Isabella (Sandra Piqued Eddy) takes a bath, photo by Jeff Roffman

This production of Rossini’s “L’Italiana in Algeri” has been making its rounds since it debuted in Santa Fe in 2002. In it, the action has been shifted to Algiers circa 1920’s, and presents Isabella as a piquant aviatrix with overtones of Marlene Dietrich in the classic film “Morocco”. Despite some superfluous edits and anachronisms, this updated treatment (with its efficient open book design) provided an overall charming setting for the proceedings, which rose to hilarity under the hands of director Helena Binder. The cast assembled by the Atlanta Opera made a greater impact when assessed as a collective entity. They were occasionally let down by the tentative pace dictated by conductor Arthur Fagen, who not only took a full act to ease himself into the whimsical spirit of the work, but was unable to keep a tight reign over the more complicated ensembles, disappointing badly during the opera’s famous act one finale.

In her assumption of the title character, mezzo-soprano Sandra Piques Eddy scored a triumph as Isabella, in great part thanks to her charming personality and winning looks. A tall, trim young lady, she looked splendid in the variety of get ups thrown her way by the costume department: From her aviation jumpsuit to a slinky old Hollywood sparkly frock. During the second act’s tricky scena, “Per lui che adoro,” she achieved a veritable coup du theatre by singing the aria semi nude in a bathtub. Additionally aided by her saucy, tongue in cheek stage manner, the kittenish, quick-witted personality of the opera’s heroine fitted her to a T. The success of her stage impersonation ranked superior to her vocal accomplishments, as her singing was significantly less concise and lacked the charm she so readily brought to her acting. Her voice was a flexible, well-proportioned full lyric mezzo-soprano, dark at the bottom and somewhat blowsy at the top. When the musical line forced an even transition from the top to the bottom (such as in segments of her aria di sortita “Cruda sorte” and the interminable line of “Per lui che adoro”), the cohesion in the voice was unfavorably tested. She made up via her courageous handling of the role’s extreme ornate difficulties – her coloratura was even and tastefully realized within a generally fine legato. Still, her ornamentations could have been more idiomatic. A greater concern arose in the occasion where, when faced with the task of conquering an extreme musical challenge, she simplified the difficulties by way of dividing to make them more manageable. To the detriment of the music, she accompanied this practice by applying an even handling to the broken components, rendering her singing square and limiting her ability to express. Ultimately the sameness in her vocalism resulted in a small, yet significant stop sign to an otherwise wonderful characterization.

Isabella (Sandra Piqued Eddy) prepares to escape Algeria to get back to her home to Italy with the other Italian captives (The Atlanta Opera Chorus) photo by Jeff Roffman

The mounting any production of “L’Italiana in Algeri” is always dependent on finding a tenor capable of surviving Lindoro’s exceptionally high tessitura. For the role’s stratospheric introductory aria, “Languir per una bella,” Michele Angelini excelled at negotiating high-lying rigours with little difficulty. The tall, handsome tenor brought to the part a lacrymose and lithe voice, which found its comfort zone in the higher regions of its scale. The sustained pressure at the top, culminating in high C, held no terrors whatsoever, so much so that the artist graced his song with even higher alternatives, propelling him to go up to the C sharp and high D options to dazzling effect. The ensuing cabaletta “Contenta quest’alma” brought with it an effortless display in florid singing, his accomplished scales and runs neatly produced and stylishly realized. These qualities were to become the hallmark of his work throughout the entire evening, qualifying him as the finest Rossinian in the entire cast. Some pesky limitations were not to be ignored. Though the voice was appropriately high, its presence was consistently passive and meek, and threatened to unravel in the few instances where he pressed the instrument towards more forceful dynamics. This ensured a demure vocal profile during the opera’s many large ensembles, reserving a greater impression for the charming duets and trios that comprise the majority of the role. For any heavier part, this would be a crimpling handicap, but as it stands this gentle voice functions more than well as Rossini’s benign tenor boyfriends.

The lower voices were lead by Burak Bilgili in the hilarious role of Mustafa. The Turkish artist unleashed a bass of excellent volume (the biggest voice in the ensemble), striking sonic presence, and great comedic timing. Despite a less than ideal bel canto technique (he managed all the florid requirements by way of remarkably disturbing aspirations,) his gruff and pompous vocalism combined perfectly with an endearing stage deportment to bring the outrageously ridiculous bey Mustafa to life, and thus providing one of the most complete characterizations onstage. Lesser marks apply to the work of bass-baritone Bruno Pratico in the role of Taddeo, a singer who has enjoyed an important international career in the bel canto comic roles, particularly those of Rossini. Histrionically he was marvelous, and had the audience in stitches at his every appearance. What kept him from stealing the spotlight from the rest of his colleagues was the unfortunate condition of his dry and leathery voice, which consistently undermined the success of his theatrical performance. His saving grace was the informed manner with which he phrased the Rossinian lines, a mastery which the rest of his colleagues would do well to emulate.

Mustafa (Burak Bilgili) and his wife, Elvira (Ashley Emerson) and her servant, Zulma (Maria McDaniel)
photo by Jeff Roffman

The lesser parts were unevenly fulfilled. As Elvira, Ashley Emerson brought a pretty but passive soprano to the proceedings, greatly dwarfing her participation in the ensembles – especially the crucial act one finale. Her servant, Zulma, was better served by the sturdy mezzo-soprano of Maria McDaniel. The tiny role of Haly was sung by bass Frederick Jackson, who would have inspired a greater assessment had his aria di sorbetto been included in this production.

There are two more opportunities to catch this production of Rossini’s “L’Italiana in Algeri”. For more information on how you can join in the fun, visit the Atlanta Opera’s website at www.atlantaopera.org

-Daniel Vasquez

Michael Fabiano (Oronte), Angela Meade (Griselda), Erica Keisewetter (Concertmaster)
Credit: Stephanie Berger. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Credit: ©Stephanie Berger.

High honors were reserved for Angela Meade, who took on the testing role of Griselda and handled the complicated score with great aplomb. Her first test of the evening, the deceptively simple prayer “Salve Maria”, found her working out some early evening jitters (a casual slide joining the ends between the middle to high tessituras got in the way of an otherwise fine legato) eventually settling into an impressive array of piani and suspended fil di voce. The aria allowed for the inspection of this much admired voice, and revealed a brightly colored soprano, generous in size and capable of much agility.
At its best, her sound took on an angelic quality very appropriate to the tinta of the work. Her middle register has greatly mellowed since we last heard her in the title role of Rossini’s Semiramide back in 2009, and she could call upon the chest tones when the score made demands of it. At the other end of the spectrum, her soft singing was world-class. Her collective powers, coupled with a remarkable degree of technical mastery, summed up her performance as a tour de force.

Courtney Johnson (Sofia), Michael Fabiano (Oronte), Eve Queler
Credit: Stephanie Berger. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Credit: ©Stephanie Berger.

This is not to say that she was without caveats. Though she managed to make herself heard through the concerted numbers, her voice remains as of this date more lirico than spinto. In fact, she approached perfection when allowed to wallow in her lyric state, sounding merely perfunctory when she pressed the voice to deliver the heavier pages of the score. The color of her voice is not yet dark enough to qualify as a true bel canto instrument, and while the vibrato many have griped about did not bother us in the least (this is, after all, hot blooded Italian music) a casual unmusical handling of the score certainly did. Case in point, in the many instances where she relished special skill (say a well achieved taper, or a good trill), the architecture of her singing was skewed to showcase it, leaving the rest of the arch either hastily resolved, or worse, left unattended. All would remain unnoticed if she immersed her singing into the dramatic situation at hand. That is, throw her head back and let her musical instincts take over, a quality almost begged for in the stretta “No!… giusta causa – non è d’Iddio” which closes the opera’s second act. In this sense, she was unresponsive, greatly amplifying the gravity of her various shortcomings. In our view, she will fulfill her promise as her generation’s great new bel canto hope once she develops this level of artistry.

Those who follow these sorts of things have known for a while that Michael Fabiano has been America’s (or at least NY’s) tenor sweetheart ever since he came to the attention of all in the critically acclaimed documentary “The Audition” back in 2007. The young tenor came to this performance with a myriad of superlative notices already under his belt (Gennaro in San Francisco, Rodolfo in Seattle, the Duke of Mantua in Dresden, just to name a few), yet his work with the big apple’s iconic Metropolitan Opera has so far been limited to small secondary roles (Raffaele in Stiffelio – Cassio in Otello). His casting in this performance of “I Lombardi” marked his NY debut in a principal role, and the near sold out house at Avery Fisher Hall seemed intent to ensure the young artist’s rise to the occasion. Quiet as it’s kept, the atmosphere in the house was almost violently supportive, like a gathering of overprotective uncles coming to support a favorite nephew’s recital. Mr. Fabiano made no attempt to hide his own awareness of this; He walked onstage with a grin as big and confident as his wonderful voice, and though he opted not to run the length the stage and high five all the patrons in the front row, we are willing to bet a shiny nickel that the thought did cross his mind. Of course, the moment he opened his mouth discarded this initial unsavory observation.

The role of Oronte is short and showy, and under the right throat it can dominate the evening. This is exactly what transpired. As he uttered into his introductory lines, Mr. Fabiano unleashed an alert, gleaming tenor of undeniable sex appeal. When this beautiful lyric tenor voice, capable of attaining an unexpectedly large sonority, embarked into a searing take on Oronte’s big aria “La mia letizia infondere”, the house – for lack of a better word, blew up. Those who would have complained about an occasional warning sign at the extreme top of the tenor range knew better than to risk a beat down, sensibly keeping such observations for later online musings. Mr. Fabiano’s remaining two numbers further confirmed the initial impression: His declamation was wonderfully at home in the natural phrasing of the Italian style, allowing his singing to be both brawny and sensitive. When the moment called for it, he unleashed his passion in a way that hogged the mind’s ear, delivering the music’s emotional punch through the duration of his brief assignment. His was the biggest triumph of the night, and not because New York seemed intent on crowning a new hero, but rather because he actually managed to exceed the city’s expectations.

Verdi’s “I Lombardi” features one of the rare instances in Italian opera where a bass carries a larger load than the traditional tenor lead, and the eminent role of Pagano was superbly sung by Opera Orchestra veteran Kevin Short. Mr. Short’s solid bass was well produced and never exaggerated, despite the initial impression of sounding underpowered. A less seasoned artist would have been tempted to force, but Mr. Short kept his bearings intact. In fact he seemed hardly concerned with competing with his colleagues at any point, keeping his tones true to his voice and method, and in no time his rich and expressive bass resonated through the hall effortlessly on its own accord. While there was more exuberant vocalism being thrown about by the younger luminaries around him, he essentially became the glue that held the cast together throughout the night. Similarly effective was the work of tenor Noah Baetge, here making an impressive OONY debut as Arvino. In great contrast with Mr. Fabiano, his voice was a blunter instrument, devoid of romantic pulse yet appropriate for his duties as the heroine’s tenor father (an unusual practice for Verdi). His big scena in the second act culminated with the exciting “Sì!… del ciel che non punisce,” where he revealed a stunning upper register of clarion ring. If not an ideal sound for Verdi, the promise of a stupendous Straussian career may be in his future.

Michael Fabiano (Oronte), Angela Meade (Griselda), Erica Keisewetter (Concertmaster), Eve Queler, Kevin Short (Pagano)
Credit: Stephanie Berger. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Credit: ©Stephanie Berger.

Circling back to Maestra Queler, she conducted this (to her) score familiar to her with great verve. Her collaboration with the forces of the New York Choral Society at times seemed disjointed, but the choral involvement in this work is thankfully extensive, and the situation tidied up by the middle of the first act. A more distracting caveat concerned the two instances where the decision to locate offstage musical devices (such as the instances necessitating the banda, or Oronte’s singing from heaven) placed these in the upper balconies. The balance of sound was greatly compromised by these gimmicks, so when the singers onstage had their say it took the ear a great deal of adjustment to hear them again. Similarly, Oronte’s celestial singing was robbed of its desired effect. Mr. Fabiano is svelte enough to shimmy his way to the middle of the chorus section and at least approach the aural panorama Verdi is after here, so what gives? On a more positive, Ms. Queler did provide a rich frame for the violin concerto that bridges the first and second scene of the third act, performed here by the indulgent violin of concertmaster Erica Keisewetter, who went on to outdo herself during the opera’s unique trio (really a quartet for three vocalists and violin soloist), “Qual volutta trascorrere”.

This performance of Verdi’s “I Lombardi alla prima crociata” marked the end of Opera Orchestra of New York’s 2012-2013. We continually hit the refresh button in hopes of learning more about the company’s plans for the next season. If you would like to join us, visit their site at www.operaorchestrany.org

-Daniel Vasquez

The cast of Washington Concert Opera’s Maria Stuarda (from left to right): Michael Spyres (top), Patrick Carfizzi (bottom), Troy Cook, Brenda Harris, Georgia Jarman.

