Met: Ariadne auf Naxos - that did not ever quite disembark from Naxos

Ariadne auf Naxos, to supposedly end us airborne to close cycle of three Strauss operas this Met broadcast season instead left things mostly feeling earthbound. Vocally, it was partly the most successful of the three this season – and orchestrally the most rehearsed of them as well. The last consideration, as explained below, is to be found an anomaly, since Kirill Petrenko (Met broadcast debut) is, a little better than routinely competent at it, less the natural Straussian than either Edo De Waart or Fabio Luisi.

Sarah Connolly, consistently the strongest member of this cast, certainly appeared to, as Composer, to have different idea in mind, as to the outcome of all this. Apart from Von Otter, she is perhaps the best singer we have heard in this part in a good while. Youthful impetuosity came to the fore with most supple tone, animated gesture and only qualm, a little question about support near the break. Once she is into high register, all is secure, confident, relaxed. Connolly also proved most flexible in switching color to darker for lower notes as precocious intent switches over to more serious by end of the Vorspiel. The several times I have heard Connolly, I certainly look forward to further opportunity.

Nina Stemme proved the vocally richest of the four leads. Little surprise is, for sure, to be had this way. As haughty prima donna, Stemme found the right lightness, insinuation, insistence, etc. Low notes proved luxurious in Ariadne’s opening solo; Ariadne’s invocation of her own name together with that of long-departed Theseus conveyed fine innigkeit. High notes were also fine, light enough certainly on a few of them and notably on others to sound heroic, hint of Birgit Nilsson with some steel to them. Overall here is a voice and manner though altogether more redolent of Leonie Rysanek in smoky color of Stemme's middle, low registers. Reason for the lack of Rysanek’s flexible expressivity in achieving a gleaming top follows below. Take for example, for sake of contrast (too), Rysanek’s Kaiserin or even for Solti, that of Julia Varady.

Something thus of the authority of a Rysanek then goes missing. This became ever more evident from “Es gibt ein Reich” through the extended finale to the opera. Once Stemme has someone more inspired on the podium, such as in Berlin last December Metzmacher for Salome final scene, then we have back more fluid line, nuance, variety of color and expression. Here, instead, the line tended to turn choppy, especially during the final scene of this. With the lyric line pre-eminent in Strauss’s vocal writing here, Stemme’s fullness of sound in Ariadne simply became too unvarying before the end of Saturday’s broadcast.

There is something to admire in how single-minded a conception of Ariadne this is, but it is perhaps also one that never transforms or gets to do so. Here was an Ariadne who perhaps closed with as much incomprehension as same character opens with in this opera. The fullness of tone heard from the stage of the Met did not quite effectively compensate for some lack of emotional warmth or engagement and also freedom to yield to more abandon needed toward end of the final scene with Bacchus.

Kathleen Kim, first heard on Met broadcast two months ago of Tales of Hoffman as Olympia, made a perky Zerbinetta, one charming in terms of personality and determination, but of only qualified charm vocally. Here the problem, in this thoroughly elaborate Janus face of an opera was with Kim close to being opposite that of Stemme. Kim would get distracted by musical demands and text and at times would forget the most proper or pleasing placement of voice, causing muscles to constrict, tone to thin. As even the big aria progressed – “Grossmachtiger Prinzessin” – Kim wised up quite rapidly, but even late into it suffered still some lapse. Agility for getting over most of the notes was there – using the standard version of the aria. In easier passages such as duet with Connolly in the Prologue, Kim left a warm, endearing, most human and realistic impression as leader of the players.

Without better help from the podium, what lapses did occur made something mundane out of Zerbinetta, ultimately making somewhat two-dimensional her character and situation. For how difficult Zerbinetta is, this can occur quite often. Even set to mundane words, the way such get set to music contains some element of magic or of the otherworldly - that as in many other instances nowadays, got missed here. Something did not yet again quite succeed at tapping into the divine - for things having been brought down to earth simply too much. As engagement with a still very young singer on verge of what could become a major career, it was still good to hear Kim in this.

