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.

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.

“Every stage work takes on new meanings with each new interpretation.” So reads the opening line of the program notes by dramaturg Marta Ljubková, writing about Janáček Brno Festival’s production of “Jenůfa.” She was being somewhat disingenuous. What was presented was not a change in emphasis or an exploration of hidden themes; rather, it was a heavy-handed intervention that included a new ending, new text, and, unbelievably, new music, provided by the band VIAH, a pop duo on electric keyboards, who pumped out a sound that was totally at odds with Janáček’s music.

Loulova’s Provocative Direction

As the audience filed into the auditorium for the beginning of the performance, it was met with an image of artist Jamie McCartney’s “The Great Wall of Vulva,” consisting of 20 casts of female genitalia. The original work consists of 400 vulvas; its aim is to “shed light on variety, diversity and the absence of a norm” and to draw attention to the pressures women are put under to have aesthetic plastic surgery. It was the opening salvo of a production, directed by Veronika Kos Loulová, that reinterpreted “Jenůfa” from a woman’s perspective in the 21st century, focused on the psychological difficulties experienced by women during childbirth and the early stages of motherhood.

Without a doubt, it is an interpretation with potential. Jenůfa has been placed in a high-stress situation, the subject of male violence and irresponsibility at the hands of Laca and Števa. She is pregnant, and the father, Števa, has abandoned her, and she is now fearful of the judgement that will be passed by the village community for having an illegitimate baby. She lives alone with Kostelnička, her stepmother, and the two try desperately to cope, not just with caring for the newborn baby but also having to keep it secret from a close-knit community. Little surprise, therefore, that Jenůfa falls into a pit of despair, aggravating any predisposition for postpartum depression, a condition that can also affect surrogates, such as the Kostelnička, who finds herself looking after both Jenůfa and the baby.

It started well. Loulová moved the drama to a contemporary setting, for which the scenographer and costume designer, Irina Moscu, created a cluttered modern-day apartment, where Jenůfa and the Kostelnička lived. The grandmother busied herself with household chores, while Stárek, the mill foreman, and obviously a regular visitor, sat comfortably reading a newspaper at the table and seemed very much at home. Laca had free rein of the house and moved around as if he lived there and did what he liked, as did Števa. The relationships were thus clearly established as close-knit, suffocating and overbearing, which Loulová amplified by accentuating the negative characteristics of the male figures, especially those of Laca and Števa. Laca, in particular, expressed no sign of love towards Jenůfa; rather, he was boorish, crude and cruel, always flashing his knife in front of her, sometimes with her panties twirling on its blade.

By the end of the first act, Loulová had successfully created an oppressive, threatening atmosphere based on intolerance and violence and clearly established Jenůfa’s vulnerability. There were, however, numerous irritations in her presentation, not least the interpolation of amplified texts of reviews from Preissova’s original stage play on which “Jenůfa” was based and quotations from members of ‘A Mother’s Smile,’ a group set up to care for women who have experienced psychological difficulties during pregnancy. They added nothing at all to the drama and brought the momentum to a complete stop. Also, the removal of all folk elements, while understandable given its contemporary setting, undermined the sense of community and therefore the outside pressures exerted on Jenůfa and the Kostelnička. The folk dances, therefore, also had to be jettisoned, which were replaced by an uncoordinated free-for-all that looked ugly and minimized the impact of the musical contrasts. There were other minor annoyances, but dramatically it worked fairly well.

Act two progressed in a similar vein. The characters were sensitively handled and successfully presented, capturing both Jenůfa’s and the Kostelnička’s emotional and psychological deterioration under the stresses of the situation. While the Kostelnička’s anxieties and emotions became more haphazard, Jenůfa looked oblivious to what was happening around her; she looked hollow and exhausted, clearly overwhelmed and unable to cope. Although it was a well-presented act, it was again subject to distracting interventions, this time with an amplified voice listing issues and products relating to new mothers, such as nipple cream.

