I started watching a tad of the La Scala telecast (or whatever you'd call it) of Tristan und Isolde, the one from last December that was telecast in a number of theaters Stateside (but I missed it), and it's now in bits and pieces all over youtube which is a helluva way to see an opera as long and complex and concentrated as Tristan.
But it's addictive, not least because it's so much better a performance than the one (well, I saw two and heard four) that played the Met this month. The staging was very modern but not pointless (the only point of the Met staging was so Jane "the Blob" Eaglen, for whom it was originally created, would be seen to move as little as possible, since moving on stage is the only thing she does worse than sing). Barenboim conducted a moving, not too heavy account of the score, the Tristan (Ian Storey) wobbled more than one might like (we had that better in New York), Salminen as Marke and De Young as Brangaene sing significantly better and act far more intensely than they did here, and Waltraud Meier is - an Isolde! a revelation! imperfect but, as actress and singer, brilliant of voice and extraordinary in movement and look. The real deal. Debbie Voigt is fast losing what little claim she has to any vocal eminence, and her Isoldes were disgraceful, just not acceptable on any major stage. Janice Baird, her gallant occasional replacement, was a little better but not a triumph in the part.
Meier is the real deal. So is this performance of Tristan, which I intend to acquire as soon as it is available on video - though I have the old Bayreuth Barenboim performance, am supposed to be reviewing it for Opera Today (and I will! I will! but I haven't got around to it yet).
Showing posts with label Tristan und Isolde. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tristan und Isolde. Show all posts
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Isolde p.s. - On Debbie Voigt
Voigt's two great pre-op roles were Ariadne and Sieglinde - I can't say she ever knocked me out as anything else. (Though the first time I heard her Helena, from Row C in Fisher Hall, I was certainly blissed out.) (Also: a couple of giggling queens had sneaked down to the front row center and copped some empty seats there. As Debbie came grandly, diva-lich onto the stage, one of them shouted, "Debbie!" She looked, broke pose, cried (soundlessly), "Oh, YOU!" with a big, friendly grin - then went seamlessly back to august hieratic diva pose. I thought: She's a jolly girl who enjoys her friends. AND she can sing.)
But can she?
While I’ve enjoyed la Voigt’s Elisabeth and Kaiserin and Helena, even some of her Amelia, since the operation, I have noticed (without ever speculating on cause, as I am neither a doctor nor a voice specialist, just ears in the audience) a certain flaccidity in her vocal production recently and a fading of brilliance below the staff. Also she doesn’t seem to have thought roles through — her Four Last Songs and her cabaret act and that first Isolde at Fisher Hall a few years ago were deeply disappointing evenings. On Friday, she sounded like stones in one of those polishing machines, rumbling against each other. High notes were still brilliant, but rare, and seemed to demand more of her than she had to give. (Her eyes bugged out when she got them.) Below A, she had no brilliance and no effect - the narration meant nothing, the curse went for naught, there was no tension until the confrontation with Tristan, and that was extra-vocal. She was beginning to warm up FINALLY at the very time she decided to call it quits and fled the stage. Whether this was a one-day illness or part of a long decline cannot now be said. I have never been an uncritical fan of this instrument or artist, but I’m very sad that its potential has perhaps been squandered.
The operation may or may not have been a bad idea. (What would she have done before the surgery became available? Exercised it out like Callas?) The Little Black Dress scandal is the best thing that ever happened to her publicity-wise — suddenly she was famous around the world (who had been unknown outside opera fan circles before); the gallant Brits took her to their hearts at Wigmore and elsewhere as a woman unchivalrously scorned; and to fat ladies everywhere, she became a heroine. This is fabulous capital in our culture nowadays. But it does not make her a major Wagnerian, and I’ve seen few signs of the intellectual rigor, the ability to give meaning to vocalism, or lately just the vocalism for Isolde, a psychologically complicated role with a whole lot of singing over a very wide range - unlike the Kaiserin, you can’t make it on high notes alone. (This is true of all Wagner roles, actually - as GBS used to point out, he used the whole voice, not just the pretty top.)
It may be time for Debbie to rethink her entire career and approach to singing and choice of roles - just because impresarios offer you a spot, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. (They don’t care if you foul up. They just want to sell tickets.)
But can she?