Canadian tenor Lance Ryan made his Met broadcast debut as Bacchus. His diction was good, clean, and incisive; he got his lines out as Bacchus with their full intent. However, his tone tended to be almost always of the tightly squeezed variety – not for part to rest content to sit comfortably in the middle, except for a few passages at which Ryan succeeded the most. His tone quality did not match favorably with that of Stemme - her sound certainly something of an indulgence heard next to his. Though weak on legato, Ryan sounded forth an intelligent Bacchus - if hardly ever ingratiating tonally or musically. He did not make anything particularly inviting to hear really at all; seldom has any tenor been able, flexible to do so with this music. This Bacchus thus did not sound as anybody from whom true hope for liberation or chance at freedom might ever come.

All three equally effective, Jochen Schmeckenbecher exuded fine authority as the Music Master, Tony Stevenson lithe grace as Dancing Master, and Michael Devlin deftly pointed etiquette as the speaking Major-domo. James Courtney was close to equally fine as the Lackey, but lacking, with age, some vocal steadiness. Of the four players accompanying Zerbinetta, the two tenors were best - especially the sweetly dark color toned Brighella of Sean Panikkar alongside nicely contrasting Scaramuccio (Mark Schowalter). Less convincing were Markus Werba, excessively belaboring the text of his simple lines as Harlekin close to point of there being no line left to sustain them, and Joshua Bloom as a stiff and somewhat wobbly Truffaldino. The quartet of men did not particularly blend well. As the three nymphs, we had three voices that did blend well, but both a little unsupported on the very highest pitches (Anne Carolyn Bird), and on the very lowest (Tamara Mumford), with Erin Morley the fine Echo in-between. When their trio was at greatest ease, a silvery impression, as should be, still made itself known.

This leaves Kirill Petrenko, leading the altogether seldom inspired Moshinsky production of this at the Met. The Omsk born debutant, it certainly sounded, received more rehearsal time for his chamber forces to lead this than did two more natural Straussans the Met has already had this season in Fabio Luisi and Edo De Waart, for Elektra and Rosenkavalier. For each of them being more the natural at this, they each dropped hints numerous places in each of the above, especially Luisi during Elektra.

One never got less than routinely competent leadership from Petrenko, apart from perhaps a couple of glaring errors. Much of the Prologue rustled by both efficiently and nicely for much of it. Both the lightness and sweep that should set it off was, however, not quite all it should have been. Petrenko had inspiring help from Schmeckenbecher, Stevenson, the Zerbinetta of Kathleen Kim her, and especially from Sarah Connolly.

Clipping of accents for music to do with either Composer or the comedians worked to varying degrees mal-apropos. It also found Kathleen Kim pushed to an unmusical extent for one isolated passage in her great aria. Petrenko also crudely pushed Lance Ryan through series of bench-pressed 'Circe's, just for purpose it seems to save Bacchus from near-strangulation. Here overall from Petrenko was indeed however orgiastic excitement, when compared to Robert Spano’s attempt at Ariadne auf Naxos from Lyric of Chicago (Deborah Voigt in title role fine, likely more so for Sinopoli) several seasons back. In more proper context, the Bacchus/Ariadne scene in each eventually became little better than Iphigenia in Brooklyn, which the Met in effect produces next season, starring Susan Graham in the title role. In fact, the real Iphigenia in Brooklyn could be better. One should wish for Hector Berlioz to still be around to defend Gluck, perhaps Richard Strauss as well.

Getting back to the point here, Petrenko’s concept of contrast between heated ardor of Bacchus at winning over Ariadne and subdued reply from Mozartean trio of nymphs was as streamlined, lacking in either dynamics or expression as I have heard such transition, at times back and forth, being made. So much then for contrast between the Apollonian and Bacchian aspects of even Strauss’s writing for especially this most eloquent finale.

Transformation indeed! Could Kirill Petrenko really be who Bayreuth picked for their 2013 Ring? Here at the Met was enough craft to halfway pull Ariadne off, especially had the cast been better, but little in the way of imagination, wit or lightness. Such clearly revealed Petrenko slightly outside of his fach, perhaps significantly so. The Met with Kathleen Kim repeating as Zerbinetta and Robert Dean Smith as potentially a real Bacchus gets to try again in 2010-11 with Fabio Luisi at the helm.

DSO Berlin (06.12.2009) - Return of Tugan Sokhiev for scintillating Tchaikovsky 5. Johannes Moser, cello (Dvorak).