Act three took the staging in a different direction. The apartment was melded with a wooded glade, into what appeared to be a dreamscape, with its meaning open to interpretation. Was it a projection of Jenůfa’s or the Kostelnička’s mind? Maybe it was a desire for a better world? Could it have been a representation of the heaven in which her murdered child now resides? Was it a contrast to the hell of a life lived in the apartment? Or was it something completely different? It did not really matter; it proved to be a successful device for encouraging the audience to think about the implications of such possibilities, and as such it was successful.

Unwelcome Alterations to the Opera

Unfortunately, the final duet between Laca and Jenůfa was cut, so that the opera ended with Jenůfa forgiving the Kostelnička, who was surrounded by other women in a show of solidarity. This went beyond Janáček’s intentions and felt wholly contrived. It also drew attention away from the legitimate portrayal of Jenůfa, the Kostelnička and women in general who suffer from male abuse, neglect or lack of understanding, as well as the problem of postpartum depression, which was supposed to be the main focus of Loulová’s interpretation and instead highlighted the fact that there was not a single male character with even a modicum of decency or empathy for Jenůfa’s or the Kostelnička’s conditions. For all his faults, Laca in the end accepts his responsibilities; this excised from the text as it went against the message. Even Stárek was allowed to sit through Jenůfa’s suffering while being tormented by Laca, just so that he could be shown to be a passive, disinterested male. It verged on propaganda, rather than a nuanced consideration of the problem.

Yet although Loulová’s staging was provocative, at times heavy-handed and occasionally irritating, her sure directorial grasp enabled her to fashion a reasonably successful interpretation in which her determination to insert her concerns about postpartum depression was made alongside, although not always within, what was a well-crafted drama. It was, therefore, a pity that she threw it all away by replacing the final duet with a nondescript piece of music by VIAH. It destroyed the effect that she had struggled to create, so that one left the theatre with a wholly negative impression.

A Raw, Exciting Orchestral Reading

The relatively small orchestral force of the Moravian Theatre under the baton of Anna Novotná Pešková created a dramatically stark and compelling reading. Its lean, transparent textures, in which the percussion often thrust itself into the foreground, gave the sound a rawness that sat well with Loulová’s staging, which was accentuated by the lack of warmth from the relatively small string section. Pešková was always sensitive to the drama’s twists and turns, complementing them with pleasing dynamic contrasts and changes in pace, and the melodies were crisply and deftly executed.

The star of the show was undoubtedly soprano Eliška Gattringerová, who essayed the role of the Kostelnička, although it was not the usual portrayal one might have expected. In line with Loulová’s interpretation, she became a sympathetic character, rather than a hard-headed matriarch, equally concerned about her own reputation as that of Jenůfa’s. Such was her success in presenting the Kostelnička as a well-intentioned, fundamentally decent woman who was unable to deal with the situation that it appeared completely natural that she should be forgiven by Jenůfa for the murder of her baby. Her singing performance was also wonderfully expressive, in which she captured the anxieties, stresses and fears that led the Kostelnička into committing such a horrendous crime.

Jenůfa was played by mezzo-soprano Barbora Perná, who produced an excellent acting performance that captured her mental state perfectly along with all its emotional contradictions. In Act one, she accepted and rebelled against Laca’s aggression, displayed her love for the unworthy Števa, and her contempt for Laca. In Act two, she had collapsed into an exhausted shell of herself. Yet underlying it all, she exuded a sense of decency and love. Her vocal performance was solid rather than exciting or revealing. Her singing was clear and articulate, and she expressed herself forcefully and passionately, but she lacked the frisson, the ability to add nuance and push the voice to the extremes that is necessary to dominate the role.

Tenor Josef Moravec was essentially only required to portray Laca’s negative characteristics and to steer clear of anything that might put him in a positive light, and he did it very well; he was frustrated, angry and resentful and simmered with a violence that was ready to explode. Possessing a resonant voice, which at times he could have used with more dynamic subtlety, he was able to intimidate Jenůfa and dominate a scene, as he forcefully pushed his voice into a confrontation.