Having already performed Donizetti’s “Roberto Devereux” back in 2004, the company returned to Donizetti’s treatment of the Tudor queens with this presentation of his “Maria Stuarda”. The casting of the opera’s title role has historically been a subject of great concern. At the time of it’s ill-fated premiere at the San Carlo in September 1834, Donizetti entrusted the part of Maria to the great Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis, a dramatic soprano for whom the composer would later write the female leads in “Roberto Devereux” and “Gemma di Vergy”. After the opera was withdrawn from the stage prior to its opening date, Donizetti submitted the score again at La Scala in December 1835, this time assigning the lead to the celebrated contralto Maria Malibran. In fact, the role’s low tessitura necessitates this type of athletic, dark-colored voice with strong middle and lower registers, and it is no accident that casting directors have favored agile lyric mezzo-sopranos for the part ever since. The casual casting of Maria as a lyric or lyric coloratura soprano started back in the 1970s when New York City Opera staged Donizetti’s Tudor queens as a trilogy for its prima donna, Beverly Sills, a light lyric soprano who made the role convincing by way of her extraordinary coloratura prowess. For this presentation, Washington Concert Opera secured the services of Georgia Jarman, an expressive lyric soprano whom we heard essay her first Lucias two Novembers ago. (http://www.newoutpost.com/1081/the-atlanta-opera-presents-donizetti’s-“lucia-di-lammermoor”/). The overall impression of her impersonation was favorable though not completely satisfying. Her silvery soprano impressed most when allowed to linger over a serene and wistful melodic gesture, underlining the vulnerable aspects of Maria Stuarda as victim; So her aria di sortita, “O nube! Che lieve”, as well as her duet with Leicester “Da tutti abbandonata,” were particularly fine highlights.

Michael Spyres (Earl of Leicester) and Georgia Jarman (Maria Stuarda). Photo by Don Lassell.

However, when the prima donna was required to bite back and stand her ground, such as in the cabaletta to the sortita, or in the climatic melee with Elisabetta which closes the second act, her declamation was undernourished, the lack of depth in the lower regions of her scale continually keeping her interpretation towards the serene. This situation was further aggravated when the singer was pitted against the overwhelming retorts of the Elisabetta of Brenda Harris. While these deficiencies held back her second act to some degree (she contrasted well against the more effervescent offerings of her colleagues during the act’s many ensembles) they furthered the case for reinstituting the role to its rightful dramatic soprano fach for the third. Left alone for the duration of its second half, Ms. Jarman’s efforts gradually faded towards the chorus, and were further called out by the infrequent utterances from the red blooded Italianate voice of her confidant Anna, sung here by a baby spinto Alexandra Loutsion. Her extended final scena, “D’un cor che muore/Ah! Se un giorno da queste ritorte” was well sung, but by then the natural limitations of her instrument had significantly lessened the opera’s compelling and heart wrenching conclusion. Reservations aside, Ms. Jarman remains a fine artist whom we expect will shine greater in roles more appropriate to her considerable attributes.

Fresh from her recent success as Puccini’s ‘Turandot’ with Opera Sarasota, soprano Brenda Harris returned to Washington Concert Opera in the seconda donna role of Elisabetta, a part she reprised here after having essayed it for Minnesota Opera back in 2011. The lingering question concerned her recent excursion into the extreme dramatic soprano part of Turandot, and whether it would negatively affect this great bel canto star: Often, a loss of steadiness, flexibility, and general ease in production is expected. We are happy to report that her imposing stream of searing, voluptuous sound, coupled with her ability to make it zippy to and fro the various florid permutations prescribed by the composer at full volume, remains intact. Perhaps due to the recent muscle memory gained by her recent ‘Turandot,” she hardly appeared to exert herself to achieve the sonority. As a result, she dominated every scene that required her participation. In Maria Stuarda, the role of Elisabetta is limited in its emotional scope, and the interpreter can be cornered into a two dimensional portrayal (Donizetti would give the lady a more well rounded characterization in his Roberto Devereux). A sensitive artist, Ms. Harris reserved her sweeter tones to muse over the gentler wishes of the troubled monarch in her opening number “Ah quando all’ara scorgemi”, the vocal face changing in a flash of volcanic coloratura when the ever present threat from the exiled queen was felt in the ensuing cabaletta, and when her tenor crush, the Earl of Leicester, revealed himself a disappointment (her repeated wounded outbursts after his confirmation of Maria’s beauty were particularly touching). She saved her most imposing sounds for the confrontation with her rival in the second act, and taking into consideration our assessment of Ms. Jarman’s proclivities, it can be a fair conclusion that Ms. Harris took the upper hand. She pulled the act’s curtain with the frenetic stretta “Va, preparati, furente” in dazzling fashion.

Troy Cook (Cecil), Michael Spyres (Earl of Leicester), Georgia Jarman (Maria Stuarda), conductor Antony Walker, Brenda Harris (Elisabetta), Patrick Carfizzi (Talbot), Alexandra Loutsion (Anna) Photo by Don Lassell.

Her participation in the last act was unfortunately very limited, as Elisabetta is only featured in its first scene. Curiously enough, she opened with a duet with Talbot “Quella vita a me funesta” which seamlessly morphed into a trio as Leicester entered the scene, an effective variation of convention exercised here by Donizetti, the type of which the much maligned composer is rarely given credit for. Ms. Harris closed the scene with the searing stretta “Vanne, indegno” giving flight to her massive instrument in an inexhaustible display of brilliance and brawn. It virtually exhausted the arm of conductor Antony Walker, and in many ways marked the finest singing to be heard for the rest of the evening.

In the role of the Earl of Leicester, tenor Michael Spyres delivered one of the most puzzling performances we have heard in a long time, so much so that we feel compelled to vent about it. This young man possessed one of the most beautiful tenore di grazia voices we have ever heard. Furthermore, the poetic way with which he wrapped his instrument around the phrases revealed an artist well aware of how great singing should sound like. At his every utterance the young singer’s eyes would go fly past the auditorium towards the ether, giving evidence of his obsessive pursuit to emulate singing in grand manner. His desire to give was palpable, and nothing endears an artist to an opera audience more than this. All of this promise made his reality of his singing the more frustrating, since Mr. Spyres technical shortcomings hampered his every move throughout the evening. It was both disarming and alarming to hear this is a sweet, honeyed tenor sound, a jewel of a voice, consistently tortured by an ill-devised method. It could have been that he opened the voice too much too soon, or perhaps he abused a forward placement and tired himself out after a few phrases, or maybe he carried the chest upwards too often. While our ears pick up some things from time to time, we do not rank ourselves in the august company of the great singing teachers, but what we heard throughout the night was a singer incapable of negotiating a clean transition from the middle to high tessitura. Each attempt resulted in near cracks, substantial loss of color, and constant warnings of potential strangulation. Nowhere did this trouble most than during the tenor’s brief bravura section “Se fida tanto colei mi amor”. This odd bit of writing for a Donizetti leggiero role resembles the classic call to arms heard in operas like Rossini’s Gullaume Tell (a role he will face later this year at the Bad Wildbad Rossini Festival). To add insult to injury, Leicester gets the money tunes in the opera: The exquisite, exposed melodies that Donizetti devised to allow the tenor to show off the very type of sound Mr. Spyres possesses (“Era d’amor l’immagine”, ‘Da tutti abbandonata”, “Ah! Deh! Per pieta sospendi”), all of which suffered by the general mishandling of his otherwise ideal instrument. For his sake, we strongly suggest a complete revamping of the technique, because this is a sound we want to enjoy often, and for a long time.

The lesser roles were well represented by the lower voices. As Maria’s custodian Talbot, Patrick Carfizzi unleashed a resonant and commanding bass. It’s one limitation was its lack of a substantial vibrato, which greatly limited his inflections and forced him to physically act out his part instead of letting his declamation do the work. His dramatic counterpart, Cecil, was sturdily portrayed by baritone Troy Cook. Finally, the already mentioned Alexandra Loutsion (who sang the tiny part of Anna) possessed a full figured Mediterranean sound we hope to hear again in the near future, and in more extensive assumptions.

Washington Concert Opera soldiers on towards its 2013-14 season, which opens this September with performances of Verdi’s very rare “I masnadieri”, coupled with the composer’s equally rare “Il corsaro” to be performed the following March. For more information, please visit the company’s website at http://www.concertopera.org/

-Daniel Vasquez

A group of ladies enter a party disguised as gypsies. Photo courtesy of Jeff Roffman.

This production of Verdi’s “La Traviata” came to Atlanta by way of Opera de Montreal, with beautiful sets designed by Claude Girard & Bernard Uzan. Director Mr. Gately was fortunate to be working with a leading lady of considerable dramatic talents as well as the members of the Atlanta Opera Chorus, who excelled at portraying the decadent, carefree players in the Paris salon scene. In order to bypass the need for a full ballet, a bold choice was made to turn the men of the chorus into dancers for the act two festivities, and this group of amateur toreadors added an air of whimsy and charm to Flora’s party. Mr. Gately’s work, in particular as it relates to the performance of his Violetta, will be discussed in greater detail when we assess Ms. Dunleavy’s performance, but we will spoil by revealing that their collaboration yielded moments of greatness. There were instances, such as the separation between Violetta and Giorgio Germont as well as the reunion of the lovers in act three, were the interaction between the characters seemed disconnected and awkward. More troubling, some of Verdi’s effects were bypassed, most glaring the emotional state of characters as they entered Flora’s infamous party (the tremolo in the strings does not suggest a carefree pace). That said, the totality of director’s vision was effective and moving. A similar impression summed up the musical direction of conductor Joseph Rescigno, whose meticulous baton was always sensitive to the needs of his singers. His tempi at times registered as volatile (sometimes the party grew very sad), but on the whole his was a very dramatic and complete reading of Verdi’s eponymous score.

At the center of this production was soprano Mary Dunleavy, making a triumphant Atlanta Opera debut in the role of Violetta Valery. The possessor of a soprano voice of full lyric proportions, Ms. Dunleavy has the technical means, vocal stamina, dramatic sensibilities and physique du role to make a success out of this part. It is thus no surprise that she has made Verdi’s courtesan into one of her signature roles. Vocally, like many great Violettas before her, the contrasting qualities of the first act presented her with the greatest challenges of the evening. The famous brindisi afforded her the opportunity to display the ease with which she conquered the ensemble, and her “Ah fors’e lui”, showcasing a wistful messa voce and a stunning array of expressively suspended piani, was particularly fine. Still, there were some limitations.  Her silvery soprano was two shades too bright for the Verdian palette, and some of the more testing variations in the score (such as the flourishes in her first act duet, and the repeated high C’s in her famous cabaletta), betrayed a casual discomfort with Verdi’s florid writing. As the voice settled into the ear, it was heard at its most convincing when expressing vulnerability, a fortunate proclivity which ensured her success in portraying the heart of this young woman despite some minor technical limitations. Furthermore, her carefully detailed and complete interpretation, composed within the context of a finely drawn architecture, would ensure well-deserved ovations by the opera’s final curtain.

Violetta (sung by Mary Dunleavy) considers if it is possible to
find true love. Photo courtesy of Jeff Roffman.

The meeting with Giorgio Germont in the second act was touchingly constructed, the pained and nostalgic attack on the sustained B flat, leading into the key moment of “Ditte alla giovine,” hinted at a decision not just arrived at but made several pages beforehand. A good artist will emote accordingly, but they will still need the help of the audience to convince. In contrast, a great artist will do so despite our resistance, and Ms Dunleavy managed to wrestle product out of these jaded tearducts as she said her goodbyes to Alfredo in the second act. Ten points to Ms. Duleavy. Later on, her behavior towards pere Germont at Flora’s party was restrained yet dutiful, leading to an exquisitely phrased “Alfredo, Alfredo, di questo core.” She somehow reserved her best moments for opera’s final act. Again, the devil is in the details, and small things like her wrapping her arm listlessly around Annina’s neck to manage a drink of water did wonders in establishing the seriousness of her disease. Her reading of Germont’s letter was defeated and exhausted, the voice of a woman who had gambled and bitterly lost. The “Addio del passato” was superb, and conductor Joseph Rescigno should be congratulated for including the reprise of the aria. When fate’s final blow came crystal clear upon Alfredo’s return she lashed out, perhaps too vigorously, against all that had transpired. Her death was slightly athletic, but by then the impact of her impersonation had taken its full effect. Her emotional connection to her role was vivid even during the curtain calls, as the tearful and genuinely moved singer appeared before the audience to receive the loudest ovations of the evening. It was all more than well deserved, for in virtually all of the scenes she shared with her leading man, Ms. Dunleavy had been obliged to lift most of the weight.

Boris Rudak promised much upon entering the stage in Act One. The Russian tenor, making his American debut in these performances as Alfredo, is a strikingly handsome young man of short stature and a slight frame. To the cynics, this was already a dire premonition, one which fulfilled itself the moment the dashing tenorino opened his mouth. The list of positive attributes being considerably shorter than his defects, we will list these first. When heard, the singer possessed an attractively dark and warm timbre, which coupled with his winning good looks are likely to assure him a career in singing. Alas, singing is something he should take great care in mastering, because as far as his efforts in this production of “La Traviata” are concerned, he has not yet fully gained control of his instrument in a way that would allow him to fulfill his assignment in an acceptable way. Though his voice was agreeable, it lacked the focused production that may one day permit it to travel past the front rows of any significant auditorium. Instead, it remained very far away from most ears, at times giving the impression of the tenor singing to himself for long stretches of his role. When attempting to produce louder tones, he reverted to a very forward production to the detriment of pitch, and worse for a role like Alfredo: Intonation. His phrasing was uninspired, his acting amateurish, and in terms of approach and presentation his singing registered as bloodless.