December return by Tugan Sokhiev to DSO Berlin tells altogether a different story than did previous visit – all Russian program – of Sokhiev’s work with this orchestra.

This was the fourth DSO broadcast within seven months of a cello concerto, as conducted by second to third tier men – Hanno Lintu, Hans Graf, and as previously, Sokhiev. Lintu and Sokhiev, Isserlis and Mork divided the two Shostakovich between themselves respectively - Mork one of two most successful out of four. The other, as just conducted by Sokhiev, is Johannes Moser. DSO principal Grunkorn on the Barber turned out fine as well, but especially compromised by having had to make concessions to a weak podium.

Before the Dvorak, we had Alexander Borodin’s ‘In the Steppes of Central Asia’ - first time I recall seeing this fine morsel programmed in quite some time. In its exotic charm, simplicity, it seldom makes itself unwelcome. It also has its subtleties to trip up anyone unsuspecting as to excessively understate the case for it - or try to make too much of one. Sokhiev, depending in part on very fine wind principals of DSO Berlin, achieved fine, expressive results. In shaping soulful English horn solo, when handed over to the strings, Sokhiev’s affection for this piece was clear. What may strengthen his next go at it is to anticipate downbeats less, rely less on doing so to be expressive. His ear for balances was still good here, plus his feel for atmosphere, apart from slightly heavy underlining and occasional soggy attacks from the brass.

Equally atmospheric was the brooding opening to the Dvorak concerto on clarinets. Some bearing down on the horns, making way into first orchestral tutti did not necessarily augur well for the rest of this, but fortunately only proved momentary lapse. Getting absolute clarity with downbeats still proves an issue with Sokhiev; the good news is that it may not be crippling his efforts so much anymore, it seems, for instance accompanied less by so much bearing down - as true several seasons ago. His considerable slowing down for second theme in the horn could have stalled matters, but both the artistry of DSO Berlin principal horn and of Sokhiev encouraging warm understatement of the case made doing so fine. He then provided fine lift for polka step raptly anticipating solo entrance.

Johannes Moser made controlled entrance of notable dignity, warmth, reserve, nobility, unfazed by double-stops and other technical challenges in the part that encumber many second-tier down cellists right away, attempting this. Pointing of woodwind concertato underneath was crisp, attentive – without any stiffness as found for similar writing in the Barber last week. Second theme sounded forth equally as genuine as from horn player in the orchestral exposition - then spinning forth into sextuplets with flute obbligato with fine aplomb. And then for sake of making slightly heavy rhetoric out of gestures on part of about all, closing section before ritornello and Development, for just about minute taken came across episodic.

Sokhiev recovered poise just about two lines into ritornello; starting with rapt, broadly paced musing that Moser gets to re-enter with, all proceeded through the Development with fine simplicity. Sokhiev made crackling transition, led by trumpet, then flutes and Moser together, into ending well the first movement.

Only momentarily self-conscious accenting, and disallowing violins enough foreground over brass (not playing too loudly) for opening of its middle section hampered a lovely, atmospheric handling of the second movement. Moser’s gently broad, arched, singing line, and Sokhiev’s sensitive accompaniment all related matters well, alongside fine concertato of DSO winds. All sentiment was unabashed, but very seldom ‘worked.’ Feeling of heartbreak at end, as the music on its own spells out nobly in sublime manner, came across entirely genuine.

The finale, with its internal contrasts between, within sections came off best. Wei Lu, in descant to Moser during long, extended final section to this rondo finale sounded curiously slightly placed back, but played his part fluently, expressively well. Crisper downbeat to dance accents near the start of this, from Sokhiev, might have been better though. Without being to the Bohemian folk manner born, he perhaps can still come closer to definitive in conducting this music with crisper accent for the more animated tutti frequently occurring in Dvorak. One could hear most of the impetus for this already present. Vigorous stringendo with which he invested starting the finale made the case.

