Rossini Discoveries in Philly

Rossini’s Tancredi

Opera Philadelphia

February 19, 2017

A man goes down in this Rossini innovation
Photo credit: Opera Philadelphia 

We can never get enough bel canto, so when we heard that Opera Philadelphia was staging the rare Rossini opera seria Tancredi with an intriguing cast, we seized the opportunity and made a Philly weekend getaway out of it. When it comes to satisfying high quality opera tourism near New York City, it turns out that Philadelphia is an excellent destination. It’s a highly walkable city with great museum (Barnes Foundation!), a robust food and drink scene and a well-balanced, quality opera program. The 2016/2017 season at Opera Philadelphia includes two contemporary works (Mazzoli’s Breaking the Waves and a modern adaptation of Verdi’s Macbeth – same libretto but new music by Fabrizio Cassol), two classics (Turandot and Nozze) and the revival of a forgotten Rossini gem, Tancredi.

The Academy of Music
Photo credit: Geoffrey Goldberg

In a burst of nerdiness, we got to the Academy of Music one hour before the show, to catch an introductory talk, that also gave us ample time to take in the stunning theater. Relatively small and beautifully decorated, it felt like stepping back in time and being swept to a historic European opera house. Interestingly, the 1857 theater is claimed to be the oldest venue in the U.S. still used for its original purpose. Opera Philadelphia seems to be doing a good job of luring crowds that are beyond the usual octogenarian upper crust opera public. We are glad to report that the Sunday matinee we attended had a very diverse set of patrons of all ages and from all sorts of backgrounds. A lot of families with teenage kids, too – gotta start them young!

Miscommunication belies the plot
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

Now, about Tancredi. First things first, a summary of the little known plot that isn’t exactly the tightest. (Though to be fair it isn’t that crazy). Amenaide, a Siracusan Juliet-type, sends a letter to her exiled love interest, Tancredi (who is traveling and never receives the letter). Meantime Amenaide’s father makes peace with the opposing family in town and betroths her to his previous enemy in an act of good faith. She is reluctant to go along with the feudal arrangement, when the letter that never arrived is intercepted near the external enemy’s camp and is taken as proof of her treachery against her fatherland and family. Even Tancredi (who suddenly pops up in Siracusa) takes it as such. Amenaide is sentenced to death for treason (by decree of her own torn father!). However Tancredi won’t abide by the sentence. He steps up to challenge her accuser and betrothed in a duel to defend her honor. But getting her off the hook isn’t enough to satisfy the stubborn and fearless Tancredi.

After defeating the evil internal villain, Orbazzano, Tancredi takes his fight to the external enemy, the unseen Muslim invader Solamir. Amenaide is desperate to express her gratitude and explain the whole mix up of the mislaid letter but Tancredi won’t hear it. He’s on a mission to win glory against the Saracens. And although (at least in this version) he is mortally wounded in the skirmish, he nevertheless emerges the victor. As the savior of the day, he dies triumphantly in his beloved’s arms and the opera comes to an abrupt dramatic end with the quiet expiration of its eponymous hero.

The action has been transposed to the early 20th Century
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

A co-production of the Opera de Lausanne and the Teatro Municipal de Santiago, in the vision of Spanish director Emilio Sagi, the action has been transposed from the Middle Ages to the post-WWI era in Europe. Costumes are all flashy military coats and flowy early twentieth-century gowns, sets are dominated by a grandiose palace, all marble and mirrors with the occasional art-deco flourish, all very handsome.

From the first notes of the overture, the orchestra, under the baton of Corrado Rovaris, sounded tight and well versed in Rossini’s fiery melodies that are always such a pleasure to hear, notwithstanding the deja vu sensation at inevitably accompanies the experience (given how much the composer recycled bits of his works, particularly the overtures).

Blythe takes the whole thing up a notch (or two)
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

Just as I was thinking in the opening movements of the opera that the sets looked great and that the supporting cast seemed solid, mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe made her entrance as the hero Tancredi and everything changed. She effortlessly elevated everything to a whole other level. Her instrument is fluid, effortless and deeply melodic, particularly in the lower range that borders on a contralto sound at times. While Rossini has lots of mezzos in its operas, it’s pretty rare to see them in pants roles, let alone as leading heroes. Blythe’s tessitura is impressive in terms of power, color and agility. Her expressivity, too, was utterly moving. Time stopped every time she opened her mouth, embodying the wronged noble loving Tancredi with truly heroic tones. And could she ever fill the space with her voice. It was stunning.