(Above: Alfredo (sung by Boris Rudak) holds Violetta (sung by Mary Dunleavy) in his arms as they sing of their love. Photo courtesy of Jeff Roffman.)

These shortcomings robbed the effect of several surefire moments in the opera, for in the famous brindisi and the two duets with Violetta, Alfredo sets up the important opening melodies. As they issued forth from Mr. Rudak’s throat, they made very little impact. To be quite blunt: This was a major problem. Adding insult to injury, his presence further aggravated by the inclusion of the customarily omitted cabaletta “O mio rimorso! Oh infamia,” (indeed!) which the young man managed by way of an alarming effort, capped with an uncomfortable, unwritten shriek on a high C. Suffice it to say, he stretched the patience of many. This calls into question the necessity of importing such talent all the way from mother russia when it yielded so little. Atlanta has heaps of local singers who could have filled the assignment at least equally deficiently (in fact, Mr. Rudak was frequently called out by the comprimarios in the cast, particularly the particularly fine Giuseppe of tenor William Green). The young Russian tenor’s introduction to the American stages can only be summed up as sadly underwhelming.

With the absence of a significant male voice to share Ms. Dunleavy’s spotlight, the field was wide open for baritone Weston Hurt to bathe himself in glory. He did just that. Having suffered for a little more than one act, the audience placed its hopes upon at the entrance of the second male principal in act two, and Mr. Hurt’s accusatory opening utterance (“Madamigella Valery”) did not disappoint. His firm baritone filled the auditorium with little effort, and the assured handling of his instrument gave full confidence to all that someone had finally come to play the game of singing with the star soprano. In terms of color his voice was a trifle light for this repertoire, but per this very nature it had an easy reach towards the top, a requirement of most Verdi baritone parts. Coupled with a technique that rendered him more than sonically serviceable, Mr. Hurt consistently thrilled during his extended duet with Violetta in act two. Dramatically, he could have emoted his cynical remarks to our heroine quite a bit more, but pere Germont can be successfully portrayed as somewhat vapid as long as he is sturdily sung, which is exactly what Mr. Hurt did. He saved his richer tones for his prize aria “Di provenza, il mar, il suol”, which was beautifully sung, and he more than justified the inclusion of his normally omitted cabaletta “No, non udrai rimproveri”. During the short intermission dividing the two scenes of act two, a mother asked her young daughter if she thought Violetta had made the right choice. “Well, I assume she’s going to run off with the father?” she replied. The cries of the people should count for something.

The list of comprimario assignments in “La Traviata” is extensive, and from this group the highlights included the vocally solid and flamboyant Flora of Mezzo Soprano Maria McDaniel, the excellent Marquis d’Obigny of Bass Jason Hardy, and the dashing Baron Douphol of baritone Brent Davis. All, along with the already mentioned William Green, are part of Atlanta’s rich vocal scene, and we hope to hear them in more substantial assignments in future productions.

The Atlanta Opera will conclude its 2012-2013 season this May with performances of Rossini’s brilliant comedy “L’Italiana in Algeri”. For more information, please visit the company’s website at www.atlantaopera.org

-Daniel Vasquez

Sarasota Opera production of Puccini’s TURANDOT. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

In terms of staging, Puccini’s Turandot must have presented a daunting challenge for stage director Stephanie Sundine and her scenic designer Michael Schweikardt. While some may have reverted to conceptualize the opera to a simpler, modern solution, Sundine and Schweikardt faced the challenge of reducing a more traditional aesthetic within the limiting proportions of the William E. schmidt Opera theatre head on, and though the sets were sparse, they facilitated the needs of the principals well enough. The direction faltered to an extent in its treatment of the Chinese magistrates Ping Pang and Pong, their commedia dell’ arte inspired choreography proved too broad for the narrowness of the venue. The presentation of the chorus as a homogeneous entity could also have benefited from a more individualistic approach, which would have appropriately mirrored the competitive nature of its rather loud players, made up entirely of members of the company’s apprentice and young artist program. At the end of the day, Ms. Sundine should be commended for successfully delivering a more than functional Turandot within the pervasive restrictions, one which consistently drew the audience’s attention to what truly mattered: The business onstage as it pertained to the principal players. And what a cast of principals it is! Sarasota Opera can proudly claim to have compiled a cast audiences would have been thrilled to hear in the 1970s. For compiling this great lineup, praise should go to the company’s Artistic Director, Victor DeRenzi, who also kept the orchestra intact from the podium in these performances of Turandot.

First in this line up is the young soprano Maria Natale, in what would appear to be her first professional engagement in a principal role in the legendary role of Liu. She is a real find: A ripe, lyric soprano voice of considerable volume and an unequivocal Italian sound, its tone is capped by that difficult to describe dome which, when unleashed through the scores of the composers of the Italian giovane scuola, is capable to create a special magic. In both presentations we attended, the voice never failed to charm by the beauty of its sound alone, first heard at its best during her uninterrupted confession to Calaf “Perché un dì nella reggia m’hai sorriso.” Here, the steady stream of warm and breezy sound, reminiscent of a junior Freni, culminated in a delightfully suspended piano at the high B flat.

Soprano Maria Natale as Liu in Sarasota Operas production of TURANDOT. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

She again impressed towards the end of the first act in her lament to Calaf, the famous “Signore ascolta,” gracing the music with a young, un-tampered sound. The sustained phrases did reveal some technical limitations. As the singer skated to and from the upper passagio, the connections were so carefully pasted together as to betray the artist’s process. Also, her otherwise natural intonation was occasionally compromised when sustaining Liu’s long legato lines, at times undermining her pitch. These contrasting qualities accompanied her throughout the opera’s third act, which showcases a set of double arias for the young servant girl. Both of these numbers were affected by faulty intonation, but ultimately the delight of being bathed by the exceptional quality of this sound won out, earning this young artist a rounding ovation at the end of the evening. The introduction of Ms. Natale to the operatic firmament alone makes Sarasota’s Turandot a must see event. As of now, her proclivities make her poised to make a rapid ascent towards the big time. In the meantime, she would do well to resolve her shortcomings in order to fulfill the unlimited promise of her instrument.

The merits of this production did not stop here. The Sarasota Opera secured the services of tenor Jonathan Burton, here making his company debut and taking his first stab at the part, for the key role of the unknown Prince Calaf. This young artist, the possessor of a bronze-hued hefty tenor, made an explosive event out of his assignment by dominating the score’s challenges with seemingly wild abandon.

Tenor Jonathan Burton as Calaf. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

Calaf demands the spinto tenor to repeatedly climb the staff up to sudden high Bs and Cs, a challenge Mr. Burton accomplished with seemingly great relish. During the first half of the opera’s introductory act, he executed several of these leaps within extended dialogue passages, and towards the end of it, Mr. Burton applied this brand of exuberant vocalism into the testing aria “Non piangere Liu”. Like Ms. Natale, he impressed primarily through the brawn of his instrument, but bettered the young soprano’s efforts by way of a sound technical foundation, consistently remaining within his basic sleeve of luxurious bronze sound as he negotiated every note in the scale, including a ringing top C in the final phrase “Che non sorride piu.” As the act came to a close, Mr. Burton tipped his hat to the great Franco Corelli, performing a feat similar to those that made the career of the legendary Italian tenor. As Calaf resolved to accept the princess’ challenge, Mr. Burton let out a thunderous “Turandot!” via an interminable high A which he relentlessly suspended over the auditorium as he walked to the gong and stroked the disc three times. The audience could not handle it, and expressed their approval via enthusiastic applause. Tipped by this exuberant display, newoutpost made sure to keep an eye on our watch during the second performance in order to report the numeric equivalent of the singer’s breath control: An incredible nineteen seconds as heard on February 23.

Soprano Brenda Harris as Turandot and tenor Jonathan Burton as Calaf. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

When the second act introduced the overwhelming Turandot of soprano Brenda Harris, Mr. Burton was her vocal match note for note, if perhaps not fully in terms of sonority, consistently demanded attention not by extending past his technique but rather by remaining within his process. The third act held the reason most Sarasota Opera patrons paid the admission fee. The famous aria “Nessun dorma” has been sung by every tenor from Giacomo Lauri-Volpi (Puccini’s intended Calaf) to Franco Corelli and Luciano Pavarotti, who made the tune into a cross over sensation (Aretha, Sarah Brightman and Paul Potts need not apply). Again, Mr. Burton did not disappoint, and as all had hoped, held unto his top notes slightly past the point of decency. We have heard plenty of fine tenors essay this role, and after banking everything into the money aria, they have been known to vocally collapse afterwards, so it was refreshing and reassuring that this was not to be Mr. Burton’s story, and he held strong until he had launched the last note of this part.

Also making her Sarasota Opera debut was soprano Brenda Harris in the first Turandots of her career. Newoutpost is no stranger to the work of the soprano dramatico d’agilita, which we have already surveyed through her extraordinary impersonations as Verdi’s Abigaille and Odabella, Donizetti’s Elizabetta in Roberto Devereux, Bellini’s Norma, among many other important assoluta parts. Yet, Puccini’s Turandot poses a different brand of vocal challenge, one which bypasses Ms. Harris’ mastery of the bel canto style and places prime demands on her ability to conquer the role’s demanding tessitura at the highest possible volume. Would she be apt to the task? It is, after all, a role that has claimed the careers of quite a few fine voices. These concerns quickly dissipated as Ms. Harris sailed into the opening bars of her introductory aria “In questa reggia.” Her first utterance displayed in full the qualities that would hallmark her entire impersonation: A well-focused, cold sound of extraordinary dimension and inexhaustible intensity.

Brenda Harris as Turandot. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

Dramatically, she was superb, and was not afraid to sacrifice some steadiness in production in order to fulfill a musical effect demanded by the score. A very cool and overpowering tone was employed when Turandot, the public persona, addressed her subjects. The pained account of the ancient Lou-Ling demanded the complete attention and fear from all, making complete sense of the chorus’ cowered whispers “Fu quando il Re dei Tartari le sette sue bandiere dispiegò”. Intent was portrayed primarily through her instrument, the vocal face changing as she addressed those hapless youths who had gambled and lost before her, coupled with an inescapable tonal frown towards her new suitor (“And now you, fool!”), which culminated in the icy, secure, and self gratifying high C’s which crowned the aria and simultaneously made her warnings to the prince the more terrifying as she buried him with her voice. While these fine moments remained in the ear long after the curtain came down, Ms. Harris’ most memorable feat took place after this exchange, once all had calmed in preparation for the riddle trials. “Straniero ascolta!” she shrieked, and the way she dropped the first word and attacked the second somehow instantly communicated her menacing intent, sending shivers down the spine of many, including myself. This gesture gave way to the infamous riddle scene, the first of which Ms. Harris delivered with a casual authority, surely no prince has ever passed this initial question. As she delivered the second challenge, the voice betrayed a hint of anxiety at the mere possibility of failure. The third riddle was a poker game. Ms. Harris again returning to the cooler side of her palette, ironically presented herself to the confused Calaf as she reassured him of the direness of his position, making Calaf’s victory the more devastating.

The now defeated Turandot begged her father to make it all go away in the classic “Figlio del cielo,” a testing bit where the soprano must triumph over orchestra and chorus with a sustained full high C, a feat which Ms. Harris accomplished with no apparent difficulty. The operas final act showed her at her most human, the transformation from stern child to vulnerable, fearful young woman fully realized through the art of phrasing and inflection. She retained the cooler shades at the launch of the opera’s final duet, but these were replaced by a more womanly and vibrant declamation following Calaf’s kiss. It was thus a shame that when the princess gets to mourn the Turandot who is no more (Ah! Del primo pianto,) the orchestral pace dictated by maestro DeRenzi rushed the lamentation into a bit of a tongue twister. This is a key moment not only exposing the princess’ very private tragedy, but also helps further reassure Calaf’s infatuation with her. It sadly flew by a tad quickly, but did little to undermine an interpretation that, despite being a new addition in the soprano’s repertoire, is already wonderfully complete and impressively sung.

The short but important role of the vanquished king of Tartar, Timur, was entrusted to the solid voice of Korean bass Young Bok Kim. It’s a part comprised of minimal scatterings of dialogue in the first and third acts, requiring a striking voice and stage presence to make something out of the role- both of which Mr. Kim has in spades. It is all the more ironic that the last melody Puccini would compose would be Timur’s only aria, the short segment “Liu, bonta – Liu, dolcezza,” which Mr. Kim sang with shattering poignancy.

Bass Young Bok Kim mourns the loss of Liu. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

The trio of Ping, Pang and Pong can claim the most extensive ensemble music that Puccini was to ever write, and in Sarasota they were filled respectively by baritone Matthew Hanscom, tenor Marvin Kehler and tenor Eric Bowden, of which Mr. Hanscom deserves special mention as the most expressive, technically secure and vocally commanding member of this group. Lastly, baritone Kevin Wetzel as the Mandarin, tenor Adam Bielamowicz as the prince of Persia, and tenor Robert Murphy as the Emperor Altoum did well by their small but significant assignments.

