Miroslav Srnka - South Pole
Bayerische Staatsoper, 2016
Kirill Petrenko, Hans Neuenfels, Rolando Villazón, Thomas Hampson, Mojca Erdmann, Tara Erraught, Dean Power, Kevin Conners, Matthew Grills, Joshua Owen Mills, Tim Kuypers, John Carpenter, Christian Rieger, Sean Michael Plumb
ARTE Concert - 5th February 2016
Commissioned to write a new opera for the Bayerische Staatsoper, the young Czech composer Miroslav Srnka and Tasmanian writer Tom Holloway have found a subject that is inherently dramatic and even operatic in South Pole. Working from the existing documentation of Captain Robert F. Scott and Roald Amundsen's race to be the first to reach the South Pole, all the rivalry between the two explorers is laid out; the personalities, the tensions and the drama and danger of the expeditions. The setting itself offers great possibilities for exploration in the musical treatment and for the stage production, and both certainly offer a great deal of inventiveness even if ultimately the subject and the inconsistencies within the treatment can't help but invite its own defeat.
Unless, of course, you consider inconsistency to be an essential part of the make-up of the work and its subject. It's very evident from early on that South Pole wants to tell the two stories of Scott and Amundsen simultaneously but separately, a 'double opera' that contrasts the experience of one with the other. The opera opens with the famous telegram message sent by Amundsen to Scott, where the British team learn that, contrary to reports that the Norwegian team were setting off for the North Pole, they are now in direct competition with the British explorers on their Antarctic expedition to the South Pole. The morse tapping, sung out by Amundsen, establishes a rhythmic connection between the two teams and it holds for a while as they each encounter similar challenges and problems in their preparations. By the second half those paths have gradually diverged, and the opera itself also seems to lose direction, even if that is to some extent intended.
The opera then is successful in as far as it adheres to the tone and content of its source material and subject, but it's also a victim to the challenge of maintaining the complexity that these divergent paths take. Using the source material available, South Pole does establish well the personality of the two explorers, but it also attempts to speculatively delve more deeply into aspects of their personality and love-lives. As far as outward appearances go, both are practical and single-minded men - and the John Adams-like musical arrangements of the beginning, hold them in this rhythm. There are minor differences in their preparation, Scott fatally choosing ponies for the expedition, Amundsen dogs, but first and foremost in their mind is the determination to beat their rival and the unthinkable consequences of failure.
The two expeditions take place then simultaneously on the stage, and the gaps between the men and their attitudes grow as they face the challenges of the merciless conditions in the Antarctic. Amundsen shows little concern for the deprivations of his colleagues, much less any sentimentality they show for loved ones back home, refusing to even let them keep journals or write letters but keeping one of his own to be published after the adventure. Scott is also very practical-minded and necessarily so, but any sympathy he has for the pain endured in the suffering of his team is tempered by the greater torment he feels that Amundsen will beat him to the South Pole and render his efforts meaningless.
That much might be interpreted by the historical facts and public face of the individuals concerned, but South Pole is not an all-male affair. Kathleen Scott appears as a figure to show a deeper side to Scott as more than just an explorer, but more than just the wife of the explorer, a projection or a vision conjured by letters, the creators of the opera attempt to depict her as a person in her own right. A similar approach to Amundsen proves more problematic but it serves to provide a strong contrast. Amundsen refuses to discuss his love-life with his colleagues, but is nonetheless 'visited' by the figure of the 'Landlady' - whether this is a fictional creation or not I don't know - who he once had an affair with. Whether all this works, or intentionally fractures the divisions between the men - their loneliness emphasised more than any purpose or sentiment that unites them - it all comes together in a marvellous, if somewhat unconventional quartet close to the end of the first half of the opera.
