Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Call of the Tradizionalisti.

In the operatic world, to be controversial is to be per tutte le stagioni. Who cares if it's great art? Does it sell? Peter Gelb may be mad, yet there is method in't: the new Tosca got boos and he says, "Get over it." He's a risktaker and I like that. Even so, there are lessons to be learned from rowdy "traditionalists." Iconoclasm has always been en vogue, but when did traditionalism get lumped in with the GOP? All right, so they boo. Maybe the production stinks. I mean, c'mon, nobody's gonna riot. This isn't the WWE. Let the snobs have some fun! Booing is a misunderstood and sadly underrated artform. To boo isn't merely to say, "I paid money for this, jerk!" It is to proclaim, "I think, I care! Blood's rushing through my veins, for chrissake!" (Besides, our American cultural predisposition for the standing ovation is already embarrassingly unrefined.) Apparently they're booing the production, not the singing. See the trend? There was a time when conductors sat with their backs to the orchestra; beautiful singing was non plus ultra . Has the pendulum swung too far the other way?

Gelb suggests that all classical music used to be pop, which is not completely inaccurate (meanwhile Mozart is rolling in his markerless grave). Pop is new; for us it's gotta be hip, too. Does controversy accompany the hip factor? Not necessarily. In fact, if your aim is to be hip, then you may be inciting the wrong kind of controversy. Audiences don't know what they want, though, and Gelb is right, even if he doesn't know it. What we crave is theatricality: concise storytelling, told with conviction. Truly, it should be our only "tradition." Not to be clever and cool, but to be relevant. Opera's been dead for a long time; so has God, Philosophy, Capitalism, and all my hopes of ever scoring with Zack Morris. Was it always fiction? We want so badly for the Holy Grail to be literal. There's nothing new, kids; there is only now.

These days we want to "update" the arts -- the design, in particular. Appropriately, the verb does not imply improvement, but restoration. Freshness cannot be forced. The process is organic; indeed, many operas lend themselves to it naturally. For instance, Andalusian frills may be fun for Figaro, but they aren't indispensable. The major events of the drama are class conflict and power struggle-- ubiquitous themes, always relevant. The territory becomes murkier, however, with an opera like Tosca: Napoleanic Wars, a Bernhardt-esque diva, a passionate revolutionary, etc.--specific constraints that may seem anachronistic to us. The setting, too, is a little less generic. Nineteenth-Century Rome actually plays another character in Sardou's drama; the opulence of the age gives Tosca grandeur without making the singer-actors do extra work. A modern setting also robs the opera of its inherent sexiness. And sex sells. What's sexy about brick? Folks get frisky around brick every day. But an ornate church?--the forbidden Sant'Andrea della Valle? All that Catholic guilt and lust? It should stage itself. Perhaps Zeffirelli's version remained popular because the audience accepted the decadence readily and focused on the singing, which is of course opera's raison d'être. Admittedly, the title isn't Roma, circa 1900. It's Tosca's show, and she is a modern woman for every age; she is an individual, three-dimensional. Production design isn't unimportant, but it is supplementary.

Want something really fresh? Commission new work. Nobody'll care about the design. Don't upset the "traditionalists"-- they donate the moolah. Tread lightly: we're meddling with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Beale.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Rossini, il mio primo amore.

I was nearly seventeen when I began listening to opera and enjoying it. As fate decreed, it was at the public library in downtown Marietta, Georgia, on a summer afternoon not unlike this one, that I stumbled on Alceo Galliera's 1957 recording of Il barbiere di Siviglia, and it left the lasting impression that music could make me truly happy. There's something about those Seville operas that is so supremely summer -- so warm, so amorous, like dusty terracotta or syrupy hibiscus. Few can resist; but is it monotonous? Today the Barber is far from neglected: stellar productions abound, especially here in New York. On disc, Jesús López-Cobos's vibrant 1993 recording featuring Jennifer Larmore, Raul Giménez and Håkan Hagegård, among others, quickly became a top recommendation, and introduced a new standard for modern opera performance. One might argue that Galliera's, despite producer Walter Legge's idiosyncratic cuts and casting, was a dominant influence; its subtle, insightful humor is what makes it unique, and worth writing about now.