Tenor Raman Hasymau has an agile voice with a pleasing timbre, although it can sound a little thin in the upper register, which he used impressively to capture Števa’s superficial character. Yes, he was pushed into emotionally uncomfortable situations, but he always managed to coat his voice with a veneer of insincerity or immaturity, which fitted perfectly with the tenor of the production.

Mezzo-soprano Sylva Čmugrová gave a clearly defined portrait of Grandmother Buryjovka, making it quite clear that she had no interest in Laca whatsoever.

Bass Jiri Pribyl had only the occasional line to sing as Stárek but was present for a large part of the first act, in which he successfully ignored Laca’s brutish behavior as if it were completely normal.

Sopranos Katerina Popová and Anna Moriová were parted as Karolka and Barena, respectively. Both delivered well-sung performances in what were small roles.

Final Thoughts

Personally, I found Loulová’s interpretation to be far too heavy-handed to consider it a success. Lecturing or berating audiences is never a good thing; they are quite capable of understanding a well-managed interpretation without having it spelt out in bold terms or using gimmicks, like having a pop duo bring the opera to a conclusion. It comes across as extremely patronising.

Actually, I had no problem with Loulová’s overall reading of the piece; in fact, I found it insightful. There is a very good “Jenůfa” contained within this production, but it is struggling to get out; a more nuanced approach is needed, one shorn of the extraneous additions that undermined all that is good about it.

It is co-produced with the Moravian Theatre Olomouc.

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

In 1857, when the Teatro San Carlo in Naples commissioned a new opera from Giuseppe Verdi, he selected a libretto by Antonio Somma, inspired by the real-life assassination of King Gustav III of Sweden. The king was shot in 1792 by political opponents during a masked ball at the Stockholm Opera. Somma added a romantic affair between the king and the wife of his best friend, who eventually joins the conspirators and becomes the king’s assassin. However, the libretto quickly ran into trouble with the censors in Naples, who objected to depicting the murder of a royal figure on stage. The ensuing legal battle between Verdi and the San Carlo Theatre eventually went before a judge, marking one of the most frustrating periods of Verdi’s life. Ultimately, the setting was moved to the English colonies in North America at the end of the 18th century. The king became Riccardo, the governor of Boston, and “Un ballo in maschera” premiered in 1859 in Rome.

An intelligent, enjoyable stage production

Today, it is common to see the “Swedish” version of the opera, which honors Verdi’s original concept. However, director Adele Thomas chose to set the story in America, moving the action to the second half of the 19th century. This shift in time period allowed Thomas to enrich the narrative with several Victorian elements that fit seamlessly into the plot: a fascination with esotericism and magic, a liberal use of drugs (Amelia, Riccardo’s love, repeatedly sniffs a suspicious powder from a small box), and the recent discovery of electricity — a recurring gag where the lights flicker whenever disaster is imminent.

The staging, designed by Hannah Clark, features a revolving round pavilion that serves multiple purposes: it becomes an operating theater for Riccardo’s autopsy during the overture, the Senate hall at the start of the first act, and the tent of the fortune-teller/medium Ulrica in the second scene of the first act. In the second act, Amelia is meant to visit the “gallows place,” the cemetery where executed criminals are buried, at midnight. Here, the director’s concept was less successful: the scene takes place outside the pavilion’s back wall, and the horror of the location is represented by scantily clad prostitutes, drunken clients, and ghostly apparitions. In the final act, the pavilion openes up to transform into a spinning carousel for a lively masked ball, complete with can-can dancers.

One of the key features of this opera is its blend of tragic and comic elements. Verdi skillfully gives equal weight to both, transitioning seamlessly between them without diminishing the emotional impact. This approach makes the tragedy even more poignant, as it sometimes unfolds within moments of comedy. Director Thomas embraced this dynamic, carefully shaping the comedic scenes with a sense of youthful enthusiasm that was both effective and free of vulgarity.

Some problems in the musical production

Gianandrea Noseda conducted the Philharmonia Zürich in a nuanced interpretation of the score. The lively sections were brilliantly executed, full of energy and drive, while the slower passages were often too indulgent, with tempi that felt overly slow. The singers appeared to be “champing at the bit,” eager for a faster tempo that would have better supported their performances. The balance was occasionally off, with the orchestra sometimes overpowering the singers on stage. However, the overall sound from the orchestra was rich and beautiful, with elegant solos from various instruments.