Argirio orchestrates peace for family and patria
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

When the leading singer is so strong, everybody else in the cast gets dwarfed a bit, no matter how good they are. Tenor Michele Angelini in the role of Amenaide’s father Argirio, sounded technically accurate with a handsome enough sound, however he never let his vocal line really soar in the upper range and often came off as a bit restrained, which is a pity as the beauty and excitement of bel canto tenors lies also in those high explosions of emotions.

Amenaide unwillingly betrothed to the vile Orbazzano
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

Soprano Brenda Rae as the heroine Amenaide had some excellent moments, particularly when interacting in duets with other characters, however she seemed to have a bit of a hard time with some of the higher notes in her solo showstopping arias. Bass-baritone Daniel Mobbs as the villain Orbazzano was a great grounding force, particularly in the ensemble pieces, and took perhaps a bit too much pleasure in uttering an evil laugh each time he walked off stage. Mezzo Allegra De Vita displayed expressive agility as Amenaide’s friend Isaura.

All in all, Tancredi was a thoroughly enjoyable bel canto opera. Perhaps not the most compelling plot (all dramatic tension would dissipate if only Amenaide would have just told Tancredi about the letter he never got) but it was definitely a great pleasure to hear, with several exciting vocal moments. Through the introductory talk, we discovered one important bit of opera history: who knew that this was the first opera to end not with a summation finale with the sextet and chorus, all out on the stage commenting on the action, but rather with a slow fade into death with its abrupt dramatic resolution? What a discovery. I had recently been reflecting on this shift in taste. Rusalka, Manon Lescaut, La Bohéme among other gems in our recent outings all end in this fashion, whereas L’italiana, Don Giovanni, the list could go on and on, all close with a choral metanarrative moment. When did it all change? Turns out it was Rossini’s Tancredi when the composer was only 21. Who knew?!

- Lei & Lui

The climactic death after which opera would never be the same
Photo credit: Kelly & Massa

Burtonesque Birdlike Bel Canto

Rossini’s La gazza ladra

Alice Busch Opera Theater

Glimmerglass Festival

July 29, 2016

The magpie flies the coop
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

There is nothing like beating the summer heat in the big city with an upstate escape to the quaint little opera house on the banks of Otsego Lake, home to the Glimmerglass Opera Festival. Not only is it a dozen degrees cooler up here but it is also breathtakingly beautiful and oh so very peaceful. First up on our dance card this year at the festival is Rossini’s semi-seria curiosity, La gazza ladra (or The Thieving Magpie) best known for its concert-worthy overture. After Caramoor a few weeks ago, it is beginning to feel like a Rossini summer and thank goodness for that. There are far worse things a summer could turn out to be.

A very Gorey stage design by Myung Hee Cho
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Peter Kazaras’ direction of the opera adhered to a light-hearted, slightly spooky and always surreal, “dark fairytale” look and feel. The sets, designed by Myung Hee Cho, featured simple stylized cutouts that framed the stage with dark interlocking patterns of branches that were lit along their edges with running lights that periodically changed colors. The production’s most distinctive visual touches were the Edward Gorey-inspired avian costumes with their many feathery flourishes, which were also designed by Cho.

A flock of birds take center stage
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

All of the characters from the chorus to the leading ladies and gentlemen were linked to a corresponding winged creature according to their various archetypes, from cockatiels and crows to hawks and vultures. It was a veritable kingdom of birds. Ninetta and Giannetto were done up as a doves, the latter was dressed a lot like the Artist Formerly Known As Prince. Hair and makeup were the handiwork of J. Jared Janas and Dave Bova, which likewise situated us squarely in the realm of Tim Burton, one of Gorey’s great creative kindred spirits. Needless to say, the show looked great.

A crow-like street vendor
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

The opera opened with what was perhaps the most memorable moment of the night – a dumb show choreographed by Meg Gillentine over the famous overture. During which the backstory is brilliantly told all in perfect step with the various movements of Rossini’s sparkling score. The poor servant girl Ninetta falls from the graces of her padrona when a single piece of silverware goes missing. We see the thieving magpie at work, which sets up for the deus ex machina finale.

