I am an arts journalist and a longtime opera fan. I make it a personal mission to both examine the elements of opera production and clarify it for those who are not familiar with its finer points. Basically, you don’t have to know what coloratura or cabaletta is to have a great experience — and you shouldn’t have to. The widespread popularity of what I’d term “popera” is something I have mixed feelings about; on one hand, it introduces an artform to a wide audience in a fun, audience-friendly way that they recognize and appreciate, but, on the other, it waters down the art form in a way I don’t think is always necessarily helpful.
As I wrote on Twitter, I don’t consider what The Tenors do real opera. I realize this is snobbish and perhaps even offensive to some. I make no apologies. It’s singing loudly and with all the flash that might be perceived as opera, but. Generally, that’s okay; if it makes people more curious about the art form, and leads them to the opera house, or to iTunes to check out the work of various composers, great. Sometimes that curiosity bleeds into something else; sometimes it doesn’t, and that’s okay. If popera inspires the desire to learn more, provides some enjoyment, makes for a pleasant way for some to pass the time: great. I want to be a kind of human Pandora that says, “well, if you liked that, you’re going to love this…”
That very thing happened this past spring, when I brought friends to the Canadian Opera Company production of Carmen. With no more exposure to opera than a handful of clips of child stars and reality TV bits and bobs, the friends — of all ages — sat rapt for over two hours (with intermission). They loved the pageantry of the sets, the splendor of the staging, the lively conducting, and were bowled over, in particular, by the power of the voices. They were awestruck that no one was miced. They wanted to know more, and hear more.
So yes, sometimes popera leads to other things, and it’s nice when that happens. Introducing newcomers to opera busts up fusty old perceptions while kicking open the door to a powerful new artistic experience. If that powerful experience doesn’t happen, that’s fine too, but problems arise when a group like The Tenors make ignorant political statements. The perception of opera being an elitist, privileged, out-of-touch artform made by and for primarily white audiences is reinforced in the ugliest way imaginable. Forget Tamar Iveri and her horrific homophobic slurs; The Tenors have a much broader appeal, and, as a result, a huge audience. Their presence at the All-Star game was a symbol of their mainstream appeal; their horrifying political statement (which I am not going to write here, because it, and the mindset behind it, are offensive) sent out a message that reinforces an ugly, unfair stereotype.
Opera companies are working hard at wider representation — at both administrative and creative levels — and some are succeeding more than others. A mariachi opera was met with much success not long ago; a staging of Brokeback Mountain in Madrid was, equally, met with acclaim. Great black singers populate and have hugely shaped the history of opera — Arroyo, Price, Norman, Anderson: these are names we should all know, not just opera fans. Contemporary black opera singers have been vocal about struggles and it’s been good to see companies like The Met and the Canadian Opera Company hire more diverse casts. I want to see more of this, and am equally keen to see related programming expansions; it’s good for audiences, and frankly, it’s what the art demands. Fewer forms are more suited to examine issues of race, exclusion, class, and privilege than opera, which fuses music, theatre, and visual design to make powerful, searing statements that have contemporary relevance. The titular character in Mozart’s Don Giovanni is a member of the aristocracy who uses his male privilege in every way imaginable; equally vital issues of class and privilege are thoughtfully examined in Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro as well as Verdi’s Rigoletto; Rossini’s Maometto II and Verdi’s Aida explore notions of interracial relationships, power, and prejudice. I would argue that even Carmen, perhaps the best-known opera to mainstream audiences, explores all of these things. The strong title character is constantly slurred (as well as sexually exoticized) for being a gypsy, a fact to which the obsessive Don Jose is both drawn and repelled.
So while the three members of The Tenors may claim, “it’s not us, it’s him!” I would respond, it’s not opera, it’s you. All of you. You have reinforced a notion of a deeply relevant, deeply beautiful art form that is hurtful, ignorant, and toxic. Please, just try to be good — a good singer, a good student, and most importantly, a good person: one who doesn’t blame, doesn’t shame, takes responsibility and educates themselves. It’s the least you can do for opera — and the utterly, absolute least you do for Black Lives Matter.
David Pomeroy and Krisztina Szabo in Tap:Ex Metallurgy. Photo by Dahlia Katz
Amidst the many serious features and interviews I’ve done lately, it came as something of a pleasant surprise to be reminded of the very real importance of play — even when the notion comes wrapped in some challenging dressing.
The occasion was a creative collaboration between Canadian punk band Fucked Up and Toronto-based opera company Tapestry, which specializes in new works. Following previous collaborations involving electronics and Maria Callas, as well as a daring re-envisioning of the Medea myth this past summer, Tapestry have demonstrated they aren’t exactly shy when it comes to pushing the boundaries of opera as an artistic form. Artistic Director Michael Mori has ably, creatively demonstrated his commitment to moving opera into the 21st century, in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways; a recent fundraiser for the company featured a mix of Mozart and contemporary composers, while their latest work, which paired members of Fucked Up with mezzo-soprano Krisztina Szabo and tenor David Pomeroy, conveyed a clear desire to challenge audiences in big ways.
Tap: Ex Metallurgy, as the evening was called, was staged at the company’s homebase for operations, located in Toronto’s historic Distillery District. Amidst the rumble of not-so-distant commuter trains and the din of highway traffic, the evening’s first half unfolded as a kind of meditation on loss, with Szabo and Pomeroy singing the roles of two parents grieving the recent loss of a child. A deeply theatrical work staged with elegant economy, Jonah Falco’s music and a libretto by Mike Haliechuk and David Hames Brock offered a heart-full take on a painful subject. Production designer David DeGrow’s lighting, a panoply of strong, changing colors, conveyed more than mere mood, but painted a psychological portrait of suffering, in all its myriad forms, while Mori’s simple, powerful staging featured musicians assembled onstage leaving, one by one, until the only two figures left, Szabo and violinist Yoobin Ahn, performed a kind of conversational duet that ended in quiet grace.
Fucked Up’s Mike Haliechuk in Tap: Ex Metallurgy. Photo by Dahlia Katz
It was hardly the stuff one associates with the bald aggression of punk, but the contrast between the actual experience and the perceived cliche was powerful, and the experimentation behind it was a thoughtful sort of playfulness that forced one to re-think boundaries between musical genres. Haliechuk’s guitar effects had a kind of loud if soothing effect that was both ethereal and grounding at once — kind of like the best-sung opera arias.
The meditative nature of Metallurgy‘s first half contrasted nicely with the evening’s altogether lighter second half, which featured Szabo and Pomeroy playing out the various stages of a relationship. At one point the tenor even offered his own unique take on Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”, complete with impressive solo on a flying V guitar placed nearby. There was something so refreshing, so powerful, so gorgeously alive about the simple if highly effective (and entertaining) portrayal of the work’s “love-at-first-sight-over-a-lifetime” theme, one that lent itself nicely to operatic expression. The work, by librettist David James Brock and music by Ivan Barbotin, neatly captured the intense ups, depressive lows, and inevitable mediocrities of a long-term relationship with grace, power, and a stylish staging that made nice use of the electric chemistry between Pomeroy and Szabo. The maniacal grin on Pomeroy’s face as he wailed on guitar offered a hilariously bald contrast to Szabo’s patient, amused/unamused expression, and the air was deliciously electric with a crackling audience excitement feeding off this interaction. Between this moment and the big. bold very punk-like sounds of Fucked Up members Jonah Falco, Mike Haliechuk and Josh Zucker, one could almost hear audience thoughts: this is opera? YESSSS!
As a disco ball spun overhead and the small, packed space filled with a million little shiny beads of light, I couldn’t help but marvel at the importance of play in opera; maybe the medium needs more of it, more than ever. opera really isn’t as poe-faced as everyone thinks it is — especially to those who work closely within or beside it. Sometimes it takes a punk band to bring that playfulness out, but the willingness has to already exist. The joyous moments of musical playfulness, whether actualized by kicking down musical boundaries or offering moments of audio abandon, feel too few and far-between, and really, that doesn’t need to be the norm in an artform as inherently theatrical and dynamic as opera. Thanks to Tapestry for pressing “play” — and really, really meaning it, maaaan.
These thoughts ran through my mind driving home Thursday evening after seeing Opera Atelier’s sumptuous Armide, directed by co-Artistic Director Marshall Pynkoski. A tragic love story with great outfits and delicate court dancing, the 1686 Lully work, while highly mannered and fantastical, has many rich opportunities for deep emotion and gripping drama. As the Globe and Mail’s Robert Harris writes, Baroque opera “was and is a fascinating amalgam of ballet, drama, comedy, luscious costumes, extravagant sets and an overall dedication to theatrical opulence.” Opera Atelier, dedicated to preserving the art and integrity of the form, lovingly caters to each and every element with scintillating detail.
Set during the First Crusade, Armide (Peggy Kriha Dye), a powerful Muslim warrior-priestess partially modelled on Homer’s Circe, traps Renaud (Colin Ainsworth), a Christian knight; she knows she should kill him, but finds she can’t because she’s developed feelings. So she casts a spell that makes him love her back (and one that would make it much easier to murder him, since she recognizes her equal in a combative sense) — but she remains haunted by the fact Renaud’s love isn’t real, and she moves between wallowing in feelings, and swallowing them. Though she calls on Hatred (Daniel Belcher) to assist her in erasing her feelings, it doesn’t work. Before she can return to her beloved, two of Renaud’s soldiers, Chevalier Danois (Aaron Ferguson) and Chevalier Ubalde (Olivier LaQuerre) appear and break Armide’s spell. Renaud prepares to leave, but not before Armide returns and begs him to stay or take her with him; he refuses and departs, and Armide is left alone.
Peggy Kriha Dye as Armide and Colin Ainsworth as Renaud. Photo by Bruce Zinger.
There is a recognizably Eurocentric idea at work in the opera which immediately bring to mind Said’s writings on Orientalism. Lully and librettist Philippe Quinault cast their sights on the world of the near East and its perceived exoticism by Europeans, with the opera’s story based on a tale contained within 16th century writer Torquato Tasso’s poem La Gerusalemme liberata (Jerusalem Delivered); I recently saw another (shorter) opera by Monteverdi based on the same work, Il combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda (The Battle of Tancredi and Clorinda) at the Canadian Opera Company, with all the Orientalist nonsense firmly set aside. (It can indeed be done!) In that work, as in Armide, there is a horrible cloud of despair hanging above the would-be lovers. The idea of different cultures coming together awkwardly, clashing, melding, and clashing again runs like a fine (if hard) gold thread throughout Lully’s work; it’s as if the realities of the outer world — outside of magic and other fantastical situations — are too difficult to be surmounted.
That’s awfully gloomy, but somehow, sadly precise, because it’s a tacit acknowledgement of the harsh geopolitical situations that prevent so much true understanding between cultures, not to mention the deep sociocultural chasms that exist between men and women. Though Tasso’s work ends with its dubious heroines converting to Christianity (surely a mark of the Europe in which it was written, one that perhaps hasn’t changed much), it’s interesting Quinault felt the need to end the opera where he did, with Renaud’s departure and Armide’s devastation.
Peggy Kriha Dye (Armide) and Tyler Gledhill (Love). Photo by Bruce Zinger.
So of course, the soldier-sorceress has no happy ending. Why would she? How could she? Not only would Tasso’s 16th century never allow it, but a picture-perfect ending would be too saccharine, and frankly disingenuous to the overall sour tone of the piece. Sure, there is the comedic relief of the soldiers (Ferguson and LaQuerre make an immensely likeable pair onstage, channeling Laurel-and-Hardy-style buddy humor) and the lovely dancing of the Atelier Ballet (choreographed by co-Artistic Director Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg); there is also the winged presence of Love (Tyler Gledhill), a stretching, leaping, embracing figure who silently entreats the titular magician to follow a softer path.