Riccardo was portrayed by Charles Castronovo, whose tenor, while perhaps a bit too dark for the role, sometimes lacked the flow and elegance, especially in the beginning. However, his performance improved as the evening went on, and he ultimately delivered a convincing Riccardo. His high notes were full of squillo, and his stage presence was well-suited to the character. The love duet in the second act, with Erika Grimaldi as Amelia, was particularly successful. Castronovo conveyed all the passion and intensity of a man in love, with beautiful phrasing and his voice always supported by the breath.

An excellent debut and other great performances

Soprano Erika Grimaldi made her debut as Amelia, and she passed with flying colors. Her voice was warm and powerful, with round, beautiful high notes—though there were a few moments where they became slightly shrill, possibly due to opening night nerves. The demanding recitative and aria at the end of Act One, “Ecco l’orrido campo/Ma dall’arido stelo divulsa,” would challenge any soprano, but Grimaldi approached it with confidence and strength. She demonstrated excellent breath control, beautiful legato, and strong, commanding high notes. In her second aria, “Morrò, ma prima in grazia,” she navigated Maestro Noseda’s extremely slow tempo with ease, her breath supporting her beautifully. While her voice may not have been entirely “Verdian” and her pronunciation occasionally lacked clarity, her interpretation of Amelia was undeniably successful.

Renato, Amelia’s husband and Riccardo’s friend and confidant, was portrayed by George Petean, a quintessential Verdian baritone renowned for his expertise in this role. As expected, his performance was thoroughly enjoyable. Petean’s velvety baritone showcased a beautiful legato, underpinned by exceptional breath control and thrilling high notes. However, his intonation occasionally turned slightly sharp, perhaps due to the excitement of the premiere. The aria “Eri tu” in the second act, where Renato conveys his anger over his friend’s betrayal and reminisces about his early love for Amelia, is arguably Verdi’s most exquisite baritone aria. Petean delivered it with great skill, capturing the passion, jealousy, deep sorrow, and thirst for revenge that define the piece. His performance earned the evening’s most thunderous and well-deserved applause.

The character of Oscar, a lively young page boy sung by a coloratura soprano, is a rarity in Verdi’s repertoire, as he didn’t like cross-sex roles. Oscar embodies Riccardo’s playful, mischievous side as both his “partner in crime” and loyal supporter. Katharina Konradi brought the character to life with zest, her brilliant soprano effortlessly handling the high notes. Her coloratura singing was swift and precise, and her interpretation radiated vivacity and charm.

In the second part of the first act, the entire court, in disguise, visits the tent of Ulrica, the fortune teller whom a prejudiced judge seeks to ban from the colony. Ulrica was portrayed by Agnieszka Rehlis, whose rich, bronzed mezzo-soprano was a true delight. Her voice displayed remarkable uniformity across its entire range, with high notes as well-placed as the deepest ones, complemented by excellent legato and phrasing. The scene, styled as a typical Victorian séance, featured upper-class ladies poised to faint at any hint of the supernatural. Despite her petite stature, Rehlis commanded the stage as a charismatic medium with a striking presence.

Among the other cast members, Brent Michael Smith and Stanislav Vorobyov deserve special mention for their portrayal of Riccardo’s main conspirators, Samuel and Tom. Smith’s voice was deep and resonant, while Vorobyov’s was elegant and precise, yet capable of delivering all the thunderous low notes the role demands. Both performers were equally effective in the tragic moments, such as the plotting of the murder, and the comedic scenes, including the “laughing” ensemble in the cemetery.

The post Opernhaus Zürich 2024-25 Review: Un ballo in maschera appeared first on OperaWire.

