprano being required to sing the double role of both Kathie and Linford. But overall, Getty does not draw the drastic consequences of Erich Wolfgang Korngold.

A Class Act

The music very much aligns with Getty’s professed self-assessment of being “two-thirds a 19th century composer.” It comfortably stays committed to the tonal language of the pre-avantgarde, though the deployment of chromaticism and an usual array of instruments make for a gently modernist touch to the score.

The piano, for instance, is something of a psychological barometer. It rises to prominence in the sombre keys played after Kathie’s death. At the same time, its syncopated rhythms, together with the strings, effectively cadence the flow of the narrative which, for the frame story especially, relies on the conversational, and relatively fast-paced nature of the libretto.

Getty thus sets the tone for a chamber-like intimacy, far from the grand gestures of full-scale Romanticism or the transitional styles of the early 1900s. Accordingly, the orchestra boasts a reduced brass section but, in a modern twist, expands on the percussion. The result is a somewhat theatrical, if not cinematographic feel casting the orchestra into an subtly devised mood-painting role.

Farewell, Mr. Chips

The Pentatone recording relies on the unmitigated enthusiasm of its principal singers.

First and foremost, Nathan Granner is a stunningly charismatic Mr. Chips, phrasing vividly yet coating every expressive nuance with his recognizably honeyed tenor sound. The absence of any self-contained arias may not do justice to his mere vocal skills; but his interpretive acuity asserts itself in many places, most notably perhaps in the extended lyrical solo of “I’m afraid that six Brookfeldians have died this week.” Standing in the chapel, Chips reads the names of Brookfield alumni killed on the Western front when an air raid siren suddenly goes off, and explosions are heard. The scene masterfully crescendoes into the boys’ choir chiming into the already cacophonous soundscape, and Nathan Granner’s solemnity is increasingly interspersed with quivering moments of anxiety.

Granner finds his equal in Lester Lynch’s wonderfully empathetic Dr. Merrivale who, in the novel, is a secondary character at best; yet with Gordon Getty, he assumes the primary function of being the narrator. Though the part does not call for vocal extravaganza, it requires sustained gravity, malleable diction, and a pitch-perfect sense for dramatic timing. Lynch provides all of the above, and his characteristically fast vibrato adds an air of venerability to the kind doctor.

Finally, Melody Moore’s interpretation is pivotal to the drama’s strong emotional impact. Her role, and especially the ariose “Chips, darling, it’s started,” are Getty’s most traditionally operatic creations per se, with her long monologue arching into ethereally sustained tones, and a resounding climax. The American soprano’s often diaphanous voice is also apt to suggest an otherworldly presence; after all, Kathie makes ghostly comebacks until the opera’s grandiose finale in Act two.

An All-American Affair

An all-American affair, “Goodbye, Mr. Chips” is further enlivened by the irreproachable performances of Kevin Short in the double role of Ralston and Rivers. But only thanks to the remarkably warm colors drawn from the Barbary Coast Orchestra does Gordon Getty’s quirky schoolteacher emerge whole from what could easily be perceived as a somewhat fragmented compilation of tangentially related episodes. Conductor Dennis Doubin is not to be rushed, and one readily appreciates every bit of patiently shaped melody, whether instrumental, vocal, or in conjunction with the stirringly glorious San Francisco Boys Chorus.

“Mr. Chips” escapes every attempt at conventional categorization. Despite its modern facture (with some limitations), its two-hour run betrays a deeply felt nostalgia for things well beyond the scope of opera. Chips’ death scene, in particular, is transcended by some life-long yearning for a world sadly gone by. Gordon Getty conjures the memory of it.

The post CD Review: Gordon Getty’s ‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’ appeared first on OperaWire.

Puccini called his work “La Rondine” a “commedia lirica,” effectively COMIC opera, but I consider it a TRAGEDY that this work isn’t performed more in the opera house.

