Many blogs have little in the way of content, and instead deteriorate into posts of what essentially constitutes the blogger's favorite YouTube videos.
Oh well.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Cesare Siepi is dead
When I heard on the radio that Cesare Siepi had died, I thought...wait...he was still alive?
Amusing as that is--to me, anyway--it's not meant to make light of him. In fact, it exposes something quite positive - Siepi was one of the finest bass voices of the recorded era, so fine that I associate him inexorably with that near-superhuman class of voice which essentially ceased to exist after the 1960's. In short, most everyone with a voice of that caliber is long dead!
Consider his Mozart -
Talk about Chiaroscuro! And...his Rodgers and Hammerstein?
...it's pretty awesome too. They don't make 'em like that anymore.
RIP, signore Siepi.
Amusing as that is--to me, anyway--it's not meant to make light of him. In fact, it exposes something quite positive - Siepi was one of the finest bass voices of the recorded era, so fine that I associate him inexorably with that near-superhuman class of voice which essentially ceased to exist after the 1960's. In short, most everyone with a voice of that caliber is long dead!
Consider his Mozart -
Talk about Chiaroscuro! And...his Rodgers and Hammerstein?
...it's pretty awesome too. They don't make 'em like that anymore.
RIP, signore Siepi.
Friday, June 25, 2010
GOUNOD: Faust - Lyric Opera of Chicago
I haven’t written here in some time; I graduated last year and subsequently curtailed my writing about music. That is about to change.
I no longer write for any publication, so the tone and nature of my reviews will be different; I will also dedicate posts to my general thoughts and feelings about performers and the music world. But I think these will be positive changes, and will certainly give me more material to work with if I have the self discipline to keep the blog updated.
To begin, I think it is worth reproducing here a very brief piece I wrote in a hurry for a music critic contest last fall (which I was a finalist for, but did not “win” due to unforeseen circumstances). The piece is very short and does not flow well (due to word count constraints), but I believe it was the best of the bunch. You can view the archive of the contest and the subsequent firestorm here.
---
Lyric’s current production of Faust is so excellent that any criticism would be nitpicking. But I must say that the opera’s Romantic sentiments are often ruined by a cynical outlook, particularly in the last act where Marguerite looks like a 19th century crack whore.
That nit being picked, Piotr Beczala is a delight. His round, silver timbre, unerring legato, and crystalline top notes make for a stunning Faust. His ardent Salute, demeure chaste et pure is unrivalled by any current tenor.
As a character, René Pape was very fine as Méphistophélès—debonair and oozing gravitas. Unfortunately, while the devil was pleasingly in the details, Le Veau D’or lacked his usual ringing top and caused a slight panic when he got ahead of the orchestra. Vous Qui Faites L’endormie fared better vocally, but misfired on the all-important diabolical laughter.
As Marguerite, Ana María Martínez sings well and acts even better—particularly in the love duet—but I was left with the impression that the youthful voice of Katherine Lerner as Siébel would have been more appropriate to the Marguerite character. Lucas Meachem made for an impressive Valentin and sang his heart out in Avant de quitter ces lieu, perhaps pushing his voice a bit more than was wise, but certainly to splendid effect.
The chorus was the best I have ever heard them, precise and powerful. Andrew Davis kept a firm hand over the orchestra and produced all the aching Romantic touches necessary to the opera.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
HANDEL: Messiah - Karl Richter, London Philharmonic
Just came out yesterday. Remember that I always write to/about students.
---
Album: HANDEL: Messiah
Artist(s): Karl Richter, London Philharmonic Orchestra,
John Alldis Choir, Donald Macintyre, Stuart Burrows, Helen Donath, Anna Reynolds
One of the most honored holiday traditions of Anglo culture is performances of Handel’s Messiah. Most of us have attended at least one in our lives—we even have a biannual performance here at Elmhurst College that is always quite respectably done and is a standing recommendation. Nevertheless, experience strangely reveals that too few actually own a copy of Messiah on disc.