But, ultimately, as the final notes sound and designer Gerard Gauci’s set reveals hotly-colored flames surrounding a solo Armide, we know the butter-soft visuals and languid scenes of romance that have gone before are a ruse; Lully’s music has darkness in buckets, and it’s the perfect complement to Philippe Quinault’s libretto and Tasso’s wrenching poem. More cynical (or perhaps over-romantic) types would argue the ending can’t be good: Armide is alone and devastated, and she has to live with a love that can never be satisfied or consummated. But there’s a strange freedom in that isolation. Keeping her power (limited as it may be) and sense of independence within the borders of her homeland, close to family and trusted peers feels like a better (less exciting, probably more adult) option than traveling to another country and a culture that would undoubtedly be hostile toward and ultimately reject her, or keeping her lover in a land where he might experience the same treatment.
Colin Ainsworth (Renaud) and Peggy Kriha Dye (Armide). Photo by Bruce Zinger
What’s more, keeping Renaud in a haze of love isn’t love at all — it’s manipulation, a nasty form of control, domination, and possessiveness, behavior that surely drives love (the real kind) away very quickly. Besides, there’s something strangely satisfying about the woman not getting the man at the end and living happily ever after, and about the disruption to the clichedprincessfairytale that too often dominates cultural depictions around women and love.
Armide still lives in love at the end, just not with a love that is incarnated within the physical form of Renaud. The ending strips away the bullshit romance aspects of the story to reveal something far more interesting and human: vulnerability. That quality is precisely what powers this production, and indeed, so much great art. Staring at the abyss and letting the world see our raw, naked, true selves is frightening — even moreso when we have to do it alone. But do it we must. The question is, will we move forwards, vulnerable and exposed, in love, or in hate?
Watching opera in a cinema is strange. Are you supposed to clap? Would it be weird? Can you talk? Can you eat popcorn? Would it be wrong to unwrap candies?
I got a mini-schooling in the un-fine art of opera-cinema-going recently when I attended a showing of Lucia Di Lammermoor, broadcast live from the Metropolitan Opera in New York, as part of their popular The Met: Live In HD Series. Candy-wrapping and cellphone talking aside (both are frowned on with equal displeasure -though I wasn’t guilty of either, honest), it was a mainly positive experience, marred only by poor directorial choices within the broadcast and incredibly dull color that washed out the set and beautiful costumes, making it a less rich visual experience that it should’ve been.
The story of Donizetti’s 1835 opera is based on Scottish writer Walter Scott’s eighteenth century novel The Bride of the Lammermoor, and focuses on the warring clans of Ravenswood and Ashton. Passionate, strong-willed Lucy becomes enamored of the penniless chief of a rival clan, but is forced to marry someone who’ll be good for the waning family fortunes, and subsequently goes insane, killing her groom and dying of grief. The novel is a long, drawn-out portrait of ancient tribalism set within a nasty, dark world of family and money; Donizetti and his librettist Salvadore Cammarano found rich, ripe stuff in translating Scott’s words to the stage.
In Mary Zimmerman‘s haunting production set in the mid-to-late 19th century, we find a world where everyone harbors a secret and is guilty of something, through their own actions or those of their ancient clans. Though the title character (the Italian-ized “Lucia”) secretly loves the worn family enemy, there is still a true innocence about her, a quality that was laid especially bare in soprano Natalie Dessay‘s emotional portrayal. Her delicate, bird-like frame was used to incredible effect, especially since she was cast with the tall, broad likes of tenor Joseph Calleja, as her lover Edgardo, and imposing baritone Ludovic Tezia as her brother, Enrico.
As might be expected from a Met production, the singing, along with Patrick Summers‘ authoritative conducting, were top-notch. It was, however, difficult to fully appreciate Mara Blumenfeld’s gorgeous costuming or Daniel Ostling’s deliciously creepy set design, owing to a woeful lack of brightness and clarity in the transmission itself. Whether a signal problem or a projection technicality, the lack of clarity and brightness greatly diminished the grandeur of the spectacle; colors were, for the most part, dull and dark. “High Definition”? Not quite. The scene in which Lucia is first introduced to her family-approved groom-to-be, Arturo (Matthew Plenk) found her wearing a detailed lace/brocade red dress -the only red in the entire color scheme of the production (not counting the bloodied wedding gown later on) -and instead of blazing out from the screen, it merely yawned in a dusty fuschia. We know the Scottish moors are muddy… but not that muddy. Hopefully the folks in Egypt, Spain, and Portugal got a clearer picture. Equally, Canadian director Barbara Willis Sweete, who helmed the live broadcast (shown across 1500 cinemas in 46 countries, no less) focused too much by… focusing too much. It’s deeply unfortunate that the grand, creepy majesty of Zimmerman’s production was lost because of an over-emphasis on close-ups, weird angles, zooms, and fast (/nausea-inducing) cross-stage pans. (And apparently, I’m not the only one who’s noticed that tendency in Sweete’s filmed-opera work.) There were a myriad of poor and even bizarre choices, indicating complete over-excitement and/or absolute unfamiliarity with the material. It’s hard to say which, but in any case, it made watching Lucia di Lammermoor in a cinema a very taxing (and occasionally confusing) endeavor.
During the dramatic second-act showdown in which the desperate brother forces his grieved sister to sign a marriage certificate, Sweete jumped between close-ups of the faces of performers Dessay and Tezier; we had to guess at their emotional states, which, especially in opera, tend to make the most sense in a wholly physical (not merely facial) sense. Were they mad? Conflicted? Same with vital details: did the ring Edgardo gave Lucia get thrown? Where? Did Enrico step on it? Body language would tellingly indicate such vital subtleties and shifts, but we weren’t given shots that would indicate either communication (unsung) or clarity (contextually), just close-ups of scrunched-up faces. Wouldn’t a wide shot to show their (clearly symbolic) distance, with the occasional close-up for emotional effect, be a better choice? It would also render their disquieting, tender-passionate physical interactions more all the more visceral.
The emotional resonance of the scene, like many, became as muddied as the color, and it was an unfortunate distillation of the problem of bridging opera and cinema: keeping the idea of staging alive. Zimmerman offered an incredible vision of the opera’s famous Sextet, by having the fancily-attired guests assembled for Lucia’s engagement party (a gathering the nearly-broke Enrico has staged to re-enter society) fan around her as she sits, surrounded entirely by men, and readying their pose for a waiting photographer. An oddly-angled wide shot used in the Live HD Broadcast completely diffused the visual power of that moment -one that (probably) worked perfectly in a live setting. The staging was excellent, thought-provoking union of sight and sound that underlined Zimmerman’s themes of family, responsibility, femininity, and notions of success. It was a pity that high-point was diminished through poor cinematographic choices.
Watching Lucia di Lammermoor on the big screen, the word “staging” never seemed more apt. It’s unwise and perhaps even foolhardy to shoot something as a movie if it’s already been laid out for the stage. It winds up looking hokey and induces some unwelcome dizziness, particularly when coupled with poor picture quality. In the famous Mad Scene in the third act, the audience was treated to a close-up of a doctor readying a sedative to give to poor, raving Lucia. Having been mesmerized by Dessay’s deliciously delirious, and awesomely beautiful handling of one of the most difficult passages in the history of vocal music, our suspension of disbelief (and lovely musical hypnosis) was cut egregiously short, as we noted, in said close-up, the lack of actual syringe, or liquid, going into the needle, breaking the magic of the scene and the audience’s trust in what was being depicted. There are so many other cinematographic choices that would’ve better served the stage presentation and further accentuated the themes of Zimmerman’s production, but they were either not taken enough, or completely ignored in favour of a more “cinematic” experience. Alas.
The plus side to those litany of close-ups (and for theater-loving me, it was a big plus) was the opportunity to see operatic acting at work. Most performers I’ve interviewed have told me it’s dangerously easy to fall into the notorious “park and bark” mode; you simply stand and …well, deliver. Sweete’s over-direction, if anything, offered a rare opportunity to view those frequently taken-for-granted acting chops. When it came to the title role, I found Dessay’s absolute love of the part and history with the opera obvious in every single scene she was in. The French soprano lived the role, sometimes to Sarah-Bernhardt-eque heights, but kept intact an innate sense of “fragility” -a word she used frequently in her intermission interviews with soprano/host Renee Flemming. Her tiny frame and expressive face gave her the look of a wounded sparrow surrounded by hungry wolves -or in tenor Calleja’s case, a gentle bear with a very bad temper.
The Malta-born singer used his considerable physicality to display an awesome, terrible violence in the scene where his character learns Lucia has married another, clearing rows of chairs in one scary *thwap* of the arm -but he also displayed incredible vulnerability and despair in his final, famous death scene. Calleja has a Valentino-like range of emotional expressions that are perfectly suited to stage work; he plays joy, grief, anger, rage, and anguish large, entering one scene with a scary scowl, another with bright eyes and a broad smile. It looked silly close-up, and it wasn’t at all suited to film, but it fit the demands of the stage beautifully. And really, it was his voice that kept my attention, for it is, quite simply, astonishing. I’ve not heard that quality of tone since I sat in the Met and watched Luciano Pavarotti perform many years ago. Calleja certainly stands on his own as an opera star on the rise, but with a voice like that, comparisons to the Pav are inevitable -and right.
In the acting sphere however, French baritone Ludovic Tezia stood in direct opposition to Calleja, and, in my humble, non-opera-expert opinion, quietly stole the show. His was a nuanced, layered performance, displaying the kind of brewing rage you might experience before a huge, violent calamity. Tezia perfectly tempered his performance to the demands of filming, and while the audience at the Met may’ve suffered (you can’t see that kind of subtlety from the Family Circle), he was absolutely magnetic, his rich, caramel voice showing a remarkable range of color and feeling, his acting displaying a man at odds with his life’s choices. With a raised eyebrow, a cock of the head, widening eyes, or a slow raise of shoulders, the honoured French singer displayed a remarkably menacing subtlety that left a deeply disturbing, if sad impression of a man who, to quote Tezia (again chatting with Flemming backstage), was forced to bear too much weight on his clearly-incapable shoulders.I didn’t perceive him as an out-and-out villain, but as a deeply layered, conflicted man whose complex personality was perfectly reflected in Zimmerman’s grey-hued world.
I’m tempted to attend the re-broadcast of Lucia di Lammermoor (April 6th in the US; April 2nd in Canada), to enjoy these fine performances, and perhaps re-think my dislike of Sweete’s work. I totally loved her filmed version of the Timothy Findley play Elizabeth Rex, and I wonder if the distractions -people fumbling with candies, a man talking loudly on his cell phone, my own probably-too-close seat -added to my intense reaction to her avant-garde approach to cinematography. I also want to hear those beautiful opera voices again, and more closely observe the creepy Lucia/Enrico interactions. Mind you, I’ll be sure to take a Gravol before the Scottish tale unfolds. Maybe even two.
Amidst waterfalls of bad news, a busy personal work schedule, poor health, and crushingly low moods, this autumn has often felt like a very long swim uphill, through maple syrup, in the dark. Music helps, of course, but sometimes so do people, or more specifically, the energy of meaningful exchanges. Sometimes those conversations lead to new discoveries, for one or both parties, cultural or otherwise; sometimes they can also trigger rediscoveries.