“La Rondine” comprises some of the most exquisite, emotive music the maestro ever penned. Alas, devoid of the dramatic impact and impetus of his more famous, regularly performed works, it is scarcely deemed worthy of staging by impresarios, given its lightweight theme: a doomed romance with no histrionic turn of events or tragic deaths.

Maestro Sir Antonio Pappano gave no thoughts to such trivial matters as he took to the podium at the Barbican in London however, where he commanded the London Symphony Orchestra (LSO) and a cast of singers in a concert version of the work.

Mainly obscured, as he invariably was in the opera house pit, it was a joy to see him, literally, under the spotlight and in full view. It is indeed a sight to behold, watching him at work, an elite marionettist pulling ALL the strings of his players, gesturing here, pointing there, driving his charges, dancing, gesticulating, prancing, at times so animated that I feared he would lose his footing and fall from his small, confined podium. That he is a musical genius is inarguable. The passion for what he does emanates from his very being, an almost tangible aura surrounding his enthusiastic, vibrant form.

The LSO itself, led by Pappano since September of this year, were quite majestic; again, the experience enhanced somewhat by virtue of being on full view, turning out Puccini’s score with exquisite care and attention.

Whether or not the lack of any requirement to concentrate on staging positions or real direction served to enhance or focus the singing performance of the artists, I can not say, except to state that this proved to be a euphonious delight, vocally.

Spectacular Singing

Nadine Sierra was penned in to perform the role of Magda, but she is in recovery from a medical procedure. Instead, Bolivian-Albanian soprano Carolina López Moreno  performed the role of Magda and positively shone here as the Parisian courtesan. She may have been a stand-in, but she had no need to refer to the score, singing with glorious aplomb. She possesses a shimmering tone, often voluminous, with a radiant, top. She delivered an exquisite “Ore dolci e divine” and her signature aria “Chi il Bel Sogno di Doretta?” was sublime, receiving much deserved applause.

Her chief admirer, Ruggero, was performed by the renowned American tenor Michael Fabiano who cut a rather studious, serious first impression with his bespectacled form. Vocally, seemingly hesitant in the early stages with his “Parigi! È la città dei desideri,” he soon blossomed to produce a fine and very sweet accompaniment in “Nella dolce carezza della danza” before producing a most sudden, unexpected and ardently pressed kiss that appeared to even take Carolina by surprise!

His powerful line and silvery top came into further prominence in the “Bevo al tuo fresco sorriso” quartet where his piercing tone cut through both the orchestration and eager chorus. He impressed throughout the evening, delivering a contemplative “Dimmi che vuoi seguirmi” which managed to avoid the usual, overly saccharine sentimentality. His “Ma come puoi lasciarmi se mi struggo in pianto” where he begs Magda not to leave him was genuinely moving and, for me, was one of the key highlights of the evening.

By contrast, the other lovebirds in the equation, supercilious poet Prunier and his secret on/off lover Lisette, maid to Magda, performed by American tenor Paul Appleby and Italian soprano Serena Gamberoni respectively, ham it up for laughs. Appleby has a fine, shiny bright tenor instrument with which he impresses throughout the whole first act. In fact, until Ruggero makes his entrance later in Act one, he holds the pivotal role as the lead tenor. He sets the stage and to a degree, the characters on it. His “Forse, come la rondine” was especially warm and enchanting, but his triumphs lay in his melodramatic yet witty retorts, along with the comedic squabbles with his girlfriend Lisette.

Gamberoni has a strong, expressive soprano and combined with her jocoseness, probably epitomized to perfection what Puccini meant by “commedia lirica”. Whether entering or exiting the stage, she did so with comical gusto.