It therefore seems appropriate to highlight recommend this present performance of Karl Richter’s, which stands firmly in the Romantic Messiah tradition preserved through the last century. Unlike most modern recordings, this Messiah utilizes a full orchestra, large chorus, and operatic soloists who do no ornamentation. To the “period performance” type, this doubtless sounds horrific, but the fact of the matter is that this performance is one of recorded music’s best kept secrets, unfairly relegated to obscurity.
Richter’s conducting confirms his status as the then-reigning Bach expert—squarely Germanic, displaying broad, stately tempi and a good sense of baroque rhythm. The opening overture is vested with weight and great seriousness, but doesn’t drag—you may miss the double-dotting often read into the score if that’s what you’re used to, but the more traditional approach succeeds very well on its own terms. In particular the “Pastoral Symphony” is very pretty and lovingly phrased. The sound he draws from the orchestra is bit relaxed and mellow (the strings sound almost lazy in places), but very deep and appropriate to his stately conception.
Richter’s approach is well served by the John Alldis Choir, whose mature sound and admirable precision are on full display throughout. The lengthy melismas of “And He Shall Purify” sound quite comfortable for the ensemble and Richter’s dynamic changes are very well judged. “For Unto Us a Child is Born,” and “Hallelujah” both capture the necessary joy and grandeur of the words. Perhaps the only misfire is “Behold the Lamb God,” where the absence of double dotting inhibits the dramatic punch of the music.
The soloists are all rock solid vocally and are all native English speakers, delivering satisfying renditions of all the works solo “highlights.” Helen Donath and Anna Reynolds both consistently perform capably and musically, Donath notable for her sweet, even timbre. Donald Macintyre’s Wagnerian bass-baritone is sonorous, powerful, and delivers his solo pieces with suitable majesty and control. Most refreshingly, he also sings “But Who May Abide the Day of His Coming,” eschewing the inferior practice of giving this aria to the alto. But the tenor is the real standout here—in Stuart Barrows we have a consummate oratorio tenor, warm and bright, at once both gentlemanly and heroic. His performances of “Comfort Ye” and “Ev’ry Valley” are darn near perfect, elegant and sincere in the recitative, breezy and cheerful in the aria. And he is equally capable in “Thou Shalt Break Them,” correctly conveying the anger of the text with through both color and his explosive high notes.
In all, this performance produces a most singular and valuable quality: a feeling of timelessness, perfectly capturing the eternal nature of both the music and its subject matter. The album is definitely worth owning, and its relative obscurity makes it a fairly cheap proposition (around $8 on Amazon at the time of writing). If you don’t already Messiah, get this one.
Rating: A
---
Album: HANDEL: Messiah
Artist(s): Karl Richter, London Philharmonic Orchestra,
John Alldis Choir, Donald Macintyre, Stuart Burrows, Helen Donath, Anna Reynolds
One of the most honored holiday traditions of Anglo culture is performances of Handel’s Messiah. Most of us have attended at least one in our lives—we even have a biannual performance here at Elmhurst College that is always quite respectably done and is a standing recommendation. Nevertheless, experience strangely reveals that too few actually own a copy of Messiah on disc.
It therefore seems appropriate to highlight recommend this present performance of Karl Richter’s, which stands firmly in the Romantic Messiah tradition preserved through the last century. Unlike most modern recordings, this Messiah utilizes a full orchestra, large chorus, and operatic soloists who do no ornamentation. To the “period performance” type, this doubtless sounds horrific, but the fact of the matter is that this performance is one of recorded music’s best kept secrets, unfairly relegated to obscurity.
Richter’s conducting confirms his status as the then-reigning Bach expert—squarely Germanic, displaying broad, stately tempi and a good sense of baroque rhythm. The opening overture is vested with weight and great seriousness, but doesn’t drag—you may miss the double-dotting often read into the score if that’s what you’re used to, but the more traditional approach succeeds very well on its own terms. In particular the “Pastoral Symphony” is very pretty and lovingly phrased. The sound he draws from the orchestra is bit relaxed and mellow (the strings sound almost lazy in places), but very deep and appropriate to his stately conception.