After that, it becomes harder to hold the work together and the music becomes more complex in its unconventional rhythms and tonal levels, with up to 100 individual parts being played at any one time by the orchestra. The two halves of the story take very different turns and the music accompanying them accordingly jars atonally in their individual experiences and in how they sit uneasily side-by-side. If there's anything that holds South Pole together as two sides of a related story that almost never overlaps, it's Hans Neuenfels' stunning stage direction for the piece. Brightly lit in a blinding white background - as you might expect - the set is nonetheless highly stylised and expressionistic, a black X marking the spot up at the back of the stage, reminding us constantly of the importance of the goal. A line divides the stage down the centre, with Scott's expedition on the left and Amundsen on the right, both playing out simultaneously.
Principally then, although the other roles are all well developed, the opera plays out as a two-hander between Scott and Amundsen, and consequently it needs two strong personalities in the creation of these roles. If both Rolando Villazón and Thomas Hampson could be said for one reason or another to have had better days, there's no sign of it in South Pole. Both men imprint a strong character into their singing and performance in what are evidently very intense roles. The unconventional rhythms of the drama and characterisation don't favour much in the way of lyricism, and the staccato English-language libretto doesn't always help, but the performances of both men are impressive. Tara Erraught and Mojca Erdmann likewise do much to bring Kathleen Scott and the Landlady to life and widen the dimension of the opera. It still never entirely feels like it's successfully of a whole and it becomes harder to maintain interest or find a central core that holds it together as the work progresses, but South Pole is an ambitious piece that has much of interest in its component parts.
Links: ARTE Concert, Bayerische Staatsoper
Ludwig van Beethoven - Fidelio
Teatro alla Scala, Milan, 2014
Daniel Barenboim, Deborah Warner, Klaus Florian Vogt, Anja Kampe, Peter Mattei, Falk Struckmann, Mojca Erdmann, Kwangchul Youn, Florian Hoffmann
ARTE Concert - 7 December 2014
The choice of Beethoven's only opera Fidelio for the La Scala's 2014 showcase opening night production was, as it often is in Milan, as much a political statement as a musical one. While the anti-austerity protests took place outside and the ever-looming threat of cuts to arts funding continues to hang over the famous theatre, there were times when you got the impression that the trouble had spilled over into the theatre. Thankfully however, it wasn't the loutish bad behaviour of the logginisti this year - they were kept very happy indeed by a magnificent account of the work conducted by Daniel Barenboim in his valedictory performances for the house - but on the stage itself in Deborah Warner's production.
Beethoven's Fidelio itself doesn't make a political statement as such. It's more interested in basic human moral questions, but as generalised as the politics of the libretto are, the moral questions can't be entirely removed from the revolutionary age in which the work was written. If there's one area where Deborah Warner's production brings out the meaning and significance of Fidelio - and it is possibly the only worthwhile and discernible point about the stage concept - it's that it helps distinguish the class and social order that is an important aspect of the work, and one that too often gets lost in the lack of specificity and in the generic period setting of some productions. It's not that Fidelio is about class as much as it represents and exalts the capacity of human nature to show decency, love and respect for others - even in the face of tyranny - by relating it to the degree to which people place their faith in the most basic human values such as love, compassion and freedom.
If you didn't know that Fidelio was set in a state prison outside Seville, you would think that Deborah Warner's production takes place below an underpass at the back of a factory or a homeless shelter. There's a small office-booth and a table to take care of practicalities, but the dress of Rocco and his Marzelline is rather more casual than you would expect for a prison jailer and his daughter. The costumes appear to be significant, Rocco's assistant Fidelio looking like a binman, Don Pizarro, the Governor (or Guv'nor) wearing an ill-fitting suit that marks him out as a step above, albeit somewhat let down by the rather faded polo-shirt he wears underneath it. The Minister Don Fernando, when he arrives late in the day, is rather more smartly dressed in a shirt and a tie.
The prisoners themselves are all very much working class, Warner going as far as showing many of them wearing hard-hats, but there are lower orders still. In the deepest pit of the darkest dungeon is Florestan, a political prisoner of conscience, a 'desaparecido', cut off from the world because of his dangerous views on freedom, starved almost to death, his life about to be extinguished forever on the orders of Don Pizarro, who is holding him there illegally. Someone however hasn't given up hope. Florestan's wife Leonore, disguised as the prison jailor's assistant Fidelio believes her husband is still alive and hopes to rescue him by securing the confidence of Rocco, even going so far as to become 'engaged' to his daughter Marzelline.