***

Following the success of Sarasota’s presentation of Puccini’s “Turandot,” we came back the following day to sample the virtues Bizet’s “Les pecheurs de perles,” a rarity by the same composer of the eternal “Carmen”. Kept alive today by its ravishing duet for tenor and baritone, the opera has enjoyed a bit of a revival for the past 20 years, picked up by companies around the world looking to stage an obscuse, exotic work, all the while warranted by the name of a popular composer. On paper, its choice was a perfect fit for the Sarasota Opera, but following the triumph of Turandot, its efforts towards “Les pecheurs de perles” as heard on the performance of February 21 were disappointing.

Sarasota Opera’s 2013 Winter Season production of Bizet’s THE PEARL FISHERS III. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

As already noted, the opera has been represented in countless “Greatest moments in opera” compilations by the strength of the famous duet between Zurga and Nadir, “Au fond du temple saint.” As sung in Sarasota by baritone Lee Poulis and tenor Heath Huberg, the duet provided that troubling experience  of having all the ingredients in a recipe come together and yield a tasteless result. The orchestra was in full swing, the principals executed their task, all the right notes were sung, and yet the music remained very much earthbound. This phenomenon, which I like to call “the Deborah Voigt Effect,“ is one of those bizarre situations where the mind’s ear is not stimulated in a significant degree, and cannot recall what is being heard as one is hearing it. As the performance ran its course, it became clear that the principal men in this cast were good singers, but lacked the charisma and vocal personality to make this music crackle. Even more strange, the shared innocuous quality of their singing left very little to comment upon. Now, this is not a question of the size of voice, because Mr. Poulis and Mr. Huberg had no issues cutting through the orchestra. Rather, the actual sound and manner in which it was produced simply was not special enough to create much of an effect upon the ear (for that we would have to turn to the singing of bass Andrew Gangestad as Nourabad the High Priest, whose singing demanded the ear’s attention despite his small role). Of this duo, it was tenor Heath Huberg whose instrument appeared the most put together (a slight, pallid yet well produced voice through its range). Both singers made rudimentary attempts to wrap their voices around Bizet’s ardent phrases, and while their dicition was more than functional, they made little effort to use this very sexy, interesting language as a way to inform their singing. Both fulfilled the majority of their duties in like perfunctory fashion. We wish them well.

Tenor Heath Huberg as Nadir and baritone Lee Poulis as Zurga in THE PEARL FISHERS. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

Despite their agreeable appearance, both Mr. Huberg and Mr. Poulis did not move onstage very well, defaulting towards fidgety movements to pepper the proceedings. A negative side effect of this business rendered their various interactions with their leading lady unfulfilling, and a basic intimacy with the woman they love was never truly cemented.  Here, some of the fault must be shared with the work of director Keturah Stickann, who could have told these guys to stand still, look at the soprano, and sing with a more substantial degree of honesty. Ms. Stickann was more successful in creating an impressive tableau (helped here by the beautiful sets of designer J. Michael Wingfield) through the forces of the chorus of Sarasota Opera Apprentice Artists, particularly during the storm scene and the opening of the third act.

If the male principals tipped the scale towards the subdued, the case of soprano Asako Tamura was a different matter. If personality she had in spades, it was her vocal choices that troubled most. Ms. Tamura is no stranger to newoutpost. Indeed we heard her score a triumph six years ago in New York when she replaced an ailing Aprile Millo in a double bill including Leoni’s “L’Oracolo” and Montemezzi’s “L’Incantessimo.” Our notes from that night, as collected in a sad little diary we used to keep back in those low-tech days, speak of a sizable voice with surprising Italianate undertones, which she unleashed towards the balconies with generous abandon. A big star sticker next to her name indicates our great hopes for the young singer, making the necessity of reporting the current state of her instrument a rather unsavory task. The tone has definitely lost significant freshness, and her top register has gained an undeniable hardness. In this presentation of “Les pecheurs de perles,” her performance as Leila could be summed up as vocally uneven while at times dramatically compelling. Her introduction in the first act was marred by a heavy-handed approach towards music that begged for a more delicate treatment. Throughout, she favored a broad approach (presumably as a way to maximize the production of the dark timbre that had impressed so much all those years ago), and this strategy did not serve her well: She gave too much too soon. Her tones unraveled as the demands of the score grew more ornate towards the end of the first act, and the throaty approach to her vocalise during “O Dieu Brahma!” impressed as squalid and forced. The more intense acts that followed would further aggravate the situation, but at the halfway point she would have enough voice to match her creativity, and yield a beautiful take on Leila’s act two aria “Comme autrefois dans la nuit somber”. In retrospect, it would be her best moment of the night.

Soprano Asako Tamura as Leila in THE PEARL FISHERS. Photo by Rod Millington and Sarasota Opera

She contributed some sweet, soft singing to her duet with Nadir, but a general unease in the more forceful phrases was difficult to ignore (a muscled stab at a climatic high Bb in the duet was prematurely abandoned). Her efforts to give the scene its dramatic due found her muscling her vocalism, and she mercilessly wrestled her remaining vocal resources into punishing digs to the chest register as a way to assist her interpretation. While this was not pretty to watch, Ms. Tamura’s struggles ultimately read as a valiant effort to express the passions of her character: A major point of difference from her male colleagues. Her efforts were duly noted by the audience, who rewarded her with their biggest ovation, and deservedly so.

For this performance, the opera’s score was best represtened by the forces of the Sarasota Opera Orchestra, kept together by the alert and vibrant baton of conductor Robert Tweten. The nature of live performance dictates that no two performances are the same, and as the cast nears its round of final dates of “Les pecheurs de perles,” we hope they have managed to iron out their various shortcomings. The remainder of Sarasota Opera includes the final performances of Puccini’s “Turandot”, as well as the company premieres of Verdi’s “Un giorno di regno” and Floyd’s “Of mice and men”. For more information, please visit www.sarasotaopera.org

-Daniel Vasquez

Mezzo-soprano Maria José Montiel performs the role of Carmen in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

To be sure, it was a more musically rewarding evening than a theatrically cohesive one. The sets for this production of Carmen (which came to Atlanta via way of Austin Lyric Opera) are the work of designer Allen Charles Klein. They are comprised of colorful and picturesque depictions of a bright and lively Seville, and do much to propel the story. Matters are less well developed when director Jeffrey Marc Buchman takes over. To be fair, things started well enough. Mr. Buchman, particularly through his work with the excellent Atlanta Opera Chorus, has taken great pains to frame a vibrant Seville, and lavished the stage with a wealth of detail. Background characters brilliantly carried out their own personal plots in minimal yet effective manner. Further credit, in fact, should be given the ladies of the Atlanta Opera chorus members, who were not afraid to get seriously physical during the skirmish sequence featured in the first act. But what started as charming local color quickly tipped the scale over towards light comedy, an atmosphere which the audience seemed unwilling to shake off as the opera progresses towards darker territory. This, combined with the underplaying of the title character’s more predatory nature, had the unintended effect of nullifying the dramatic punch of the third and fourth act; an unfortunate miscalculation which resulted with the audience is openly laughing during much of Carmen’s fourth act, including the opera’s terrifying final duet. Thus, the overall presentation, despite several isolated moments or excellence ranked incomplete, and when considering the level of talent compiled by the company, it was a real shame.

As Carmen, Spanish mezzo-soprano Maria Jose Montiel has all the ingredients to make Bizet’s eponymous heroine come to life in a spectacular way. An attractive, tall, dark-haired siren, she is built with the necessary endowments to entice the unlucky men who happen to look her way. More importantly, she is also gifted with the luxurious instrument to match her charms. The voice is velvety, dark, generally sultry, and capable of significant volume when the situation called for it. Unfortunately, for a recipe to come together it is also necessary for the ingredients to be stirred properly, and in this production her impersonation over-emphasized the more coquettish and kittenish qualities of the part at the expense of Carmen’s more predatory tendencies. Essentially, she was presented as a flirtatious, giggly girl during the opera’s first two acts who then turns victim in the second half of the evening. This robbed the opera of its femme fatale, harldy explained Don Jose’s dependence on her, and left the audience with is a disturbing tale of domestic violence (a valid situation to be sure, but it ain’t Carmen).

Mezzo-soprano Maria José Montiel meets her fate in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

Musically speaking, it was a happier affair, though not a faultless one. Ms. Montiel’s voice is substantial and generously unleashed, but it is produced by a broad approach and happiest when allowed to simmer over long lines. Her entrance scene, the famous Habanera, was delivered as a cheeky public warning via a playful and smokey mezzo-soprano. When left alone with Don Jose, extensive cuts in their recitative section placed great pressures on Carmen’s next number, the Seguidilla, to explain away Don Jose’s attraction to her. Here, Ms. Montiel’s sturdy execution was serviceable, but a general lack of “face” in the voice, combined with a loss of some of the velvet heard earlier, failed to seduce, and though she went as far as including an optional high B on her way towards her final reprise as extra credit, the overall effect was found wanting. A similar impression characterized most of her work in at Lilla’s Pastia’s, which she opened with the complicated Chanson Boheme (“Les tringles des sistres tintaient”). As in the case with the Seguidilla, she had no trouble creating an impressive wall of sound but the tone suffered as she shifted from one register to another. She was also constantly tested by the role’s high tessitura throughout the night. Reservations aside, there were many fine touches. She wrestled Escamillo’s attention away from her girlfriends with a seductively calculated “L’amour” during the toreador’s entrance aria, and once alone with Don Jose, she expertly handled a set of castanets as she danced for her beau.

The third act showcased her greatest lyric moment as she faced the fortune teller in the aria “En vain pour éviter”; her expertly suspended messa voce chiseled the solo into a deeply moving experience. The final act was a nervous affair, and the culmination of an ultimately unsatisfying realization. Up until this moment, this Carmen has never really been in control of the fate she has so willingly embraced, and she was both defiant and afraid. It was an interpretation to which Ms. Montiel was fully committed nevertheless, complete with sobs, extreme digs to the chest voice, shrieks, along other dramatic excesses. Under the guidance of a different repetiteur, it would warrant a second listening to see what this talented young lady can make out of Bizet’s heroine. As things stand, it was a respectable yet incomplete attempt.

Mezzo-soprano Maria José Montiel and tenor Fernando de la Mora play the doomed lovers Carmen and Don José in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

Ms. Montiel’s partnership with the Don Jose of Fernando de la Mora was vocally interesting while theatrically ill-matched. The Mexican lyric tenor has been a familiar presence in the international circuit for over two decades, and has gathered a significant reputation in the French and bel canto repertoires. As heard on opening night, however, it was the case of a singer who sings very well despite a voice that has begun its inescapable journey towards decay. A significant portion of the evening found the tenor struggling between voix-mixte and head voice, and there were some segments in the middle of his scale which were no longer comfortably supported.

These shortcomings notwithstanding, he was the more interesting artist in the cast, employing a wealth of nuance through production to phrase his part. Now, I realize that I contradict myself by earlier describing the technical limitations of singers as demerits, and now I am about to claim that this gentleman, with significant shortcomings, outranks the rest. But here is the deal with that: Serious artists are capable of making quantitative evaluations obsolete by the very strengths of their heart and personality, and I happen to find more value in a great singer with a diminished voice than a fresh voice with unclear artistic vision. Whatever the case, Mr. De la Mora required the entirety of the first act to render his instrument pliable, and he came close to a full collapse towards the end of it (audible cracks during the “Ah! si je t’aime, Carmen, tu m’aimeras!”). These difficulties aside, he returned much improved in the second act, and remained a solid exponent of the french school of declamation for the remainder of the evening. One of the joys of this repertoire is the sound of the French language itself, and how its proclivities dictates the very manner in which the French melody is produced from the singer’s throat. Mr. De la Mora may not be the last word on this subject, but he was the main singer onstage who consistently utilized his diction as a means to propel the music and give weight to his phrasing. Examples of this could be found early in his trouble filled first act, during his important duet with Micaela and the subsequent recitative that follows it. How he pondered over the letter and read its words to himself, arriving at its logical and heartfelt conclusion. During the second act, he was capable of much suavity, and sang an inward and touching rendition of Don Jose’s famous “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée,” complete with a very accomplished diminuendo on the aria’s high B flat.

Mezzo-soprano Maria José Montiel and tenor Fernando de la Mora play the doomed lovers Carmen and Don José in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

In terms of his stage deportment, Mr. De la Mora found himself in an odd situation: That of being the big bad wolf prone to assault a flighty yet faultless dame. Visually he was not the most dashing of Don Joses, but he was appropriately overly passionate, sensitive to his helplessness and prone to violently react against it from time to time. The most pathetic and touching moment of the entire evening belonged to him, this being the scene where Escamillo tells him of Carmen’s latest affair (this being Don Jose) and how it did not survive past her usual expiration mark. As the violin solo, Bizet’s brilliant depiction of Don Jose’s own common sense slapping him in the face, washes over the two, Mr. De la Mora let out a hurt yet knowing “Carmen!”. Towards the end of the act, the tenor was in full swing, and bordered unto the spinto classification as he threatened Carmen before his departure. It was this brand of vocalism which he would employ in the last scene of the opera, the voice of a broken human being openly who has openly shed the last ounce of dignity for the one he loves, and reacts accordingly when dejected.