Composed for the annual Rosary Sunday celebrations established by Pope Gregory XIII to commemorate the Holy League’s 1571 victory over the Ottomans at Lepanto, Vinci’s Oratorio per la Madonna del Rosario stands as a rare surviving example of the composer’s sacred music. Its narrative, reflecting the Eurocentric worldview of its time, portrays a moral dichotomy where Christianity triumphs over opposing forces. The story follows Alba, a Christian woman captured during a Moorish raid led by Selim, who becomes infatuated with her. Rejected and embittered, Selim threatens her life, but with divine intervention from the Virgin Mary and an angel, Alba is miraculously returned to her homeland, symbolizing the ultimate victory of faith and virtue.

Under the direction of baroque violinist Boris Begelman, Bologna-based ensemble Arsenale Sonoro captivated the audience from the first note of the overture. Vinci’s signature elastic phrasing and ornamentation were rendered with natural ease by the ensemble’s string section. They conveyed a palpable sense of enjoyment and spontaneity throughout, adeptly reflecting the contrasting personalities of the oratorio character. A standout moment occurred at the start of the second half, during the Virgin Mary’s aria. Here, the cello from the basso continuo delivered an unforgettable extended solo, its warm, human-like tone complemented by the gentle sound of flutes and violins. The tonal combination evoked the Virgin’s comforting presence with exquisite sweetness, enveloping the hall like a comforting embrace. After the aria concluded, the audience broke into spontaneous applause, a rare occurrence in the traditionally restrained setting
of religious oratorios. In sharp contrast, Selim’s arias were characterized by the biting and brutal tones of oboes and horns, effectively portraying his unyielding and cruel nature while horns occasionally struggling with intonation.

Soprano Francesca Aspromonte, in the role of Alba, was the undisputed star of the evening. Her clear, penetrating voice balanced softness with elasticity, bringing pastoral elegance to her arias. In the F major aria, she captured Alba’s serenity and innocence, symbolizing the character’s unwavering faith and inner purity even amid despair. Aspromonte’s fluent German interactions with the audience during instrumental tuning pauses, also added a touch of charm and humor to the night.

Standing next to Aspromonte, countertenor Nicolò Balducci, as the angel, took some time to warm up but delivered a compelling performance in the second half. His use of falsetto tones aptly conveyed the divinity of his role.

Meanwhile, baritone Fulvio Bettini as Selim gave a solid but underwhelming performance; his volume often failed to match the orchestra’s intensity, diminishing the dramatic tension in his pivotal scenes.

Sonia Prina, a seasoned Baroque performer, portrayed the Virgin Mary with a voice that lacked the gravitas expected for the role. Her casual stage demeanor and understated recitatives occasionally drew light laughter from the audience, detracting from the sacred gravity of her character.

The audience’s enthusiastic response underscored the success of the concert. Musicians gracefully repeated the final chorus as encore. The warmth of the performance, delivered in the renowned acoustic splendor of the Laeiszhalle and set against Hamburg’s wintry backdrop, brought a radiant touch of Southern Italy to the Hanseatic city.

The revival of Leonardo Vinci’s Oratorio per la Madonna del Rosario was not just another rediscovery but a vibrant addition to Hamburg’s diverse early music scene. This concert, a highlight of the Viva Napoli festival, highlighted the spiritual depth and dramatic richness of Neapolitan Baroque music, brought to life through thoughtful curation and exceptional performances. It offered a rare opportunity to experience the profound interplay of religious devotion and theatrical storytelling that defines Vinci’s art. It brought to mind René Jacobs’ observation in one of his CD liner notes: “Compared to instrumental music, we have done far too little to uncover the high-quality vocal repertoire of the Baroque period.”

The post HamburgMusik 2024 Review: Oratorio per la Madonna del Rosario appeared first on OperaWire.

The Metropolitan Opera’s “La Bohème” celebrated a new season of success thanks to Kensho Watanabe at the podium and a stunning cast of favorites, including Ailyn Pérez, Dmytro Popov, Boris Pinkhasovich, Bogdan Talos, Emily Pogorelc, Gihoon Kim, and Donald Maxwell.