More Performance Highlights

British baritone Ashley Riches takes on the role of Rambaldo, Magda’s wealthy ‘protector’. Cutting a very tall figure, he is suitably austere and constraining and sings his lines with rich, dark resonance.
Sarah Dufresne, Angela Schisano and Marvic Monreal are the essential party girls who give the whole show the requisite, essential sparkle, beauties for the eyes as well as the ears. I have frequently pondered why; after having seen her excel on a number of occasions now, Canadian soprano and former Jette Parker Alumna Sarah Dufresne has not been contracted to perform more substantial roles in the house. She has a voice of pure crystal, exquisitely polished, clarion and attention grabbing and I am always left wishing I could hear more of her.

The London Symphony Orchestra chorus made invaluable contributions here, not just with their delightfully engaging swaying during certain passages, but especially during the final passages of the “Bevo al tuo fresco sorriso” where the sheer wall of sound produced, quite literally, took one’s breath away. Possibly not surprising, given that their numbers were close to NINETY strong!

Whoever labelled “La Rondine” a “poor man’s ‘Traviata’” never lived, and certainly never loved. For what makes this underplayed mini-masterpiece so special is, frustratingly, the very reasons it is seldom staged. It is devoid of all the overly-melodramatic, theatrical murders, suicides and completely improbable tales of woe that are the hallmarks of most operas. Yet in its uncomplicated, simple story of near-tangible heartbreak, it is all the more potent for it. It is genuine. Real. TRUE verismo.
It’s NOT a “poor man’s Traviata.” It’s pure, unbridled richness for everyone.

The post London Symphony Orchestra 2024-25 Review: La Rondine appeared first on OperaWire.

“The Barber of Seville” debuted just over 200 years ago in Rome. The opera played to a jeering audience, a staged event where adherents of the composer Giovanni Paisiello – whose own version of the opera, “Il barbiere di Siviglia, ovvero La precauzione inutile” had pleased operagoers 20 years earlier – packed the house and catcalled throughout the premiere performance. Their objective was to defend the memory of their maestro’s earlier work that they felt was the definitive version. But the Paisiello mob couldn’t show up every night, and upon the conclusion of the second evening’s undisturbed performance the response from the audience was ecstatic – they adored it so much that a large group of the crowd took to the streets with torches and made their way to Rossini’s home to cheer him in person. And a hit was born.

Incredibly, for someone who writes about opera, I didn’t know the entire story of “Barber” until the final curtain of this performance. But I like the fact that I am sometimes ignorant of operatic plots because seeing and hearing a classic work of music for the first time is like breaking the shrink wrap on an LP you’ve never heard, putting the disk on the turntable, and experiencing it as if you were living in the time it was created. It’s a special thing. Even more special when you can take yourself not just back to 1988 with an unopened virgin vinyl of Lovesexy, but back 200 years ago into post-Napoleonic Europe for an essential comic romp that would never be out of repertory or out of fashion.

The absurdist tale of “Barber” concerns a distinguished nobleman, Count Almaviva, who is intent on wooing Rosina, a beautiful young woman of the town. He wants to know Rosina might love him for himself and not for his money and position. Rosina is being kept as a ward of Doctor Bartolo, one of the local bourgeoise. Bartolo intends on marrying Rosina himself when she comes of age, so he keeps a close watch on her as well as other potential suitors which complicates Almaviva’s creative courtship plans. With the help of his friend Figaro, Almaviva goes incognito to advance his agenda with Rosina under the nose of Bartolo which results in much hilarity over the opera’s two and a half hour runtime.

It is fascinating that this opera’s broad humor has stood the test of time so well. As presented by the Lyric it got robust laughter out of all in attendance, a portion of whom had surely seen it before. It seems improbable that the humor of Cesare Sterbini’s featherlight crowd-pleaser has endured as well as works from Fielding, Sterne, Twain, and Voltaire – but one can’t argue with results.

Illuminating Production & Cast

The seats at the Kauffman were filled for this opening night performance, thanks to an abundance of late summer advance press, and the local gentry showing up in force for the farce. Our philanthropists, local musician wunderkinder, and hoi polloi like me all crowded into the Founder’s Lounge for a pre-show nosh so delightful that we barely made it into our seats for first curtain.

