A Garden of Baroque Delights

Handel’s Rinaldo (1711)

Operamission

Merkin Concert Hall

June 16, 2016

Rinaldo and Armida in the garden of earthly delights
Francesco Hayez (1791-1882)

For two nights only, in an unbridled labor of love, Operamission brought us a concert presentation of Handel’s Rinaldo, an opera in three acts based on Torquato Tasso’s late Renaissance epic La Gerusalemme liberata. Operamission founder and musical director Jennifer Peterson conducted from the harpsichord. Delivering a delectably serious evening of music, Peterson evinced a taut performance from her collaborators. There really wasn’t a weak link in the whole thing. The orchestra on Baroque period instruments glided through a commanding interpretation of the score and the singers were all top-notch, if not world-class talent. It was a night not to be missed.

Nicholas Tamagna as Goffredo

From the outset we are introduced to the fearless Christian general Goffredo sung by Nicholas Tamagna, the first of four countertenors featured over the course of the evening. With super agility he soared through his opening aria with forceful musicality. As befitting the forces of good, Tamagna’s Goffredo had a clarity and precision in which you could hear the clarion call of Christian purity that was at once piercing yet chestful. This is Baroque singing in all its glory.

Countertenor Andrew Rader, singing Eustazio, was even higher pitched than his countertenor counterparts (higher even than the soprano too, obviously). So far in the first sequences of Act I, Handel has planted us firmly in the aesthetic territory of the Baroque with its fetishistic embrace of the uppermost registers. Rader in his early exhortations to the Christian army was like a late spring rosé, fruity and delicious.

Franco Pomponi as Argante

Change of scene. Cue the regal music and… enter Argante, the Saracen King of Jerusalem, sung by Franco Pomponi with his manly baritone. After the three counter tenors and the soprano we met in the previous scene, Pomponi’s was the first truly masculine sonic presence of the evening. A monster. Red shirt, black suit, finally some manliness, replete with the brutality that often comes with it. Everything vibrates when he makes his entrance and bolts out his first aria: “Sibillar gli angui d’Aletto.” This is Christian’s adversary and his first words resound with a reference to Turnus, the famous nemesis of the Trojan Aeneas in Virgil’s Aeneid. We’re on the right track. This is Tasso with all of his intertexts intact. Pomponi has a broad toned, beefy sound, open, bloated, but powerful, especially surprisingly full in the upper registers. In his “Vieni, oh cara” aria in a subsequent scene, he ends with a plaintive drop that grounds his plea to his ally and lover Armida, whose help he seeks to enlist against the Christian threat.

Christine Arand as Armida

Soprano Christine Arand, as Armida, answers with some fiery music of her own. Arand strutted out in full possession of her every scene in a sleek black evening gown, sensual as a serpentine seductress. The libretto calls for her to enter on a chariot pulled by fire-breathing dragons like Medea (no precedent for this in the Tasso source material). Despite the lack of chariot and dragons, Arand was very sexy, a dangerous allure emanated from her every move. The music brightens when she changes the subject to Rinaldo and expresses her desire for him. Previously she was all evil, now she waxes rhetorically bright even frizzante, though still clad in her hip-hugging tight black dress. A real femme fatale.

Once Rinaldo and Almirena have been whisked away to a locus amoenus where they are to be distracted from the battlefield, delightful bird music kicks in. Almirena sings her arioso, “Augelletti che cantate” and the sound of birdsong takes flight in the orchestra, weaving in and out of soprano Malia Bendi Merad’s voice. The recorders and a virtuosic piccolo spread their wings truly savoring the playful indulgence Handel imbued in his musical characterization of this place of delight, a classic topos of the Renaissance chivalric epic that is not lost on Handel’s imagination and the orchestra rose to the occasion. This extended musical passage was pure joy.