While I’ve enjoyed la Voigt’s Elisabeth and Kaiserin and Helena, even some of her Amelia, since the operation, I have noticed (without ever speculating on cause, as I am neither a doctor nor a voice specialist, just ears in the audience) a certain flaccidity in her vocal production recently and a fading of brilliance below the staff. Also she doesn’t seem to have thought roles through — her Four Last Songs and her cabaret act and that first Isolde at Fisher Hall a few years ago were deeply disappointing evenings. On Friday, she sounded like stones in one of those polishing machines, rumbling against each other. High notes were still brilliant, but rare, and seemed to demand more of her than she had to give. (Her eyes bugged out when she got them.) Below A, she had no brilliance and no effect - the narration meant nothing, the curse went for naught, there was no tension until the confrontation with Tristan, and that was extra-vocal. She was beginning to warm up FINALLY at the very time she decided to call it quits and fled the stage. Whether this was a one-day illness or part of a long decline cannot now be said. I have never been an uncritical fan of this instrument or artist, but I’m very sad that its potential has perhaps been squandered.
The operation may or may not have been a bad idea. (What would she have done before the surgery became available? Exercised it out like Callas?) The Little Black Dress scandal is the best thing that ever happened to her publicity-wise — suddenly she was famous around the world (who had been unknown outside opera fan circles before); the gallant Brits took her to their hearts at Wigmore and elsewhere as a woman unchivalrously scorned; and to fat ladies everywhere, she became a heroine. This is fabulous capital in our culture nowadays. But it does not make her a major Wagnerian, and I’ve seen few signs of the intellectual rigor, the ability to give meaning to vocalism, or lately just the vocalism for Isolde, a psychologically complicated role with a whole lot of singing over a very wide range - unlike the Kaiserin, you can’t make it on high notes alone. (This is true of all Wagner roles, actually - as GBS used to point out, he used the whole voice, not just the pretty top.)
It may be time for Debbie to rethink her entire career and approach to singing and choice of roles - just because impresarios offer you a spot, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. (They don’t care if you foul up. They just want to sell tickets.)
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Bet this never happened to you at the movies ...
I bet this doesn't happen at the movies:
As the flick begins, they announce that Matt Damon has a virus and had to leave; he's being replaced by someone who's never done the part before.
But it's okay.
Then, halfway through, Gwyneth Paltrow (the star) goes running off-screen, leaving the guy hanging in mid love scene.
After a moment, the screen goes dark (but not before you saw the panic in his eyes).
Pause.
Then they announce Miss Paltrow is ill, and will be replaced by (name you never heard of).
She wears the same dress and wig but doesn't look anything like her.
She takes a while to warm up, but hey, Daniel Day-Lewis walks off with the character part anyway. (As you expected.)
Somehow the kid gets through the big final scene, and the girl takes the climax.
Thundering ovation.
You never had that happen to you at the movies, did you? (Low class bastards.)
At the Met tonight, Tristan und Isolde.
Rumors of doom had been circulating since the disastrous prima on Monday.
Ben Heppner, virused up, has run back to Canada. (He's been cracking on all his high notes anyway.) The tenor who replaced him Monday was so bad, he was booed off the stage. (Ugly too, they tell me.)
So tonight they found some kid who'd never sung Tristan before.
Gary Lehman (this is a heldentenor?)
We're all very hopeful. (Besides, Matti Salminen is King Marke, and bound to be a hit.)
Peter Gelb, announcing the change, looks like he has veins of ice water and this happens all the time.
The kid is tall, well built, looks like Errol Flynn, sings okay, acts okay, keeps an eye fixed on Jimmy.
Then, halfway through the love duet in Act II, Debbie Voigt runs off stage. To get a drink of water I presumed. The tenor just sort of stands there, singing ardently to a blank stage, Jimmy keeps conducting ... the curtain comes down.
Pause.
Someone (not Gelb) comes out to say: Don't leave the room, Debbie's sick, some soprano no one has heard of (Janice Baird, and she IS on the roster) is getting dressed and will take over.
Of course she hasn't had time (much less a whole act) to warm up, but anyway:
At last we get the duet again (which means the poor Tristan will be singing more of the opera in one night than ANYONE EVER HAS).
Isolde finally warms up by the climax.
Matti Salminen walks off with it, as I knew he would.
In the intermission, my friend La Cieca (opera columnist a l'outrance, see www.parterre.com) says, "I'm speechless."
I said, "Don't tell me we'll have to replace you too!"
Well, Lehman sings Act III, the toughest workout for tenor ever composed.
Doesn't sound fabulous, but he's okay. No cracked high notes.
Isolde rushes in clumsily (she's never rehearsed), sings Liebestod. She's okay.
Silence to the last chord.
Chaos:
Standing ovation for the pair, then for the whole cast, then for Jimmy.
It's 1 a.m. and nobody wants to leave without screaming.