Lately I have been diving into my mother’s extensive vinyl collection, specifically the recordings of various Puccini operas. 2024 marks 100 years since the composer’s passing, and a number of organizations have been marking the occasion, including Teatro Alla Scala, Opera Australia, and the Pacific Music Festival. In a list for Gramophone in early October, music writer Mark Pullinger names ten defining moments within Puccini’s operatic presentation history and includes now-famous broadcasts and productions, some of which sit in my vinyl collection (including the famous Maria Callas/Tosca, natch). This week, amidst grading and emails, I found myself stopping to marvel anew at Luciano Pavarotti’s “Che gelida manina”, from the famous Karajan-led recording of La bohème done at Jesus-Christus-Kirche, Berlin in 1972 and also featuring Mirella Freni as Mimi. Whew.
Puccini wonderment aside, this is woefully late list of things to read, watch, ponder. More is coming soon, including many fascinating interviews for 2025. Until then:
Nominations for the 67th annual GRAMMY® Awards were announced on November 8th; among the nominees is Deutsche Grammophon recording of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho, released earlier this year. The Esa-Pekka Salonen-led recording featuring the San Francisco Symphony received two nominations, Best Opera Recording and Best Contemporary Classical Composition; I interviewed the opera’s leads (Fleur Barron, who sings the titular Adriana and Axelle Fanyo as Adriana’s sister Refka) earlier this autumn. The awards will be handed out February 2nd in Los Angeles.
Fleur Barron in the 2023 San Francisco Symphony presentation of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho. Photo: Brittany Hosea-Small
English National Opera (ENO) recently announced programming for their new locale in Manchester. Einstein on the Beach by Philip Glass and an in-concert performance of Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte are part of the lineup, which errs heavily to new(ish) work. Music writer Richard Bratby salutes the company’s ambition but still has some (rather convincing) reservations. (“English National Opera’s Manchester plan shows flair but it’s still a mess“, The Times, 21 November). He highlights a vital point amidst ENO’s many challenges and its recent move, namely “how does Opera North fit into this brave new world where ENO rules the roost in Manchester? Or does it?” Indeed.
Some of the other points Bratby raises highlight the findings of a recent report by Opera America about newcomers to opera. The study, conducted between 2020 and 2024, surveyed 11,000 attendees across 36 various-sized companies in the United States. It turns out (well well, shock shock) newcomers mostly come for the tried-and-true operas of yore (i.e. the Aidas, Carmens, Traviatas) and that, quite encouragingly, they’ve investigated what they’re about to see a little bit beforehand; what mostly prevents a return is ticket prices. (“Understanding Opera’s New Audiences“, Opera America, 21 November).
A report released earlier this month from the UK-based Sutton Trust pinpoints class as a prime reason for lack of representation in the arts. Among the many suggestions for creating greater equity within the cultural world: banning unpaid internships lasting more than four weeks. HUZZAH. (“Young working-class people being ‘blocked’ from creative industries, study finds“, Nadia Khomani, The Guardian, 13 November)
Photo: Jan Windszus Photography
Budget cuts to Berlin’s vibrant arts scene have recently been announced. Among the most dramatic: the planned renovation of Komische Oper Berlin’s historic Behrenstrasse theatre has been put on hold for two years (supposedly), after various levels of government – namely Senator for Culture Joe Chialo and Mayor Kai Wegner – had made assurances that very thing would not happen. Former Intendant Barrie Kosky wrote a passionate open letter in Tagesspiegel underlining the theatre’s significant Jewish history. Current KOB Managing Director Susanna Moser told music writer Axel Brueggemann in a podcast that she learned of the grim news in the newspaper. She added that she’s keeping her faith intact for a positive resolution. (“Ich gebe mehr nicht die Kugel“, Backstage Classical, 24 November).
Brueggemann had himself tried getting an interview with Chialo, only to be repeatedly stonewalled by assistants. The Senator for Culture did give an interview to FAZ; Brueggemann has nicely summarized his thoughts therein, which include a move toward long-needed structural changes, the development of corporate partnerships, and higher ticket prices. Eeeeek. (“Joe Chialo verteidigt Berlin-Einsparungen“, Backstage Classical, 27 November)
Opern News reporter Stephan Burianek has written a very thorough article about bass Ildar Abdrazakov’s now-cancelled appearance in the Teatro San Carlo production of Don Carlo set to open January 19th. The Russian artist and ardent Putin supporter may shriek victimhood (and receive much public/collegial sympathy) but there’s equal merit to considering that Abdrazakov was, to use a Russian saying, trying to sit on two chairs at once. The question of funding sources does remain relevant, more than ever (see above) and it’s fortifying to see those sources being more thoroughly investigated; Burianek has, thankfully, brought the receipts. (“Eine Bürde für den Anstand“, Opern News, 19 November)
Read/hear the word “reimagined” within the opera world lately and one tends to hold one’s breath (especially given the reimagining/political censoring/total remake of Schnittke’s Life With An Idiot recently in Zurich) – but La Carmencita, happening next month in New York City, intrigues. The Spanish-language translation of Bizet’s famous opera is being recontextualized here through a Latin American lens, courtesy of soprano/producer Sasha Gutiérrez, director Rebecca Miller Kratzer, and GRAMMY®Award-winning bassist/composer Pedro Giraudo. The Opera Next Door production runs for one night only, on 6 December, at the David Rubinstein Auditorium, Lincoln Center; admission is free.
More immediately: Four Note Opera, presented by Nederlandse Opera Studio, takes place tomorrow in Groningen as part of the city’s wide-ranging Sounds Of Music Festival. The satirical 1972 work by Tom Johnson indeed uses only four notes together with five soloists and a pianist; Dutch National Opera first presented the unusual opera earlier this year in a co-production with the Nederlandse Reisopera and Opera Zuid.
Also tomorrow: a tribute to the late, great Benjamin Luxon is taking place at Wigmore Hall (London) at noon. The Cornish baritone died in July at the age of 87, having enjoyed a varied career encompassing lieder, oratorio, opera, ballads, folk songs, as well as work in television. In a remembrance published in August in The Guardian, music writer Barry Millington praised Luxon’s “burnished baritone, genial personality and seemingly effortless vocal projection”. Tomorrow’s tribute will include a host of British music luminaries including Sir Bryn Terfel, Dame Janet Baker, and Sir Thomas Allen, and the event will be livestreamed from the Hall.
In closing: composer Pavel Karmanov passed away on November 23rd; the Siberia-born composer was 54. Along with being a composer, pianist, and flutist, as well as a hugely influential teacher and music figure, Karmanov was a member of the rock band Vezhlivy Otkaz from 2000 until 2017. This performance of Karmanov’s 1993 composition “Birthday Present For Myself”, recorded in Paris in 2014, feels particularly right (not least because my own birthday happens in a little over two weeks) – the work bears traces of Debussy, Glass, and Silvestrov:
Until next time: stay warm, stay home if you’re sick, and remember the c-word.
Every day for the past two weeks I have told myself, “Today’s the day I’m going for a walk in the woods” and then darkness falls, and I’m still sitting at my computer, writing or grading, or lying down nursing poor health, or dusting for the billionth time, and I think: maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow comes, and the cycle repeats. I am keen to enjoy the autumn colours while I can; chilly evenings mean the jewel-like leaves are rapidly falling, which means that winter is coming, and though I love winter, I’m not quite ready for the trees to be naked and the ground to be white.
This month’s reading list is a collection of music, productions, and events oddly linked by ideas of temporality, beauty, and presence. As E. E. Cummings wrote a century ago in his Sonnets – Actualities collection (from Tulips & Chimneys, a 1922 manuscript), “Time shall surely reap / and on Death’s blade lie many a flower curled / in other lands where other songs be sung; / yet stand They here enraptured” (E. E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904–1962, Liveright/W.W. Norton, 2016, p. 156). Earlier this week I was reminded of two things: one, investigating things outside one’s comfort zone; and two, the value of being enraptured with what I fully know are entirely temporary things. Autumn was once a time of great sadness: everything is beautiful because it’s dying, I would think (and sometimes even say out loud), recalling sad and terribly human corollaries. The beauty of autumn’s colours serve as a potent reminder of the paradox of change; one can’t always control it, but one can accept what is, right now, even or especially if that thing isn’t quite as beautiful or good as the jewel-like leaves on the autumn trees. That thing (especially the unfamiliar thing) might just be good in a way that challenges unconsciously-held ideas and definitions of beauty, and that counts (I hope).
Those unconscious ideas and definitions can certainly loom large in the music world, particularly the opera/classical realm, and so, onto the list. Maybe I’ll get out to see the leaves – maybe tomorrow? Hmm.
War & Peace (& Art)
Any and all references to Soviet-era Russia have been excised from the current Opernhaus Zürich production of Leben mit einem Idioten, Alfred Schnittke’s ferociously satirical 1992 opera on now through the end of November. What’s the role of the house here? The composer’s family? Funders? Why is the director using such softened language around his (rather apolitical) choices? Is it art (or Art)? Do clear (and certainly timely) references to Soviet history really matter in 2024? Should they?
Update28 October: In his weekly newsletter, music journalist Axel Brüggermann published thoughts from an interview director Kirill Serebrennikov gave to Swiss music writer Christian Berzins in which is says “Ich will in Zürich keinen sowjetischen Bullshit entschlüsseln. Schnittke selbst hat gesagt, dass es sich um ein ‚offenes Werk‘ handle; jegliche Interpretationen seien erlaubt und sogar erwünscht.” (“I don’t want to decipher any Soviet bullshit in Zurich. Schnittke himself has said that it is an ‘open work’; any interpretation is permitted and even encouraged.”) The full interview is at Tagblatt (paywall).
This story brought to mind another published last month published in The Stage about censorship and staging choices.Matthew Hemley’s article looks at how British theatre can, or even should, touch on world issues, notably the ongoing war in Gaza. What should or shouldn’t be seen on stages and why? Who gets to decide? Whither funding and marketing campaigns? Questions to ponder into 2025 and beyond.
Director Tobias Kratzer gave an interview to Welt‘s Stefan Grund late last month in which he discussed his ideas on opera, theatre, and if productions should always imply messages or lessons to audiences. It’s titled “Ich versuche, nicht zu predigen“ (“I try not to preach”), which may give you an idea of his approach. Along with hinting at his plans for Hamburg, Kratzer shares his notions on if and how issues and opera might collide:
Eine Operninszenierung ist ja kein Leitartikel. […] Es geht nicht darum, dass die Regiestimme versucht, eine Wahrheit kundzutun. Ich versuche vielmehr, meine Inszenierungen wie Vexierbilder zu gestalten, sodass die Zuschauer eher mit Fragen zu ihrer eigenen Haltung konfrontiert werden.
An opera production is not an editorial. […] It’s not about the director’s voice trying to proclaim a truth. Rather, I try to design my productions like picture puzzles so that the audience is confronted with questions about their own attitudes.
(“Ich versuche, nicht zu predigen” – Welt.de, Stefan Grund, 30 September 2024)
A Tale Of Two Rheingolds
The director is set to begin his tenure as Intendant of Staatsoper Hamburg in summer 2025. Kratzer’s new production of Das Rheingold for Bayerische Staatsoper, featuring Nicholas Brownlee, Ekaterina Gubanova, Markus Brück, Sean Panikkar, Matthew Rose, and Timo Riihonen, opens on Sunday and runs through 10 November before returning for two performances as part of the house’s annual summer festival. BR Klassik will be broadcasting the opening on radio live starting at 17.30 (CET) / 12.30pm EST. The new production is led by Bayerische Staatsoper Music Director Vladimir Jurowski and marks the start of a years-long Ring journey for the storied Munich house which will culminate in a full Ring cycle presentation in 2027.