Richter’s approach is well served by the John Alldis Choir, whose mature sound and admirable precision are on full display throughout. The lengthy melismas of “And He Shall Purify” sound quite comfortable for the ensemble and Richter’s dynamic changes are very well judged. “For Unto Us a Child is Born,” and “Hallelujah” both capture the necessary joy and grandeur of the words. Perhaps the only misfire is “Behold the Lamb God,” where the absence of double dotting inhibits the dramatic punch of the music.
The soloists are all rock solid vocally and are all native English speakers, delivering satisfying renditions of all the works solo “highlights.” Helen Donath and Anna Reynolds both consistently perform capably and musically, Donath notable for her sweet, even timbre. Donald Macintyre’s Wagnerian bass-baritone is sonorous, powerful, and delivers his solo pieces with suitable majesty and control. Most refreshingly, he also sings “But Who May Abide the Day of His Coming,” eschewing the inferior practice of giving this aria to the alto. But the tenor is the real standout here—in Stuart Barrows we have a consummate oratorio tenor, warm and bright, at once both gentlemanly and heroic. His performances of “Comfort Ye” and “Ev’ry Valley” are darn near perfect, elegant and sincere in the recitative, breezy and cheerful in the aria. And he is equally capable in “Thou Shalt Break Them,” correctly conveying the anger of the text with through both color and his explosive high notes.
In all, this performance produces a most singular and valuable quality: a feeling of timelessness, perfectly capturing the eternal nature of both the music and its subject matter. The album is definitely worth owning, and its relative obscurity makes it a fairly cheap proposition (around $8 on Amazon at the time of writing). If you don’t already Messiah, get this one.
Rating: A
BACH: "Ich Habe Genug"; BRAHMS: Lieder - Hans Hotter et al
Published...a few weeks ago.
---
Album: BACH: Cantata No. 82 "Ich Habe Genug"; BRAHMS: Vier erste Ges änge; 12 Lieder
Artist(s): Hans Hotter, Anthony Bernard, Geraint Jones, Philharmonia Orchestra of London, Gerald Moore
Traditionally, the best trained, most powerful, and most beautiful voices have favored the opera house, with interpretation taking a backseat to impressive vocalism. In contrast, less talented singers tend to favor the art song, committing all sorts of vocal immoralities in the name of “artistry.” And then there are the “period performance” twits, who can do most any ugly, scratchy thing so long as the academics agree.
It is a supreme pleasure, then, when vocalism at the very highest level is combined with the emotive qualities of the art song or the formal structures of baroque and renaissance music. Such is the case here.
Hans Hotter possessed a dark, majestic, distinctly Germanic bass-baritone. His was the thunderous voice of gods and kings, perfectly suited to the great Wagner roles for which he was known. It is strange, then, to think of him in the humble religious trappings of Bach, or the intimate world of German lieder. Yet, he was perhaps one of the most insightful interpreters of the last century, known for performances of great sincerity and feeling.
The present album, recorded when the Hotter was in his prime, exemplifies his vocal and interpretive powers. Bach’s Ich Habe Genug, in which the Christian protagonist expresses his distaste towards life and longs for Jesus, is given perhaps its most affecting treatment on record. To hear an instrument of such majesty in Bach is simply wonderful, and Hotter captures the cantata’s essence from the very first aria—he colors his powerful voice with complete humility, like a great man crushed by his cares. His phrasing displays a sensitive use of rubato, maintaining legato and the integrity of the vocal line while making each phrase ache with weariness. Similarly, the second aria is very legato, with Hotter lightening and warming his voice to create a vision of heavenly rest. And he throws himself into the difficult runs of third aria most impressively, his wish for death stated with just the right balance of aggression and desperation.
Brahm’s biblical Four Serious Songs are just that—there are four of them and they are very, very serious, except for the last one which is actually kind of cheery in parts. The insightful, cynical commentary of the three texts is given appropriately funereal treatment, and Hotter thunders nicely when the words call for it. The fourth song—in which Paul exhorts the Corinthians to practice charity—is very warm and strikingly sincere throughout.
