Nielsen - Maskarade (Frankfurt, 2021)

Carl Nielsen - Maskarade

Oper Frankfurt, 2021

Titus Engel, Tobias Kratzer, Alfred Reiter,.Susan Bullock, Michael Porter, Liviu Holender, Samuel Levine, Michael McCown, Monika Buczkowska, Barbara Zechmeister, Božidar Smiljanić, Danylo Matviienko, Gabriel Rollinson

Naxos, Blu-ray

Personally I've always thought of Carl Nielsen as a very serious composer; an interesting composer we could perhaps consider as working in the neo-classical style, but whose Danish heritage and ventures into modernism gives him a distinct character and musical approach of his own. His symphonies are only recently being more widely performed, but his two operas are less well known in the rest of Europe. Composed in 1906, Maskarade however is apparently seen as almost a national opera in his home country and, more surprisingly, it's a comedy. Comedy doesn't always succeed in translation and there are few successful comedies in opera (it tends to be more of a mainstay of operetta), which might explain why the work is not better known outside Denmark. So while there is little doubt about Nielsen's (growing) reputation as a composer, the pertinent question around this Frankfurt production in a German translation of Maskarade is whether it is actually funny or not.

What is tricky about the comedy of Maskerade is that its source is a drama by the 18th century Norwegian playwright, Ludvig Holberg. That’s not necessarily an issue as Shakespeare’s comedies and Restoration comedies all have fairly broad universal characteristics that are still funny today. What keeps revivals of those works successful and what always remains amusing are the characters and situations, often involving the nobility being undermined by their own pomposity or by the cleverness of their servants. In opera, the comedies based on the works of Beaumarchais still resonate in Rossini's Il barbiere di Siviglia and Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro, but the same revolutionary sentiment thrives even earlier in works like Pergolesi's La serva padrona. Unquestionably, however, the comedy in opera is most successful in the works of Mozart and Da Ponte, in Le nozze di Figaro, in Così fan tutte and even in Don Giovanni. Mozart and Da Ponte draw such beautiful characters that you are completely at their mercy.

Nielsen's Maskarade draws from the same heritage and while it's not Mozart and Da Ponte - for which there is no match anywhere in opera - it still manages to combine a good blend of music and character and find its own national character. It takes a while to develop its comic credentials across the three acts, but there are other ways to build up the anticipation of a riotous comedy and it doesn't have to be subtle either. Here in Maskarade, the comedy of the first two acts relies on much repetition of the word 'maskarade' as something anticipatory. The opera opens with Leander and his manservant Henrik waking up with a hangover from the previous night's drinking and dancing at a masquerade, and looking forward to another the same evening. Leander's mother Magdelone has heard about these youthful extravagances and wants to join in the fun and dancing. The masquerade craze on the other hand is met with vociferous disapproval from Leander's stern, joyless, conservative father Jeronimus as "a devilish place" of "horny mayhem", ruining the fabric of society, responsible for the growing spread of "whores, drinking, gambling and murder".

Boy, after a build up like that you can't wait to see one of those masquerades staged now. Evidently it doesn't entirely live up to that reputation in Act III, but Jeronimus isn't entirely wrong, since it was at the last masquerade that Leander met and fell in love with a young woman even though he is engaged and about to be imminently married to another: Leonora, the daughter of Mr Leonard. Squeezing this confession out of Henrik, Jeronimus is furious and concerned about breaking the promise of the marriage to his friend’s daughter. Only Mr Leonard turns up to announce that his wayward daughter has also refused the marriage having met a young man at the masquerade. That confounded 'maskerade'! There'll be no more of those! But of course there will, and it comes as no surprise that the mysterious masked woman Leander has fallen in love with and the mysterious masked man Leonora has thrown over her marriage for are not exactly unrelated.

All the requisite elements are there for a typically broad comedy that is guaranteed to entertain, but is there any deeper meaning to the work? Nielsen's treatment certainly characterise and emphasises well the opposing viewpoints and disagreements. Henrik makes the argument for the masquerade as a brief moment of joy and colour in a dull, cold world of hunger, hardship and misery, accompanied by swirls of musical colour in Nielsen’s orchestration, while the beautifully scored dances themselves are likewise persuasive. Is that hedonistic justification the extent of the moral position of the opera? Adopting a mask of being who you want to be, it's not that different to Mozart’s take on Beaumarchais, valuing freedom and egalitarian principles, or indeed Strauss and Hofmannsthal’s view in Der Rosenkavalier that the youth need to make their own choices (and mistakes) and not be constrained by the old ways. Despite a number of classical allusions that suggest there is more to the character of the masquerade than "horny mayhem" I'm not sure it's any more nuanced than that, but it is certainly entertaining.