For better or worse, Maria Callas is the major attraction to the set, as she is on countless other mediocre recordings. It is mentioned frequently that her best roles were Violetta, Norma, Anna Bolena, and Lady Macbeth, followed then by Lucia, Medea, and Amina, et al., according to one's own taste. I tend to agree. Rosina, however, may be the most like Callas -- or the idea of "La Callas" -- than any other heroine, if only for her cunning and intelligence. It doesn't surprise me, though, that she made a mess of it on stage. Compare it to the La Scala production of La traviata from the 1955 season: Visconti made bold, daring choices in design and staging, and he doted on Callas's Violetta, the star part; the Barber revival was run-of-the-mill, with no one to nurture Callas's comic skills. What we have on records is a singular vision of the character Rosina, but it's only a sketch. In his brilliant biography Maria Meneghini Callas, Michael Scott suggests that the diva had no sense of humor at all, which may or may not be true. But even Mr. Scott would admit that many people fail to understand why Rosina or the entire opera is precisely funny in the first place. Situations are funny, not a performer's act of "being funny"; in fact, Beaumarchais's characters, like Seinfeld & Co., find themselves in humorous situations based on their own penchant for exasperation. That said, many will dismiss the recording based on Callas's rapid vocal decline. It may be true that her voice was not as impressive in 1957 as it was in 1954 for her Coloratura Lyric session with Serafin, featuring an inspired "Una voce poco fa," perhaps her best singing ever in the studio. Even so, 1957 was not a bad year for Callas: she sang magnificently in revivals of Anna Bolena at La Scala and La Sonnambula at Cologne and Edinburgh. As with her Amina, she gives Rosina three dimensions, a journey with an arch: in the first act, her "Ecco qua! Sempre un'istoria" is genuinely sorrowful, and her "Ah, qual colpo inaspettato" is, as the words describe, delirious with nervous happiness. I must clarify that it is the specificity with which she approaches these general emotions (sadness, elation, apprehension) that makes her a great actress. Lots of silly people think they need more video footage to see what her acting must have been like. Just listen! Specificity, timing, musicality, sense of self within the text -- that's what acting is, and you can hear it on records.

Callas is joined by the young Luigi Alva and fellow thespian Tito Gobbi -- still one of the most insightful Barber trios. Alva sounded incredibly charming and sexy (despite nasality) in juvenile roles, particularly Fenton in Falstaff. He was also the Almaviva of his generation (even if he never sang "Cessa di più resistere"). Later on, I've noticed how Alva's singing became increasingly "ROSSINIAN!" -- that is, playing the idea of the Rossini style rather than singing it with conviction. It happens a lot with interpretations of classical material: conveying "style" (i.e. attitude) becomes the overall goal, which is ultimately untruthful or, in the case of Rossini, unfunny. Sometimes it's unnoticeable except by comparison. In Alva's case, he wasted a lot of time tweaking a portrayal that, in 1957, had all the impetuousness the young nobleman requires. I can only hope that fellow Peruvian Juan Diego Flórez will keep Almaviva's torch burning ardently; his interpretation, though, which is simultaneously vivid and flavorless, is the subject of another blog entry. Betchacan'twait.

Tito Gobbi is, as always, terrific; no one portrays Figaro's propensity for mischief and adventure better than he. A singer-actor who found lightness in every character, he negotiated the sometimes gray territory between tragedy and comedy with ease. In doing so, he made those around him -- including the humorless Callas(?) -- even better. A delightful example of this is the duet "Dunque io son," which is an all-time favorite of mine: it is heartwarming, funny, and gorgeous to listen to all at once. Perhaps Gobbi should be remembered as an actor-singer instead of the other way around; it is for this reason that his Figaro and his Rigoletto, in particular, are so completely absorbing. One might argue that he and Callas represent the last of the "singing actors" à la Chaliapin. These artists lived and worked during a time when good singing and good acting weren't separate ideas, but were intertwined. To say a singer acts with "feeling" or "emotion" probably means they perform with spontaneity, thus communicating the real joy of the drama in the music. All the same, neither Gobbi nor Callas was ever noted for purity or mellifluousness; their power of the will far exceeded the power of the voice.

Subsequent recordings such as the 1993 López-Cobos boast stronger supporting players, but Legge's crew offer more than a few surprises. Zaccaria's Basilio holds its own among a small and exceptional group of peers; Ollendorf's Bartolo, though a tad crass and "Teutonic," is occasionally very funny and even a little sardonic (I happen to love his "Che noia!" in the "Pace e gioia" scene). The rest of the cast is fine. Galliera is a terribly obscure figure but his conducting of the Philharmonia is brilliantly exciting and never ever forced. I'm sure there's more, but I must rush to a close and say : one mustn't neglect other Rossini -- L'italiana, La Cenerentola, Armida and Semiramide, to name a few -- but Il barbiere is a gem -- a marvel -- a bright, sunny Spanish afternoon. The Met is reviving Sher's production this season, and I look forward to attending.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Dear Madam, So Sorry to Inform You That You're a Hack; or, La mort d'Interpétation?

This evening Mary Zimmerman’s production of Bellini's La Sonnambula at the Met will be broadcast live in HD worldwide. It's the perfect venue for Juan Diego Flórez and Natalie Dessay: they’re sexy, glamorous, born to be on the big screen and in big sound. True twenty-first century opera stars in an unfortunate twenty-first century production. I guess you'd call Zimmerman's staging "controversial" -- like her Lucia last season -- which is an arbitrary word I've grown to despise. I'd rather call it: overwrought, nonsensical, amateurish, hacked out to the maxxx, or even just plain bad.