More Rheingold, this one at Teatro Alla Scala: The David McVicar-helmed production opens on Monday (28 October) and will be running through 10 November. The cast includes Michael Volle, Okka von der Damerau, Ólafur Sigurdarson, Jongmin Park, and Ain Anger; Simone Young is on the podium for the first three performances, with Alexander Soddy leading the orchestra for the last three . La Scala will be presenting a live video stream of the 3 November (next Sunday) performance, which starts at 14.15 CET (8.15am EST). Registration is required; rental fee is €11.90 for Ultra High Definition; €9.90 for HD, with the performance available to view until 10 November.
Listen Up
Gavin Friday’s much-anticipated Ecce Homo (BMG) was released earlier this week. The 13-track work is the Irish artist’s first album since 2011’s catholic and is a powerfully moving mix of ideas and soundscapes. Faith, love, identity, mortality, and memory are some of its chewy themes, with the album also showcasing Friday’s gorgeously flexible baritone, a voice central to last winter’s retelling of Peter and the Wolf. Ecce Homo (“Behold the man”, also the name of its final track) hosts an inspiringly eclectic mix of sounds, with “Cabarotica” a luscious piece of symphonic-flecked pop containing a winking line to Friday’s early discography (“if I die, I die…”) while the chamber-like “The Best Boys In Dublin” pays tribute to Friday’s beloved pet dachshunds. “When The World Was Young” conjures images of his young life in north Dublin with lifelong friends Guggi and Bono; Friday plumbs his history with gripping thoughtfulness while pondering the future with a pulsing mix of anger, anxiety, and hope running through the album’s 52-ish minutes. The Irish Independent recently proclaimed Ecce Homo Friday’s best album in 30 years. As the man himself might say: in-fkg-deed!
France Musique recently broadcast a one-hour exploration of the music of Tomsk-born Edison Denison (1929-1996). For those unfamiliar with the so-called “non-conformist” composer’s oeuvre, this is a great introduction to a very influential figure in music history whose name deserves to be more widely known. As co-publisher Boosey & Hawkes notes, the composer’s “modernist leanings provoked severe official disapproval but he stayed loyal to his Russian roots” and he went on to write various works reflecting that passion, including the early 1980s piano-and-voice song cycles Your Sweet Face and On the Snowy Bonfire, based on the poetry of Pushkin and Blok respectively. Denisov also wrote works for a variety of soloists (including Gidon Kremer and Heinz Holliger) and completed unfinished works by Mussorgsky, Mosolov, Debussy, and Schubert. His “Duke-Ellington-haunted” (says B&H) opera L’Ecume des Jours premiered at Opéra Comique (Paris) in 1986. Écoutez France-Musique.
Still with great composers: Barbara Kolb passed away this week at the age of 85. Kolb was the first American woman to receive the prestigious Rome Prize (1969-1971), which recognizes artists and scholars for work in the arts and humanities. Her music was performed by a myriad of institutions including the New York Philharmonic Orchestra under Pierre Boulez, the Boston Symphony with Seiji Ozawa, and numerous American orchestras with Leonard Slatkin. Kolb spent nine months in residence at Boulez’s IRCAM in the early 1980s, an experience which resulted in a commision for a chamber ensemble and computer-generated tape, Millefoglie, which premiered in Paris in 1985 with Peter Eötvös conducting. Publisher Boosey & Hawkes has a detailed page exploring Kolb’s work, and they have also curated an excellent playlist of her work, one that includes the mesmerizing “Solitaire”for piano and pre-recorded tape that made its world premiere at Carnegie Hall 52 years ago tomorrow (27 October 1972) with pianist Richard Trythall. Merci, Barbara Kolb.
Berlin Calling
Amidst the many calls in Berlin recently related to cultural funding: a talk The Politics Of Unpaid Labour takes place at the Weizenbaum Institute (Berlin) in early November led by Valeria Pulignano, Professor in Sociology at the Centre for Sociological Research (CESO) at KU Leuven, a Catholic research university. I very much appreciate that the word “inequality” is used at (or near) the top of the event’s description here. Class and its related privileges are inextricably tied to experiences within (and entry to) the cultural sphere, to say nothing of its coverage in media, and threatened cuts to the arts sector (in Berlinandelsewhere) make the reality of finding an equitable way forwards more important than ever.
The annual VOICES Performing Arts Festival, dedicated to celebrating the work of displaced artists. This year’s edition runs November 2nd to 29th and is curated by theatre artist Marina Davydova (who is also Director of Drama at the Salzburg Festival) and composer Sergej Newski. Highlights include performances from Klangforum Wien; a two-part programme exploring the music of Central Asia with ensemble mosaik and Duo Falak; a concert celebrating the music of French composer Vinko Globokar; as well as very unique dance and theatre works plus new play readings with the curators.
Words & Mandalas
Going more mainstream(ish): Oxford English Dictionary will be holding an online forum about the influence of popular culture on word choices, specifically how the genres of science fiction, gaming, fantasy, and other fandoms have influenced contemporary language, how these changes have been adopted by various cultures, and what kind of work is involved in including (or not including) these language changes within the diciontary. The talk takes place on 21 November at 12pm EST and will be led by OED editors Dr Catherine Sangster and Fiona McPherson. Faszinierend!
A new exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York explores the history and imagery of mandalas specifically related to Himalayan Buddhist tradition. The exhibition, running through mid-January 2025, features over one hundred paintings, sculptures, and other items (including ritualistic) made between the 12th and 15th centuries. As the exhibition website notes, it also “provides a roadmap for understanding Himalayan Buddhist worship through early masterworks, juxtaposed with a newly commissioned contemporary installation by Tibetan artist Tenzing Rigdol.” With relation to his wonderfully exuberant work for the exhibition (which references Picasso, world events, technologies, and tragedies), the artist says in the video (below): “I’m a nice person, but when it comes to painting I’m a bit crazy.” One suspects Rigdol would fit with the classical music world nicely.
As ever: remember the c-word, and have a safe and happy Halloween. 🎃
Top photo: mine. Please do not reproduce without express written permission.
Where do music and joy meet? Where can they meet, especially in sad or difficult circumstances?
I came away from a recent conversation with Fleur Barron and Axelle Fanyo pondering these questions. The mezzo soprano and soprano, respectively, are front and centre on Adriana Mater, the second opera by Kaija Saariaho, recorded in San Francisco in 2023 and released in a world premiere recording by Deutsche Grammophon in late August of this year. The opera, which unfolds over seven interrelated tableaux, carries themes of conflict, violence, hatred, and ultimately, forgiveness. Barron (who sings the title role) and Fanyo (who sings the role of Adriana’s sister Refka) heroically carry the work through its epic moments, but they shine brilliantly in its more intimate ones as well; the scenes featuring the pair are shot through with a touching closeness, one that goes beyond the performative. Real friendship, ferocious authenticity, dancing joy – these things matter to these artists, and it’s palpable throughout the recording, if not their entire respective oeuvres.
Barron, who is mentored by soprano/conductor Barbara Hannigan, has appeared with Garsington Opera, Opéra de Monte-Carlo, La Monnaie/de Munt, Opéra National de Montpellier, Opéra National du Rhin, Opera de Toulon, Arizona Opera, as well as with the Berlin Philharmonic, Orchestre de Paris, the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Malaysian Philharmonic, Junge Deutsche Philharmonie, the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Orquesta Sinfonica del Principado de Asturia, of which Barron is currently Artistic Partner.She recently performed Mahler’s Des Knaben Wunderhorn with Nathalie Stutzmann and the Atlanta Symphony and this season performs Das Lied von der Erde with Daniel Harding and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. She will also be performing in six American cities next year on a recital tour with pianist Kunal Lahiry. Another regular piano collaborator, Julius Drake, is set to join her for concerts in London, Amsterdam, Stuttgart, Madrid, Manchester, and Oviedo.
Fanyo, who was a member of Renée Fleming’s Song Studio at Carnegie Hall in 2019, was named by the European Concert Hall Organization (ECHO) programas a Rising Star for the 2023-2024 season, and gave related recitals in a number of celebrated European venues including the Musikverein (Vienna), the Elbphilharmonie (Hamburg), the Philharmonie de Paris, Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw and London’s Barbican. She has sung with Opéra Grand Avignon, Grand Théâtre de Genève, Le Concert Spirituel, Les Talens Lyriques, Opera de Toulouse, Opera de Lyon, and given recitals at Wigmore Hall, La Seine Musicale, the Orangerie du Parc Bagatelle, Festival des Nuits Romantiques, Opéra Comique and the Musée d ‘Orsay. This coming season Fanyo makes her debut as Madame Lidoine in Poulenc’s Les Dialogues des Carmélites at the Opéra de Rouen Normandie, and as Massenet’s Thais at the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos in Lisbon; she will also be singing the title role in Tosca with Théâtre Imperial de Compiègne, with whom she debuted in 2023. Her recital appearances include dates at the Amsterdam Concertgebouw’s Mahler Festival with pianist Julius Drake and London’s Wigmore Hall with Kunal Lahiry.
Barron and Fanyo first worked together in autumn 2022 in Paris, but it was with Adriana Mater the following year that the bond seems to have truly solidified. The opera made its debut in 2006 at Opera nationale de Paris, directed by Peter Sellars and conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen, a longtime friend and collaborator to the composer; the director and conductor would eventually reunite for a semi-staged presentation with the San Francisco Symphony. (Sellars had already led the American premiere of the work back in 2008.)
But this 2023 presentation, was different, and not only because it marked the work’s West Coast debut; Kaija Saariaho was seriously ill during rehearsals, and passed away at her home in Paris on June 2nd. The loss was magnified by the proximity of her family and closest friends in San Francisco – Saariaho’s daughter Aliisa Neige Barrière was assistant conductor for the production – and the cast, which also included Nicholas Phan and Christopher Purves, became thusly imbued with a deep sense of responsibility toward the material. Barron and Fanyo, hardly strangers to demanding work, recalled the unique challenges of the situation (the rehearsal room apparently filled with boxes of tissues) as well as its singular joys (including laughter-filled voicemails). The hard work paid off, with both singers receiving critical acclaim for their performances. Opera Today‘s Michael Milenski hailed Barron as “a formidable technician of deep musicality and has a powerful stage presence, transforming herself from the sexually ripe young woman into the mature woman who must explain herself to her grown son” while Milenski praised Fanyo, “(o)f rich voice and impeccable technique, she negotiated the treacherous vocal lines created by Mme. Saariaho with an ease that made such atonality of line seem natural.” The pair are set to reprise their roles in Teatro dell’Opera di Roma’s presentation of Adriana Mater in 2025.
Fleur Barron and Axelle Fanyo were kind enough to share their thoughts on being part of the San Francisco Symphony presentation and how their friendship aided in the work’s realization; during our recent exchange they also offered unique individual perspectives on working with both Salonen (“E.P.” for short) and Peter Sellars, as well as pianists Julius Drake and Kunal Lahiry. Importantly: they shared thoughts on balancing light and dark elements within recital programmes; and why joy, authenticity, and music are interlinked.
“In Our Lives Forever”
Fleur Barron in the 2023 San Francisco Symphony presentation of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho. Photo: Brittany Hosea-Small
How did the opportunity to be part of Adriana Mater come about?