Director Tobias Kratzer doesn't try to overburden the work with clever distractions, focussing on developing character and colour, keeping the set design simple and modern with little meta-theatrical visual amusements. It's an appropriate and measured response to a work of neo-classicism that you could consider a dress-up masquerade in itself. It's no Mozart and Da Ponte, it's no Strauss and Hofmannsthal (closer to the other Strauss, Johann’s Der Fledermaus) but there's a recognition of the qualities of the theatrical experience and setting it in a way that is appropriate to the character of the music score. There is of course plenty of opportunity for additional amusing visual touches by reworking the masking as cosplay, as it is now called, or as fancy dress as it used to be called.

The Fach for voices seems to me to be very much in the Mozart range; light and lyrical even the bass-baritone roles, fitting for a comedy and for this opera’s style and lightness of touch. The singers all perform well, all with substantially principal roles, but nothing that is too exacting. For the 2021 Frankfurt production, the Danish libretto is given a German translation which fits closely with the original Danish to make it more immediate for a German audience. That intent is lost when it is taken out of the theatre for an international DVD/BD release, but it still works just as effectively as it should thanks to an amusing, saucy and suggestive English subtitle translation.

Titus Engel is more commonly seen conducting experimental and avant-garde opera, but proves to be a good conductor to find the little quirks in Nielsen's score. It's an elegant and sophisticated score in its folk and its dance compositions but it has to be said that there is no 'Dance of the Seven Veils' here and the music doesn’t quite live up to the scandalous reputation that has been built up for the masquerade.

The Naxos Blu-ray of Carl Nielsen's Maskarade from Oper Frankfurt in 2021 looks very good indeed on a BD50 disc. It has lossless LPCM stereo and DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 soundtracks with clear vocals and the orchestration has a good dynamic sweep, if not the precise detail in the mixing that you can get in other HD releases. As you would expect, the BD is all-region. The only extra feature is the booklet which contains an interview with the conductor Titus Engel in English and German.

External links: Oper Frankfurt, Naxos

Wagner - Tannhäuser (Bayreuth, 2019)

Richard Wagner - Tannhäuser (Bayreuth, 2019)

Bayreuther Festspiele, 2019

Valery Gergiev, Tobias Kratzer, Stephen Gould, Lise Davidsen, Elena Zhidkova, Stephen Milling, Markus Eiche, Daniel Behle, Kay Stiefermann, Jorge Rodríguez-Norton, Katharina Konradi

BR-Klassik streaming - 25 July 2019

Not for the first time I'm watching the opening of a new Wagner production at Bayreuth and wondering what the hell has this got to do with the opera. Usually you can at least relate the idea or concept even tenuously to some of the familiar themes of the work, but over the overture Tobias Kratzer's production of Tannhäuser opens with a film of a motley group of wayward circus entertainers doing a runner at a petrol station, running down a police officer in the process. It's this incident, rather than any deep conflict about the nature of his art, that inspires this production's Heinrich to return to that great institution of the musical arts. No, not Wartburg, but Bayreuth.

And therein lies the clue that the production is not so much concerned with the fate and condition of the exiled artist who chooses to set himself up in opposition to conservative notions of musical, social, moral and religious order and instead chooses to explore a personal and profane voyage of the discovery of physical pleasures, but rather it's more of an self-mocking reference to Wagner creating a cult for himself and setting up Bayreuth as a kind of shrine for pilgrims to come in worship every year. There's even a joking reference in the opening film to the closing down of the Biogas plant that was the setting for the last (equally mystifying) Bayreuth production of Tannhäuser that this one is replacing.

It's certainly very much within the Bayreuth ethos - certainly since Katharina Wagner took over the running of the festival - not to treat Wagner's works with sacred reverence, but to continually challenge and question the master's works to see whether they still have contemporary relevance and can withstand a modern outlook. It's rather impressive to see that while some of the ideas, philosophy and nationalistic sentiments can seem outdated, the works always seem to touch on other fundamental matters, not least this central ethos of the role of the artist as a vehicle for challenging and questioning the prevailing social order.