For many operagoers in NYC, this is so two weeks ago. The whole affair has been covered nicely in this cool blog, the Financial Times, and the Sun-Times, among others. Everyone has an opinion. I do, too. Yawn. Don't get me wrong: I saw it last Saturday and had a nice evening out. Dessay and Flórez are a mighty pair -- my gosh, the crowd went wild a few times, even waving a gigantic Peruvian flag after "Ah, perchè non posso odiarti” in Act II. Real Bellini fireworks! Whoever said bel canto was kaput?

So what's the problem? It's a silly opera! This production is certainly everything Vinnie B. could've ever wanted or imagined for his trifle little bel canto semiseria -- “famously light and, even for the world of opera, a little incredible,” states Zimmerman in her Program Notes. Don't worry, she’s fixed all that.

Synopsis: Mary Zimmerman’s new production is set in a contemporary rehearsal room, where a traditional production of La Sonnambula,set in a Swiss village, is being prepared. In that rehearsal space, all the events and relations that Bellini’s characters experience also happen to the rehearsing performers in their own “real” lives. In this staging, Amina and Elvino are played by two singers (also named Amina and Elvino) who are, like their fictional counterparts, lovers. The chorus constitutes the population of the Swiss village, and Lisa, the innkeeper of La Sonnambula,is the stage manager.

"Incredible," indeed. Here's the deal: this isn’t “interpretation.” Not by a long shot. Mary Zimmerman’s production of La Sonnambula is the anti-interpretation. There is nothing in Romani’s libretto or Bellini’s music from which the play-within-a-play “concept” was interpreted. It was merely attached -- rather carelessly -- to a dramatic work that doesn’t sustain it, creating an entirely new set of obstacles on top of existing ones, effectively placing us in square negative two.

Of course, this ain't nothing new. It’s standard procedure! Setting Shakespeare in the Wild West or giving Molière a colorful Saved By the Bell makeover. B- drivel at best. Hack directors shoot themselves in the foot before they even start rehearsals and then waste time poring over details. If you wanna do a play, then you gotta love language. Same thing with opera: you’ve gotta love the language of music. But what's true in music is true in storytelling: you gotta hit all the notes. Same thing with the events, the relationships, the drama. The basics you follow before you break a single rule. I'm not saying you need cowbells and Lindt bars to do La Sonnambula (it can -- and should! -- be done a thousand different ways), but I need to care about the characters and their journey.

What makes for marketable interpretation these days? Here’s a buzz word: cleverness. Delicious, decadent (Nietzsche’s word), Family Guy-esque and oh-so-blissfully-unaware-of-actual-human-emotion, randomly awkward yet smartly sardonic and even ironic (in the true sense of the word): too cool, too calculated, too, too clever. Cleverness can fix everything! All this frivolity -- this “lightness” -- these dated, unsophisticated art makers of our past.

Do we really think we're more sophisticated? That people in the past lacked any kind of humor? Zimmerman must see them as black-and-white, soot-faced, standing in line for sugar and dying in a Holocaust or something that must not resemble our culture. Did she even read the chorus parts? They’re hilarious. So much self-awareness, so much ridiculous Commedia joy. And Count Rodolfo’s explanation of Amina’s sleepwalking: laugh-out-loud! Don’t pretend the 1830s cast-- and audience! -- wasn’t aware of its own shallowness. C’mon! These people knew good art! They had Shakespeare and Cervantes! Not to mention Mozart, for chrissake: they at least knew good opera! So it’s "light." What’s wrong with that? Not everything can be King Lear, nor should it be. If you don’t like it, then don’t stage it. No opera is realistic! That’s what opera is: huge, sweeping metaphor. Where’s the imagination? The love? The life?

Worst of all, none of it even matters. Because Ms. Zimmerman is not smarter than Vincenzo Bellini, as much as she probably fancies herself to be. After all these years La Sonnambula is still in the repertoire. Why? Listen to the music. Bellini knew this. His whole goddamn creative team knew this. The music will overcome everything else. It isn't merely “beautiful and tuneful” (so dismissive -- so American -- UGH!); the music is the thing. Zimmerman writes that La Sonnambula hasn’t been staged at the Met in 36 years and thinks the “light” plot is to blame. Outrageous! Does she think someone on the artistic staff penciled it into the season because her staging idea was such a brilliant Bridges-of-Fucking-Amsterdam puzzle solution to Bellini? No! It’s because it is difficult music and even great singers can’t manage it. They booked Flórez and Dessay. That's why. IDIOT.

For more info on Opera in HD go here. Wanna see it live? Bellini's La Sonnambula runs till April 3rd (Barry Banks replaces Flórez as Elvino on the last performance).

Open plea to Peter Gelb: I beg you, please please please tear up Zimmerman's contract and find someone -- anyone! the ninja monkey! -- to direct Rossini's Armida in 2010 and stop the insanity!