As Micaela, soprano Melissa Shippen was a marvelous physical representation of the antithesis of the opera’s title character. With her blonde, angelic looks, she would have pleased the management of the Opera Comique, which requested the addition of this part as a way to soften the opera’s controversial subject matter. Bizet, however, has written very great music for her, and there have been many examples where a magnificent Micaela took the night away from a failing Carmen (in the 60s and 70s, Mirella Freni kept all her Carmens on their toes). Ms. Shippen is not yet that singer, and though her voice executed its task well enough, her singing was neither glamorous nor creative enough to push her part past its supporting designation. She was the first principal singer to appear onstage at the beginning of act one, and her participation was pleasant enough. Her first big test took place during her duet with Don Jose (“parle-moi de ma mere”,) and it tested her instrument past its comfort zone. The singer must achieve a panoramic quality in the phrase beginning “Et tu lui diras que sa mere”, and though this was attempted by the young soprano her resources did not quite add up to deliver the effect. She was also not capable of creating a significant wall of sound, which lessened the effect of her act three effort, “Je dit que rien ne m’epouvant”.

Baritone Scott Hogsed (Moralès) and soprano Melissa Shippen (Micaëla) in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

She was bettered by the Escamillo of baritone Aleksey Bogdanov, who had the thankless task of entering the stage and immediately sing one of the most famous numbers in the bass-baritone repertoire completely cold. He was the possessor of an even, well-placed voice capable of caressing the suave contours of his music. During his altercation with Don Jose in the third act, he was appropriately debonair and cocky, and reserved his sweetest tone for his final exchanges with Carmen, the very brief but all important “Sit u m’aimes, Carmen”. Looks wise, he exuded a dangerous sexuality onstage, specially when handling his matador’s cape. Of the remaining cast members, the standout was the lieutenant Zuniga of bass-baritone Tyler Simpson, whose imposing stage deportment (he towered over everyone!) and large, distinctive voice demanded attention whenever he graced the stage.

Bass-baritone Aleskey Bogdanov performs the role of the toreador, Escamillo, in the Atlanta Opera’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre. Credit: Jeff Roffman

The Atlanta Opera’s 2012-2013 follows Bizet’s Carmen with a run of Verdi’s La traviata this coming March. For more information, please visit the companys website at: http://www.atlantaopera.org/

-Daniel Vasquez

Opera Southwest’s Artistic Director and Principal Conductor Anthony Barrese

DV: Rossini’s Otello is, for lack of a better word, a rarity. What led to Opera Southwest’s decision to open the 2012 season with this work?

AB: We are opening our 40th anniversary season this year with Rossini’s “Otello” for a number of reasons. For starters, it is the crown jewel in our four year Rossini cycle, which began 3 seasons ago with “La cenerentola” and proceeded through “L’italiana in Algeri” and “Il barbiere di Siviglia”. After surveying these comedies, we wanted to present a Rossini opera seria that had not been staged in America for a long time; and if memory serves me well, there hasn’t been a staged production of Rossini’s Otello in America since San Francisco Opera did it in 1994. Another reason why Rossini is a perfect fit for us is that our theater, the National Hispanic Cultural Center, is not that different from many Italian regional theaters where “Otello” thrived for decades before being surpassed by Verdi’s masterpiece. Our opera house is quite intimate and the size of a Rossini orchestra fits perfectly in our pit. Lastly, there has never been an American staging of the “lieto finale”, and we’re going to be incorporating that into some of our evenings.Rodrick Dixon (Otello), Heath Huberg (Jago) and Sarah Asmar (Desdemona)

DV: I myself have never heard the lieto finale performed, but have read of it in various publications. This is the so-called “happy ending” to Otello, correct?

AB: Yes. Rossini wrote the “lieto finale” for Rome in 1820. Now, we might laugh at the idea of a happy ending tacked unto a Shakespeare tragedy, but doing happy endings of both tragic plays and opera serie was standard practice until the latter half of the 19th century. Think of the Disney-fied endings of some movies, or compare the ending of the movie of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” with the book’s, and you’ll see that we still do this today. So in actuality, Rossini and Berio’s decision to do the tragic Shakespeare ending was very bold. Be that as it may, there is a musicological reason to do the lieto finale, as it contains some great music from Rossini’ “Armida” and “Ricciardo e Zoraide”; but since we don’t want to shortchange the masterpiece, we’re doing something special: On opening night we will perform both endings, and on the subsequent two performances the audience will have up to the middle of the second intermission to vote on which ending they want to see. A team of volunteers will count the votes and let myself, the singers, stage manager, and the surtitles operator know which ending is chosen. The audience will not know the fate of Desdemona and Otello until they see it enacted onstage.

DV: That sounds like a delightful decision and a win-win situation for the audience!

AB: We certainly think so. All of these unique little pieces combined to make “Otello” the perfect choice, and we’ve found that our audience is more excited about this than anything we’ve done in recent memory. Our ticket sales are better than they’ve been in any time during my tenure here.

DV: For those familiar with Verdi’s more famous version of Otello, what would you say are the main differences and similarities to be found in both operas?

AB: The main difference with the libretto Berio wrote for Rossini vs the libretto Boito wrote for Verdi takes place mostly in the first two acts. Berio was most likely working with either a French translation (really a re-working) of Shakespeare by Jean-Francois Ducis, or an Italian adaptation of Shakespeare by Giovanni Carlo Cosenza. Both the Ducis and the Cosenza changed Shakespeare dramatically, and fit him with an ending in which the characters live happily ever after. The fact that Berio chose to include the original Shakespeare tragic ending is remarkable considering that his source material strayed so far from the original, not to mention the fact that tragic endings were not the norm for opera serie during this period. Now when it came time for Verdi and Boito to write their Otello, they had the benefit of more up-to-date scholarly translations of Shakespeare (remember, Boito’s first libretto ever was an adaptation of Hamlet, or “Amleto” for Franco Faccio in 1865, so he knew his Shakespeare). In the Rossini opera, the first two acts have very little to do with Shakespeare. Rather it’s a classical love triangle between Otello, Rodrigo, and Desdemona, or even a love square if you include Iago. And Elmiro (Desdemona’s father) harbors a hatred of Otello that has no parallel in the Verdi (although, it could be argued the first scene of the Shakespeare provides some basis for this).Preparing Otello: Read-through with the cast

DV: And musically?Preparing Otello: Read-through with the cast

AB: Well, musically speaking some of the Verdi is straight out of the Rossini. For example, people always talk about how innovative Otello’s entrance is in the Verdi. You have a gigantic introduction for chorus and orchestra in which everybody is playing and singing as loud as they possibly can about the arrival of Otello. The man enters, explodes into a brief stentorian recitative, and walks offstage. In the Rossini it’s almost the exact same thing. The orchestra is blasting away, the crowd is singing “Viva Otello!” and then he comes on and blasts into this powerful, heroic recitative. The only difference here is that Rossini has him continue into an aria.

AB: The other main similarity has to do with the structure of the final act in both operas. You have an orchestral introduction, then a recitative, followed, in Rossini by a brief and beautiful gondolier song, and then on to the willow song. Another brief recitative leads to a “preghiera” (an “Ave Maria” in the Verdi), followed by an orchestral interlude to introduce Otello, culminating in the final duet and murder, brief in both operas. Both operas differ from Shakespeare in this respect. In the Shakespeare play, Desdemona closes the fourth Act with the willow song, and the curtain closes when she goes to bed. Act V opens with a scene which includes Rodrigo, Cassio and Iago, after which we come back to Desdemona’s chambers for the final confrontation. Berio (and later Boito) wisely did away with this intervening scene to keep the dramatic continuity going. We also have to remember that this was Rossini’s first opera in three acts. And while it’s still considered a number opera, the entire last act is all one number. The dramatic weight of the piece, something completely new to Rossini at this point, demanded special attention.

DV: This opera enjoyed tremendous popularity during the 18th century and it was considered a major prima donna vehicle for some of the greatest singers of that century. Why would you say the opera’s popularity has waned so much?

AB: I think that there are two main reasons that this opera is not done as much these days. The first, and most obvious, is the existence of Verdi’s Otello which is so much closer to the Shakespeare throughout, whereas in the case of Rossini’s little resembles its source in the first two acts. But it’s important to realize that, in its time, Rossini’s Otello was hugely popular. Between the time of its premiere and the debut of Verdi’s masterpiece, Rossini’s Otello had 291 productions in 87 cities, 26 countries and 8 languages. And for all the greatness of the Verdi’s treatment, Verdi *did* wait until the very end of his career to write Otello, the Rossini being so popular.

Preparing Otello: Orchestra Rehearsal

AB: Another huge reason why Rossini’s Otello is not done as much as it should be is that it requires a total of six tenors (five if you double cast the gondolier), and while three of them are reserved for small roles, Otello, Rodrigo, and Iago are monstrous sings. The roles of Otello and Rodrigo were written for two of the greatest tenors in Rossini’s age: Andrea Nozzari and Giovanni David, who had two very different voices. This makes the opera very difficult to cast, yet I think we’re going to see a resurgence of this piece. Opera in the Heights in Houston is doing it about a week before we are, and it is certainly done in Europe a lot (there was a new production w Bartoli in Zurich earlier this year). There have been concert performances of it with OONY and Carammoor in recent decades. With bigger companies doing more of Rossini’s serious pieces, I think it won’t be long before we see “Otello” popping up again.

DV: There are odd traditions surrounding operas of this period, and Otello is no stranger to them. Back when this opera was opening seasons in London and Paris, the great soprano Giuditta Pasta took on the male role of Otello and his Desdemonas were Henriette Sontag and/or Maria Malibran depending on the city you were lucky enough to be in. Would something like that be possible today?

AB: I can see a bigger company doing that as a showcase for a famous singer, but I think that the tradition of having a woman sing the role of Otello wouldn’t be something that we would necessarily do.

DV: From your point of view, what are some of the musical challenges presented by this opera?

AB: From the conductor’s point of view the biggest musical challenge has to do with reproducing an opera that, in its time, had no conductor. We forget that conductors didn’t exist in Italian opera the way they do now until about middle Verdi. I’m also a big fan of ornamentation in Rossini. We know that Rossini himself wrote three sets of variations for the Willow song for different singers, and if he were around today, he undoubtedly would’ve written more for the singers of today. So whenever I deal with a Rossini score, I try to keep that in mind and try to encourage singers to experiment with ornamentation: Even with changing it up from night to night. So coordinating that with a group of singers (none of whom have done these roles before), and the orchestra will be challenging, but we have a great cast and I’m looking forward to trying this out.

Preparing Otello: Orchestra Rehearsal

DV: What were some of the challenges that were encountered when it came time to cast this opera?

AB: Part of the challenge in casting is that this is not so standard a repertoire that you could just look at a huge list of people who have done it in the past. You also have a less clear mental picture of what type of sound you want, as the available recordings are so very different from each other. That said, this makes for a great opportunity to get to the know the opera from a purely musical point of view, and not worry about “who sang who in the past” so much as “what kind of singer can do the things that Rossini is asking?” Studying the opera, you get to know that Rodrigo and Otello are completely different types of tenors. Rodrigo is the fireworks, show-stopping kind of tenor who lives on high Bb, while Otello is the darker sound with a much bigger range, especially in the lower area (he goes down to low A a number of times). And then there’s Desdemona, who is typically sung by a mezzo, but your mezzo needs really reliable high Cs (these are not optional notes). But the role sits pretty solidly in the middle of the staff. So you either need a mezzo with high notes or a soprano with a middle and bottom. There are other little challenges, like casting the gondolier. He has arguably some of the most beautiful and famous music in the opera (Liszt even based a section from Années de pèlerinage on it). But it only lasts 2 pages! So you have to find someone with a beautiful, memorable voice, but you can’t pay that person the same as Otello or Rodrigo. Luckily, we have some really stunning local tenors in Albuquerque, and we have tapped on that resource.

DV: Anyone familiar with this opera will have a favorite moment. In your case, you get to make the thing firsthand. As a musician, are there any specific moments in this score that you find particularly moving or special to you?

AB: There are so many stunning moments in this score I could go on and on, but I’ll narrow it down to 3 different spots. In the first Act Finale, after Desdemona has admitted that she’s sworn herself to Otello (previously unbeknownst to Rodrigo and Elmiro,) Rodrigo and Elmiro scream out a standard operatic “woe is me/anger” sentiment: “per me non hai piu’ fulimini inesorabil ciel!” (Inexorable Heaven, you have no more thunderbolts for me!) the setting of which is fantastic. Musically speaking, the harmony starts to dissolve and Elmiro barks out what should be “Ti maledico!” (I curse you), but he only gets to “Ti maledi…” and the chorus all scream “Ah!” Now what’s so interesting to me about this is that it is the exact same notes Verdi gives to Monterrone in Rigoletto during the exact same words and sentiment. That whole C to Eb motif is all over the place, and always associated with the malediction. Here, Rossini has done the exact same thing, decades before Verdi ever wrote the opera.