The 12 lieder rounding off the album are a little more of a mixed bag. Most listeners are used to ignoring the character deficiencies of individual timbres, but at times, the sentimental poetry sounds just a bit odd in the voice of Wotan. Still, each song is interpreted expertly, and there is much here to please even the most critical ear. Feldeinsamkeit dreamily draws out Brahms’ Elysium-like world without ever languishing. Sappische Ode is very sweet, very devoted, and very beautifully phrased. Ständchen displays Hotter at his lightest and most charming. And of course, the more dramatic songs fare very well, particularly Verrat, in which the protagonist’s bitter sarcasm may be felt keenly.
Hotter’s collaborators are a pleasure throughout, the Philharmonia Orchestra supporting with a nice feeling of pathos in the Bach and Gerald Moore delivering his typically perfect accompaniments in the Brahms. The recorded sound varies, a little grey and grainy in the cantata (which strangely adds to the mood), but fairly clear in the lieder.
The Bach alone is worth the price of admission on this album, and the Brahms is almost as good. Indispensable for fans of either composer, particularly if you feel starved for fine voices in this repertoire. It’s selling at mid price, too.
Recommended.
---
Album: BACH: Cantata No. 82 "Ich Habe Genug"; BRAHMS: Vier erste Ges änge; 12 Lieder
Artist(s): Hans Hotter, Anthony Bernard, Geraint Jones, Philharmonia Orchestra of London, Gerald Moore
Traditionally, the best trained, most powerful, and most beautiful voices have favored the opera house, with interpretation taking a backseat to impressive vocalism. In contrast, less talented singers tend to favor the art song, committing all sorts of vocal immoralities in the name of “artistry.” And then there are the “period performance” twits, who can do most any ugly, scratchy thing so long as the academics agree.
It is a supreme pleasure, then, when vocalism at the very highest level is combined with the emotive qualities of the art song or the formal structures of baroque and renaissance music. Such is the case here.
Hans Hotter possessed a dark, majestic, distinctly Germanic bass-baritone. His was the thunderous voice of gods and kings, perfectly suited to the great Wagner roles for which he was known. It is strange, then, to think of him in the humble religious trappings of Bach, or the intimate world of German lieder. Yet, he was perhaps one of the most insightful interpreters of the last century, known for performances of great sincerity and feeling.
The present album, recorded when the Hotter was in his prime, exemplifies his vocal and interpretive powers. Bach’s Ich Habe Genug, in which the Christian protagonist expresses his distaste towards life and longs for Jesus, is given perhaps its most affecting treatment on record. To hear an instrument of such majesty in Bach is simply wonderful, and Hotter captures the cantata’s essence from the very first aria—he colors his powerful voice with complete humility, like a great man crushed by his cares. His phrasing displays a sensitive use of rubato, maintaining legato and the integrity of the vocal line while making each phrase ache with weariness. Similarly, the second aria is very legato, with Hotter lightening and warming his voice to create a vision of heavenly rest. And he throws himself into the difficult runs of third aria most impressively, his wish for death stated with just the right balance of aggression and desperation.
Brahm’s biblical Four Serious Songs are just that—there are four of them and they are very, very serious, except for the last one which is actually kind of cheery in parts. The insightful, cynical commentary of the three texts is given appropriately funereal treatment, and Hotter thunders nicely when the words call for it. The fourth song—in which Paul exhorts the Corinthians to practice charity—is very warm and strikingly sincere throughout.
The 12 lieder rounding off the album are a little more of a mixed bag. Most listeners are used to ignoring the character deficiencies of individual timbres, but at times, the sentimental poetry sounds just a bit odd in the voice of Wotan. Still, each song is interpreted expertly, and there is much here to please even the most critical ear. Feldeinsamkeit dreamily draws out Brahms’ Elysium-like world without ever languishing. Sappische Ode is very sweet, very devoted, and very beautifully phrased. Ständchen displays Hotter at his lightest and most charming. And of course, the more dramatic songs fare very well, particularly Verrat, in which the protagonist’s bitter sarcasm may be felt keenly.
Hotter’s collaborators are a pleasure throughout, the Philharmonia Orchestra supporting with a nice feeling of pathos in the Bach and Gerald Moore delivering his typically perfect accompaniments in the Brahms. The recorded sound varies, a little grey and grainy in the cantata (which strangely adds to the mood), but fairly clear in the lieder.