Spiccato, fluent work on fingerboard, confidence to make animated flourish out of much of this, together with sensitive interaction with wind principals of DSO Berlin and Wei Lu made complete what Moser brought to this. It was still moreover confidently the very noble sentiment and line and rich tone one will most likely recall of Moser's playing the Dvorak. Cheers and mostly well achieved encore of Bach’s first sarabande (G Major) for unaccompanied cello were both richly deserved A dove-tailing of two lines in first half of the Bach was self-conscious; once past halfway, Moser made introspectively enraptured supple, focused, noble line out of all the rest. May we hear much more of Moser and thus pick up how Moser will most likely be able to take his playing from here.

If it was not for what risk-taking occurred during Sokhiev’s interpretation of the Tchaikovsky Fifth Symphony, mostly delivered well, I might have quickly deduced that what he brought here to Berlin was hardly more than case of ‘specialty of the house.’ Witness however the steeply arched, bombastic affect that Gergiev endowed this piece on a much hyped Vienna Philharmonic release of the same some years back. Little of this seems to have rubbed off on his student here; it also hardly sounds as though I write of same person conducting this as I did on Russian repertoire before.

A fine imaginative, attentive sense of narrative coursed throughout so very familiar terrain. When there might arrive mild understatement of at times overly emphatic internal tempo instructions on the composer’s part, it was always with long view of the whole picture in mind - deftly stated as such. No definitive interpretation of this piece surfaces yet, but Sokhiev here is still only thirty-three. Aim of being headed at least somewhat in the right direction certainly seems unmistakable.

A few miscalculations, mistakes occasionally belied someone experienced being on the podium, but the youthful spirit with which he engaged this music, for instance the fine swagger he gave the opening of the finale and coda restatement spoke very highly of how he had prepared us so well earlier for what would transpire. Lithe feel for the third movement, with open rustle of fresh breeze throughout its trio section and beautifully, subtly calibrated figuration from there into return of main section all sounded very fresh..

It was clear from the first few minutes of this Tchaikovsky Fifth – I can happily report - we were not embarking on approach to something of fate-obsessed, metaphysical aspirations, such as one will pick up in one way from Bernstein (DGG) and more achieved on surface, brilliantly, 1970’s Karajan - or as odd hybrid between - Eschenbach (Ondine). If so, as from someone with Sokhiev’s limited experience, there would be a much different review to read. Sokhiev gave us a Tchaikovsky Fifth in what impact it might have had, intimating cross between 1960’s Karajan and Mravinsky, without achieving as confident security of the former or interpretative depth capable of the latter

Sokhiev’s simple doleful handling of first movement introduction, with his extending out of (dotted) half notes in fate motto for clarinets, with it barely perceptible his doing so immediately revealed sense of aspiration for some aesthetic finesse with this music. No less was it so with the long breathed wistful sigh he made out of opening of both exposition and recapitulation from both strings with lithe accompanying winds, and then dourly introspective bassoon respectively. It is only perhaps on the surface that what resembled a miscalculation was a marked early slow down for final chain of restatements of opening subject as such to close the first movement. Transitions otherwise were effortlessly achieved. Youthful impetuosity with a few moments, such as bridge transitions each time to second theme unexaggeratedly emerged fresh.

Beautiful too was the weighted introduction to the Andante - that Sokhiev made emphatically slow (but pulsated with intent of keeping the line alive). This then remained an Andante - as something to have organically emerged out of how the first movement ends. If one sought bombastic rhetoric at key nodal points here, one looked in vain. More primary on Sokhiev’s mind was how to always sustain a continual sense of narrative throughout this, even past fleeting doubt of his handling of one or two transitions therein. A slight phrasing from behind of clarinet seemed overt, starting middle section to all this; such concern also only proved fleeting. Lines for solo horn were long-breathed, but with Sokhiev requesting a Slavic inspired affectation of Gallic formed embouchure in playing horn for sake of desirable color, regardless what risk.

A certainly rapid-fire approach to much of the finale brilliantly closed the concert, but while similar in pace to Mravinsky or Gergiev, eschewing excessive bombast of the latter. Heavily accented start to the Exposition for amassed strings alone came across portentous. The shove into rapid brass re-statement in C Major of ‘fate’ was risky, for how transition into the Development realistically should work. Without any derailing or threat of such, all proceeded organically from what had opened up here.