As the curtain parted after the overture, I was entranced by the set design. The KC Lyric doesn’t have the large budgets that America’s larger opera companies have at their disposal, so they have to make do with less. And, true to form, they excelled in that department with “Barber.” The set and props from Ken MacDonald were a true delight. I could tell from the jump that the set would remain pretty much intact for both acts, but the continuity worked just fine and once again less was more on the Kaufmann stage.

Aside from familiar face Riley Findley, who played one of the military officers, the cast was assembled from out-of-towners. Matthew Swensen was an expansive Count Almaviva, carrying the action with fantastic energy and verve. Kristinn Sigmundsson as Don Basilio was a standout for spot-on casting. His befuddlement during the music lesson “mixup” was well-played.

Highly-respected globetrotting mezzo-soprano Chrystal E. Williams sparkled as Rosina. Handled the butterfly melodies of “Contro Un Cor Che Accende Amore” beautifully and her turn in the scene’s comic ensemble had us all smiling.

My personal favorite among the cast was Ashraf Sewailam as the Doctor. He projected a thick-headed pomposity of Yul Brynner proportions, stealing scene after scene whirling around the stage in that smoking robe whose design looked like it was inspired by an article on interior trends in Dwell (“Wallpaper… It’s Baaaack!”).

The orchestra was handled ably by James Lowe, a musician/conductor/arranger whose career has steered a steady course fixed to the white line in the road separating Broadway and classical opera. He’ll never be in the running for conducting “Aida,” but “Bye Bye Birdie” revivals probably aren’t in his future either. All in all, a good mainstream choice to helm the KC crew for this enjoyable affair.

More Production Highlights

When I left the Kaufmann Center, after the performance, I had a vague feeling of timeliness about the production. With all due respect to the singing and acting talent in this production, for me the real star was Ken MacDonald for creating that wild set. With their faux-Moorish look it wasn’t hard to imagine them to be found not only in the homes of the nobles of early 19th century Spain, but other eras as well: The Belle Époque of King Umberto I. The Euro deco of early Fascist Italy. That sculpted window and pianoforte bianco he worked out for the singing lesson scene would not have looked out of place in any escapist “white telephone” film of 1930’s Italy. Or in later Cinecitta films from Fellini, particularly in later films like “And The Ship Sails On,” which play on memories of a decaying continental aristocracy. And yes, one might even see something like them today in the homes of European football superstars, Russian oil barons, or tech oligarchs – villas equipped with interiors that make pretentious reference to earlier times when aristocratic power went unchallenged and the term “working class” referred to domestic servants and itinerant laborers forced to exist in squalor and despair.

Rossini and Sterbini created Barber amid a social environment of upheaval and uncertainty. The Italy (or more accurately the Italian Papal States) of 1816 was in political disarray following the Congress of Vienna, which reconstructed Europe more or less by the whim of the largest nations who were victorious over Napoleon. The Napoleonic reforms that had introduced new freedoms to the middle and working classes were rolled back, and patriots found that their country had been sold out to the Central Powers. Italian nationalists, particularly the revolutionary Carbonari, reflected a bitterly divided nation.

For many artists of the day, it was a time to take risks and express solidarity with the resistance. But Rossini’s political overtones were always subtle, and the way he weaves the silken threads of his social comment into the tapestries of his operas is the main part of his genius. If he had delivered his social critiques with a heavier hand, his works may not have survived the era of Garibaldi. In “The Barber of Seville,” Rossini and Sterbini realized that the one constant in the world is that things will always be batshit crazy. And while the public may at times crave outrage in their art, and at other times seek messages of hope and salvation – it’s certain that they will always need a laugh.

The post Lyric Opera of Kansas City 2024-25 Review: The Barber of Seville appeared first on OperaWire.