The Bach alone is worth the price of admission on this album, and the Brahms is almost as good. Indispensable for fans of either composer, particularly if you feel starved for fine voices in this repertoire. It’s selling at mid price, too.
Recommended.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherazade - Beecham/RPO
To be published...next week sometime.
Man, I am glad I did this one. I hadn't gone over all those recordings in a while.
---
Album: RIMSKY-KORSAKOV: Scheherazade; BORODIN: Polotsvian Dances
Artist(s): Sir Thomas Beecham, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Beecham Choral Society
Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade is a wonderful, intoxicating piece of music. Standing as the composer’s most beloved composition, its picturesque Orientalism—realized through brilliant, inventive orchestration and an outpouring of exotic melody—lends itself perfectly to conductors’ varied styles. Listeners adore comparing performances—invariably, Reiner’s recording is extolled for its technical excellence, Stokowski’s for its mysticism, and Svetlanov’s for its 100% genuine Russian bombast.
Yet, even in such a crowded field, this present performance by Sir Thomas Beecham is perhaps the most universally admired recording of Scheherazade. In fact, it is so admired that even the colossal ego in Herbert von Karajan initially declined to record the work, remarking that Beecham’s interpretation could not be improved upon.
Frankly, the praise is bit overdone. This is not to say that this is a bad recording—by no means! Beecham was one of those conductors who could seemingly do no wrong, and there is certainly nothing wrong here, per se. But for comparison, let us draw upon one of Scheherazade’s very best performances—Ernest Ansermet’s lamentably rare 1954 recording with the Paris Conservatoire Orchestra.
Take the opening few bars. The Sultan’s theme roars out of the brass, and Scheherazade’s voice—symbolized by the haunting violin solo that unifies all four movements—responds, spinning the first of her tales, The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship. Beecham’s opening shows the maestro in classic form, smoothly propelling the metallic, ominous sound of the brass with a very musical and masculine snap. And his violinist is very good, depicting our heroine with seductive style. In contrast, Ansermet’s sultan is bit less forceful, a bit warmer and more balanced with the strings and reeds. His sultan has just a little more weight around the middle and strides in purposefully. Ansermet’s violinist plays swiftly, with considerable freedom and feeling—in his hands, Scheherazade’s’ feminine voice coyly convinces the sultan to pause and listen.
In the second movement, The Story of the Kalendar Prince, Beecham’s bassoon soloist is really very good, aptly injecting a bit of awkward character into his solo without sacrificing rhythm. The strings are very elegant. And the maestro’s same, classy, snappy phrasing works wonders in the faster parts of the music, particularly in all those wonderfully rousing orchestral strikes towards the end where his wide dynamic range really comes to bear. Clearly, Beecham has the superior orchestra and they play the pants off this music. Yet, Ansermet somehow makes his comparatively sloppy ensemble sound more appropriate—the fluttering, less precise winds are the voices of his characters, and the lighter, thinner strings are the dust and air they breathe. With them, he takes full advantage of Rimsky’s colorful and atmospheric orchestration, defining each melodic line with unerring clarity.
And these trends continue. In the third movement, The Young Prince and the Young Princess, Beecham is all elegance and charm, making a tasty “Beecham bon-bon” of this romance. And his clarinetist depicts a lovely princess indeed. But Ansermet’s is a lighter, sweeter, and more innocent pair of lovers—by comparison, Beecham has too little fairy tale and a bit too much Tchaikovsky. Is that such a bad thing? Well, no, actually it’s great, and no one could ever say that Beecham’s conception lacks character. But Ansermet’s storytelling is second to none.
The last movement, The Festival of
In short, both recordings are excellent, but neither is the end-all performance. Beecham provides a vivid musical picture of a far away, exotic, spice-filled fantasy world. Ansermet provides a threadbare magic carpet and takes you there.
The “filler” of Borodin’s Polotsvian Dances are hard hitting and very exciting, demonstrating essentially the same qualities as Beecham’s Scheherazade but in music even better suited to them. The appearance of the Beecham Choral Society is a plus. The sound is typical 50’s—clear and very closely miked. The bass is a little weak, but not unacceptable.