Gillentine’s choreography was really wonderful. It was certainly one of the highlights of the night. I personally always feel like dancing to Rossini, so seeing the physical potential of his very tuneful score exploited in this way was very satisfying. The overture is so much fun, complex and captivating, kinetic, and, for once, authentic to this opera (i.e. not recycled from a prior one).

However, other passages sounded conspicuously familiar. Giannetto’s big proposal aria in Act I is almost identical to one of prince charming’s big enthusiastic arias in La Cenerentola. We’ve been seeing quite a lot of Rossini lately and it is kind of fun to play the recognition game, or “spot the recycled bits!”

What could have happened to that pesky fork?
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

The opera has tragic and comic elements mixed together. Notwithstanding the perky music combined with the funky interpretation adopted by this particular production, themes of class warfare, unjust accusations, the death penalty, and sexual blackmail are powerfully present. Sure, not unlike other Rossini operas, there is also, a coup de théâtre at the eleventh hour that suddenly solves all everybody’s problems and brings about an easy and very happy ending for one and all, but the opera’s abiding concerns remain nevertheless serious.

Mind your spoons and forks!
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

The personification of the magpie in the form of the infectious dancer Meg Gillentine, who also did the choreography, was one of the most effective and genius ideas of the production. Not only was the magpie a phenomenal and highly entertaining dancer and actress, she helped tell the story big time. Sure, the plot is a tad absurd; after all it’s based on the unfair theft accusation of a lovely young lady when really it was a thieving magpie’s fault all along. So, it kind of makes sense to emphasize the magpie character as part of the connective tissue of the opera pushing the absurdity of it rather than minimizing it. Hence the birdlike features of the rest of the cast maybe suggests that in this psychedelic fairytale there are several types of birds more or less humanized (and humans more or less bird-ized) all playing a role in the unfolding of the central tensions of the plot.

The birdification of this production also worked brilliantly with all the bel canto fireworks, particularly when coming from the soprano Rachele Gilmore in the role of Ninetta. Gilmore has a pure, highly melodic, virtuosic sound and, particularly in the coloratura bits, sounded like the most lyrical of birds, which was duly noted by the magpie.

The Artist Formerly Known As Prince makes a cameo
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Gilmore’s Act I duet with Giannetto, sung by the smooth-voiced tenor Michele Angelini, was a high point of the evening’s vocal experience. Angelini has a full, high sound in the upper register, and lord knows he needs it for singing roles like this in the bel canto repertoire, but he is really more at home in the mid to lower registers where his masculine chesty voice is round, soothing and seductive. The meager moments he has in this opera left me wanting to hear more from him.

An avian friendship duet
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

One of the highlights from Act II was the harrowing friendship duet between Ninetta, who was basically on stage the entire evening, and the loyal Pippo, a pants role sung by a playful Allegra De Vita. They so beautifully fused their voices together in this emotional low point that occurs after poor Ninetta has been imprisoned over the fork and the spoon. De Vita has a heart-wrenching delicacy to her sound and she pushed Gilmore to new heights of expressivity. It was such a touching moment that it hardly seemed at home in the context of the rest of this opera, at least in this treatment of it.    

Comedy blends with tragedy
Photo credi: Karli Cadel

Several comic parts stood out as well. Later in that same sequence, I particularly enjoyed the trio when Ninetta and Giannetto are saying their goodbyes in prison. The warden is urging them to wrap it up quickly because the mayor is on his way. And just when it seemed like they were done with their duet, they start up with another round of amorous tergiversification, all to the warden’s desperation. Everyone knows that lovey dovey bel canto duets are never short, so the comic timing worked well here.

Ninetta, Giannetto and Pippo were all very strongly acted and sung. The rest of the cast was passable, with some lows, particularly when it came to Italian diction, none more so than in the recitatifs. Many of them could have seriously been speaking Cantonese and I would not have been able to tell the difference. The Italian was really badly butchered in many instances.

All in all, it was solid bel canto fun, not least of all because it is always a thrill to discover a new rarely performed Rossini, particularly under the baton of maestro Joseph Colaneri. Entertaining and very pleasant.