The opening of the finale, eschewing grandiosity, certainly something just to stand on its own as so much rhetoric Sokhiev revealed being interpretively mature to realize, lest one prefer much empty hectoring instead. Sokhiev instead proceeded with fine swagger, such as with stepping out for a brisk walk on morning of bright sunlight over remaining frost on the ground. Sokhiev in the coda subtly pointed out dark chromatic progression in undergirding brass to violins’ unison ‘fate’ motif in E Major to bring us full circle from whence things started.. Brilliant, closing flourish to all this came across most refreshing.

My only trepidation about writing in as such is that of too much a push this still fledgling career receives today. This is first time apparent to me there is indeed a real gift here not only for orchestral, but more so for operatic work. The repertoire is vast, challenges, temptations great, such as have already tripped up greater men than, at thirty-three, Sokhiev. He stepped in for Mehta in Seoul for Haydn 104 and Brahms 4 (for his VPO debut?) last fall. There are subtleties with Brahms 4 that must still confound eager youth - youth nothing to disparage. More than immediate success, one can best wish Mr. Sokhiev much prudence in planning what may result in rewarding career ahead for him.

DSO Berlin: Hans Graf conducts Barber and Schubert - Andreas Grunkorn, cello. Is it real, Graf, or click-track?

In 1988, the Houston Symphony brought Michael Gielen for a very special honoring of the eightieth birthday of the now still living 101 year old Elliott Carter, pairing his 1961 Piano Concerto (Ursula Oppens) with the Schubert Ninth Symphony. It was Christoph Eschenbach’s first season - Eschenbach who almost exactly three years later conducted Schubert Ninth in much fussier manner than did Gielen, with less formal clarity, balances and execution than Gielen had spiritedly, unobtrusively achieved here. Late 1980’s was just about time Ingo Metzmacher finished apprenticing in Frankfurt under Gielen.

The Houston Symphony has never since sounded better than on the occasion of Gielen’s only visit here. I can not recall them again sounding as good as they did on the bright, crisp late November Sunday he was here – even for once to deny that there is anything to be concealed by the bone-dry acoustics of Jones Hall. It was this good.

[February 21st, 2010: I forgot to note while first posting this that Ferenc Fricsay planned to conduct the Schubert Ninth Symphony in Houston at Music Hall, circa November, 1954, but he then changed second half of the program to Schubert Eighth 'Unfinished' and Beethoven's Leonore Overture #3].

Last Sunday DSO Berlin hosted Houston’s current music director for a program of Samuel Barber and Schubert. Whereas in subtle, internalized ways Carter and Schubert share some affinities for progressivism, they are, by conjecture, more externally similar in terms of their openly deep introspection and slight tendency to bombast.

DSO principal Andreas Grunkorn was soloist for the Barber Cello Concerto, proving supple with the technically difficult part - even more importantly giving this music clear direction and line. There lacked perhaps the last degree of character or personality to his interpretation of the Barber. Whatever inhibition encountered, the blame for it certainly can hardly at all be laid at his feet alone. Hans Graf maintained a deferential accompanying stance to Grunkorn- with coloristic pointing of filigree in woodwind tremolo at several points. The music in the hands of both Grunkorn and Graf managed to reservedly hold up a semblance of - as Virgil Thomson made reference - ‘Brahms-like grandeur’, but in playing out so much, some other elements went missing.

It is odd to report here that Graf’s relatively inflexible approach to the Barber – inability to adequately pick up numerous contrasting elements within - was more something to keenly listen for than it was for the Schubert. The jazzy syncopation, blues bend muted trumpets in the Barber perhaps were apt to be toned down; here it was frequently to extent of all being perfectly staid – even if Barber’s inculcation of some elements in this fine score is stylized. Other than ability to gain a pleasantly supple, if still flaccid ease to handling of such passages in regular meter (as first movement statement of opening theme), this was so. Graf overtly relied upon trumpets, brass for securing downbeats during the first movement a little much.

Key change from cellos and basses, while uncharacteristically playing flat the main siciliana of the second movement, got compromised. Expressively memorable alone was Grunkorn’s eloquent take on brief sequencing of upward arpeggios, midway through - more shape to them than for principal orchestral line above - and then for expansive unaccompanied transition toward close to the Andante moderato. Such fine rhetoric followed brief sequence of trills from the winds conspicuously detached from statement of the main idea.