Recommended, but don’t limit yourself to just this recording of Scheherazade. Get several different ones and argue over them. It’s fun!
Rating: A-
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Verdi: Rigoletto
Written in Missouri, of all places. Under my own extreme duress.
Published in the October 21st issue of the Elmhurst College Leader.
---
Album: Verdi: Rigoletto
Artist(s): Robert Merrill, Anna Moffo, Alfredo Kraus, Rosalind Elias, Ezio Flagella, David Ward, Georg Solti, RCA Italiana Opera Orchestra and Chorus
Rigoletto has had many excellent recordings over the years. In the beginning of the LP era, it was one of the first complete operas produced, with the incomparable Leonard Warren in the title role. When stereo emerged, each label dutifully churned out its own star-studded Rigoletto, featuring such luminaries as Ettore Bastianini, Carl Bergonzi, Joan Sutherland, and the like. And this trend has continued to the present. Rigoletto is one of the strongest warhorses of the recorded repertoire and will likely continue to be. Yet, surprisingly, in almost every recording of the opera, there is some obvious weak link.
Not so here. In Robert Merrill, we have the most glorious baritone voice of the postwar period—a dark and resonant instrument with ringing top notes and an unfailing sense of legato. Often criticized for ‘just singing’ and not adequately portraying his characters, Merrill’s performance here sweeps all such criticisms aside. His scenes with Gilda are tender, warm, and affectionate—entirely contrary to his nasty antics at the court of Mantua. Then witness his Cortigiani and Si, Vendetta, in which he unleashes his voice in righteous, paternal fury. And the moment when his daughter dies is crushing, not in the voice of a pathetic and deformed clown, but as a man overcome by grief in failing his greatest duty. To him, the hunchbacked jester is an almost noble character, twisted into viciousness by his infirmity. More than any other singer who has portrayed Rigoletto, he is utterly believable as a loving and vengeful father. It is truly his finest role.
Gilda is admirably cast as well. From a purely musical standpoint, Anna Moffo’s Gilda about as good as anyone could expect, with lovely, even tone from top to bottom, a seemingly perfect sense of phrasing, and not the slightest hint of vocal strain. Luckily, Gilda requires more musical skills than interpretive ones, though Ms. Moffo is not without some insight. Her Caro Nome is full of girlish longing. Similarly, her Tutte le Feste al tiempo tugs at one’s heart strings in just the right way—she is just so perfectly naïve and angelic, it seems nearly inevitable that someone will murder her.
Merrill’s Rigoletto and Moffo’s Gilda have few if any challengers, but the role of the Duke is another matter. Most every great tenor has taken a shot at the role, whether he was suited to it or not. Kraus succeeds admirably, though not without reservations. Frankly, his main weakness is that his reedy voice is not the equal of Pavarotti or Björling. But such comparisons are unfair—on his own terms, Kraus is a perfectly rakish Duke, full style, and may be summarized as an insightful study in shallowness. He is perhaps the most flippant Duke on record—in Ella mi fu Rapita, his ‘ardent’ longing for Gilda is expressed in almost irritated terms, like he’s lost a toy. La donna è Mobile is full of verve and swagger, clearly conveying the Duke’s irreverent attitude.
The chorus is handled very well, and the smaller parts are consistently well cast. Ezio Flagello’s Sparafucile is less illustrious than some (most notably Cesare Siepi), but serves very well, particularly in the final scene. David Ward is perhaps the best and most convincing Monterone on disc, in sonorous, commanding voice. And Rosalind Elias is very good indeed, injecting a great deal of character into the otherwise small role of Maddalena.
Solti’s conducting is very typical of the maestro. From beginning end, it’s loud, blaring hell on wheels, indulging in dynamic extremes and delivered with an orchestral sledgehammer. In Solti’s hands, Verdi’s claims of serving drama through music are well borne out. A lighter, more lyrical hand might be preferred in the opening party scene, but otherwise, it serves the taut drama of the opera perfectly.
RCA’s sonics are brain splitting. The balance between voices and orchestra is pleasingly theatre-like, so much that the performance sometimes sounds like an unusually good live recording.