And that's what is important about Fidelio. It's not class, it's not politics, it's hope. It's faith and belief (which is perhaps why Beethoven settled on the title Fidelio in the revised work rather than the original Leonore), of refusing to believe that the better nature of man can be completely extinguished. The same spirit can be found to differing degrees in Marzelline and Jaquino, in Rocco's act of kindness towards the political prisoners, allowing them to see the light of day in that stirring scene ('O welche Lust, in freier Luft'). It's significant that this concession is made on the occasion of the king's birthday, the degree to which freedom is granted or demanded dependent upon how much one defers one's freedoms to higher powers. Those who have to fight for their freedom with their lives inevitably have a greater sense of what true liberty means, but not exclusively. Clemency on the part of the 'nobility' (Don Fernando wears a tie but he also has a loose jacket) is also recognised for the greater good it can achieve.
If you didn't know all that was there in Fidelio - and even as it recognises these characteristics Warner's often confusing production isn't the most enlightening - you could tell it from the music alone, and in this production you can hear it in the singing as well. Recognising that Fidelio looks ahead even as it rests on the foundations of the old model of German opera, Barenboim conducts with an anticipatory eye on where Fidelio is to have influence later, giving Wagnerian force and character to the nobility and lyricism of Mozart. The casting for Fidelio is also typically Wagnerian, but this production finds that there are certain types of Wagnerian voices that suit Beethoven's opera better than others. Chiefly, this can be heard in the beautiful lyricism of Klaus Florian Vogt's Florestan. His voice is first heard ringing out from the darkness of Act II and his 'In des Lebens Frühlingstagen' aria really does suggest a pure spirit undefeated, his faith keeping him alive. I don't think I've seen or heard Vogt perform better than he does here.
Just as impressive is Anja Kampe's soaring Leonore. In her we get not just Leonore's anguish and fear for the fate of her husband, but her strength, determination and the beauty of her spirit in the lyrical flights of her singing. Strength and lyricism is there elsewhere towards different ends in Kwangchul Youn's Rocco and in Peter Mattei's Don Pizarro. Mojca Erdmann's and Florian Hoffmann bring out the brighter, youthful nature of Marzelline and Jaquino, while Falk Struckmann's Don Fernando is firm of purpose, directing the work towards its uplifting conclusion. Perfect casting all around in other words, each role bringing out the beauty and character of Beethoven's writing for the value it adds to the dramatic purpose of the opera. Whether there was recognition for Deborah Warner's contribution to how those characters are defined is hard to say, but on every other level the impact of the work clearly carried across to the audience on the night as much as Daniel Barenboim's significant part in it all.
Links: ARTE Concert, Teatro alla Scala
Richard Strauss - Der Rosenkavalier
Salzburg 2014
Franz Welser-Möst, Harry Kupfer, Krassimira Stoyanova, Sophie Koch, Günther Groissböck, Mojca Erdmann, Adrian Eröd, Silvana Dussmann, Wiebke Lehmkuhl, Rudolf Schasching, Stefan Pop, Tobias Kehrer, Martin Piskorski, Franz Supper, Dirk Aleschus, Roman Sadnik, Rupert Grössinger
Medici.tv - August 2014
It's probably a self-evident truth and practically a definition of opera, but perhaps more so than any other work, there needs to be a perfect coming together of all the various elements in Der Rosenkavalier. Each of its elements - not just the music, the singing and the staging, but all the other areas that are considered less important - all have their part to play in making this difficult opera work. Truly work as it's meant to. As Salzburg productions go, their 2014 Der Rosenkavalier isn't one of their most adventurous, but in almost every area it serves the intentions of the work, showing in the process just how perfect Der Rosenkavalier can be, and consequently just how miraculous the nature of opera itself can be.