Kratzer's hugely irreverent production doesn't initially seem to have much to offer on that front, and it probably doesn't help that Valery Gergiev's conduction of the overture sounds - in the broadcast performance of the premiere - very erratic in its pacing, rushing through it and smothering melodies. If anything, the crazy bunch careening in a camper van on their way to Bayreuth (their motto from RW - "Frei im Wollen, frei im Thun, frei im Geniessen" - ""Free in your desiring, free in you action, free in enjoying") seems like an open provocation on the nature of the Regietheatre, the team consisting of a dwarf Oskar, a black drag artist Le Gateau Chocolat, with Venus in a sparkly jumpsuit and Tannhäuser dressed as a circus clown. How the pilgrims, seen here in evening dress fanning themselves with programmes on the green hill, are going to react when this mob intrude is at least going to be interesting.

And interesting, rather than anything profound or revelatory, is indeed how it plays out. Act II opens with projected backstage footage of nervous performers preparing for a more traditional, conservative period production in as austere meeting room of Wartburg. The nerves around Heinrich's return seem to be over concern about his abandonment of the sacred tradition for the heresy of the anarchic madness of Regietheater. While the singing contest is going on and going south, Venus and her motley crew - Le Gateau Chocolat in an outrageous yellow puffball outfit - are seen climbing in a window of the Bayreuth theatre to add a further unwelcome intrusion upon the solemn festival proceedings (making fun of portraits of James Levine and Christian Thielemann on the way). Katharina Wagner is forced to call in the police.

It's certainly possible to explore Tannhäuser for more meaningful connections to contemporary situations, so Tobias Kratzer's production feels somewhat self-indulgent, but it's certainly amusing. And, if you consider the true spirit and range of Wagner lies in in something like Die Meistersinger von Nurnburg (essentially a superior reworking of Tannhäuser), where it leavens its solemnity with humour and true human feeling as well as with a spirit of anarchy, then this production does find a way of removing some of the more troublesome outdated principles and sanctimony for 'die holde Kunst' that can often get in the way of the true power and spirit of this work. Act III in particular is beautiful here, the transformation not some religious miracle or glorious sacrifice, but also there in Wolfram learning from Heinrich's inspiration and briefly winning the love and respect of Elisabeth, the conclusion downplaying the transcendence for what is real and human.

The production appears to hit its mark quite successfully. There's huge applause after Act I and Act II, with only audible boos at the conclusion, and most of them appear to be for Valery Gergiev. That's perhaps predictable, Gergiev not the most popular figure internationally for his support of Putin, but it's probably more politically motivated than any commentary on the musical performance. Despite the rather wayward overture - perhaps struggling to keep up with the on-screen visuals - Gergiev's account of the work is well-judged, harnessing the power of the work and not afraid to let its occasional bombast work in favour of the revised perspective. At the same time he captures the contrasting moods of the singing contest well, finding good expression for the deeper conflicts within Heinrich and Tannhäuser, the opera.

Whether you look at it as an in-joke or something celebratory, it's not a particularly thought-provoking Tannhäuser, but it is at least well-performed and entertaining. Elena Zhidkova, apparently standing in at short notice as Venus, gives a spirited performance that is a sheer joy, as is Lise Davidsen's soaring and beautifully controlled Elisabeth. Stephen Gould's Heinrich is generally solid, a little stretched in places, showing some nice interpretation and acting in his performance. Stephen Milling's and Markus Eiche are both reliably good in familiar roles as Landgraf Hermann and Wolfram von Eschenbach.

Bayreuther Festspiele, BR-Klassik

Mozart - Lucio Silla (Brussels, 2017)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Lucio Silla

La Monnaie-De Munt, Brussels - 2017

Antonello Manacorda, Tobias Kratzer, Jeremy Ovenden, Lenneke Ruiten, Anna Bonitatibus, Simona Šaturová, Llse Eerens, Carlo Allemano

ARTE Concert - 9 November 2017

I'm all in favour of a bit of imaginative reinterpretation when it comes to Mozart's early opera serias. There are musical pleasures and much to admire in juvenile works like Lucio Silla, but without some creative direction the plots can be more than a little hard to digest. There's not a great deal in the way of psychological insight into human behaviour in Lucio Silla other than generalisations about the exercise of power and the strength of true love. There's little dramatic action and the sentiments and situations are drawn out to tortuous length in repetitive da capo arias. As my most recent experience of Lucio Silla at the 2017 Buxton Festival confirmed, it can be tough going if there's not a bit of thought put into making it relevant, interesting and engaging.