– Lui & Lei

Caesar's Clarion Call

Vivaldi’s Catone in Utica

Libretto by Metastasio

August 1, 2015

Glimmerglass Festival

Caesar in love.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

We were initially not so sure we wanted to hit the Glimmerglass Festival as the over four-hour drive upstate scared us a bit. But, three words won us over: Vivaldi and John Holiday. We can never get enough of Vivaldi’s operas, so rarely performed, and we were bewitched by the Operalia-winning countertenor when we discovered him at the Spoleto festival earlier this year. And so we rented a car, booked a B&B and embarked on the most wonderful weekend trip through pristine farmlands and charming lakes, all blissfully off the cell grid. I was surprised by how much the Glimmerglass Opera house perfectly blends with its surroundings, as it really looks like a big barn tucked away by a pond. There was nothing rural about the performance though, and we definitely did not regret the trip upstate to catch it.

Caesar shows us what he's made of.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Though singing not the title role but that of an impetuous young Cesar in love, countertenor John Holiday dominated Vivaldi’s Catone in Utica. He had it all: control, power, musical ability, agile expressivity and a fullness of sound so rarely found in even the best of today’s countertenors. Holiday completely transcends questions of gender when he sings. You don’t think: “Ah, this is a man singing like a woman,” or “Why is Caesar being sung like an effete man?” Holiday is just so transfixing and almost superhuman that it only makes sense for someone with his voice to play the most powerful character of this opera. The angelic sound of his instrument and his virtuosic handling of it carries you away and leaves you wanting for more, without knowing exactly what hit you. Like never before by listening to Holiday I understood why castrati (the closest sound to today’s countertenors) were the rockstars of their time and why they got the best roles.

Catone maneuvers for relevance.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

While Holiday’s Caesar stole the show, the evening’s tragic trajectory belonged to Cato, at least on paper. However, the particular setting of the opera performed here with its highly abbreviated first act, the original of which is not extant, actually configures the story in large part around the betrothal and courtship of the hand of Marzia, Catone’s beautiful daughter. Her father has in mind a politically expedient union with Arbace, chief of the North African Numidian tribe that has sided with him in his treacherous affront to Caesar’s rise. But, ironically enough, Marzia is already in love with none other than her father’s sworn enemy, the great Julius Caesar himself.

Arbace's marriage of political expediency.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Vivaldi’s Catone is the perfect example of the baroque propensity for casting countertenors as young men in love. Both Arbace and Caesar are the two contenders for the hand of the lovely Marzia, despite the waning political influence of her father. The central love triangle of the story is crisscrossed by another pair of lovers – Fulvio, Ceasar’s lieutenant, falls for Pompey’s widow, the stunning and vengeful Emilia (here played by the excellent mezzo Sarah Mesko). Then of course, there is the overarching plotline of the political intrigue between the stoic Cato (the last stubborn bulwark of the republic) and the rising emperor.

Early in Act I we get parallel peacocking seduction arias. Arbace, sung by countertenor Eric Jurenas, is the first to woo his “betrothed.” He pushes himself on his reluctant prey as he sings S’andrà senza pastore. The Numidian prince – whose Mad Max-inspired garb fits his desert lifestyle, it’s post-apocalyptic chic! – is a bit too overbearing and brusque with the object of his affections. Marzia shuns and spurns him and plays hard to get while he chases her around the stage like a wild animal on the hunt, or like a shepherd trying to catch a wayward member of his flock.

Arbace woos his reluctant betrothed.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Caesar’s introductory aria, on the other hand, his parallel song of seduction, was genuinely moving. In Se mai senti spirarti sul volto lieve, he busts out with some major male grandstanding, which forces his beloved Marzia to admire him in all his splendor, rather than force himself on her. She comes to him and he doesn’t have to make the effort to even so much as lean in toward her. In fact, in his vocal preening, posing and posturing, he is so taken with his own perfections that he almost seems to be more in love with himself than with her. And the aria in Holiday’s hands is mellifluous magic, pulling the attention of the house into his orbit, melting everyone around. She fawns over him and is just as taken as we are with his talents and gifts as a singer. This is what the power of song is about. Holiday shows us what a great operatic moment can do. The seduction of the music imbues the narrative with its Orphic power but yet also transcends the narrative. It is like coloring so vividly inside the lines that its force radiates out from it.