Strauss and Hofmannsthal's first fully-fledged collaboration (after adapting Hofmannsthals' dramatic version of Elektra), Der Rosenkavalier is an immense but delicately poised work that presents considerable challenges in its huge orchestration, the intricacy of interplay and interaction and the demands that it places on the singing voices. Attention to these demands is necessary to achieve a very specific tone and mood, and a production can't really stray too far away from these intentions without undermining the entire purpose of the work. As it says itself, it's a Viennese farce and nothing more, but like the Mozart comedies that it is styled on, Der Rosenkavalier opens up deeper meditations on life, love, time, on the necessary but beautiful pain that comes with the passing of the old and the birth of the new. Der Rosenkavalier in itself, reverential and referential of older opera works, indulges this nostalgia for the past at the same time as it points a way towards the future.
The person best placed to draw out those qualities in a production of Der Rosenkavalier and bring the necessary balance of warm nostalgia and reflective meditation on the meaning of it all, is traditionally the conductor. It's always the conductor who is in charge of Der Rosenkavalier. Leading the ever impressive Vienna Philharmonic, Franz Welser-Möst's control and management of the score is absolutely stunning, weaving Strauss' complex lines through the singing voices, matching the melodies, the tempo and the sheer majesty of a score whose lyricism and evocation of resonances belies any notion of the work being merely "a Viennese farce and nothing more". More than anything else, it's Strauss's writing that fleshes out the broad strokes of the stock characters, imbuing them with considerably more personality and humanity and making their concerns and behaviour universally recognisable.
It's immediately apparent that the Salzburg production has a handle on all these essential ingredients. From the overture to the impression that is created by the elegant set for the Marschallin's bedroom in Act I, everything feels right and sounds right. All the more so on account of the singers we have in the roles of Marschallin and Octavian. Sophie Koch is maybe not so sure of voice on the top notes as she once was singing Octavian, but her experience counts. She knows the role well and is better fitted than most to handle the intricacies of this difficult trouser role (ahem, Glyndebourne!). Krassimira Stoyanova is a glorious Marschallin and gives a great performance here. She has an amazing voice that is perfect for big roles like this, and she is simply just one of the best Marschallins in the world at the moment. I don't think there's any particular chemistry between Stoyanova and Koch, but they work together well and bring their own character successfully to the roles.
I was disappointed however by Günther Groissböck's Ochs von Lerchenau. Not with his singing, which I thought might have been challenged by such a role. True, he doesn't have the commanding boom that is required and is probably a little too young and handsome for the role, but he navigates his way perfectly through the long and challenging sing-speech rhythms of the part. His timbre is lovely and his delivery is perfectly good, but I just couldn't take to him as the baron. He never looked terribly comfortable with the part either, his gestures limited to an arrogant sneer and swagger, adopting a teapot stance and flicking his hand dismissively now and again. His concentration on the delivery means that he sings the role almost entirely without looking at any of the other characters he is interacting with. It's possible I suppose that this is how the role has been directed, Ochs always dominating, the other characters always behind him, subservient to his sense of self-importance.
Whether it was an issue with casting or direction, Baron Ochs consequently failed to come to life for me or really make the necessary stamp on the significance of his role in Der Rosenkavalier. Other than that however, Harry Kupfer's direction is hard to fault. The stage design is classy and elegant, the silver-grey colour scheme giving a sense of a cool nostalgic detachment for an idealised past. Hans Schavernoch's set is made up of large panels and props that glide into position, while large projected photographs of classical Vienna scenes, rooftops and parks place the work perfectly into the essential context of the wider world that the opera is set in.
The stylised version of this cold idealised Vienna contrasted perfectly with the warm richness of the lives and sentiments of the characters within it. Act I and II contrasted noble elegance with vulgar extravagance of marbled ostentation, while Act III didn't just reveal the darker underside of the comic playing, it practically built the set around the performers in the location of a misty Prater park, making it feel wholly a part of the wider world. Everything slips into place the way it ought to, as elegantly as Strauss's score, and the finale consequently was simply gorgeous. Och ungraciously fades back into the mist, the Marschallin glides off in her Rolls Royce, leaving Koch's Octavian and Mojca Erdmann's delicately sweet-toned Sophie to look ahead to the future.