If it's radical adventurous reinterpretation and modernisation you are looking for, La Monnaie in Brussels is the place that is likely to not only provide it but push it to its limits and often succeed in revitalising works in the most unlikely of ways. Tobias Kratzer's production - modern inevitably - attempts to put the work in a context that we might be more familiar with than the historical events in Rome in 82 BC, because evidently, Lucio Silla, composed by a 16 year old Mozart in 1772 is much more than a history lesson; it has wider and usually somewhat more generalised points to make about the nature of power, love and conscience. Tobias Kratzer's job is to make that feel a bit more real and immediate.

There's a short video sequence that plays out during the overture, a montage of jump cuts that blend images of Kennedy, Putin, Trump and Kim Jun-Il mixed in with nightmarish and seemingly random elements that are going to play a larger role in the La Monnaie production - oysters, knives, blood, security cameras and cross-dressing dolls. Essentially, the impression it gives is one of power, indulgence and violence, and that certainly characterises the lifestyle of Lucius Cornelius Sulla, or Lucio Silla, or whichever modern face you want to put on him. Silla's petulant warning that "Whoever refuses to love me should fear me" certainly has a sinister resonance with some of those figures mentioned above.

The set itself exerts a suitably imposing presence. In the opening scene, Cecilio, the exiled Roman Senator, approaches a set of security gates patrolled by a guard dog protecting the grounds of Lucio Silla's residence. The majority of the subsequent drama - mainly between Silla and Giunia who the dictator has been trying to woo by letting her believe that Cecilio is dead - takes place within the elegantly fitted rooms of this mansion. The stage rotates to present different views of rooms, with plenty of visual variety to make up for the lack of drama. The graveyard where Cecilio and Giunia meet is at the back of the house, presenting another sinister dimension to the mood of the proceedings.

I say 'lack of drama' and that at least is usually the case with Lucio Silla. Not much happens apart from confrontations and declarations that never really come to anything, either on the part of Giunia and Cecilio's threats, or between Cinna and Celia whose loyalty to Silla conflicts with their own interests/love. Celia indeed has a strange role in this production, playing with dolls and a doll house, and she seems to have a rather disturbing idea of happy families. It's not always clear what the purpose of some of the ideas are, but clearly Kratzer wants to make sure that realise that all these feelings come from a very real place. Using security camera footage depicting physical abuse and even rape, the production really gets to the true nature of Silla's attempts to what is usually described rather more circumspectly as 'win' Giunia. The reality is a lot uglier than this phrase suggests.

None of this matters if you can't put on a musical performance that is just as engaging and invigorating, that puts a real human experience behind the rather manufactured drama. La Monnaie's cast fortunately are exceptionally good at keeping up with the driving rhythmic intensity of Antonello Manacorda's musical direction. More than anything you can put into modernising the production or even in any depth that you can seek to bring out of Mozart's musical score, it's conviction in the dramatic and the singing performances that count here. In opera seria, the sentiments around love are almost life or death matters and you really feel that here.

There are no opera seria mannerisms in the singing here, each of the performers are fully involved in the roles, projecting the challenging arias (and challenge of dramatic conviction) with extraordinary intensity. This is a production that is centered on Giunia and so particularly reliant on Lenneke Ruiten's performance to give a sense of something really meaningful being at stake. It's an outstanding performance, Ruiten utterly committed and engaging, impressively navigating the fiendish coloratura in arias like 'Ah se il crudel periglio'. Her intensity is matched however in Jeremy Ovenden's Lucio Silla, in Anna Bonitatibus's Cecilio and in Simona Šaturová's Cinna.

As much as the director tries to make this relatable in a modern-day context there is one aspect of human behaviour from ancient Roman times that proves impossible to 'translate'. It may be true that Lucius Cornelius Sulla had a crisis of conscience, regretted his actions and stepped down from power for the greater good, but it's hard to imagine Trump or any other modern politician doing the decent thing in the present day. If La Monnaie production does no more than gives pause to consider the implications of what that says about us as a civilised society today, then it's still made a significant point.