Caesar puts on his game face.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

In a change of tone, Caesar’s second big aria, shortly thereafter, is precipitated after a confrontation with Catone who taunts him with threats of war. Guerra mi piace (“I like war”), says a headstrong Catone. E guerra avrai (“and war you’ll have”), retorts the emperor in his fury. A sudden flood of red light washed over the scene, intimating the bloodshed of war. Caesar is seeing blood and so are we. The quip provokes him to launch into his great yelps of war aria, Se in campo armato. He doesn’t sound girly or effeminate at all. Instead, he comes off counter-intuitively as powerful and manly. His voice has an agile power and a dynamic expressivity. Pacing the stage slowly and deliberately, Holiday seemed more regal than boyish. The full bodied way his voice dropped as he prepared each time to launch into his barrage of little yelps, as he moved from a chesty countertenor to his head voice, were unforgettable. They came off as little conniption fits that gave you whiplash of the ear. That night at Glimmerglass we heard the clarion call of Caesar’s imperial revolution.

Catone barks orders at his minions.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

When we signed up for Vivaldi at Glimmerglass this is precisely the kind of musical experience we were looking for: fiery Venetian baroque operatic fireworks. The fact that the bill included John Holiday, one of the big winners at this year’s Operalia competition, was the icing on the cake. He and most of the rest of the cast that featured an exciting mix of young artists (mezzos Megan Samarin as Marzia and Allegra De Vita as Fulvio) and seasoned veterans (tenor Thomas Michael Allen in the title role and mezzo Sarah Mesko as Emilia) pushed Vivaldi’s vocal score to its expressive limit in many key moments. After Holiday, the most impressive singer on stage was Ms. Mesko, who attacked Emilia’s vengeful arias with a fury and passion worth of Vivaldi. 

Emilia and her game face.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

I wish I could say the same for the orchestra. While the singers were fleshing out the ends of their lines with bright full colors and emitting fiery vocal effects into the intimate theater from the stage, there were fewer sparks to be heard from the orchestra pit. What I love about a good Vivaldi score are ferocious strings, especially the violins that demand to be passionately attacked with a Mediterranean animality. Here there were very few Vivaldi fiery Italian flourishes. The orchestra under Ryan Brown’s direction just didn’t seem to rise to the level of the singing. They were tight though slightly academic sounding, more restrained, and more English in disposition than uncontainably Southern European.

I found Tasewell Thompson’s production to be extremely effective in its sophisticated simplicity. The staging presented a brief introduction of each of the characters during the overture. The stage was visible through a translucent scrim and each of the singers in full classical garb strutted out onto the stage one at a time. Their character’s name and a brief description of what they represent was projected onto the scrim to ease us into this world. The costumes were grandiose. The setting was the North African desert in Numidia where Cato has fled. Over the course of the evening an ominous big full moon was alternatively projected on the backdrop along with a portentously setting sun. Gold-encrusted “Roman ruins” (or ruins of the declining Roman republic?) were strewn about in heaps around the stage. An arc du triomphe framed much of the action, as if to signify that the ineluctable march toward empire is under way.

A brighter day is promised in the imperial silhouette.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

Another brighter day is promised in the form of a series of incisive projections featured at the rear of John Conklin’s set design. Silhouettes of architectural elements appear against the solemn sunset of the backdrop: a Corinthian column, the outline of the Coliseum as it stands today. The gloaming of the dusky sky is offset by a brighter world. Ironically though, some of the silhouettes are rather ominous, portents of later decline, like the that of the Coliseum already in the ruins as it appears today, which I suppose is a proleptic fast forwarding to the eventual fall of Roman imperial glory altogether. Civilizations rise, and even the greatest fall. Here is the story of one man’s convictions and his attempt to get out of the way of the inexorable storm and surge of the locomotive of Caesar’s imperial project, to whose ineluctable rise even the senate back in Rome has already succumbed.

A daughter grieves.
Photo credit: Karli Cadel

And, of course, succumb even Cato does. I was eager to see how Vivaldi or at the very least how this production would treat Cato’s final definitive gesture. Attitudes toward tyranny are at stake in how Cato’s clinging to the moral high road is staged. His is the ultimate study in conviction. Thompson’s production again gives us an abbreviated finale. Foregoing the grand finale choral passage featured in at least one version of the score, Thompson leaves us with what is perhaps the most memorable image of the evening. The lights go up on the final scene to reveal a Cato slumped over in his throne with his back to the audience. His arms hang lifeless and red streamers run from his wrists like streams of crimson blood across the stage on either side. Rather than a final flourish of vocal fireworks, the orchestra gives us a majestic oboe solo that is both haunting and incredibly moving at the same time. Simply magnificent.

– Lui & Lei

Marzia ponders her personal political predicament.

Photo credit: Karli Cadel

The Glimmerglass Opera House.
Photo credit: Allegri con Fuoco