Conductor Kensho Watanabe’s Midas Touch

Conductor Kensho Watanabe, who made his Met debut with Kevin Puts’s “The Hours” in 2022, was the perfect choice for this production. As I noted about his performance of “The Hours” in May of this year, the same can be said about him for “La Bohème:” “Conductor Kensho Watanabe led the orchestra and cast members with effervescent amounts of grace and gratitude. Watanabe’s natural gift of channeling Kevin Puts’s music is astounding and it’s no wonder he was at the podium again. The swelling emotional rollercoaster that drives this score was like a bloodline extending from Watanabe. There was no separating what he was doing from any part of this whole production, and his signature frequency carried through in development with every role and turning point of the synopsis. It’s also important to note how Watanabe’s intuitive ability to proactively extend his energy toward the singers made every entrance feel very aligned and actively engaged. This contributed greatly to the music’s energy and never once did it feel like the opera was stagnating or losing momentum in its ability to freely flow.”

Watanabe continued to prioritize bringing the singers forward both musically and artistically in “La Bohème.” For example, in Act one when Dmytro Popov as Rodolfo began singing his aria, “Che gelida manina,” Watanabe stayed with Popov’s every note, breath, and gesture. It felt like Watanabe was making music together with Popov and the orchestra as easily as he was breathing along with each phrase of Puccini’s score. There was also a visible gentleness of his baton as he conducted, creating a thread of energy with Popov that connected back to his podium and exuded a profound level of awareness. The entire production felt magical because of his conducting – Watanabe’s midas touch.

Ailyn Pérez Raises the Bar

Soprano Ailyn Pérez as Mimì took my breath away from the moment she stepped onto the stage. This was my first time experiencing Pérez live and I felt so lucky to be witnessing her in this role. Pérez’s voice is a brilliant instrument with crystalline high notes, an engaged and grounded middle range and a tonal palette of beautiful colors to express a range of emotions. Her presence is also one of greatness and gracefulness that elevates her performance’s delivery and depth. Her eyes are full of joy when she sings, making even the most upsetting moments of Mimí’s dying scene beautiful to watch. 

Pérez is also an excellent collaborator. She made sure that every castmate was given the space and spotlight to shine, and she celebrated them along the way. Whether it was during Act two at Café Momus or in Act four as she lay dying, Pérez intuited her performance to be inclusive and intelligent at the same time. She looked her castmates in the eyes, she sang every note with conviction, she gave it her all while additionally supporting her castmates’ developing roles. This is the sign of a superstar and Pérez is absolutely one.

Her arias, “Sì. Mi chiamano Mimì” and “Donde lieta uscì,” revealed her voice’s agility and warmth, making these arias sound original in her own voice. Pérez brought Mimí to life and to death in this production through not only the quality of her vocal technique, but most notably through the destiny I feel she has to fulfill in this lifetime. I am excited to see her in future performances and celebrate her as she already is – a superstar.

Dmytro Popov’s Rising Star

Tenor Dmytro Popov as Rodolfo performed with promise and potential. I learned a lot while observing Popov’s performance. For example, in the moments when he was actively engaged with Watanabe and delivering his most crucial aria, “Che gelida manina,” Popov seemed to hand himself over to the music and come from a most vulnerable place of expression and evolution. He was at the will of Puccini’s design for Rodolfo and portrayed this role with conviction and honesty. There were also glimpses of his presence that were reminiscent of tenor Piotr Beczala in Met opera’s production of “Lohengrin.” This leads me to wonder what Popov would do in the role of Lohengrin and how he would continue his vocal and acting development in this way. I believe given the space and continued support, Popov will rise to become a brilliant star. 

Popov’s interactions with Pérez’s Mimì were natural and actively engaging with Rodolfo’s deep love and affection for her. The most tender moments happened when the couple were not in the spotlight, and this is the ultimate sign of good chemistry in the works. Moments when I saw Popov keeping careful watch over Pérez, extending his hand or arm to her in comfort, allowing her to rest in the final scene before her death and intermittently checking in on her (making the role of Rolfo one of empathic response towards Mimì). These are the ways in which I felt Popov did his absolute best, leaving me wanting to see more performances by him in this way, especially Lohengrin.