AB: Act two contains another highlight for me, which is pretty much the entire trio between Otello, Rodrigo, and Desdemona. Towards the end of it we have a classic Rossini crescendo, with the music getting more and more hysterical, rising to a pitch where it can’t possibly get any more intense, and then having it come down slightly, only start all over again. In college I took a class on “Beethoven and Rossini,” and the teacher described the greatest moments in Rossini operas as “in wave form,” and that’s exactly how this music comes at you. It builds and builds and then comes crashing down, only to start over again. It’s an exhausting and thrilling process. Act III of Rossini’s Otello is one of the most amazing creations in all of opera. Philip Gossett said something about it: “If there is a watershed moment between bel canto, and the later Romantic melodramas of Donizetti and Verdi, it is the third Act of Rossini’s Otello,” and I think he’s right. There are many great moments in it, but for my money the greatest, most terrifying moment comes right after Otello has stabbed Desdemona. The orchestra comes crashing down and begins this tiny, spiky, motor in the strings that is very reminiscent of the 1st movement of Vivadi’s “Winter” in “the Four Seasons.” Harsh dissonances pile up slowly, almost inaudibly, and then the entire orchestra explodes like a cannon, only to revert back to that small, quiet, and spikey figure. And then comes the cannon again. These loud bursts of energy are someone knocking at the door, but in a more psychological viewpoint they can be interpreted as reality stabbing through Otello’s consciousness: The reality of what he’s just done setting in.

DV: Now that the focus on Rossini has been shifted towards his more serious subjects, can we expect other opere serie in the coming seasons? If so, can you give us any hints?

AB: “Otello” is the crowning jewel of our Rossini cycle, and since Santa Fe is doing some Rossini serious operas in the next couple of seasons, we will be taking a short break from Rossini after this season but we will come back to him later on. Amongst the Rossini operas that I am itching to do are Count Ory (there is a new critical edition of it that has been yet to be performed in America), Tancredi (which has the opposite situation of Otello, in that he wrote a happy ending for it, and then later on tried out a tragic ending), and some of the comedies like Il Signor Bruschino, or even Il Turco in Italia. Of course, my ultimate dream is to stage “Guillaume Tell” someday, which I consider to be one of the greatest operas ever written. But there are lots of things to do, and I have a feeling we’re going to be returning to Rossini sooner rather than later.

Opera Southwest’s presentation Rossini’s Otello opens this Sunday, October 28th. For tickets and more information, please visit the company’s website at: http://www.operasouthwest.org

-Daniel Vasquez

Brenda Harris (Abigaille), Jason Howard (Nabucco), John Relyea (Zaccaria), Victoria Vargas (Fenena), John Robert Lindsey (Ismaele). Photo by Michal Daniel

A co-production with Washington National Opera, this production of Nabucco is the brainchild of set designer/director Thaddeus Strassberger. Seeking to recreate the sets that Verdi would have been familiar with at the time of the opera’s premiere, Strassberger has gone back to painted backcloths, even going as far as seeking artists still trained in the art of hand scene painting. There were even flowers lining up the footlights on the stage, so as the curtain opened, the audience could have easily been attending an 18th century performance. While it is not customary for newoutpost.com to lavish much attention on the work of directors in opera (we believe, in fact, that the customary preoccupation with them shifts the focus away from what’s important in our beloved art form,) Strassberger deserves major credit for facilitating the opera in arguably the way it was meant to be experienced.

Sets for part three of Nabucco. Richard Ollarsaba (High Priest). Photo by Michal Daniel

We are always told, nowadays at least, that this sort of treatment (ie: setting the opera in the manner that the score requests) is safe, boring, tired, and will turn off modern audiences. But the result could not have been further from this. Strassberger’s colorful sets beautifully framed the proceedings and immediately immersed the audience into the action, always gracing the performance without ever distracting from it. In fact, having this rare opportunity to witness this brand of set design in action, it struck me how perfectly these sets function within the operatic convention. When the eye fully focused on the backcloths, the sets were beautiful yet obviously flat, but as the eye veered its attention towards the principals (aided by rich costumes created for the occasion by designer Mattie Ullrich), the peripheral view created an immediate illusion of inexplicable depth. These “smoke behind the mirror” techniques ultimately proved to be beautiful, efficient and appropriate for the lyric stage.

Where Strassberger falls short is in his work as director, which unfortunately does not match the perfection of his set design. Applied against the proceedings was an overall superfluous attempt to recreate the political climate of Verdi’s time and the opera’s role in the Risorgimento movement. Strassberger framed the stage with boxes reminiscent of those at La Scala, and during the opera’s overture members of the occupying Austrian nobility and army were seen antagonizing Italian citizens and occupying the boxes, at times even blocking the entrance cues in some scenes. For instance, during the famous and historic “Va pensiero,” the Italian backstage crew was seen behind the sets silently echoing the sentiments of the exiled Hebrews. Strassberger went as far as halting the curtain calls at the end of the performance and reintroducing the cast for an a cappella rendition the famous chorus, with the Italian text flashing over the super titles suggesting the audience into a sing a long. It all seemed very well meaning yet unfortunately forced. Opening night audience reacted better to this sing along portion than subsequent audiencea, and one wondered if this treatment would have been better received by an Italian audience where Va pensiero is the equivalent of “America the beautiful” in the United States. Strassberger’s second blunder came in his attempt to resolve the opera’s unsatisfactory fourth part, which we admit is rather lame when assessed at face value (Nabucco converts to Christianity and Abigaille feels so sorry for taking over the throne that she poisons herself. Burp.) The play from which Verdi’s librettist Temistocle Solera based his libretto upon has Fenena being killed off but returned to life by Jehovah, and Abigaille killed by her surrogate father for her wickedness. One almost wishes the libretto would reflect this ending, but it is not the case, and in his effort to fix things Strassberger has set the entire fourth act as Nabucco’s dream. Everything that takes place from here on is Nabucco’s delirious wish of how things should ultimately play out, but this deviation ultimately confused a large part of the audience (I, for instance, had to flip through the booklet), and while this application “works” on certain levels, the overall reaction inspires a disappointed shake of the head: “Let well alone” it seems to cry. And yet despite these directorial shortcomings, or rather because of them, Strassberger’s set design remains to this date the most compelling argument for truly traditional staging that we have had the pleasure to experience.

Leading from the pit was conductor (and Minnesota Opera’s new Music Director) Michael Christie. The young conductor was recently named part of the new generation of opera’s rising stars by Opera News and conducted Kevin Puts’ new opera Silent Night into a Pulitzer prize earlier this year. His very ascend to the podium electrified the opening night audience, which erupted into enthusiastic applause. As applied to the work at hand, the maestro’s reading of this early Verdi work was surprisingly distinguished when taking into account that this is one of his first forays into this repertoire. He efficiently balanced the orchestra and soloists during some of the most complicated ensembles, and at times (particularly during the massive opening chorus sequences and the finale of the opera’s second part) generated a brilliant vitality from the pit. On the other hand, the more rough and tumble aspects of this repertoire were missed under the maestro’s fastidious baton, and though his beat was clear, it sometimes marred the proceedings by leaning towards the allegro. One trusts that with more time and exposure he will soon milk the surefire moments to be found in these old Italian scores, those soulful cantinelas (such as the “va pensiero” reference in the opera’s overture for instance) meant to be savored and showcased with love. On the upside, the stellar lineup of principals more than compensated for any stylistic gaps.

The principals: Jason Howard, Brenda Harris and John Relyea. Aleutian Photography

Making his Minnesota Opera debut in the role of the Zaccaria, bass John Relyea was the first principal to face the terrifying vocal demands made by the young Verdi. The High Priest is to emerge from an epic choral introduction and reset the Hebrews’ courage in his opening recitative “Sperate, o figli!” Here, Mr. Relyea’s big and authoritative voice delivered the effect. But Verdi asks for more than that. Once the High Priest has silenced the masses, he must inspire them by way of the cavatina “D’Egitto là sui lidi”, a number distinguished by a torturous tessitura spanning from low G to a stratospheric F sharp, which Mr. Relyea managed brilliantly. He finished the scene with a rousing cabaletta “Come notte a sol fulgente”, and despite an occasional tightness in the higher extremes, the basso’s imposing instrument was enthusiastically received. Zaccaria has two additional scenes of significance, the second taking place in the opera’s second part in the preghiera “Tu sul labbro de’ veggenti “. Unlike the disjunct nature of his act one scene, the prayer is a cantabile of a certain flighty structure, richly accompanied by six cellos, directly implying the need for a singer with a decadent instrument to justify such foundation. Again, Mr. Relyea answered the call, bathing the auditorium in dark, bass chocolate. The andante pace allowed the ear to investigate this luxurious voice. The voice has a solid core between middle C to low C, and is best heard when allowed to expand along the lines of an adagio. Past this point, there were some minor reservations. Things get a little tense when the singer ascended past middle C, and many a times Zaccaria’s music takes the bass up to an E, and sometimes beyond, such as in the final scene in the opera’s third part where Zaccaria dominates the proceedings after the famous chorus “Va pensiero.” This segment, “Del futuro nel bujo discerno”, climbs up to a couple of sustained Fs where Mr. Relyea tightened significantly. But this minor reservation did not take much away from an otherwise outstanding presentation.

John Relyea (Zaccaria). Photo by Michal Daniel

A greater caveat was reserved for the work of baritone Jason Howard singing the title role. Mr. Howard, a veteran of many seasons with the Minnesota Opera, is a devastatingly handsome man who cuts a more than agreeable figure across the footlights. Yet despite an alert physical interpretation, his was not the most musically idiomatic of Nabuccos. Throughout the evening, though his voice projected loudly and competitively over the orchestra, it did so frequently to the detriment of his tone. Whether this was caused by a lack of technical control or basic natural endowment would warrant further listening, but when pressed for volume (and usually by way of a broad approach) the voice significantly whitened and emphasized the unevenness of his scale.

(Jason Howard=Stud muffin)

These ingredients make for an unfortunate recipe as applied to Italian music, and following his introductory lines Nabucco opens an ensemble, “Tremin gl’insani del mio furore,” where he must establish a melodic figure for the other principals to interact with. Here, Mr. Howard’s baritone had difficulty wrapping itself around the phrases, contrasting poorly when his colleagues responded with their own retorts. It is also not a warm sound, so the baritone’s better moments were mostly found during declamatory passages rather than when shaping the Italian melody, the problem here being that Verdi requires proficiency in both skills. These disparities reduced the value of his participation and hampered the effect of his big scene, which introduces the opera’s fourth part, but not completely. After an orchestral introduction echoing the ruler’s sorry predicament and weakened mental state led to the dramatic recitative “Son pur queste mie membra,” Mr. Howard’s uneven production and committed acting actually facilitated the portrayal of a frenzied, fallen villain. True to form, the cantabile of his aria “Dio di Giuda” was at best labored and did not impress as a religious conversion (really, choose Satan), but by then his best moment had already passed. This being the duet in the opera’s third part, where Abigaille (played here by the excellent Brenda Harris,) is confronted by Nabucco in the fascinating duet: “Donna, chi sei?” This scene, a veritable game of cat and mouse, placed the two principals in a square face off, and perhaps encouraged by his excellent colleague, Mr. Howard rose to the occasion, treating the audience to that fortunate moment in live performance when an inspired interaction raises the artistic bench on the whole of the proceedings.

The baritone entered the stage with an intimate sotto voce in his comments to Abdallo, and immediately reverted to a boisterous tone as he uttered a defiant “Donna, chi sei?” As the confrontation cornered the ruler, Mr. Howard played his last card and rose over the orchestra to revealed the reality of her station through a tense stream of sound, only to be brushed aside by Ms. Harris’ stunning full voiced ascend to the high B flat. The defeated king sank to the ground by way of uneven andante “Oh di qual’ onta aggravasi,” made more than legitimate by the situation at hand, contrasted by Ms. Harris’ decadent vocal grand standings ranging from low C to a high B flat. Mr. Howard’s desperation increased during the tempo di mezzo, which in turn inspired the richest chest resonance of the evening from Ms. Harris as she dismissed him with the terrifying line “che disprezza il tuo poter!” The closing stretta “Deh perdona” left the audience with a groveling Nabucco being led away by guards as the hackling Abigaille gloated over her victory. It proved to be Mr. Howard’s most successful musico-dramatico moment of the evening, and thus it is here where we choose to close our assessment of his performance.

Brenda Harris (Abigaille), Jason Howard (Nabucco). Photo by Michal Daniel

This allows us to segue into the work of soprano Brenda Harris, who was recently heard in Minnesota as Elisabetta in Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda and Roberto Devereux. A casual glance at the company’s archives, however, reveal a relationship between the Minnesota Opera and the singer going as far back as the 1992 season, when the company entrusted the young and promising soprano with the title role in Rossini’s Armida. Ever since, she was asked to return time and time again, in roles both designed to nurture and challenge her proclivities (Cleopatra in Handel’s Giulio Cesare, the four heroines in Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann, Rossini’s Semiramide, Bellini’s Norma, Camila in Mercandate’s Orazi e Curiazi, just to name a few). This journey now takes her to the exuberant role of Abigaille, an impossible assignment under any consideration. Like her prior excursions (Norma, Lady Macbeth and Roberto Devereux), Abigaille is a vocally comprehensive role, but taken to the extreme. Bombastic volume, intricate florid passagework, connected trills, extreme octave drops, a mastery of legato, soft singing…everything is asked of her, and if Verdi’s design is executed properly, Abigaille will (and should) dominate every scene. This is exactly what took place during the opening night presentation. Following the performance, one could only praise Minnesota Opera in helping foster this artist into what she has now become: A monster.