FB Adriana is a little bit of a niche project for sure, but it’s an important project to have out there. I think one of Kaija’s dying wishes that it be recorded, and E.P., as her close collaborator and friend for so many years, really wanted to honour that. It’s a very personal project for him and it was a very intense experience for us, one of those things that will be a defining professional and personal moment in our lives forever. Throughout this very intense two-and-a-half-weeks, it was just the four of us, two guys and two girls, with Peter Sellars, E.P., and Aliisa (Neige Barrière), who’s Kaija’s daughter and was the cover conductor – that was it. The writing is in that is not easy: in the first half my character is raped and in the second half, I suddenly have a son and I’ve aged twenty years. And it’s set in a time of war. The relationship between the two sisters is really not easy; the relationship between Adriana and the son is also really not easy either. And the piece is reflecting the external violence and conflict happening and alluded to in the text. This piece is a lot – I can tell you we all had meltdowns on different days; we had to be so open and vulnerable, all the time.
Adriana Mater wasn’t the first time that both of you sang together…
FB … and then we played actual sisters on stage later in Adriana, although that relationship is much more dysfunctional! And we have many projects coming up together in the next few years. I think the universe wants us to be doing things together, so it’s really nice for us.
How has working together influenced your individual as well as your ensemble work?
Axelle Fanyo. Photo: Capucine de Chocqueusesm
AF Good question! Adriana has had a lot of influence on my work, especially on my way of interacting with people. Even if I won’t ever find, I think, the kind of connection I have with Fleur – because it’s really unique and special – I’m always trying to see the human behind the artist, as much as possible now. That approach has been really helpful in order to do better work onstage, and also to have a better energy off the stage. I’m always trying to find out a bit more about the people I work with, and I think this is because Fleur and I had such great energy that now it’s really important to me, much more than it was before.
Fleur Barron. Photo: Victoria Cadisch
FB I would say the same for me. I mean, first of all, as Axelle said, the type of friendship that we have is rare. A lot of time you have what’s called “showmances” – when you’re on a project and you might have a connection but it’s on a temporary basis; I never place expectations on that relationship to endure past the project. When we’re travelling all the time, it just makes the travel life more tolerable when you can have a connection with somebody, however brief. But I think what Axelle and I have is a true friendship, which is unusual. When I say we talk every day, that’s really not an exaggeration. This profession is hard, everyone manages their ego differently; jealousy is a normal thing. A unique feature of our relationship is that we are really not competitive – it’s so great because when amazing stuff comes along we immediately share with each other and there’s never a worry like, “Is this person secretly feeling insecure?” We also talk about things unrelated to the job, but it’s just good knowing who your support system is, especially when you’re on the road. There are a couple of people, like another friend of ours, Kunal (Lahiry), who you really know are in your corner, who you can reach out to, who have your back. It’s such a unique thing.
Salonen & Sellars: Balancing Elements
Esa-Pekka Salonen (L) leads baritone Christopher Purves (R) and the San Francisco Symphony in the 2023 presentation of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho. Photo: Brittany Hosea-Small
What kind of direction did you get from Salonen throughout rehearsals and performance?
AF When we do projects we have a lot of in-between projects. So we need to go from Debussy to something else entirely – it can be really different worlds. With La Damoiselle élue it was a pretty magical thing, with beautiful music and beautiful text, and it was all about being a young girl and experiencing love – really the opposite of Adriana! And it was not staged or semi-staged like we were doing with Adriana in San Francisco. In terms of working with E.P. – he is not a big note-giver, it’s more like you get a sort of energy and feeling from him; if you don’t get something he’s going to be like “Let’s tweak and try it one more time.” You just have to feel the flow and stay in it. With Adriana, because it’s contemporary music, you have to be exact – and because it was Kaija’s work so he gave us some wee little notes but he was really focused on the overall energy of the orchestra. Working with him was a dream – I must say, I’m such a fan of his! When I’m singing with E.P. I feel like he’s coming inside of my head and he’s very gently saying, “Do this; do that; go here; go there” – and I just have to follow.
FB One salient feature of this experience was of course Kaija’s passing. When we started rehearsals, we intuited she was ill, but we weren’t told how bad things were officially until maybe three or four days before she actually died. It was such an intimate process that we were all sharing, even though we were mostly kind of just meeting and it wasn’t like we knew E.P. well from working with him that one time before – it wasn’t like we were best friends – but there was a sympathetic sort of pain throughout that really informed the process in a very beautiful way but also in a very hard way; we felt like we knew her and we felt it was literally a family affair. We felt the responsibility of that in the work also.
Esa-Pekka Salonen (left) and Peter Sellars (middle; red necklaces) take their bows at the close of Adriana Mater with San Francisco Symphony in 2023. Photo: Brittany Hosea-Small
As to E.P., he is an amazing architect – he kind of controls time and space. He has a plan, and you feel like you’re in the flow of his master plan. I feel like he’s like the eye of the storm: he has a very calm centre when he’s conducting and you can see that he has the 360-degree vision for the balance, the singers, the orchestra, everything. It’s a hard score, and we were quasi off-book, and doing staging; the orchestra, because we were semi-staged, was behind us, instead of the typical concert version where you are next to the conductor or they’re in front of you. There were many things to navigate, but the type of leadership he has is really beautiful because it’s never angry, never punitive if you mess up. You feel his energy; it’s not about lots of notes all the time, It’s about the clarity of intention and exactitude he brings through his gestures, his presence, his aura. Personality-wise he’s in total contrast to Peter, who started rehearsals with a ten-minute hug and an offering of gratitude and cried every day with us – but that’s also totally authentic to Peter. Axelle and I both have very sensitive bullshit metres and we both found Peter to be this very beautiful, deeply empathetic person.
AF Peter is extremely perceptive – he’s taking in information about you and the dynamics in the room all the time, and he will say subtle things to you. He expects you to offer a lot – it’s not he’s not telling you what to do with the character but he carefully sits and observes. I’ve never worked with anybody else who does what he does, but whatever he does is effective – really effective. For me, he really helped me process some personal stuff through my role, because he understood something about me – he saw things I would do, and would make observations and I would be like, “Wow, you are a genius.”
On Cherished Collaborators
You both collaborate often with Julius Drake and Kunal Lahiry – what is it about them as collaborative pianists that you particularly find rewarding?
FB I’m so indebted to Julius because really, he plucked me out of a young artist program, the Britten Pears Young Artist Program, and it is entirely thanks to him that I have a career in chamber music. I mean, now the thing flows on its own, but in the early days, it was and still is very hard to be a recitalist, and it sometimes takes an important influential figure to give you those opportunities in order to get you on your way. And one of the things, and so one of the hallmarks of both of those people, of both Kunal and Julius, is generosity; it is very rare. But they are both very generous, in terms of their approach to the business and how they are onstage. Axelle and I have talked about this of course, and something we both love about Julius is that he has a very meaty, rich soloistic sound; both of us have larger voices than a typical recitalist and that sound helps so much. It’s like a tempurpedic bed where you feel cushioned and supported by the sound and then you can sing.
AF It’s really fun it’s fun to work with people like them – I love both Julius and Kunal because you can have those amazingly passionate, very artistic disagreements and at the end you have these beautiful results, and it’s like, “Whoa I had no idea we could go there!” It’s so rewarding to work both of them.
“I need to feel the fire”
Your recital programs mix serious themes along with humour and lightness; how do you balance those elements, and why is it important to you?
FB There’s often things that I’m reflecting on as a human being, things that I’m interested in exploring through programming, because that’s where we have the most creative agency as artists. I remember three years ago when I started to get more into diverse programming and was having also just a lot of conversations about the changes we need in the industry and asking what does it mean to be an advocate if you’re called upon in that capacity – which I think both Axel and I have been in various ways – and suddenly at one point I thought, my goodness, I’m a very fun loving person and classical music can just be so earnest and so serious! You come onstage and it’s formal – “don’t do this; do that” – there’s the protocol for how things should be. But I just want to be me. And I thought, if I’m not really enjoying myself, even with a serious piece, what is the point? So I thought, “I’m going to build a program that is literally about joy.” I built a program around dance rhythms that uses a pipa, which is a Chinese instrument, and explored folk songs from east Asia, central Asia, Europe, and South America. And so the focus was these folk rhythms, which are very danceable and fun. I wanted to make a program that would help me self-liberate – and post pandemic now, I just have far less anxiety about what people think, so yes, for me, it is a very conscious decision in terms of balancing a program.
AF I need to feel the fire. I always say that the best drug in the world is the stage; I could live without anything else but being onstage. And I need to feel that I’m sharing this joy with my audience. So when I’m planning my program I’m always thinking, “If I am in the audience what would I like to see?” It’s a conversation between you and the audience; if I’m not having fun then they won’t either. So I have to decide consciously, I am going to have fun – if I am feeling it I’m going to die right after a certain piece, then there is no need to do it. Also: I have to move. I just can’t stand still. I’m sorry but I’m really not this kind of artist! When I sing, I move so much and people always come up to me later like, “Wow I had no idea classical singers could move that much.” I’m always dancing – music is joy, music is life, music is being vibrant, being alive, in the present, and it’s just beautiful to experience it.
Top photo: Fleur Barron (seated) and Axelle Fanyo (standing) in the 2023 San Francisco Symphony presentation of Adriana Mater by Kaija Saariaho. Photo: Brittany Hosea-Small
Autumn is nigh, and with it one hopes for a respite from summer’s brutal heat. The temperatures of the season in the Northern Hemisphere were the hottest on record for the second straight year, according to a report by Copernicus, the climate change service for the European Union. With the start of the slow drive to winter comes the opening of the classical/opera season, and a related and different (if no less noticeable) kind of chill. The mix of new productions/voices/scores/schedules/casts/colleagues, to say nothing of the anticipation/dread concomitant within audiences and critics alike, brings its own unique set of temperature changes for everyone in and around the classical/opera world.
On a personal level, autumn has become a very paradoxical time: it means a welcome return to teaching duties – the structures such work entails and the inspiration its individual members always bring – but a simultaneously deep (and at times literally painful) FOMO that can last right through to December. Out of sight; out of mind? Hmmm.
In any case, here’s this month’s list of noteworthy things – musical, cultural, and otherwise – things to catch the imagination, inspire the intellect, and tickle the ears:
September 4th was the 200th birthday of composer Anton Bruckner. My favourite recording of Bruckner’s famous Seventh Symphony is by Bernard Haitink and his Concertgebouw Orchestra, part of a series of recordings done between 1963 and 1972 of all nine of Bruckner’s symphonies. This series was a major entry point for me (and I would imagine many others) into the composer’s larger overall oeuvre. Many organizations (including the Concertgebouw) have marked, or been marking, or will continue to mark, Bruckner’s birthday this year – the Berlin Philharmonic, Orchestre de Paris, the London Symphony Orchestra, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Rundfunk Sinfonieorchester Berlin, the Lucerne, Granada, and Verbier Festivals, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the San Francisco Symphony, and the Calgary Philharmonic among them. Composer Anton Safronov has written an immensely insightful essay on the composer for Musical Life magazine (“Bruckner 200 Years Later: The Half-Moron Demigod of New Music“; in Russian, translates nicely to English) which makes references to a host of composers including Schnittke, Mussorgsky, and Denisov, while conductor Markus Poschner, chief conductor of the Bruckner Orchestra Linz, spoke to Kirchen Zeitung (“Bruckner Never Gets Boring“) about various versions of the composer’s symphonies, Wagner’s influence, tempi choices, as well as his own recordings of the complete works with both the Linz and the Vienna Radio Symphony orchestras.