In all, this is perhaps the most consistent and dramatic reading of Rigoletto ever committed to disc.
Highly recommended.
Rating: A
Published in the October 21st issue of the Elmhurst College Leader.
---
Album: Verdi: Rigoletto
Artist(s): Robert Merrill, Anna Moffo, Alfredo Kraus, Rosalind Elias, Ezio Flagella, David Ward, Georg Solti, RCA Italiana Opera Orchestra and Chorus
Rigoletto has had many excellent recordings over the years. In the beginning of the LP era, it was one of the first complete operas produced, with the incomparable Leonard Warren in the title role. When stereo emerged, each label dutifully churned out its own star-studded Rigoletto, featuring such luminaries as Ettore Bastianini, Carl Bergonzi, Joan Sutherland, and the like. And this trend has continued to the present. Rigoletto is one of the strongest warhorses of the recorded repertoire and will likely continue to be. Yet, surprisingly, in almost every recording of the opera, there is some obvious weak link.
Not so here. In Robert Merrill, we have the most glorious baritone voice of the postwar period—a dark and resonant instrument with ringing top notes and an unfailing sense of legato. Often criticized for ‘just singing’ and not adequately portraying his characters, Merrill’s performance here sweeps all such criticisms aside. His scenes with Gilda are tender, warm, and affectionate—entirely contrary to his nasty antics at the court of Mantua. Then witness his Cortigiani and Si, Vendetta, in which he unleashes his voice in righteous, paternal fury. And the moment when his daughter dies is crushing, not in the voice of a pathetic and deformed clown, but as a man overcome by grief in failing his greatest duty. To him, the hunchbacked jester is an almost noble character, twisted into viciousness by his infirmity. More than any other singer who has portrayed Rigoletto, he is utterly believable as a loving and vengeful father. It is truly his finest role.
Gilda is admirably cast as well. From a purely musical standpoint, Anna Moffo’s Gilda about as good as anyone could expect, with lovely, even tone from top to bottom, a seemingly perfect sense of phrasing, and not the slightest hint of vocal strain. Luckily, Gilda requires more musical skills than interpretive ones, though Ms. Moffo is not without some insight. Her Caro Nome is full of girlish longing. Similarly, her Tutte le Feste al tiempo tugs at one’s heart strings in just the right way—she is just so perfectly naïve and angelic, it seems nearly inevitable that someone will murder her.
Merrill’s Rigoletto and Moffo’s Gilda have few if any challengers, but the role of the Duke is another matter. Most every great tenor has taken a shot at the role, whether he was suited to it or not. Kraus succeeds admirably, though not without reservations. Frankly, his main weakness is that his reedy voice is not the equal of Pavarotti or Björling. But such comparisons are unfair—on his own terms, Kraus is a perfectly rakish Duke, full style, and may be summarized as an insightful study in shallowness. He is perhaps the most flippant Duke on record—in Ella mi fu Rapita, his ‘ardent’ longing for Gilda is expressed in almost irritated terms, like he’s lost a toy. La donna è Mobile is full of verve and swagger, clearly conveying the Duke’s irreverent attitude.
The chorus is handled very well, and the smaller parts are consistently well cast. Ezio Flagello’s Sparafucile is less illustrious than some (most notably Cesare Siepi), but serves very well, particularly in the final scene. David Ward is perhaps the best and most convincing Monterone on disc, in sonorous, commanding voice. And Rosalind Elias is very good indeed, injecting a great deal of character into the otherwise small role of Maddalena.
Solti’s conducting is very typical of the maestro. From beginning end, it’s loud, blaring hell on wheels, indulging in dynamic extremes and delivered with an orchestral sledgehammer. In Solti’s hands, Verdi’s claims of serving drama through music are well borne out. A lighter, more lyrical hand might be preferred in the opening party scene, but otherwise, it serves the taut drama of the opera perfectly.
RCA’s sonics are brain splitting. The balance between voices and orchestra is pleasingly theatre-like, so much that the performance sometimes sounds like an unusually good live recording.
In all, this is perhaps the most consistent and dramatic reading of Rigoletto ever committed to disc.
Highly recommended.
Rating: A
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