Links: La Monnaie-De Munt, ARTE Concert

Gluck - Telemaco, ossia L’isola di Circe

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Telemaco, ossia L’isola di Circe

Theater Basel

Anu Tali, Tobias Kratzer, Freiburger Barockorchester, Tomasz Zagorski, David DQ Lee, Agneta Eichenholz, Solenn’ Lananant-Linke, Maya Boog, Christopher Bolduc

Basel, Switzerland - 24 June 2011

Gluck’s Telemaco, ossia L’isola di Circe (Telemachus, or Circe’s Island, 1765) comes at an interesting point in the composer’s career that has historical significance as well as great musical interest for its place in the opera repertoire. Written during his Italian period, while the composer was still forming his ideas for the reform of opera, Telemaco (dramma per musica in two acts) sits between two important operas (Orfeo ed Eurydice and Alceste) that – in their later French revisions at least – would transform opera, taking it away from empty stylisations and displays of vocal virtuosity towards a more dramatic form of opera as we know it today. The groundwork towards this reform can already be clearly seen in the lesser-known Telemaco.

Even though it still adheres largely to the opera seria form, with drama played out in semi-recitative and fluid continuo (with no harpsichord), the traditional longer arias express the emotions felt with some repetition, but there is nonetheless a restrained simplicity to the arrangements and a clear focus on the drama, with no unnecessary da capo adornments. Most of all however, there is a sense in Telemaco of the wonderful humanism that Gluck is able to find in the human drama unfolding in this particular episode of Homer’s Odyssey and in how he brings it out through the music with a naturalness and fluidity. That’s wonderfully apparent in the playing of the Freiburger Barockorchester conducted by Anu Tali (a rarity seeing a female conductor in the pit) at this production for the Theatre Basel in Switzerland.

Tobias Kratzer’s staging for this production boldly went for a few modernising reforms of its own, seeing Odysseus as a WWII fighter pilot who has been brought down and is now held captive with his crew by Circe on a tropical Pacific island. The opening scene where Penelope receives and rejects her suitors in a late 1940s drawing room in Ithaca, Odysseus having been missing for six years, is then violently transformed into a jungle, vines bursting through the walls as Telemachus vows to go in search of his father and bring him home. Played as a dual role, Penelope quick-changes into Circe, the madame of an Asian brothel, Penelope’s ladies in waiting dropping their knitting and stripping down to sirens in slips that hold Odysseus and his men in their power.

Quite what the intentions were in the modernisation, in closely relating the two worlds and in the division of Penelope/Circe is difficult to judge (this is a very rare opera and I can find no recording of it in existence, or even an English synopsis of the original libretto – although the subject is a familiar mythological one, done many times in opera), but it certainly creates an interesting contrast to consider. What is less in doubt however is the ability of the music and the singing to draw the human drama out of the story.

As Odysseus, Tomasz Zagorski was a strong and commanding tenor, with clear Italian diction. In the alto-castrato role of Telemachus, Canadian countertenor David DQ Lee came into form wonderfully in Act II during his vision of the death of Penelope, bringing out the full extent of the nature of his character and his conflicted feelings. Agneta Eichenholz was a little inconsistent as Penelope and Circe, but the dual-role is clearly a challenging one. The heart of the opera however would seem to lie in the character of Asteria and in her relationship with Telemachus. It’s in her transformation from a nymph through her love for the son of Odysseus, and coming to be recognised as a sister by Merione that the most powerful and human moments are expressed in the opera, and Maya Boog captured that wonderfully, particularly in her heartbreaking Act II aria, but it was also evident in the fine ensemble work of the cast and the chorus as a whole.

Composed as a commission for the Hapsburg monarch and Holy Roman Emperor, Joseph II and his wife Maria Josepha of Bavaria, who had just come to power after the reign of his mother Maria Teresa and attempt to usher in modernising reforms, there are evidently parallels and guiding principles brought out in Gluck’s Telemaco (much in the way Mozart opera seria La Clemenza di Tito was written for Leopold II in 1791), but regardless of the setting in antiquity, in the time of Joseph II, or in post-WWII, the qualities and strengths of this rare opera are timeless and still relevant, as is Gluck’s prototypic al vision of the modern dramatic opera.