AIDA today
I read on a priest's blog today that Holy Saturday is in a sense a day of "silence." I've always been a bit Fail on that part of the Triduum: worst of all two years ago when I spent that afternoon at the Multiplex watching the live HD transmission of TRISTAN -- and got a nice late-Lenten headache for it, thanks to the dizzy-making direction that day, with all its shifting "boxes." Enough about that.
Today I'm at home, but the AIDA broadcast is on the radio in the library (while the Holy Father's Easter Vigil Mass in on the telly in the living room).
We're at O Patria Mia right now, and I must say Hui He is quite a find and potentially quite a treasure. Where is she from, both nationally and in terms of the opera-professional ladder? The guardians of the memory of Milanov and Tebaldi who post of the great listserv Opera-L have been cautious in their praise, but look: we so often have chatter -- oops, there went the high C, and I've got to say, I've gotten better ones at the A&P -- but let me finish the thought: in general, we have so often had to chatter about what in iron age of voices we live in compared to the golden age of our youths or (in my case, I assure you) childhood, that when an Aida comes along who is at least worthy of serious comparison with the Greats, we should cheer, encourage, maybe do the "Dilbert victory jig." (As well as suggest some coaching for that high C.)
Zajick is amazing. Too bad there's only one serious Italian-style dramatic mezzo in the entire frikkn' world right now. Makes putting on AIDA kinda difficult, knamean? (D'Intino? Maybe. Borodina is past it now. Ganassi? Has she really moved successfully beyond the Berganza repertory?)
I like Licitra's voice, but it tends to flatten at the top. And by "flatten" I don't mean go flat in terms of pitch: I mean that it sounds like it's pressing against an upper limit, as if you were trying to serve jello to the neighbors upstairs directly through the ceiling. A shame, b/c he's got a lot going for him in the heart of his range. And it's nice to hear a Radames who is a tad more lyrical than a standard "can belto" -- as just now, when he pulled back to a mezza voce on "Fuggire!" Cool!
The lower-voiced guys aren't on the same level. Carlo Guelfi is effective dramatically, but the great baritone voice you can here in his recorded TABARRO didn't last long. Carlo Colombara's Ramfis does not suggest a bass who does first-string roles as well, tho' I know he does. Stefan Kocak as the King makes me feel that if I practice my scales in the shower a little longer, who knows.... "Dunque tu sei -- Sua padre" wasn't exactly like the days when Luben Vichey or Louis Sgarro would hand off to Leonard Warren or George London, was it?
Marco Armiliato shows again that he is a great Verdian. The orchestra and chorus sound great; Marco punctuates the possibly-too-familiar score with a few rubati, and the ensembles are omg grand.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Blanche Thebom, RIP
Now I'm going to say right here that my favorite mezzo of that era was Nell Rankin. But Rankin and Thebom's overlap of repertory, though substantial, was not complete, and anyway, they brought different virtues to their roles. Today, sadly, is Blanche's day (Nell died four years ago, before I began this blog), so, RIP Thebom.
Now I'm going to say right here that my favorite mezzo of that era was Nell Rankin. But Rankin and Thebom's overlap of repertory, though substantial, was not complete, and anyway, they brought different virtues to their roles. Today, sadly, is Blanche's day (Nell died four years ago, before I began this blog), so, RIP Thebom.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
ATTILA broadcast: get Leone'd!
While I can't claim to know this early Verdi gem like the back of my hand, I've had a tendre for it since I saw it at NYCO back -- how long ago? Well, I remember Sam Ramey did a thrilling job in the title role, and, though memory may be playing tricks on me, I believe some of the younger members of the historical Attila's entourage were in attendance, though of course they would have been getting on in years by then and required special attention by the ushers.
How delightful to discover, then, that Sam Ramey is still appearing in ATTILA, though this time not in the title role, but in the striking cameo role of Pope Leo the Great.
Now as fans of this opera know, Verdi did not call this character Pope Leo the Great. The scene in which Leo does the ol' "You! Shall! Not! Pass!" number on Attila was far too operatic for Verdi, great man of the theater that he was, to leave out; yet Verdi was also an arms-crossed, lips-pursed, that's-not-funny anti-clerical, and as such, reluctant to give a Pope credit for saving Rome from the Hun. So Pope Leo appears in the official dramatis personae as "Leone, an old man."
Yeah, see, so Attila the Hun is terrified by a nightmare in which "an old man" bars his way into Rome, and later, "Leone, an old man" does in fact appear and bar his way into Rome, using -- spooooooky! -- the very words Attila heard in his dream!
Whatev'. It's a great scene. And commentators Juntwait and Siff, most graciously, referred to Leone as "the bishop of Rome." That'll do: as St. Thomas More puts it, "No, 'Bishop of Rome' if you like -- it doesn't alter his authority."