Brenda Harris (Abigaille), John Robert Lindsey (Ismaele), John Relyea (Zaccaria). Photo by Michal Daniel

Ms. Harris is only afforded a line of warm up before tackling her first big challenge: The infamous “Prode guerrier”, which acts as a sample of what awaits the singer for the rest of the evening. Unheard of for a soprano, the phrase opens with a sustained basement low B, which then breaks out into a hysterical cadenza hovering over both extremes of the range. In terms of precision and fluidity, Ms. Harris was the mistress of her craft, using the language and the pyrotechnics to create a threatening atmosphere. When the outburst mellowed into the trio “Io t’amava,” the vocal persona deliciously changed in the key phrase “Ah! se m’ami, ancor potrei il tuo popol salvar!” as she pressed the ungrateful Ismaele close to her and offered one last chance to change his mind. The trio swayed back and forth, capped at each swing with a sustained high C, which Ms. Harris reprised through an unearthly subito pianissimo. One marveled at how this artist, after having slayed the acrobatic requirements set before her bar after bar, was able to further stun by spinning an enormous yet quiet sound. While some may take reservation with a mild unsteadiness in her sustained chest tones during this introductory scene, Ms. Harris quickly oiled up her resources, and transitioned to the finale of the act with an ascent to a high F sharp with the cry of “Viva Nabucco,” which dwarfed the chorus and bounced through the auditorium. Her participation in the final ensemble “Tremin gl’insani del mio furore” was equally spellbinding. Here, Ms Harris’s full voiced handling of the intricate divisions placed her efforts in the company of past legendary exponents of this role, and even here, it certainly ranks amongst one its most complete realizations. The voice is, as we have noted in past assessments, of one piece. The color and quality of tone remain virtually unchanged as she goes up and down the scale at different dynamics. This relentlessly focused emission became a feature unto itself as the evening progressed, and the opera’s second part set the stage for further confirmation of the singer’s overpowering resources. The curtain opens with a standard compound aria, beginning with a dramatic and testing recitativo accompagnato. “Ben io t’invenni, o fatal scritto,” with its dizzying drop from the C to low C, held no terrors for Ms. Harris. She navigated the endless legato line of the classic cavatina “Anch’io dischiuso un giorno ebbi alla gioia il core” with exceptional panache, and noteworthy was her treatment of the cadenza on the phrase “mi torna un giorno sol,” achieved here through a diminished messa voce that galvanized the auditorium into a hysterical ovation. She closed the curtain with the required cabaletta, “Salgo già del trono aurato”, a tour de force in bravura singing through which Ms. Harris served as further confirmation of the benefits in casting this part with a singer reared in the bel canto tradition. Every note, every connected trill, every descending scale was there. The cabaletta was repeated, without any abbreviation or simplification, and the soprano closed the scene with a stentorian high C. For the opera’s final scene, the soprano reserved some of her warmest tones, her voice dripping with morbidezza, pointing to the composer who would later on write “La forza del destino.” The number of august sopranos who have tackled this impossible assignment is very short, in fact a few of them even left the list in shambles, but thus far Ms. Harris has entered their ranks in triumph.

Jon Thomas Olson (Abdallo), Victoria Vargas (Fenena). Photo by Michal Daniel

The lesser roles were also mostly well served. The role of Fenena was tackled by the young mezzo-soprano Victoria Vargas, who lavished the part with a well-focused, sizeable Italianate voice, frequently reminiscent of Gabriella Carturan or even a young Fiorenza Cossotto. Her participation was doubly promising when taking into account that this young singer has primarily focused her efforts in comprimario assignments (in fact, she sang Anna last year in Minnesota’s presentation of Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda). The role of Fenena is sometimes used as a stepping-stone to bigger assignments, and this November Minnesota will test her courage in another intriguing, medium sized role which promises to fit her like a glove: Smeton in Donizetti’s Anna Bolena. It would seem that this future Amneris is patiently biding her time in the tradition of the legendary Giulietta Simionato, and we applaud her decision. A lesser success was the Ismaele of John Robert Lindsey, possessor of a big lyric tenor voice of an attractive color, yet made to function as a spinto through some uncomfortable abuse. Bass-baritone Richard Ollarsaba was a sturdy voiced High Priest, who took every opportunity to milk the histrionic opportunities afforded by his costume, while tenor Jon Thomas Olson’s Abdallo was strangely miscast as a military figure, though his soft edged voice generally worked perfectly to offset the superior resources of the principals. Finally, the tiny role of Anna was handled by soprano Christie Hageman, a voice that quite honestly did not attract much attention during the usual comings and goings that make up the life of the comprimario, but seriously impressed as it rode the ensemble in the final concertato “Immenso Jehovah”. In fact, when coupled with Ms. Vargas darker tones, both singers merged into an exquisite spinto soprano voice. She is one to watch.

The Minnesota Opera’s 2012-2013 season continues this November with Donizetti’s Anna Bolena. The company’s rugged season will also include Thomas’ Hamlet, Puccini’s Turandot and Douglas J. Cuomo’s new composition: Doubt. For more information, visit the Minnesota Opera’s website at: http://www.mnopera.org/

-Daniel Vasquez

High on the list of disappointments was bass Andrea Concetti in the eponymous role of Don Giovanni. Like Bizet’s Carmen, Puccini’s Tosca and Verdi’s Violetta in La Traviata, this is an iconic role, deserving of a vibrant artist capable of filling out its potential through the means of a luxurious voice. Judging on the strengths of his opening night effort, not much of this was in evidence. Visually speaking, Mr. Concetti is handsome enough to play a believable Don Giovanni, but his looks did little to improve upon an interpretation that consistently faded into the background. Throughout the long evening, he seemed physically disinterested in the entire affair, and gathered his enthusiasm only when the staging allowed him to virtually trampoline offstage (a well bejeweled lady sitting behind me uttered the word “plonk!” during one of his departures). When not making an athletic exit, he dramatically phoned in his performance, rendering his scenes with an air of un-involvement that veritably disqualified his impersonation as a non-event. A similar quality negated his singing, a real shame as vocally he is not without merit.

Andrea Concetti (Don Giovanni) and Melody Moore (Donna Elvira). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

There is a voice here for sure, a sturdy full lyric bass and of good sonority at that, but this fact rendered his assumption the more frustrating, for he either lacked the creativity or interest to present a musical characterization of note. Phrasings were kept to the bare minimum, and he peppered his declamation only when the most overtly comic situation necessitated it. This square, uncreative delivery took its toll both on his art and the ear, and listening to his attempt at seducing Zerlina in their famous duet, for instance, was a bit of a chore. His singing and attitude remained equally uninspired during the delivery of his first act “finch’han al vino”. Here, nothing in the voice or attitude matched the text, giving the impression that the singer was simply pacing his resources. Perhaps he was saving his instrument for the famous serenade in act two, which proved to be his most effective number during the evening. Alas, one serenade cannot save a Don Giovanni willing to concede the spotlight to just about any character onstage with him, including the frequently dull role of Don Ottavio.

The next notorious casualty of the evening was the Donna Elvira of soprano Melody Moore, though her shortcomings were of a far more interesting variety than those of Mr. Concetti. She is an attractive woman and agreeable in bearing, and for all its worth, she was committed to the zany characterization devised for her by director Richard Kagey. The main point of contention came when her limited instrument navigated through the treacherous burdens of her part, for the role of Donna Elvira is the musical version of a interminable journey on a stair master. Hers is a lyric soprano voice of a respectable size but uneven knit, best heard when handled delicately by the artist but likely to turn squallid if pressed in any form. The registers are hardly equalized, and she has not yet mastered the break between them to her artistic advantage. These limitations, along with undistinguished flexibility, made for an awkward showing throughout the evening.

Melody Moore (Donna Elvira) and Eduardo Chama (Leporello). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

Her entrance aria made a modest impression mostly by her stage business rather than vocal merits, and her warning to Zerlina, “Ah fuggi il traditor!”, gravely exposed her uneven handling of such bravura dysplays. To be sure, she fearlessly attacked the ornate runs that close the soliloquy, but this stuck out as the execution of an interpolated skill rather than as an expression of outrage within the legato. These were but the beginnings of graver faults, the next taking place during the masked trio in the finale of act one, where she stuck out badly during the ensemble (the ascent to the high B flat being particularly problematic). The final test of “Mi tradi quell’alma ingrata” proved completely outside of her comfort zone, its testing hurdles unraveling her resolve at every phrase. To her credit, she dug deep to isolate some key meaningful musical moments, such as the line “ma se guardo il suo cimento, palpitando il cor mi va” which she attacked in a reduced tendered yet fearful tone, proved an island of lovely in an otherwise regrettable take on her famous number.

The Zerlina of soprano Angela Kloc did little to remedy the situation. She is a young singer with the appropriate physique du role to portray the ingénue, but not the voice or technique to properly embody the role in a more than functional fashion. Curiously, her impersonation was most successful in the recitative sections of the score. Whenever she was required to launch into song, the voice was thin, somewhat brittle and at best crystalline in the top register. She significantly labored during her aria “Vedrai carino,” the effect of which was undermined by unreliable pitch. Hers is not an uninteresting voice, but certainly one not polished enough to thoroughly satisfy in such a principal assignment. She was bettered by her bass boyfriend Masetto, played here by Brent Davis, an efficient artist who in this production somewhat recalled Will Ferrell in “Elf”. The part of Masetto does not allow the singer much room to show his merit, but Mr. Davis‘ portrayal was vocally consistent and dramatically appropriate.

Brent Davis (Masetto) Andrea Concetti (Don Giovanni) and Angela Kloc (Zerlina). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

The unhappy marks keep coming when assessing the portrayal of The Commendatore by bass Andrew Kroes. His key role is limited to three scenes, but we will only cover the first one for reasons we will mention momentarily. His voice struggled to find its placing during the opening tableau, lacking the appropriate sonority and commanding presence to do the part of the old nobleman justice. He could have also used more help from director Richard Kagey during the anemic duel that followed, which fell completely flat. For the cemetery and dinner scenes, Mr Kroes was assisted through artificial means to create the dramatic impact Mozart required in the partiture, thus our assessment of his contribution will go no further.

Andrew Kroes (The Commendatore). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

To be sure, there were some saving graces to this production, starting with the consistent Leporello of Argentinian Bass-Baritone Eduardo Chama. Though his voice was somewhat covered and not “free of the throat”, he made much with the part which we are told has become his signature role, and committed himself to Richard Kagey’s over the top, audience-winking view of Don Giovanni’s servant. Vocally speaking, there was much to pick apart: He could have presented a more seamless scale, greater variety in emission, more firmness in tone and rapidity in his patter passages. His greatest hiccup took place during the testing catalogue aria, where he ran out of juice during some of the longer passages. Still, there was a vocal personality here, which made a compelling case for looking past these limitations.

Melody Moore (Donna Elvira) and Eduardo Chama (Leporello). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

No such compromises where needed with the final two soloists of this cast, two artists which I have saved for the end in order to leave the reader with some positive words amidst this somewhat grim memento. Towering over the rest of his male colleagues was the Don Ottavio of Nicholas Phan, whose clear, sweet tenor voice called out the vocal deficiencies of his lesser colleagues during several ensembles. In terms of sound alone, the voice announced the arrival of a person of higher breeding whenever he entered the stage, and his collaboration with Pamela Armstrong’s Donna Anna during their dramatic opening duet arguably ranked as the musical highlight of the evening. Still, there were some reservations. When his talents were singled out in song, he could be stingy with the tone, which came in and out of focus during his first act lament “Dalla sua pace”. Here, the long lines were fussed over in a rather mannered, continental style that attracted attention both for its self-indulgence and beauty of tone. A more straight-forward delivery would have served better, but kudos were ultimately awarded for trying out something creative. All Don Ottavios are ultimately judged by the rigors of the second act aria “Il mio tesoro”, which Mr. Phan sang with a good (if not faultless) legato and considerable panache (yet for those who rank McCormack as the standard, Mr. Phan did break the runs in several place in search of life giving oxygen). For my money though, his finest moments took place during his pleas for Donna Anna’s hand in the final scene “Or che tutti, o mio tesoro,” where his phrasing took an inspired edge and beautifully framed Donna Anna’s retorts. He was a fine Don Ottavio until the very end.

Pamela Armstrong (Donna Anna) and Nicholas Phan (Don Ottavio). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson

This finally brings us to the Donna Anna of soprano Pamela Armstrong, who unquestionably deserves the evening’s highest honors. Here was a beautiful, energetic, full lyric soprano voice of equalized registers, owned by an artist with the fine technique to wield it. She was also the most dramatically alert singer onstage, calling out the new school that claims great acting in opera comes from runway-sized singers. Mrs. Armstrong did it all with the voice, providing what the majority of the cast around her seemed to seriously lack: Dramatically alert opera singing. Nowhere was this more evident than during her first act aria “Or sai chi l’onore,” where after the dramatic urgency of her recitative, her emission stayed in the same shelf of sound through Mozart’s storm as the score took it higher and louder up the staff. Through this combination of vocal heft, velvet, and force, the effect was achieved: The audience felt it as a musically visceral experience. Within these parameters, she embodied the real opera singer, one that manages to move the audience through poised, un-amplified singing, something that no diet, production update or designer costume can ever replace.