Arnold Schoenberg is also being feted by organizations; the composer’s 150th birthday is on 13 September. Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal (OSM) opens their season later this week with the monumental Gurre-Lieder featuring Clay Hilley, Dorothea Röschmann, and Karen Cargill, and led by OSM Music Director Rafael Payare. (The ten-year partnership between the orchestra and broadcaster Mezzo is prominently on display on the event page; one crosses fingers and toes for a recording from this to appear sooner rather than later.) In October the OSM and Payare have more Schoenberg in store: a recording of Schoenberg’s Pelleas und Melisande and Verklärte Nacht. Releasing via Pentatone on 11 October, the album (based on performances at Place des Arts this spring) comes on the heels of several Mahler-dedicated recordings, and offers a keen demonstration of the complementary artistic synergies and creative trust at work between orchestra, artists, administration, and audiences. (Please, more of this in Canada.)
Much sooner: On 10 September Opéra national de Paris offers a tantalizing introduction (at the Amphithéâtre Olivier Messiaen) to the company’s much-anticipated formal opening of the 2024-2025 season, Offenbach’s Les Brigands, pre-opening 19 September and opening night on the 21st. Director Barrie Kosky and General Director Alexander Neef will discuss various historical and musical aspects of the work. The introduction, like the autumn run, is sold out (which might offer some idea of just how anticipated this production is) – but as ever, one hopes for some form of online content from the presentation. (Bonjour, le FOMO est réel !) Kosky is perhaps the best person to explain Offenbach’s great, kooky work:
Awards season is here(ish): Opéra de national Paris’s presentation of Thomas Ades’s The Exterminating Angel by director Calixto Bieito is nominated for Best New Production at this year’s International Opera Awards. Other nominees in the category include Claus Guth’s staging of Khovanshchina at Staatsoper Unter den Linden (Berlin) and Lydia Steier’s production of Don Carlos at Grand Théâtre de Genève. Nominated singers include Gerald Finley, Jonathan Tetelman, Klaus Florian Vogt, Lisette Oropesa, and Anna Pirozzi; conductors include Simone Young, Carlo Rizzi, Thomas Guggeis, and Emmanuelle Haïm. Benedikt von Peter, who is Theatre Basel’s Intendant and artistic director, is among six nominees in the Best Director category. (He has a busy autumn: his staging of Wagner’s Ring cycle continues with Siegfried on 28 September and Götterdämmerung on 30 September.) The ceremony for the International Opera Awards takes place in Munich on 2 October.
Still in Paris: Opéra Comique is presenting Picture a day like this at the end of October. The fourth collaboration between composer George Benjamin and writer Martin Crimp, the seven-scene opera explores various facets of grief through one woman’s eyes. Nimbus Records/Naxos have just releasedthe original recording of the work’s first presentation from 2023 at Festival d’Aix-en-Provence featuring mezzo soprano Marianne Crebassa as the unnamed Woman, together with sopranos Anna Prohaska and Beate Mordal; counter-tenor Cameron Shahbazi; and baritone John Brancy; composer Benjamin leads the Mahler Chamber Orchestra. In an August review at Opera Ramblings, music writer John Gilks praised the recording for being ” extremely vivid and well balanced” and characterizes the singers as “terrific.” (I heartily agree, and then some.) The Opéra Comique presentation in October will feature the same cast as in Aix, with Benjamin on the podium and stage direction by Marie-Christine Soma and Daniel Jeanneteau.
Strauss à la Czech: A new album featuring soprano Kateřina Kněžíková and conductor Jakub Hrůša is being released on 20 September via Supraphon Records. Tag und nacht features the lieder of Richard Strauss for voice and piano, as well as Vier letzte Lieder with the Bamberger Symphoniker. Kněžíková, who has appeared with the Czech Philharmonic, the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin and on the stages of La Monnaie, Glyndebourne, and Opéra Royal de Versailles (to name a few), gives a deeply sensitive reading of well-known works like “Standchen”, “Morgen”, and “Das Rosenband”, mixing an intuitive musicality with an elegant and studious approach. Hrůša, Chief Conductor of the Bamberger Symphoniker and incoming music director of the Royal Opera Covent Garden (2025), gorgeously complements the soprano in these readings – one wonders if such pianistic collaboration might become a more regular public element of his musical arsenal. Like his Royal Opera predecessor Sir Antonio Pappano, Hrůša shows himself to be a true singer’s conductor. Tag und nacht is a recording for rainy autumn days and cool breezes, deserving of many careful re-listens through many cups of hot brandied tea. In a word: magic.
Also magic with voice and (mostly) piano: The music of composer Valentin Silvestrov, performed by pianist Alexei Lubimov and soprano Viktoriia Vitrenko. A new album featuring the artists was released back in August in a co-production between Sony Classical (Germany) and BR-KLASSIK. Titled forgotten word I wished to say, the work features Silvestrov’s 11-work vocal cycle Stufen, first recorded in Berlin in 1999 with Lubimov and soprano Jana Ivanilova; the cycle sets texts by a variety of Russian poets including Pushkin, Mandelstam, and Blok. The new album also features a variety of works for solo piano (including Silestrov’s intriguing 1977 cycle Kitsch-Musik) and feels especially poignant given the composer’s harrowing escape from his native Ukraine at the start of the war in 2022, not to mention Lubimov’s daring Moscow performance of Silvestrov’s work the same year.
Speaking out on the war is a dangerous thing indeed; my posting of last month’s reading list coincided with breaking news on the death of Pavel Kushnir. A young and largely unknown Russian musician who spoke out against the war in Ukraine on his Youtube channel, Kushnir was jailed and died as the result of a hunger strike; he has since become something of a martyr figure for many dissident artists. Last month twenty-two figures from the classical music world – Sir Simon Rattle, Daniel Barenboim, and Martha Argerich among them – signed an open letter memorializing Kushnir, a missive initiated by pianist Alexander Melnikov and subsequently published in German newspaper FAZ. Kushnir’s many gifts have come to light since his death, including a 2014 novel, which takes the work of William Burroughs as a main inspiration. The work was rushed into print in Germany, and many of his performances, of both his own work and that of various classical greats, are being widely shared, along with some very touching memorials and remembrances.
A concert in Kushnir’s memory will be held in Potsdam on 19 September, marking what would have been his 40th birthday. (Alexei Lubimov is among the performers.) The organizer is Olga Shkrygunova, a childhood friend of the artist’s, who spoke at length with Van Magazin editor Hartmut Welscher last month. This performance by Kushnir, of the “April” movement in Tchaikovsky’s seasons, is one I especially love – it may be spring-like in name, but Kushnir’s interpretation is so gorgeously autumnal:
This performance is also a good example of the real, the human, the authentic – things I try to emphasize more than ever, to my students as much as myself. Ease is so tempting; comfort is so nice… and yet, as I tell them: do the work, and don’t be afraid of it, or how you might look in the process. An essay by Ted Chiang in The New Yorker recently examining the roles of creativity, humanity, process, & generative A.I. hits every important point, all in a tone that is the opposite of didactic. Chiang’s tone is friendly, conversational, casual – human, in other words; he makes a vital distinction between utilizing tools and actual doing, and underlines the need for process within that doing. What’s more, he tackles the perceived art/entertainment divide by noting the deeply human experience that drives and informs each. There’s also a line that directly speaks to my educator’s heart:
The point of writing essays is to strengthen students’ critical-thinking skills; in the same way that lifting weights is useful no matter what sport an athlete plays, writing essays develops skills necessary for whatever job a college student will eventually get. Using ChatGPT to complete assignments is like bringing a forklift into the weight room; you will never improve your cognitive fitness that way.
(Ted Chiang, “Why A.I. Isn’t Going To Make Art“, The New Yorker, 31 August 2023)
Relatedly, an essay published last month at Amor Mundi (via Bard College) pinpoints the problematic nature of paraphrased quotations, particularly those placed in a block format and popularized on social media, and in this case, specifically used as part of Vita Activa, a documentary about Hannah Arendt. Writer Roger Berkowitz, the Founder and Academic Director of the Hannah Arendt Center for Politics and Humanities and Professor of Politics, Philosophy, and Human Rights at Bard College, uses Arendt as the entry point though the implications of his inquiry are far-reaching:
When a thinker’s words are silently reordered, cut, summarized, or simply made up, it is easy, too easy, to think that the words themselves are optional, that what matters is not the words and sentences Arendt wrote but the personal interpretation of the critic. The result is not that Arendt will necessarily be misunderstood, although she may, but that we come to accept the dangerous fact that misunderstandings are excused, that there is no true understanding and no truly Arendtian version of her texts.
(Roger Berkowitz, “On Fake Hannah Arendt Quotations”, Amor Mundi, 4 August 2024)
Words, meanings, understandings – good ideas to close this month’s reading / listening list. What better way to encapsulate them than with this jaunty (if deliciously dark) ditty “Gathering Mushrooms” by ModestMussorgsky? Sometimes what one doesn’t read between the lines can be the most poisonous ingredient of all. Happy foraging… ? 🙂
Top image: mine. Please do not reproduce without written permission.
There’s a simultaneous abundance and lack to summer. Yes, there’s light and heat, but lately I can be found working (or trying to work) in a darkened kitchen – barefoot, makeup free, messy-haired – listening intently to live broadcasts from Bayreuth, occasionally glancing through blinds to a barely-green garden and rows of sleepy doves parked in the shade. One feels guilty trying to hasten an end to summer’s pleasanter aspects (cerulean skies, reasonable warmth, scant clothing) – but oh, the autumn, with its jewel-like colours, cool days, cooler nights, its promise of structure through the coming months – they are not only welcome but greatly anticipated. The start of the 2024-2025 classical/opera season may be a few weeks away, but they feel closer than ever. Hopefully this overdue reading list will tie my readers through the remaining weeks of summer until regular interviews return once more.
First up: the Berlin Philharmonic is back on August 23rd. This season features Wolfgang Rihm as its Composer-In-Residence. Rihm, who first worked with the orchestra in 1977, sadly passed away on July 27th; he was 72. News of his passing inspired many tributes in the German music world, including a richly detailed feature at the Berlin Phil website. Many remembrances underlined the composer’s refusal to be constrained by dogma. Artistic Director of the Lucerne Festival Academy since 2016, Rihm composed over 600 works, including a number of operas that reached well across specific genres and styes. His opera-monodrama Das Gehege premiered at Bayerische Staatsoper in autumn 2006 and was later presented at La Monnaie in 2018 as part of a double bill with Luigi Dallapiccola’s Il prigioniero directed by Andrea Breth and conducted by Franck Ollu. Baritone Georg Nigl (the “prisoner” of the latter production) worked with Rihm on numerous occasions and appeared as the lead in Rihm’s one-act chamber opera Jakob Lenz (based on Georg Büchner’s 1836 novella) at La Monnaie in 2015. Nigl told BR Klassik‘s Bernhard Neuhoff recently that “Ich habe mir durch Wolfgang einen Kosmos erschlossen, der mir – wenn ich das über mich selbst so sagen darf – den Weg geebnet hat, ein künstlerisch denkender Mensch zu werden.” (“Wolfgang opened up a cosmos for me that – if I may say so about myself – paved the way for me to become an artistically minded person.”) German composer/pianist Moritz Eggert posted a touching a tribute at his website (Bad Blog of Musick) noting Rihm’s incredible prolific creativity, his support for his colleagues, and that “Herz schlug dabei stets für das Ungewöhnliche, Besondere und Unkonventionelle.” (“His heart always beat for the unusual, special and unconventional.”)
Earlier this year musician-dramaturg Arno Lücker delivered a music lecture in Vienna in which he shared his ideas behind the process of writing about 250 female composers, contemporary and historic, strictly classical and not-so-classical. His selections, published over four years by Van Musik, ended with 12th century polymath Hildegard von Bingen (Lücker chose not to hew to formalities around chronology) and included Margaret Bonds (1913-1972), Undine Smith Moore (1904-1989) and Florence Price (1887-1953). His lecture, transcribed in full at Bad Blog of Musick, concluded with a reminder of the link between education and transformation:
… make sure you include female composers in your music education formats. We can’t just tell the young people out there, for the thousandth time, how great Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is. There is an urgent need to catch up in this area too.