Randall Scotting as Rinaldo

When Armida snatches Almirena from Rinaldo, he shifts gears into “Cara sposa, amante cara,” an aria of biting sadness. Poor Rinaldo. This is his Orpheus moment, pining for the return of his beloved with Almirena standing in for Eurydice. Randall Scotting in the role of Rinaldo lent this aria an emotionality that burst out into the space and pushed against the ceiling. Imbuing it with the confidence of familiarity, he gave it an iconicity that made it feel like a showpiece, as though we’ve been listening to it forever. Despite the fact that it is far from the most famous piece in the opera, Scotting showed that it was his night. He really shined as the Christian Achilles, Rinaldo.

The first violin and first bassoon killing it now. After Eustazio picks Rinaldo up and dusts him off with words of encouragement, the great Christian knight is suddenly swept away by a newfound confidence. He surges up on a wave of music that blows through the orchestra like a gust of wind: “Venti, turbini, prestate / le vostre ali a questo piè!” intones Rinaldo, bringing Act I to a close.

Malia Bendi Merad as Almirena

Act II brings us the really iconic compositions of the evening. It’s one of those pieces in the history of opera that most everyone will have encountered in one way or another. It has appeared in movies. It has been covered by pop stars. It has been endlessly anthologized. Yet we so very rarely have the pleasure of encountering it in its original context. It is one of those masterpieces that never fail to move you. Not only did I tear up virtually on impact of the first bars of the marvellous “Lascia ch’io pianga,” but most of the orchestra seemed to be genuinely moved too. Malia Bendi Merad gave us a stunningly vulnerable take on the aria inhabiting the all too familiar lines with a feeble, touching, emotional frailty that was utterly moving. It was also very tactfully conducted by Peterson who rarefied the mood of the orchestra by slowing the tempo down as the piece fades in and out with feeling before surging again into the final refrain that hit you like a punch in the gut while your were already down. It was a stunning moment – worth the price of admission tenfold. The audience seemed to be so enraptured that no one could bring themselves to applaud in fear of ruining the lingering sensation. I know that I wanted to savor it as long as I could.

Biraj Barkakaty as Mago

During his brief Act III appearance as the Mago, countertenor Biraj Barkakaty made his presence felt. He imbued his aria and concomitant recitative with a round, clear sound that rang through the hall to the sparse accompaniment of the harpsichord and cellos. His words of encouragement to the Christian army resound with crystalline conviction and hope.

This baroque repertory is a rare art. It is very impressive when a group of such young musicians are able to pull Handel off not only so successfully but really so captivatingly. All four of the countertenors in the cast absolutely devoured their melismas and owned their breathlessly Baroque coloratura lines. This is no easy feat.

Armida abandoned by Rinaldo
Tiepolo (1696-1770)

As with the other three Handel programs (this is the fourth in the series), Operamission’s Rinaldo was an act of musical and artistic generosity from start to finish. Suffice it to say, I’m eager to see what they come up with next. I'm ready for number five!

– Lui

George Frideric Handel (1685-1759)

Torquato Tasso (1544-1595)

Pygmalion Redeemed

Jean-Philippe Rameau’s Pygmalion (An acte de ballet)

On Site Opera

June 17, 2014

Madame Tussauds New York

Performers mixed with wax figurines at Madame Tussauds
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

Lei: On Site Opera had several ambitious ideas for its new production of Jean-Philippe Rameau’s acte de ballet Pygmalion, starting with setting it in two very different site-specific locations: the opening gala at Madame Tussauds’ wax museum, and other two performances at a mannequin factory in Chelsea. Pretty clever for an opera about a sculptor who falls in love with his creation, eh? If that was not enticing enough, On Site created a lot of buzz around its partnership with Figaro Systems, a developer of “libretto simultexting technology,” to allow folks with Google Glass to see the supertitles on their devices during the performance. Finally, the June 19 show was also to be streamed live online. While these are excellent things that certainly sex up opera in the 21st century, to me they are all secondary priorities, embellishments that can come only after all operatic basics are covered, that is, solid singing, convincing acting and strong stage direction.