Verdi’s work is known for its memorable arias and melodies and is perhaps one of the most difficult works for baritone. It is also a gritty plot that has been reinterpreted in many different ways, sometimes revealing its darker layers. But in other instances, reinterpretations have overcomplicated and thus diminished the power of one of the great operas.

In this revival, the Paris Opera brought renowned interpreters of the work in what ended up being a forgettable evening with unbalanced performances and a production that has simply overstayed its welcome.

A Cardboard Box

In Claus Guth’s 2016 production, Rigoletto is a vagabond who walks around with a wooden box that represents his past.

The opera begins with Rigoletto opening that box and caressing Gilda’s bloody dress. That leads us into the past with the production opening up like a cardboard box. The concept is quite interesting and Guth spares down the set to that box to get to the grittiness of the work.

However, the only minimalist element in this production is the cardboard box that makes a sound every time someone walks on it, creating a distracting effect throughout the evening. The continuous noise ultimately grows irritating until you can’t help but laugh at it.

Which brings me to the bigger issue at hand.

 As a director, Guth isn’t so much an interpreter as he is an author. Often times his staging choices essentially rewrite the libretto (“Don Giovanni” or “Le Nozze di Figaro,” for example come to mind), but here he’s doing something that is perhaps more problematic – he’s changing the tone of the opera. “Rigoletto” is a jester, but the opera itself is not a joke. In Guth’s hands, it often felt like we were meant to laugh at it all.

The chorus’s bronx cheer after the heartfelt “Cortigiani, vil razza dannata!”  trivializes the moment. Yes, the courtiers are poking fun at Rigoletto and lack empathy for his plight, but somehow, Guth overemphasizes this to the point that we are laughing with them as well. Then there’s the question of the double playing Rigoletto alongside the singer interpreting Rigoletto. Used sparingly, this theatrical device can offer some insight into a character’s mindset. But using it over and over results in the law of diminishing returns. At that point, the audience is faced with a choice – which Rigoletto do I pay attention to? Since the double is an added element that is supposed to heighten the drama, the audience is more likely to pay attention to this one, to the detriment of the other. Directors may think it adds layers to the staging, but it also also subtly reveals to the audience the idea that text and music isn’t enough. It might be an adherence to the idea of “show, don’t tell,” but by being so explicit in the need to show, you are also, by extension, over-telling. In this case, the idea was flattened further by the performer being limited in his flexibility, which he compensated with over-the-top his facial expressions, further altering the tone of the piece into the farcical. The same goes for the overuse of projections. Every time Gilda is on stage, she is either accompanied by some projection of a younger version of her or three younger versions of herself dancing around her. Maddelana’s showgirl choreography is another tonal miscue.

But ultimately, it feels like Guth is afraid of the power of stillness. There always needs to be something happening every time the singers are performing an aria or duet. It might create a kinetic energy, but it starts to become quite chaotic and unintentionally (or intentionally?) comic. The singers themselves never interact in any meaningful way, suggesting a lack of trust in his performers and more importantly, the text itself, which includes Verdi’s music.

Uneven Singing

Things weren’t much better in the vocal department. Roman Burdenko took on the title role two years after his house debut where he sang Scarpia, something that is more suitable to his gruff sound. Rigoletto has moments where the voice should be harsh and booming but there are moments in this opera that call for a sweeter legato line and more varied color palette. Burdenko was best in the recitativo moments like “Pari siamo,” where he could emote the text to life, or in his entrance “In Testa che avete, signor di Ceprano,” where it was more rhythmic singing. His “Ah! Solo per me l’infamia!” was sung with urgency and an expressive tone while his “Si! Vendetta” also showed off his great potency, while also bringing Rigoletto’s rough edges to the fore.