Nobody wanted to have been, for those six hours, anywhere else in the world.
I bet you've never been at a movie where this happened.
Live theater forever!
(And down with microphones!)
P.S. During the pause in Act II, while we waited for Isolde, we told each other stories of memorable stage disasters we'd seen. In my case, this always (but not from now on!) means the infamous Carlo Bini Gioconda. The woman behind me, however, had been at a Princess Ida in Symphony Space - the Ida had got sick, somehow they found another woman who knew the role but not the staging. In mid-Act II, where Ida falls off a bridge and is rescued from drowning by gallant Prince Hilarion, the lady fell on top of the tenor, knocking him out. Some flurry of activity, and then Hilarion appears to sing his two stanzas of aria. And the audience notices something funny: Yes, it's a different guy in the same costume. Luckily, he only had to sing that solo before being dragged off-stage till well into Act III. But I'm sure Al Bergeret was sweating blood.
As the flick begins, they announce that Matt Damon has a virus and had to leave; he's being replaced by someone who's never done the part before.
But it's okay.
Then, halfway through, Gwyneth Paltrow (the star) goes running off-screen, leaving the guy hanging in mid love scene.
After a moment, the screen goes dark (but not before you saw the panic in his eyes).
Pause.
Then they announce Miss Paltrow is ill, and will be replaced by (name you never heard of).
She wears the same dress and wig but doesn't look anything like her.
She takes a while to warm up, but hey, Daniel Day-Lewis walks off with the character part anyway. (As you expected.)
Somehow the kid gets through the big final scene, and the girl takes the climax.
Thundering ovation.
You never had that happen to you at the movies, did you? (Low class bastards.)
At the Met tonight, Tristan und Isolde.
Rumors of doom had been circulating since the disastrous prima on Monday.
Ben Heppner, virused up, has run back to Canada. (He's been cracking on all his high notes anyway.) The tenor who replaced him Monday was so bad, he was booed off the stage. (Ugly too, they tell me.)
So tonight they found some kid who'd never sung Tristan before.
Gary Lehman (this is a heldentenor?)
We're all very hopeful. (Besides, Matti Salminen is King Marke, and bound to be a hit.)
Peter Gelb, announcing the change, looks like he has veins of ice water and this happens all the time.
The kid is tall, well built, looks like Errol Flynn, sings okay, acts okay, keeps an eye fixed on Jimmy.
Then, halfway through the love duet in Act II, Debbie Voigt runs off stage. To get a drink of water I presumed. The tenor just sort of stands there, singing ardently to a blank stage, Jimmy keeps conducting ... the curtain comes down.
Pause.
Someone (not Gelb) comes out to say: Don't leave the room, Debbie's sick, some soprano no one has heard of (Janice Baird, and she IS on the roster) is getting dressed and will take over.
Of course she hasn't had time (much less a whole act) to warm up, but anyway:
At last we get the duet again (which means the poor Tristan will be singing more of the opera in one night than ANYONE EVER HAS).
Isolde finally warms up by the climax.
Matti Salminen walks off with it, as I knew he would.
In the intermission, my friend La Cieca (opera columnist a l'outrance, see www.parterre.com) says, "I'm speechless."
I said, "Don't tell me we'll have to replace you too!"
Well, Lehman sings Act III, the toughest workout for tenor ever composed.
Doesn't sound fabulous, but he's okay. No cracked high notes.
Isolde rushes in clumsily (she's never rehearsed), sings Liebestod. She's okay.
Silence to the last chord.
Chaos:
Standing ovation for the pair, then for the whole cast, then for Jimmy.
It's 1 a.m. and nobody wants to leave without screaming.
Nobody wanted to have been, for those six hours, anywhere else in the world.
I bet you've never been at a movie where this happened.
Live theater forever!
(And down with microphones!)
P.S. During the pause in Act II, while we waited for Isolde, we told each other stories of memorable stage disasters we'd seen. In my case, this always (but not from now on!) means the infamous Carlo Bini Gioconda. The woman behind me, however, had been at a Princess Ida in Symphony Space - the Ida had got sick, somehow they found another woman who knew the role but not the staging. In mid-Act II, where Ida falls off a bridge and is rescued from drowning by gallant Prince Hilarion, the lady fell on top of the tenor, knocking him out. Some flurry of activity, and then Hilarion appears to sing his two stanzas of aria. And the audience notices something funny: Yes, it's a different guy in the same costume. Luckily, he only had to sing that solo before being dragged off-stage till well into Act III. But I'm sure Al Bergeret was sweating blood.
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