Given that Ramey can't quite sing the title role any more, then how delightful to find him "promoted" to Leone! Of course in operatic terms it's not a promotion: it's a prelude to retirement. I'm borrowing the "promotion" trope from that great Calaf (in Puccini's TURANDOT, as if you didn't know) of the '20s, Giovanni Martinelli, who came out of retirement at the San Francisco Opera to sing another small-but-important role, roughly corresponding to Calaf as Leone does to Attila: the Emperor Altoum. Afterward he said: "For years I was the Unknown Prince [Calaf]. Then San Francisco promoted me to Emperor. Now I wish to abdicate."
But to judge from his performance, Ramey has some time left before he has to "abdicate." What's different about his voice today, compared to his voice when he took the title role in this opera? A great big wobble -- a sign of age, or, some would say, a fault of technique (though if a queue is forming to accuse Ramey of faults of technique, include me out). Aside from that, his great and long-familiar voice was clearly there in Leone's oracular lines. (He also sang a ruddy good Timur, in TURANDOT, last fall. So I figure that as Pope he can't abdicate, and as exiled Tartar king he already has. But I digress.)
The guy who did sing Attila was Ildar Abdrazakov. Magnificent. I was going to say that he's a Slavic bass as much at home in Italian repertory as Christoff or Ghiaurov ever was -- but I think Abdrazakov is from Kazakhstan, and might not appreciate being called Slavic. Well I hope he'll appreciate being called an Oriental Siepi, which I'll gladly call him. Interesting, though -- in some parts of this role, especially its higher range (and Verdi was pretty merciless to his leading bassos in this regard), Abdr, er, Adbr, er -- f. this, let's call him Ildar -- Ildar sounded very much like a young Ramey. Maybe he was trying to; I don't know. (In an intermission interview he mentioned asking Ramey for advice, and the generous old colleague and former Hun said, you've got it fine, just do what you're doing.)
In other cast news, I liked Violeta Urmana's Odabella, but I still say she's a mezzo. She got all the notes, but so can many mezzos. The best part of her voice is the middle and lower range, and it's not like the world is overflowing with dramatic mezzos. Ever since the Bartoli phenom, lyric and coloratura mezzos have been a dime dozen, if the exquisite diDonato and her fans will forgive my saying so. It's dramatic mezzos that we need, and we end up fach'ed when they decamp for the soprano repertory. Plus, those who do so usually shorten their careers. We shall see.
Ramon Vargas used to have a sweet lyric tenor voice. The role of Foresto in this opera is not lyrical, and today Vargas did not sound sweet. Sometimes a bel canto tenor can sing "can belto," but this was "can't belto," at least in the higher and tougher passages of the role. Something of his old self returned in the lyrical passages.
Now, this new Ezio, Giovanni Meoni -- where'd he come from? who discovered him? Quite a find! When I first tuned in (on the car radio, I must admit -- later I listened on the home stereo) I thought I was hearing a tenore-baritonale. No, he's a baritone, but on the light-toned side. As I listened further, I found myself more and more reminded of a young Merrill. Oh please, let this one be a keeper, not another flash in the pan!
Much, much credit to Maestro Riccardo Muti. I've long been a fan of this Snape-in-the-pit, with his baton-wand. (Look at pictures of him from five or ten years back, when his black hair, parted in the middle, was longer, and you'll see what I mean). It was his recording of the Verdi Requiem that taught me to love that piece passionately. He excels in Wagner too (check out the YouTube clip of the end of Act I of WALKURE at LaScala, with Domingo and W. Meier, Muti conducting), but he's the Wizard of Verdi. Early Verdi is at risk of turning oom-pa-pa in ordinary hands; with Muti, not a chance: passinate and grand from start to finish.
I can't comment on the austere production or the Prada costumes, but the Met's new ATTILA is a musical triumph.
While I can't claim to know this early Verdi gem like the back of my hand, I've had a tendre for it since I saw it at NYCO back -- how long ago? Well, I remember Sam Ramey did a thrilling job in the title role, and, though memory may be playing tricks on me, I believe some of the younger members of the historical Attila's entourage were in attendance, though of course they would have been getting on in years by then and required special attention by the ushers.
How delightful to discover, then, that Sam Ramey is still appearing in ATTILA, though this time not in the title role, but in the striking cameo role of Pope Leo the Great.
Now as fans of this opera know, Verdi did not call this character Pope Leo the Great. The scene in which Leo does the ol' "You! Shall! Not! Pass!" number on Attila was far too operatic for Verdi, great man of the theater that he was, to leave out; yet Verdi was also an arms-crossed, lips-pursed, that's-not-funny anti-clerical, and as such, reluctant to give a Pope credit for saving Rome from the Hun. So Pope Leo appears in the official dramatis personae as "Leone, an old man."
Yeah, see, so Attila the Hun is terrified by a nightmare in which "an old man" bars his way into Rome, and later, "Leone, an old man" does in fact appear and bar his way into Rome, using -- spooooooky! -- the very words Attila heard in his dream!