But Rigoletto is more than this and in the first duet with Gilda, “Deh, non parlare al misero,” Burdenko lacked the suave timbre and did not blend well with Rosa Feola’s lyric tone. In his “Cortigiani, vil razza dannata!,” he began with a booming sound but in the softer “Miei signori…perdono, pietate,” he struggled to sustain the legato line, making for a jagged and uneven performance. The cadenza meandered and hence lacked an emotional punch. Part of the problem was that when he attempted to sing with a softer tone, his voice lost its resonance, forcing him to resort to a louder sound. In the final duet with Gilda, Burdenko had a bit more colors but when he attempted a piano sound, the voice turned wobbly and weary, hurting his intonation.

In the role of the Duke, Liparit Avetisyan is making his Paris Opera debut. The Armenian tenor has a gorgeous lyric voice that easily transitions from a mezzo-piano to a forte and can produce a variety of colors. He displays the cockiness of the Duke but at the same time, especially at the start of the second act, shows a softer part of the character. However, Avetisyan attempts to do too much and bends the music to the point where he lacks shape and cohesion. That was first seen in “Questa o quella” where he spun gorgeous lines with ease but whenever he could expand the line he would overdo it, especially on the lines “Doman lo sara” and “qualche belta.” It was virtuosic in this opening aria but one quickly began to realize that this was a trick he would use the entire evening. Diminishing returns set in quickly. In the duet “E il sol dell’anima,” Avetisyan sang with an ardent sound that expressed a beautiful lyric color but he also didn’t mesh well with his partner, Rosa Feola, and they often felt disconnected.

His “Parmi veder le lacrime” showcased that same expressive sound but again the lines were bent and changed to the point where I had a hard time following what he wanted to do with the line. Sometimes the high notes became shrill from the lengthy fermatas and there could even be musical whiplash as she jumped from a forte sound one line to a subito piano on the next. Props to the tenor for singing “Possenete amor mi chiama,” but neither the first section or the repeat were sung with much volume. You could tell that he struggled during the first section because he was sitting timidly, and during the repeat, he was tentative, almost cautious. You have to wonder why he didn’t just do the cut to get the most out the cabaletta. The cadenza he attempted before the second repeat featured a flat high note. The tenor also struggled throughout the quartet and at one point he missed an entrance.

All that said, his “La donna è mobile” was the highlight of his evening. He started the first section with an ardent full voice giving the words more weight and in the second part “È sempre misero,” he sang with a light sound that made it more playful and charming, giving the Duke that witty character Avetisyan had accomplished throughout the evening.  However, at the end, he decided to extend his final note to the point where it started to get cut off and become weary and uneven.  Nonetheless, Avetisyan is a talented singer with a great instrument, who will likely develop and refine his musical approach.

In the role of Maddalena, Aude Extrémo showcased a creamy mezzo with great weight. She was a capable actress dancing as a showgirl in the quartet and bringing out sexual tension. Then in the trio, she demonstrated urgency and desperation as she begged Goderdzi Janelidze’s Sparafucile to save the Duke. But the biggest issue was her Italian, which was sloppy and sometimes incomprehensible.

A Tinny Sound

In the pit, Domingo Hindoyan led an uneven orchestra that sounded a bit thin for what Verdi required. I appreciated the tempos in “Si, Vendetta!” and the concertante at the end of the first scene as he provided drive for the score and created dramatic weight to the scene. However, some moments needed more time and space like Gilda’s “Caro Nome,” and the Rigoletto-Gilda duets. These pieces seemed rushed and gave us little to dwell on. Another aspect of his conducting that didn’t gel was the emphasis on the om-pah-pah accompaniments, which just became overbearing and lacking in texture.

Hindoyan also had a balance issue, sometimes overpowering his singers, particularly during “Addio speranza ed anima.” While the tempo worked for the moment, the orchestra was too loud and covered both singers at various moments.

The Positive

Thankfully there were some highlights to the evening. Goderdzi Janelidze portrayed Sparafucile with authority and power. During his first entrance he was Rigoletto’s shadow, moving about ominously behind Burdenko. Then in the trio, he controlled the scene with an imposing presence. His voice was also striking with a potent timbre and a menacing and rich low range.