(Arno Lücker, Bad Blog of Musick, 8 June 2024)
I wish he’d written a bit more on the need for a greater breadth in education (I write this as someone who examined the Ontario music education curriculum for elementary schools in detail earlier this year) – but hopefully Lücker will offer some form of follow-up.
The need to “catch up” was in my mind as I read observations by Slipped Disc founder Norman Lebrecht on the diminishing quantity (and quality) of classical coverage in The New York Times. (“The Decline and Fall Of Classical Music at The New York Times“, Slipped Disc, June 27, 2024) The traditional media (as symbolized by the NYT) once played, and still frustratingly plays, a major role in shaping public perceptions and ideas around culture, as much as shaping the industry in which it operates; coverage, criticism, and updates were all once regular features of classical news coverage. With the rise of digital much of that changed, especially in terms of the shortening of features, the hewing to algorithms, and the concern over stepping on advertiser toes; yet another layer of challenge came via the coronavirus pandemic, diminishing already-tiny budgets and concentrating power and influence – thereby shrinking cultural discourse around classical/opera in the process. My own feeling is that the industry as a whole (media + agencies, artists, promoters, publishers, houses, educators) needs a giant catch up of its own. Intelligent solutions need to be found for those on every side of the classical wheel. (Step 1: classical/opera-specific sites, please pay your writers.) Looking to and/or relying solely on the siloed audiences of a siloed legacy media feels not only outdated but vaguely absurd. Au courage…
Speaking of courageous: this is an intriguing reimagining of the beloved ballet La Bayadère (“Pas de Deux With Cancel Culture“, Chava Pearl Lansky, JStor Daily, June 12, 2024). In place of the highly-romanticized “exotic” aesthetic meant to conjure 19th century India, a new version sets the action within the cinema world of 1920s America. The work, called Star On The Rise, premiered at Indiana University in Bloomington in March and was spearheaded by musicologist and dance historian Doug Fullington (who counts the ability to read Stepanov notation among his many accomplishments) and educator and administrator Phil Chan, the co-founder of advocacy group Final Bow for Yellowface. Rather notably, Star on the Rise retains Petipa’s steps. In a response to an op-ed published earlier this year by Dance Australia editor Karen van Ulzen in which she stated La Bayadère was “in danger of being cancelled” Chan stated:
I don’t advocate pulling works out of repertory just to be”politically correct”, but I believe we do ourselves a disservice by presenting racial caricatures from over 100 years ago. I advocate for replacing caricature with character – with the goal of greater integrity instead of a “cultural accuracy” no outsider’s vision can really claim.
Before folks clutch their pearls about changes, just remember we do this all the time with Shakespeare and in opera. Nothing has to be lost by reimagining an old story with a new location if we first understand the original context and how that influenced certain artistic choices.
(“How NOT to cancel ‘La Bayadere’“, Phil Chan, Dance Australia, 23 March 2024)
The challenge of the either/or in live presentation (i.e. staging a crowd-pleasing spectacle versus attempting a deeper dive) is one companies and creatives alike have attempted to wrestle in various contexts, but sometimes (often) context goes out the window. Vandalizing art, as happened in Bregenz recently (“Vandals Attack Billboards Designed by Artist Anne Imhof“, Jo Lawson-Tancred, July 24, 2024) and wiping out the name and work of influential Ukrainian theatre artist Roman Viktyuk (“In Moscow, they finally got rid of Ukrainian Viktyuk’s theater“, Marina Buzovska, Pragmatika, July 10, 2024), which are certainly examples of “cancel culture”, point up issues of control, power, propaganda, presentation and reception within the socio-artistic sphere.
Henri Vidal, Caïn venant de tuer son frère Abel, 1896; Jardin des Tuileries, Paris. Photo: mine. Please do not reproduce without express written permission.
Another layer of challenge comes in recognizing and dealing with abuses of power; questions arise as to how certain artists should be viewed, engaged with, and/or covered in light of exposure of such abuse. Earlier this summer it was reported that American painter Kehinde Wiley, facing multiple allegations of sexual assault, had several upcoming shows cancelled. The National Coalition Against Censorship released a statement in June, one subsequently answered by statements from accusers. (“Kehinde Wiley’s Accusers Respond to Concerns Over Canceled Museum Shows“, Valentina Di Liscia & Maya Pontone, Hyperallergic, June 27, 2024) The recent (semi)fall of the mighty (i.e. François-Xavier Roth and John Eliot Gardiner) notwithstanding– one wonders at the role of context in such cases: how does specific knowledge of artists’ behaviours impact enjoyment/understanding/appreciation of their art? What responsibility do organizations bear in presenting their work? Who decides what is contentious? What responsibility exists to past/present victims? Should there be any? What is the role of sensitivity? Who benefits? Who pays? That last one is especially important, in both literal and figurative senses, and can serve to create (and feed) a toxic brand of resentment.
In an individual sense, one wonders at the vast and largely invisible network who help to power the art world, those who endure abuse and ensconce others within their positions of privilege that perpetuate abusive practices. A fascinating piece posted at Hyperallergic last month explores this question within a socio-historical context, examining the many unknown scribes who were responsible for the first transcriptions of biblical text. Writer Sarah E. Bond opens her historically detailed article with a brilliant distillation of the “lone genius” image that powers perceptions of culture, even now:
Art and literature work in tandem to fortify myths of single-handed brilliance, creating a reverence for the proverbial “solitary genius.” Romantic depictions of the ancient author toiling away at his desk or the medieval bishop writing letters while alone in his study reinforce and reinscribe the aesthetics of authorship as a lonely, inspired endeavor. In truth, these are far from authentic depictions of true authorship.
(“The Enslaved People Who Wrote Down the New Testament“, Sarah E. Bond, Hyperallergic, July 28, 2024)
Conductor Hannu Lintu recognized his assistant, James S. Kahane, ahead of the opening of Bayerische Staatsoper production of Pelléas et Mélisande last month. More of this please, classical/opera world!
And less of this (way less – stamp this kind of thing out entirely, please): it was recently revealed that any artist working in Russia must adhere to the country’s new cultural policy, one tied to promoting/glorifying the war in Ukraine if they want any form of funding whatsoever. (“‘Everything from love to heroic death’: The Kremlin’s new cultural policy puts the war against Ukraine front and center in Russian art“, Meduza, July 24, 2024). The country’s recent prisoner exchange with the U.S., which saw the releases of Vladimir Kara-Murza, Ilya Yashin, Sasha Skochilenko, Oleg Orlov, and Evan Gershkovitch among others, seems particularly poignant given that immediate artists will be basically unable to explore the lives of these figures in any meaningful sense throughout creative media – unless a distinctly pro-Kremlin narrative is taken, that is. Many of the works being presented and performed by exiles now are filled with rage, and with good reason.
Rage, of course, can sometimes feel like the outer shell of grief. This year’s edition of the Edinburgh Festival features three works which deal with various aspects of grief. (“‘We want it to feel like a wake’: the Edinburgh Fringe artists exploring grief on stage“, Natasha Tripney, The Stage, July 29, 2024). Kelly Jones’ semi-autobiographical play My Mother’s Funeral: The Show, explores issues of class, grief, and privilege, while Look After Your Knees, created by Natalie Bellingham and director/performance-maker Jamie Wood, explores the difficulties following the death of a close relative – in this case, Bellingham’s mother. “My mum took up quite a lot of space in my life,” she says in the feature. Reading this I was reminded of the words of conductor Giordano Bellincampi in our conversation last year, when he was preparing to lead the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra (APO) in a concert presentation of Korngold’s Die Tote Stadt. “We have a lot of operas about death – in the sense of revenge and power,” he said at the time, “but we don’t have many about grief, how it is when people actually die.” Bellincampi will be leading the APO in a concert presentation of Tristan und Isolde on August 10th directed by Frances Moore, with Simon O’Neill and Ricarda Merbeth in the respective title roles, together with Albert Dohmen as King Marke, Katarina Karnéus as Brangäne, John Reuter as Kurwenal, and Jared Holt as Melot.
Speaking of teamwork: the fourth season of Prime series The Boys recently concluded. I wrote about the series’ literary-operatic corollaries in 2022, and it was interesting to read Inkoo Kang’s essay in The New Yorker earlier this summer (“‘The Boys’ Gets Too Close For Comfort”, June 26, 2024). Taking a less artsy if decidedly timely approach, Koo underlines the show’s embrace of a more blatant political commentary via the character of Homelander (who, for all the superhero trappings, is alarming familiar) and, along with noting how such embrace has risked turning off longtime fans, makes a salient point: “Even as (showrunner Eric) Kripke delights in the gruesome and the absurd, he advances a question that too few actual political actors seem to have asked themselves: How many norms and institutions are they willing to destroy in order to “win”?” A Faustian question indeed, and also a very operatic one.
Finally: the UEFA European Championship has wrapped up for another season – I watched the final with an unseen but very-heard audience of many windows-open neighbours. Shrieking with unseen strangers on a summer night: fun! Throughout the game my mind kept returning to this, captured on the very first weekend of the Championships in Hamburg; the voices, the coordination, the props, the theatre, the design, the choreography: … soc-opera?
Until September: read, listen, walk, think, smile… and remember the c-word. 🙂
Top photo: the curtain of the original Komische Oper Berlin (Behrenstrs. 55-57), 2017; my photo; please do not reproduce without express written permission.
Pelléas et Mélisande is an opera that inspires automatic if not always well-founded ideas: it’s (seemingly) impenetrable; it’s the French Tristan und Isolde; it’s romantic; it’s intense; it’s ultimately very tragic. It is also, in the words of conductor Hannu Lintu, something people may find “baffling.”
Yet Lintu, who is currently leading a new production of the opera with Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich, has found a unique clarity in Debussy’s 1902 opera, itself based on Maurice Maeterlinck’s 1893 symbolist play of the same name about a tragic love triangle of two half-brothers who love the same woman. Dutch director Jetske Mijnssen’s new staging premiered earlier this month as part of the annual Münchner Opernfestspiele, a co-production with The Dallas Opera running through 22 July featuring Ben Bliss and Sabine Devieilhe as the doomed titular lovers, along with Christian Gerhaher as the jealous Golaud, Sophie Koch as Geneviève, and Franz-Josef Selig as Arkel. Lintu, who is also Chief Conductor of Finnish National Opera, emphasizes the work’s episodic structure and uses its orchestral interludes not merely as time-filling transitions but as both commentary and complementary characters on and within the unfolding narrative. This musical approach serves to heighten the dramatic interplay between characters as well as underline the extreme tension of their world – its mystery, mysticism, and narrative momentum. Set and costume designer Ben Baur has created a world that channels both the time of the opera’s premiere (the early 20th century) while adding abstract elements and making substantial use of water, which becomes a visual motive. The decidedly structured approach Lintu takes to the score is intriguingly complemented and contrasted by such textured visual cues, highlighting both the form and the formlessness that awkwardly co-exist and fight for dominance via the interwoven relationships within the opera.