Céphise meets La Statue for the first time.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov 

Lui: On Site Opera’s take on Pygmalion was certainly unique in terms of their reinterpretation of the core not only of Rameau’s work, but also of the myth itself. Their production opens with an expositional dumbshow, played out during the overture, in which we are introduced to the sculptor Pygmalion, sung by “haute-contre” tenor Marc Molomot, and his flesh and blood human lover, Céphise, sung by soprano Emalie Savoy, whom we saw all dolled up like a blonde bombshell of a diva as Countess Ceprano in a recent Rigoletto at the Met (potentially some real talent here, though unfortunately in both cases she has very few lines of actual singing). While in the Ovidian version of the myth Pygmalion is an independent loner of an artist and an intransigent misogynist, Molomot plays Pygmalion as bumbling and insecure, self-doubting and self-deprecating, in short, a weak-willed modern male. He ends up seeking refuge in the safe haven of his own idealized realm of artistic creation not because he despises women for their unruly imperfections as in the more orthodox version of the myth, but rather because he is too shy to share his work with his human lover.

The artist at work.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

At one point during their overture pantomime, Céphise redounds on the floor for him so he can sketch her beautiful reclining body. When she reaches out to see how he represented her, he throws a childish fit that comes more from a lack of self-confidence than anything that resembles the active misogyny of Ovid’s Pygmalion. Even William Christie’s recent production with Les Arts Florissants highlights Pygmalion’s polarizing reaction to Céphise and her nagging, which is not the case here. On Site Opera’s Pygmalion is a stereotypically effete modern male who flounders in his relationship due to his lack of agency. He does not have enough backbone to react negatively to the demands that his flesh and blood lover makes of him. On Site Opera modernizes the myth not only by making Céphise’s favorite accessory an enormous Starbucks-style paper coffee cup, but also by metamorphosizing Pygmalion from individualistic heroic sculptor into the apotheosis of the insecure modern male.

The artist's insecurities come to the surface.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

From there, everything goes according to Amour’s plans. On cue, the statue comes to life. The sculptor falls in love with his creation. The chorus of Graces gives her some lessons in how to move like a human, and a pair of ballet dancers performs a choreography that tells the story of a courtship, a marriage and its consummation of writhing and intertwined bodies. Most of the rest of this production’s decisions faithfully follow the traditional story arc, that is, until they spring a surprise ending on us.

Amour carries our her plans.
Photo credit: Benjamin Norman / The New York Times

In Pygmalion’s big final aria, “L’amour triomphe,” On Site Opera’s take on the story suddenly veers away from any traditional version one might be familiar with, that is, the one where Pygmalion and his statue end up happily ever after, with Céphise disappearing from the picture entirely. Traditionally, this myth’s essence is about the fulfillment of idealized love and the power of art over flesh and blood reality, with the love goddess Aphrodite intervening to make that happen. In this production, Pygmalion sings the first pass of his final aria all the way through and he is still swept away by the emotions of the moment. He expresses his gratitude to Amour for breathing life into the empty object of his idealized creation. Though she does not seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed, he is still jumping for joy over the miracle of the metamorphosis.

Règne, Amour, fais briller tes flammes,

Lance tes traits dans nos âmes.

Sur des coeurs soumis à tes lois

Épuise ton carquois.

Tu nous fais, dieu charmant, le plus heureux destin.

Je tiens de toi l’objet dont mon âme est ravie,

Et cet objet si cher respire, tient la vie

Des feux de ton flambeau divin.

Temporary fetishistic bliss.
Photo credit: Benjamin Norman / The New York Times

Then when it comes time for the second pass, to repeat the aria da capo, which by the way only includes the first few lines and thus skips the whole bit about loving an object in the last lines of the text that are only pronounced the first time through, he suddenly has a change of heart.

Règne, Amour, fais briller tes flammes,

Lance tes traits dans nos âmes.

Sur des coeurs soumis à tes lois

Épuise ton carquois.