Pamela Armstrong (Donna Anna) and Nicholas Phan (Don Ottavio). Photo credit: Tim Wilkerson 

She was also a smart, sensible artist, willing to contribute her own personal stamp to a phrase without abandoning the realm of good taste. During her second act scena, “Non mi dir” her reaction against Don Ottavio’s accusation of cruelty was particularly fine. “Crudele?!” she moaned, like a beast suddenly kicked by its master, the voice never losing its noble luster, yet bending to express both her hurt and outrage. In the display that followed, the long lines of the aria were negotiated well against the sudden cascades of ornaments, and though a finer trill could be asked for, she received more than passing marks for her effort. She thus joins the ranks of other fine Donna Annas previously heard in the city – more importantly, her participation did much to salvage an otherwise unfortunate evening.

These performances of Don Giovanni closed the 2011-2012 season for the Atlanta Opera, and though this production did little to advance the company’s reputation, we can look forward to the direction it will take later this year as the 2012-2013 season has already been announced (it will feature such familiar works as Bizet’s Carmen and Verdi’s La Traviata, and the surprising addition of Rossini’s exuberant comedy, L’Italiana in Algeri). For more information, please visit http://atlantaopera.org/

-Daniel Vasquez

The banishment of Rienzi

Rienzi came to Wagner’s life at a time of great financial upheaval and professional incertitude. Having gone to Paris in September of 1839 to join the ranks of the musical elite, his enthusiasm quickly led to disenchantment as he failed to assert himself in the French musical establishment. He found himself reduced to writing unprofitable articles and piano arrangements of Italian operas, and it is quite certain that the eighteen months Wagner spent in Paris cemented the foundation of his subsequent sour worldview. In the meantime, he had begun composition of his third opera, Rienzi, inspired primarily by Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s “Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes” and fashioned in the grand opera style in the hope of securing a success in the musical capital of the world. When he could not secure its commission there, Wagner, with the aid of Giacomo Meyerbeer, set his eyes to provincial Dresden instead. There the opera premiered on October 20, 1842 with a cast that included Josef Aloys Tichatschek as Rienzi, Henriette Wust as Irene, and the legendary Wilhelmine Schroder-Devrient in the travesty role of Adriano.

Despite its original torturous six-hour length (it was later abridged and heavily cut,) the opera was enthusiastically received and it became Wagner’s first professional and financial success, a fact that he would be quick to dismiss as his philosophical proclivities became more pronounced. Indeed, the composer of The Ring and Parsifal was not ready to embrace his early accomplishment, and went as far as negating it as part of his musical legacy. The ardent Wagnerite of today is too happy to echo the master’s sentiment, and amidst their praises for Parsifal and excuses for Dutchman, they too readily baulk at the very mention of Rienzi. The opera’s reputation as undesirable has had its effects, and though it remained very popular throughout the nineteenth century, performances became scarce in the twentieth (the opera’s famous overture surely keeping it alive). Rienzi was dealt a final blow when Hitler expressed a fond affection to the piece (he even had in his possession the original manuscript of the opera, which he kept in his bunker and was subsequently lost as the second world war came to an end). As it stands, modern performances of this beautiful score remain rare, and thus I cannot help but appreciate the persistence of Ms. Queler’s agenda is reviving this unfairly ignored work.

The opera is set in Fourteenth century Rome against a background of patrician rivalries (the Colonnas vs the Orsinis) and political unrest. Cola Rienzi, a papal notary, has sworn to avenge the murder of his brother at the hand of a Colonna. When the curtain opens, an attempt to kidnap Rienzi’s sister Irene by Paolo Orsini and his faction is foiled by the Colonna clan. Adriano Colonna, in love with Irene, defends her from her attackers. As crowd gathers around the disturbance, it comes to a halt with the arrival of Rienzi himself. Backed by the Papal Legate Raimondo and Adriano (whose feelings for Irene are reciprocated,) he urges the people to oppose the excesses of the patricians. Overwhelmed by his rhetoric, the crowd offers Rienzi the crown, but he in turn reverts to lead Rome as Tribune of the Roman people.

Together in their hate for the new leader, the Colonna and Orsini clans join forces and plot the death of Rienzi. During a ceremony arranged for a delegation of foreign ambassadors, Paolo Orsini stabs Rienzi in the chest, but the steel breastplate worn by the Tribune deflects the otherwise mortal blow. The people demand the blood of the traitors, and the Orsinis and Colonnas are condemned to death. Yet Rienzi, persuaded by Adriano and Irene’s pleas for the life of Adriano’s father, Steffano Colonna pardons the nobles.

Rienzi, Act 3 Scene Scene 3. Théâtre Lyrique1869

The opera’s third act opens in the Roman forum. The nobles have resumed their plotting against Rienzi, and Rome is in a general state of unrest. Adriano struggles to resolve his loyalties, but makes up his mind when Rienzi and his forces return with the lifeless bodies of the offending patricians, among them his father Steffano. Adriano curses Rienzi.

Rienzi’s political fortunes turn sour in act four. A delegation of citizens has gathered at the Lateran Church to discuss allegations that Rienzi pursued a secret alliance with the nobles, and even offered his sister Irene as a bargaining chip. When the crowd demands evidence of this charge, Adriano steps forward and confirms it. The people turn from Rienzi, and the Tribune is excommunicated. Adriano implores Irene to come with him, but she remains by her brother’s side.

The final act takes place in the Capitol. Rienzi is alone and prays to God for strength. He is joined by Irene, who insists on staying by Rienzi despite his pleas that she should be with Adriano in these unstable times. Rienzi attempts to appease the growing gathering outside the Capitol to no avail: they set the building ablaze. Adriano rushes into the Capitol, and begs Irene to escape. He even tries to remove her by force, but he too is unsuccessful. The curtain falls as the building collapses in the inferno.

OONY performs Rienzi at Avery Fisher Hall. (Photo by Chris Lee).

As performed on the afternoon of January 29, the opera was served well by Ms. Queler. If at times one could complain that her tempo veered towards the slack, these concerns were quickly overlooked as she successfully realized the difficulties presented by Wagner. Rienzi’s scale is massive, and she held together the Opera Orchestra of New York, coupled with the New York Choral Society and the Vox Nova of the Special Music School (not to mention the various soloists) as they navigated through this complicated score. Some innovations, like placing the brass in the upper balconies made for good stereo effect but threatened to get out of her control. A more succesful attempt at this took place during the opening scene of act two, when a chorus of children walked from the back of the auditorium towards the stage singing their unaccompanied section “Ihr Römer, hört die Kunde”, the effect being that of a distant wall of sound steadily approaching, arriving, and slowly vanishing away. Overall, a more than satifying reading of this exciting opera which she routinely champions. With that being said, not everything about the presentation registered as ideal.

Taking on the challenge of the title character, British tenor Ian Storey was the afternoon’s biggest casualty. A tall, silver fox type, he is sure to cut a striking figure if he ever performed this role in a staged production. His general vocalism was less appealing. He is the possessor of a dry voice, which nonetheless satisfies the basic sonic needs demanded by the role. He was heard best at the top of the ensemble, with the surrounding cacophony masking his tenor’s tonal deficiencies while showcasing the achievement of his science. Still, and moreso with Rienzi, Wagner requires a “velvet fist”, and calls for several moments of great beauty and nobility which were mostly supplied by the orchestra whenever the proceedings required Mr. Storey’s involvement. Rienzi’s initial address to the people of Rome, and the subsequent ensemble that follows (“Doch höret ihr der Trompete Ruf”,) was telling of how the remainder of the performance would go. The strained, tremulous quality of Mr. Storey’s declamation did not satisfy in the melodic statement, but only convinced as it ascended the staff and voiced over the contributions of the orchestra, colleagues and chorus combined. This attribute surely excuses his involvement in the arduous roles that make up his repertoire (He lists Tristan, Otello Tannhauser and Florestan amongst them), and earned him a passing grade as he managed the rigours of the opening two acts.

Geralding Chauvet (Adriano), Elisabete Matos (Irene) and Ian Storey (Rienzi). Eve Queler conducts. (Photo by Chris Lee).

However, this is a long opera, and there was much suffering to be had whenever the score called for suavity and a well-supported line. He veritably came to grief during his famous prayer in the opera’s final act, “Allmächt’ger Vater, blick herab!” which forced the Mr. Storey to navigate through too many weak spots in his instrument. A long section, it became a case of death by aria which both the audience and the singer were relieved to see pass by. He was in improved form during his collaboration with Ms. Matos in the complicated duet that followed, and this, combined with his final statements to the Roman people did much to salvage his contribution. His was a serviceable performance of this difficult role, and if his deficiencies were at times difficult to overlook, his supporting cast did much to make up for them.

Better was the Irene of Portuguese soprano Elisabete Matos, who started the proceedings in sumptuous (if sometimes unfocused) voice. She harks back to a time when artists focused great emphasis on the quality of the sound produced rather than in the mechanisms that make the thing happen (the opposite of her leading tenor). And so while her production was at times erratic, her sound was plush, exotic, and at consistently luxurious. She was at her best when the technique matched her talent, such as in the act one trio between Irene, Rienzi and Adriano (Noch schlägt in seiner Brust), and the subsequent duet with Adriano. In both her voice took a clear and gleaming focus at the top of its range, and was well heard over the other voices. Her unique tone was appreciated in the closing pages of act two “Wie Sonne schön durch Wolken bricht” where Irene is required to cap the ensemble with the higher tones Wagner would request of his sopranos. Had the evening ended here, she would have surely walked away with the prize assessment, but following the intermission she returned in different vocal state.

Geraldine Chauvet (Adriano) and Elisabete Matos (Irene). (Photo by Chris Lee).

The clarion production was still heard during the finale of act three, but an occasional tightening was beginning to creep in, likely an issue of stamina, which ultimately got the better of her in the opera’s final act. Here, Wagner has reserved a testing duet for the siblings,“Ich liebte glühend meine hohe Braut,” and the rising tessitura and complicated requests noticeably derailed her. The final confrontation with Adriano was affected by a constricted tone, which she managed to shake off just in time to issue her final, Senta-like statement before she closed her score. On a lighter note, she is not shy to wear a frock, (two, actually) and her attire was the subject of much discussion between several ladies (and some of the gentlemen) during intermission. Her first ensemble was a sweeping tunic with a multicolor print that divided the fashionistas (I thought it was EVERYTHING). For the second half of the opera, she wore a shapely black wrap dress with an orange (or is it red?) collar, which I, as a former goth, appreciated. She looked the part of a Grande Dame and mostly sounded like one.

Making her American debut with this performance, French mezzo-soprano Geraldine Chauvet scored a triumph in the trouser role of Adriano Colonna. Hers is a voice of remarkable clarity and well-knit texture, which remains intact throughout her scale and also as she escalates the dynamics to the fortissimo. This peppered her vocalism excitingly tense and at times electric, and paid off handsomely during her delivery of her big act three aria. The excerpt is a rare example of Wagner’s take on the compound aria (it even contains a cabaletta), and it was written in the style of Bellini, whose Romeo Wagner greatly admired. Ms. Chauvet excelled in her delivery of the introductory recitative (Gerechter Gott, so ist’s entschieden schon!), and delivered a sturdy rendition of the famous aria “In seiner Blüte bleicht mein Leben”. Here, her sense of phrasing betrayed a singer more at home with the Straussian style, her Adriano leaning more towards an Octavian than a Norma. This limited her interpretation significantly, because though she managed the florid graces well enough, they were executed as a removed requirement rather than as an integral part of the lament.

Geralding Chauvet (Adriano). Eve Queler conducts. (Photo by Chris Lee)

She faired better during the exchanges with Ms. Matos, the first of which took place during the first act. In “Ja, eine Welt voll Leiden”, Wagner follows the established bel canto tradition of placing two female voices in close proximity, a device that he would later employ in the exquisite exchange between Elsa and Ortrud in Lohengrin. Here, Ms. Chauvet’s voice melted well with Ms. Matos’, despite the marked differences in timbre and manner of production. For the final exchange between the women, Ms. Chauvet was at her most emotionally effective in the segment “Ha, meine Liebe, ja, ich fühl’ es”, where she poured her voice out in an emotional manner without yet never losing sight of her method. The thunderous ovation that greeted her at curtain call confirmed that an exciting debut had taken place, and your friends at Newoutpost.com look forward to assess how this young artist develops in future assignments.

The smaller parts were assigned to a bevy of sturdy voices, of which Jonathan Winell (Baroncelli), Ricardo Rivera (Paolo Orsini), Philip Horst (Stefano Colonna), and Emily Duncan-Brown (The Messenger of Peace) stood out. OONY’s performance, despite some uneven elements, furthered the case against Rienzi’s neglected status in today’s repertoire, and reminded us that it is a work worthy of attention not only as a subject of study in Wagner’s development but for its own musical merits. The company next turns to Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra which will be performed on March 7th, and will feature tenor Placido Domingo in the title role. Those interested in the august tenor’s ongoing experiment into the dramatic baritone repertoire would do well to visit the company’s website at www.operaorchestrany.org

-Daniel Vasquez