Along with his duties at Finnish National Opera, Lintu is also Music Director of Orquestra Gulbenkian in Portugal, and will become artistic partner of the Lahti Symphony Orchestra in Finland in autumn 2025. He has lead a number of celebrated orchestras including the New York Philharmonic, Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal and Orchestre National de Radio France, to name a few. Lintu’s varied repertoire features an intriguing mix of old and new, with a distinct focus on the latter; the works of contemporary or near-contemporary composers (Magnus Lindberg, Thomas Larcher, Sebastian Fagerlund, Kaija Saariaho) feature prominently along with an assortment of 20th century works by Lutoslawski, Berio, Zimmerman, and Messiaen, with recordings done for Ondine, BIS, Naxos, Avie and Hyperion. A 2012 recording of George Enescu’s Second Symphony (Ondine) with Lintu leading the Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra was shortlisted for a Gramophone Award, one of many nominations the conductor has received from the prestigious music magazine, and one of many outlets who have praised and recognized his wide-ranging work; Lintu is multiple GRAMMY nominee who is also the recipient of two International Classical Music Awards.
In his native Finland, Lintu has lead a range of operatic works including Wozzeck, Ariadne auf Naxos, Don Giovanni, Dialogues des Carmelites, Turandot, Salome, and BillyBudd. Earlier this year he completed the house’s massive Wagner Ring Cycle with Götterdämmerung, having already lead performances of Die Walküre and Siegfried from 2022. Music writer Anna Aalto noted in June that “(u)nder his direction, the orchestra’s sound is rich and velvety, and the details of the music are thoughtful and intense. The brass section stands out as mesmerizing and well-balanced.” (Seen & Heard International, June 6, 2024) This attention to balance is just as noticeable in his Pelléas in Munich. Lintu and I spoke about achieving that balance, along with his history with the opera, the role of language, and his ideas on the notion of “colour”, a word important to the music of Debussy, and not always easily achieved. Our conversation took place two days after the production’s opening, with the conductor offering detailed musical reflections, highlighting the work’s inherent connections to its contemporaries as well as its inherent mystery and beauty.
Ben Bliss as Pelléas and Sabine Devieilhe as Mélisande in Bayerische Staatsoper’s new production of Debussy’s opera. Photo: Wilfried Hoesl
When did you first encounter Pelléas? And how have your perceptions changed since that time?
The history is long – I remember when I was still in high school and I was playing piano and cello. I always went to a local music library, which was huge, and I remember borrowing the score of Pelléas and and trying to read it and realizing that I couldn’t understand a single measure of it. I was probably 16 or 17 and I had already been playing Debussy’s preludes and things like that, but I had the feeling that (the opera) was some kind of thick forest which I could not penetrate or even step into. But I was listening to it a lot with the score when I was young.
Then I started to study conducting – I became very symphony-focused – though I saw a couple of productions at various points and then bought the score because I thought, ah, that it’s one of those pieces of the 20th century that I really need to know! My approach then wasn’t for performance but purely for analysis. I bought the play also, the Finnish translation, and read it a couple of times, and I knew a bit of the philosophy in its background, although I always found, as a whole, it was difficult to digest as a musician; it takes time before this work gets into your system. I could see the details but I couldn’t put them together, a problem throughout much of Debussy’s music: it’s made up of so many details and so many layers, hidden meanings without an actual horizontal line – well it is horizontal, but not in the melodic way, it’s mostly it’s vertical, with many fascinating things going on with the harmonies and the middle voices. So I was lost in the forest, metaphorically, in a different way – but now I could actually penetrate that forest.
In preparing for this production I started to work on two different levels: studying the score as if it were a symphonic poem of some kind, and reading the text. I’m not a French speaker and I knew that I would be working with these fantastic singers who, all except one, speak French – and I have done some French operas, like Carmen, Dialogues des Carmelites, but Pelléas is a very different approach to the French language. When I came to Munich and met the soloists for the first time I said, “Look, you have all done this” – except Christian Gerhaher, who had sung Pelléas before, not Golaud – “but you have done this and I have not.” It was actually a fascinating situation. I said, “I am now approaching you, actually not with a solution, but with questions.” This was my attitude during the whole rehearsal process: I wanted to learn from them.
When the orchestra came in I tried to combine the German orchestra sound and my own orchestra sound into something which I think might be a little bit French. It’s been a very complex and joyful process at the same time. It’s fascinating to think about all the ways music goes into musicians’ brains, and then of course how it comes out, because it’s not only just getting it into your system, but it’s also technical: how does this music enter into my technique? And how am I able to transmit my ideas to the musicians?
I want to pick up on one of those ideas; you said in a Staatsoper video interview that Debussy should be “in shape”– I could hear that structure at the premiere. Did this arise through that study or was it something that came with rehearsals and being around singers?
Well, at some point the themes became more familiar, and they clarified especially when I started to see what was about to happen on stage – when I saw the movement. For me movement is really important; I play with it. I need to see people moving when I conduct opera, because that gives me a goal. Each scene in Pelléas has its own musical shape; each one of them is a musical piece as such, which could be performed separately, almost sometimes in some kind of a form, not necessarily a classical form, but maybe a form which comes from, even from earlier times – Renaissance or Baroque. Each scene has its own arc. The only piece that comes to my mind here is Wozzeck, which is built in the same way; each scene has its own musical form. But for Debussy it was more, I think, subconscious in the way he created Pelléas.
At some point during the rehearsals I tried to play each piece, each scene, as if it were the only one, standing on its own feet. And then later when the orchestra came along, I tried to connect these forms. How the story develops is actually very strange because so little happens in the beginning. When the first act ends, I always have this feeling like, “Where is this going?”
… which is very symbolist…
Yes! And these symbols say a lot about the time in which the opera was written, in 1902. I remember when I read the play for the first time, those symbols were a little bit more touching and I have a feeling that Debussy lost part of the symbolist nature of the play because he was so involved with the vocal writing and the orchestration – I might be wrong! The form is there, then it develops, eventually into disaster, but then it doesn’t end – there’s one more act, which is almost half an hour, like a kind of epilogue. The question arises: why did Debussy take it there? Maybe he wanted to create another world. The structure of that final section is entirely different than the others. The whole opera is episodic, and I wanted to show that this epilogue is commenting on what has happened before.
Sabine Devieilhe as Mélisande in Bayerische Staatsoper’s new production of Debussy’s opera. Photo: Wilfried Hoesl
I suspect the epilogue is also a commentary on the nature of inherited trauma…
You could be right.
… the musical language has a sense of doom. Regarding that language, I wonder how much of your other work, particularly that of Messiaen, Berio, Enescu, and of course Kaija Saariaho, was in your head when you were going through the score.
It wasn’t consciously doing that, but now that you say it, there’s lots of Kaija’s music, especially in that fifth act of Pelléas. As to Messiaen, I just conducted some early works of his, and they are very Debussy-like in the language – so I think that’s where his harmonies grew from, although it’s organized as an instrument, of course, and turns the musical language to another direction.
You can approach Pelléas from two different sides: from the past, which would include Wagner and probably some French composers before Debussy; and then of course, what came afterwards. I think Debussy is one of those composers we all know was incredibly influential in terms of what’s happened in the 20th century – him, Stravinsky, Webern, and all these great masters from the beginning of the 20th century. Their works are still modern. We probably need to live a couple of hundred years more before we really understand their music. I was thinking about this other night – we pretend that we do (understand), but especially with regards to Debussy, except for La Mer, people are a bit baffled. “What is happening? I don’t get it. I’m getting a little bit intimidated” – whereas the musicians are like, “Oh, this is so beautiful!” Debussy’s music hasn’t entirely reached the ordinary public, but it is going to – it is still travelling towards us.
Or us toward it…
Yes.
Do you think that the journey for appreciating Debussy might be helped along by programming more contemporary, or at least complementary composers more often?
I have always believed in showing the connections, whether it’s the connection between Beethoven, Wagner, or Mahler, or Mahler and Berg. I understand that the people who come to concerts may not have time, knowledge, or interest in educating themselves in this way. But I think we, who plan the programs and do the programming, could take a little more responsibility and gradually show them that the history of music is continuous, and that’s how the so-called canon is built. And those composers who are important, they are important because they influenced others, not because some musicologists or musicians have decided that they are or must be the greatest. They would have been great anyway, because they affected so many other composers. I think of Kaija and I know that some of her ideas, yes, came from Debussy and some of them came from Messiaen, and some came from others.
Photo: Marco Borggreve
So what kinds of things do you carry back, then, from this experience? You’re not finished the run yet, but what ideas or approaches might you carry back to the Finnish National Opera?
I don’t know yet, but certainly, whenever you do a big piece like this, which is, again, if we are talking about the 20th century, if we’re talking about Salome, Elektra, Wozzeck, these pieces which every conductor wants to do, you think of the structure. If something has changed, I’m not sure what it is yet. I’m almost sure that if I have changed, I will notice it after I have started to do something else. When the run here ends, I will be going on to Cleveland, Music Academy in the West, Tanglewood and Taipei also, doing the music of Sibelius, Walton, Mahler, Bruckner, and Saariaho… so when I get into the various pieces I’m set to do in those places, it’s possible that I will do them differently because of this experience – but I don’t know it yet, because now I’m still living Pelléas here.
“Colour” is a word used not only applied to the music of Debussy, but to that of many composers whose works you’ve done. Have your ideas on colour changed through the years?
We tend to speak of colours in music and very often we don’t actually have any idea what we are talking about. You read the critics: “Oh, there’s those wonderful colours” – but sometimes it’s just words. There are composers like Sibelius, who was incredibly synesthetic in his thinking, and he heard every key in its own colour, but then there is no direct connection from this into the score itself, how we experience it and how we play it, so I would say that colour is technique. It’s the composer’s technique to orchestrate, and then the musicians’ technical abilities to do exactly what the composer wanted to do. Debussy wrote a lot of instructions, as did Mahler and Bartok. You should read those instructions carefully. They knew words, and whenever there’s a word in the score, they are very important. But mainly colour is a very simple thing: play at the tip of the bow, or more pressure, or short, long, achieving a balance that reveals and makes those colours.
If you look at the orchestration of Pelléas, you very soon noticed that use of brass is very subtle; they very seldom play. A tuba plays probably four or five notes, and there are some beautiful trumpet melodies also, as well as various motives – I almost think that that’s something he learned from Wagner’s scores. It was actually something we worked on, the brass balance. So… yes, colour is technique, it’s orchestration, and then trying to do what the score says.
Christian Gerhaher as Golaud and Sophie Koch as Geneviève in Bayerische Staatsoper’s new production of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande. Photo: Wilfried Hoesl
How do you think this plays into the vocal writing? You said in another interview that it’s very in the middle – have your ideas changed throughout rehearsals?
They have changed, but only within the last eight or nine days. Originally I thought – and I still think – that they are essentially instrumental parts with words. They are in the texture of the overall sound. They have their own character, and sometimes they are peculiar. It also took me some time before I realized that the French language needs to have certain rhythms, even more than other languages. Every language has its own character, but now when I really know the words (to Pelléas) better I realize that if I try to speak them, then the character comes through the spoken rhythm and its related spoken tempo.
Also if you listen Debussy for three-and-a-half hours you have to have some variation in the sound, it can’t always be just one sound, “French” or whatever; you really do need to be earthbound for this opera. You need to find the structure and maintain the intensity and momentum, and keep some sense of direction pushing it through. You listen to recordings of Pelléas and that all of that comes through, even if the recordings are very different from each other; I can’t tell you which one are the best ones, maybe I admire the ones which are more orchestra-focused – but yes, I always thought that I have to treat those vocal parts as instrumental parts, that I have to make the balance where the words are, that they need to come through somehow. And it’s not always possible. With every opera, you have to make some compromises in balance. And having a Dutch stage director, a Finnish conductor, a German orchestra, a French singer, a German singer – it is inevitable that we all have our own national characteristics when it comes to the music, but sometimes it yields fascinating results.