Tu nous fais, dieu charmant, le plus heureux destin.

Lover is reunited with his beloved.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

In a moment of introspection (remember he is a softie), Pygmalion comes to realize at the last minute that Céphise is his one true love and that, much to Amour’s chagrin, he is not interested in loving his work of idealized art, but wants love in the flesh with a real human girl (Starbucks in tow) despite all the hardships and difficulties, imperfections and disappointments that might entail for the slightly insecure and thoroughly sensitive modern male. And so, the credits roll on a happy ending unlike any you’ve ever seen in the context of the myth. Pygmalion is redeemed and Amour turns out not to be as powerful a god as s/he is supposed to be.

Lei: All this is certainly an intriguing and original concept, however the final product did not come out as polished as it should have. There were some very unfortunate and distracting background noise episodes: the roar of the air conditioning (though the director Eric Einhorn tried to charmingly convince the public to think about it as “rain falling on a Venetian palace”), the clunky ice cream machine at the snack bar, and, worse of all, the chit chat of the elevator operators and their walkie talkies by the entrance that persisted through a good part of the show. Not to mention the thump of a poor patron falling on the floor when his chair collapsed underneath him during the performance. Some of these issues could and should have been controlled and avoided; others were just bad luck.

The New Vintage Baroque ensemble sounded nice under the guide of the always excellent conductor Jennifer Peterson, whom we had the pleasure of seeing in a couple of Operamission productions over the last year (Rodrigo and Agrippina). However, it’s hard to say for sure because the air conditioning was just too loud. I would have been perfectly happy to pay the price of sweating in the NYC June heat to hear undisturbed baroque music, especially for an opera as short as Pygmalion.

The sculptor and his sculpture.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

As for the singing, I must confess that this was my first time hearing a “haute-contre” tenor and my ear was probably not ready for it. I have always been oddly fascinated by high operatic male voices, particularly by the castrati operatic rock-star phenomenon. Not because I particularly enjoy the sound, but rather out of a desire to understand the evolution in what’s considered “hot male singing” through centuries (particularly because I have very clear ideas on which male voices make me swoon). So, when I heard Marc Molomot I was a bit taken aback as he did not sound like anything I’ve heard before. His voice went pretty high but somehow felt restrained, almost as if it were trapped in his throat. I tried to better understand the mysteries of the different categories of high male voices and found this helpful article that sums up the subject as follows:

Countertenor: Guys singing alto (“against and above the tenor”). The three possible types are:

(1) Falsettist: Guys singing alto in falsetto (head voice);

(2) Tenor altino or haute-contre: Guys singing alto in chest voice and only using falsetto in their extreme upper end;

(3) Castrato: Guys singing alto (or even soprano) in chest voice because they have no testosterone and sometimes no balls.

All very fascinating, but I don’t think I am ready to appreciate haute-contre tenor roles just yet, no matter where and how they are performed. This may have something to do with my Italian operatic preferences, the haute-contre being a baroque French phenomenon historically loathed by Italians, who favored castrati instead.

Eloise DeLuca and Jordan Isadore tell a story without words.
Photo credit: Pavel Antonov

The sopranos, Camille Zamora (La Statue), Emalie Savoy (Céphise ) and Justine Aronson (L’Amour) did a fine job singing-wise, but their acting came off as generally forced and not very convincing. The dancing number performed by Eloise DeLuca and Jordan Isadore was creative in mixing different dance styles to baroque music, but the dancers just did not have enough room to perform, at least in the Madame Tussauds space.

Lui: On the whole, I concur with the excessive attention to secondary fancy touches to the detriment of fully covering the basics of a solid opera performance, though I commend On Site Opera for their intentions. Such a radical re-reading of the myth provided some lively food for thought. I look forward to following this young company as they continue to lay the foundations for their future.

– Lui & Lei

Amour presides over the scene in vain.
Photo credit: Benjamin Norman / The New York Times