As Monterone, Blake Denson was commanding in the opening scene. In Act two, he displayed desperation as he delivered the lines “poiche fosti invano me da me maledetto.”

And finally, in the role of Gilda, Rosa Feola brought her signature interpretation to Paris in her house debut. Feola’s voice has grown over the years and as a result, has lost some of the flexibility in the upper range. You could hear that in some of her ascensions during her opening duet with Rigoletto, especially in “Ah! veglia, o donna,” “Si, Vendetta” (especially when she ascended into the final E flat), and in “Caro nome,” especially during the cadenza where Feola took her time to get to each note. That also caused some intonation issues, especially in “Tutte le feste.”

But for all these technical issues, Feola showed an incredible understanding of her character from the moment she came out on stage. She was innocent as she twirled like a ballerina throughout the duet and delivered a smooth and silky legato line with a wide-ranging color palette. Then she showed her angst and passion in “E l’alma in estasi gli dice: t’amo.” In the duet “È il sol dell’anima, la vita è amore,” Feola brought back that delicacy to her voice as she delivered “Ah, de’ miei vergini sogni son queste.” The line was smooth and clear, emphasizing this Gilda’s innocence. Her “Addio,” however, was pure passion. In “Caro Nome,” Feola’s bright sound emphasized the love she felt, riding a wave of smooth and bright coloratura.

But it was in the second half of the evening that Feola really came into her own. Her “Tutte le Feste” opened with a delicacy in her voice that quickly soared as she opened up the line “Se i labbri nostri tacquero.” She quickly brought it back in “Furtivo fra le tenebre,” emphasizing Gilda’ yearning. She built that section into a rounder sound, without losing any of its delicacy. Her “Si, Vendetta” was defiant and virtuosic as she contrasted with Burdenko’s rougher sound, adding a brightness and richness to the duet.

In the quartet “Bella figlia dell’amore,” Feola led the way with “Infelice cor tradito,” the lushness of her voice soaring over the musical texture. It was hard not to take your eyes away throughout this section. The Duke might be the center of everyone’s focus, but the emotional pull is all Gilda’s and here, Feola made the most of it. Then in the trio, her voice took on a more opulent color that rose over the orchestra. It was the most dramatic and expressive singing of the entire evening. Her final duet with Rigoletto, “Lassu in cielo,” was undercut by highly questionable direction as Feola was instructed to walk around while dying. Nevertheless, she sang with tenderness and delicacy, never losing the gleaming tone. Feola was undoubtedly the highlight of the night.

But even she couldn’t overcome Guth’s eight-year-old production. It is truly time for Paris to get a new “Rigoletto.”

The post Opéra National de Paris 2024-25 Review: Rigoletto appeared first on OperaWire.

A few moments before the start of the opera, a friend of mine told me that this is the first time Aquarius has been in Pluto’s orbit since 1789. Whether or not that is true, I cannot say; I did not have the willingness to check. Still, it could be a sign from the stars that now is the time to watch the tale of the nuns who went to the guillotine.

Francis Poulenc and Georges Bernanos’s “Dialogues of the Carmelites” is one of the twentieth century’s greatest musical masterpieces. Its Catholic symbolism, dramatic tension, and sweeping harmonies promise musical beauty and political depth rarely matched. The Théâtre des Champs-Élysées’s revival of Olivier Py’s exuberant 2013 production is undoubtedly a visual triumph, but it falters due to uneven conducting.

Olivier Py’s Production Highlights

First things first: I greatly admire Olivier Py’s theatrical work. While his productions often share a similar style, this “Dialogues” stands out as an outlier in his repertoire. By shifting the plot from the Revolutionary era to a vaguely defined, shadowy past located somewhere between the late nineteenth century and the interwar period, Py heightens the symbolism that so powerfully captivates in Poulenc’s masterpiece.