It is interesting to discover what a tenor will do in this role and how he will do it. I feel it says a lot about the character of the singer themselves and for this I am grateful Popov was paired with Pérez in this season’s production. Bravo!

Emily Pogorelc Charms & Surprises

Soprano Emily Pogorelc as Musetta, who made her Met debut just this year as Lisette in “La Rondine,” was stunning in her role. In Francisco Salazar’s review of her performance in “La Rondine,” he says, “Pogorelc brought a fantastic lyric coloratura voice to the role of Lisette and while she doesn’t get an aria, her interactions with the other characters showcased a bright and crystalline voice. It didn’t hurt that her movement around the stage was filled with great flexibility and charisma and that she lit up the stage every time she entered.” 

And this held true for her Musetta performance, as well.

Pogorelc’s Musetta felt like her golden opportunity to really open up and let loose the full brilliancy of her voice and presence on the Met’s stage. Her vocal agility and phrasing, especially during “Quando m’en vo’,” came across with ease and lightness to the effect of adding the unique quirkiness in her role’s personality that charms others, instead of what sometimes gets mixed in this role’s personality and confused as ego-centric manipulation. 

Yes, Musetta wants all eyes on her, but Pogorelc stepped up Musetta’s game by giving the people what they really want – a showstopping vocal performance to never forget. Pogorelc made Musetta feel alive again! With all due respect to anyone’s vixen-personified interpretation of Musetta, I felt Pogorelc’s interpretation to be a more natural fit that illuminated Puccini’s vocal composition as a means to be the light amidst the darkness. Pogorelc’s Musetta transformed the banality of daily life, and ultimately patriarchal capitalism, making her role out to be the relief that only a dark comedy can provide. She was glorious!                                    

Three Met Debuts in One Production                      

In his Met debut, baritone Boris Pinkhasovich as Marcello was an excellent addition to this production’s stunning cast. Pinkasovich’s voice is full bodied, highlighting his rich vocal textures and imaginative palette of expression. He gave the most depth to this role that I’ve experienced thus far. He also balanced out the voices of Popov as Rodolfo, Talos as Colline, and Kim as Schaunard. During the arias “Questo Mar Rosso” and “In un coupé?,” Pinkhasovich’s baritone rang out into Met opera’s hall with splendour and ease.

His duet with Pérez, “Mimì!,” was both heart-wrenching and gripping. There is more than meets the eye with Pinkhasovich and this added tremendously to the universal message of Puccini’s music in this opera. I also came across a Q&A with Pinkhasovich that helped me to understand more of the baritone’s process when taking on a role and what excites him most if one wants to read and learn more.

Also in his Met debut, baritone Gihoon Kim as Schaunard provided a carefree perspective to the cast. His over-the-top moments provided some comic relief, and he made Schaunard into a role full of his own personality. I always feel that taking risks in this way must be taken fully, and in this regard, Kim took on the risk of acting out in this role with full commitment. His take on Schaunard was an interesting part of the mix.

Kim’s next performance will be in the role of Rodrigo at Deutsche Oper Berlin for this season’s production of “Don Carlo.” 

Rounding out the evening’s headlining cast of Met debut’s was bass Bogdan Talos in the role of Colline. His performance felt in line with this stellar cast and the production’s nostalgia at the same time. Talos’s voice resonated nicely during his aria, “ Vecchia zimarra, senti,” and left me wanting to hear more.

La Bohème Is the Gift That Keeps Giving

Baritone Donald Maxwell performed his legendary roles for this production, as Benoit and Alcindoro, always amusing and with perfect comedic timing. I always appreciate seeing him in this production, making it feel like the holidays are really upon us especially when everyone gathers in Café Momus.

It’s also important to note tenor Marco Jordão as parpignol who did an excellent performance full of jovial cheer.

The Met Opera Chorus sounded enthusiastic and full of joy, especially during the street scenes. The falling snow and entire Franco Zeffirelli production/set designs are rich with seasonal colors and make for a great family outing to be experienced together. Costume designs by Peter J. Hall and lighting design by Gil Wechsler added the special touches, wrapping up this season’s production of “La Bohème” as the gift that keeps giving.

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