Whatev'. It's a great scene. And commentators Juntwait and Siff, most graciously, referred to Leone as "the bishop of Rome." That'll do: as St. Thomas More puts it, "No, 'Bishop of Rome' if you like -- it doesn't alter his authority."
Given that Ramey can't quite sing the title role any more, then how delightful to find him "promoted" to Leone! Of course in operatic terms it's not a promotion: it's a prelude to retirement. I'm borrowing the "promotion" trope from that great Calaf (in Puccini's TURANDOT, as if you didn't know) of the '20s, Giovanni Martinelli, who came out of retirement at the San Francisco Opera to sing another small-but-important role, roughly corresponding to Calaf as Leone does to Attila: the Emperor Altoum. Afterward he said: "For years I was the Unknown Prince [Calaf]. Then San Francisco promoted me to Emperor. Now I wish to abdicate."
But to judge from his performance, Ramey has some time left before he has to "abdicate." What's different about his voice today, compared to his voice when he took the title role in this opera? A great big wobble -- a sign of age, or, some would say, a fault of technique (though if a queue is forming to accuse Ramey of faults of technique, include me out). Aside from that, his great and long-familiar voice was clearly there in Leone's oracular lines. (He also sang a ruddy good Timur, in TURANDOT, last fall. So I figure that as Pope he can't abdicate, and as exiled Tartar king he already has. But I digress.)
The guy who did sing Attila was Ildar Abdrazakov. Magnificent. I was going to say that he's a Slavic bass as much at home in Italian repertory as Christoff or Ghiaurov ever was -- but I think Abdrazakov is from Kazakhstan, and might not appreciate being called Slavic. Well I hope he'll appreciate being called an Oriental Siepi, which I'll gladly call him. Interesting, though -- in some parts of this role, especially its higher range (and Verdi was pretty merciless to his leading bassos in this regard), Abdr, er, Adbr, er -- f. this, let's call him Ildar -- Ildar sounded very much like a young Ramey. Maybe he was trying to; I don't know. (In an intermission interview he mentioned asking Ramey for advice, and the generous old colleague and former Hun said, you've got it fine, just do what you're doing.)
In other cast news, I liked Violeta Urmana's Odabella, but I still say she's a mezzo. She got all the notes, but so can many mezzos. The best part of her voice is the middle and lower range, and it's not like the world is overflowing with dramatic mezzos. Ever since the Bartoli phenom, lyric and coloratura mezzos have been a dime dozen, if the exquisite diDonato and her fans will forgive my saying so. It's dramatic mezzos that we need, and we end up fach'ed when they decamp for the soprano repertory. Plus, those who do so usually shorten their careers. We shall see.
Ramon Vargas used to have a sweet lyric tenor voice. The role of Foresto in this opera is not lyrical, and today Vargas did not sound sweet. Sometimes a bel canto tenor can sing "can belto," but this was "can't belto," at least in the higher and tougher passages of the role. Something of his old self returned in the lyrical passages.
Now, this new Ezio, Giovanni Meoni -- where'd he come from? who discovered him? Quite a find! When I first tuned in (on the car radio, I must admit -- later I listened on the home stereo) I thought I was hearing a tenore-baritonale. No, he's a baritone, but on the light-toned side. As I listened further, I found myself more and more reminded of a young Merrill. Oh please, let this one be a keeper, not another flash in the pan!
Much, much credit to Maestro Riccardo Muti. I've long been a fan of this Snape-in-the-pit, with his baton-wand. (Look at pictures of him from five or ten years back, when his black hair, parted in the middle, was longer, and you'll see what I mean). It was his recording of the Verdi Requiem that taught me to love that piece passionately. He excels in Wagner too (check out the YouTube clip of the end of Act I of WALKURE at LaScala, with Domingo and W. Meier, Muti conducting), but he's the Wizard of Verdi. Early Verdi is at risk of turning oom-pa-pa in ordinary hands; with Muti, not a chance: passinate and grand from start to finish.
I can't comment on the austere production or the Prada costumes, but the Met's new ATTILA is a musical triumph.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
I see that Bonaldo Giaiotti has a Christmas birthday. Happy birthday (yesterday, actually, at this point) to this fine (and, in his prime, underrated) basso, now 77! I saw him often as Sparafucile, Ramfis, Alvise -- and of course, his voice defined Timur for a generation.
Here he is singing "Ella giammai g'amo" (how is Ella, anyway? Merry Christmas to her) at the Arena di Verona in 1985. Not as warm and grand as Tozzi, not as omg-cantante as Siepi, but, one could argue, more sheer bassiness than those super-greats who outshone him. Ad multos annos!
Here he is singing "Ella giammai g'amo" (how is Ella, anyway? Merry Christmas to her) at the Arena di Verona in 1985. Not as warm and grand as Tozzi, not as omg-cantante as Siepi, but, one could argue, more sheer bassiness than those super-greats who outshone him. Ad multos annos!
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