Moreover, Py’s approach highlights something increasingly absent in most American operatic and theatrical productions today: aestheticism over mere stylization. Aestheticism prioritizes an overarching artistic vision, which need not be expensive but must be thoughtfully conceived. Py’s staging is both sumptuous and thoughtful. His mastery of light in predominantly dark settings, the minimalist use of elements, and the prioritization of gesture and movement are mesmerizing. Many American productions, even grand ones like John Dexter’s legendary “Carmélites” at the Met, used to embrace this aesthetic. However, contemporary trends lean toward expensive yet superficial stylization, relying on rotating stages and flashy effects while sacrificing substance. Ironically, in striving to look opulent, many productions lose the effortless grandeur Py achieves.

An example: few moments are as striking as Madame de Croissy’s deathbed scene at the end of the first act. Py creates the effect of a high-angle shot in cinema. While thus borrowing from cinematic aesthetics, Py avoids the cliché of projection screens. The plongée is deeply theatrical, showcasing Sophie Koch mesmerizingly sipping water while appearing physically embedded in a wall. It is this kind of theatrical illusion that makes Py’s staging so powerful.

Musical Details & Illuminating Cast

Regrettably, I found little to enjoy in Karina Canellakis’s musical direction. Actress Fernanda Torres recently campaigned for her Oscar nomination by quoting her mother’s acting rule: “If Hecuba cries at the first bad news she receives, she’ll end the play as a cockroach.” This wisdom feels apt here. Canellakis heightened the opera’s inherent tension so much, that its cathartic climax—the nuns singing “Salve Regina”—lost its impact. The relentless intensity left even sublime moments, like Véronique Gens’s “Ave Verum,” feeling rushed and strained, devoid of beauty’s aspirational breath.

This hyper-tense approach also strained the singers. Despite featuring one of the finest female casts Paris has to offer, the phrasing often sounded harsh, undermining the smooth vocal lines Poulenc intended. His muses—Denise Duval, Virginia Zeani, and Adele Addison—excelled at blending lyrical beauty with conversational intimacy. Here, the performers seemed to shout the text, losing the unique qualities of their voices. With a lesser-known cast, this might be forgivable, but when you have stars like Patricia Petibon, Véronique Gens, Sophie Koch, and Alexandre Duhamel, it’s disappointing.

Vannina Santoni was charming as Blanche, the opera’s most enigmatic character. Her voice, embodying both mysticism and fragility, carried the tension Canellakis demanded. Patricia Petibon, ever daring and committed, portrayed Mère Marie as severe and harsh, with clipped phrasing that sometimes obscured the text—a surprising choice for an artist of her caliber. Still, her willingness to take risks remains commendable.

In an opera where all the women are similarly costumed, and lighting is deliberately dim, Véronique Gens distinguished herself effortlessly. Her voice, the epitome of French grande dame artistry, stood out for its sweetness and elegance. Manon Lamaison brought liveliness to Sister Constance, her voice a welcome contrast to the surrounding gloom, particularly in the third scene of Act one.

Sophie Koch, as Madame de Croissy, delivered the evening’s most riveting moment: her death scene. Benefiting from her stage position’s acoustics, she showcased a commanding lower range and exceptional text delivery, particularly when voicing her character’s profanities. Alexandre Duhamel and Sahy Ratia were compelling as Blanche’s father and brother, respectively, with Ratia and Santoni’s chemistry subtly hinting at a deeper connection.

The orchestra, Les Siècles, brought a rougher texture to Poulenc’s score than we are accustomed to, often sounding harsh. While this was intriguing, it felt at odds with Poulenc’s lyrical orchestral idiom.

The Théâtre des Champs-Élysées’s “Dialogues” is visually vibrant and features a star-studded cast that will excite Parisian opera lovers. However, the uneven musical pacing and an overly tense interpretation undermine the opera’s dramatic subtleties.

The post Théâtre des Champs-Élysées 2024-25 Review: Dialogues of the Carmélites appeared first on OperaWire.