Graf opened the finale stiffly, leading Grunkorn at first, for sake of coherence to abet opening idea coming across as more ‘academic’, poor man’s Hindemith, than snazzy as it should be. Graf, even for simpler wind concertato stretto, fell into habit of marking time, effect constricting space for Grunkorn to be able to flexibly spin his virtuoso figuration off such stretto. Run up through high register following perilous double stops also got inhibited at the end of the first movement. Some of the writing in this concerto even resembles quite often the soulful rhythmic jauntiness of Medea (ballet) written for Martha Graham at near the same time.

Marking of downbeat to accompanying bluesy second theme in the finale was stilted too, inhibiting what imagination the soloist might invest into it. More important perhaps that the soloist not get in the way of Graf’s ability to keep all well organized, regardless the cost of his having to engage within tight spaces some very tricky cross-rhythms. Grunkorn handled closing virtuoso fireworks with aplomb, even through perilous writing in high register. Where earlier Grunkorn could make some lyricism stand out, he still most certainly did. Graf slipped in managing to well co-ordinate with Grunkon’s line beneath the solo high trumpet stretto descant driving argument forward to the end.

Less eloquent case was made for the Schubert Ninth Symphony that followed. On the plus side, this Schubert Ninth carried some rhythmic vitality through most pacing of it, but mostly which got applied from without instead of found within. Contrasting formal periods, paragraphs of this music got sectionalized to extent of becoming unnaturally compartmentalized from each other. Such was Graf’s insistence on strict downbeats for cause of keeping ensemble together, regardless the cost.

Fully less imaginative among examples of music appreciation instruction came to mind, for all the heavy stress on so much pedantry. For example, so paramount is how well something functions at following ‘textbook sonata form’ that the entire purpose of the music having been conceived in real style of form would get lost. Or what is most de rigeur about music becomes so pedantically explained that all interest in the music itself then is lost. One sensed DSO Berlin getting what to those most in the know is a ‘Norton scores’ approach to the Schubert Ninth. For two years now they have so brilliantly produced in front of them complex beat patterns, securely backed by clear explanation of purpose in getting across with much simplicity so much frequently at stake.

The stentorian reply within oboe solo continuation of the main theme, in motto leading the introduction, was all played at monotonously stilted fortissimo from the brass. Repeated notes, two-three-four, in brass should really be, it seems, equal in weight and as loud as the main theme. Transition into main Allegro of the first movement, while maintaining equilibrium, sounded careful, stiff, with only tentative shape to crescendo to transpire, build excitement through it to follow. Opening theme of the Allegro Schubert need not have marked that the dotted quarters get more weight than alternating eighth notes, that is until he might have had chance to hear Graf at it.. Graf’s making all equal in weight made the dotted quarters sound clipped, even while abstinent from doing ‘period’ Schubert.

Little was made of transition to follow; textures began to clot in the antiphonal stringing out of what follows. Though yielding into a more promising start to the recapitulation was welcome, things returned to continuing down a stiffly predictable path the rest of the way out, with monotony and intermittently less than optimum clarity of ensemble between strings and woodwinds.

The second movement fared little better. Though perfectly moderate marcia pacing of this was apt, accompanying dotted rhythms stood out so pronounced as to jalmost verge on caricature of Wanderer motif to it all. Tutti response to main theme, from the get-go, was stiff, lacking sufficiently varied weight and color. Middle section transpired matter-of-fact each time - even more so true in recapitulating it (while applying detached subito piu mosso - 'suddenly faster' to it) to extent that while still moderately paced, line coursing through it just about entirely died.

Graf reckoned it prudent to render entirely missing contrast between pairs of loud octaves - eventually making for hard-hitting trudge through closing measures of the second movement. Where Graf attempted luftpausen for such through closing passages of this, he denied especially his brass and lower strings space for reaching well below some of the true resonance from which Schubert built unique harmonies and placement thereof. Expressive shaping only occurred where most obvious, such as for extended cellos’ retransition off rigidly engaged dissonant climax two-thirds through. Hatchet-y attacks from strings on heavy chords throughout became consistently unidiomatic.

Just bare minimum in shaping the scherzo’s second theme was reckoned practically sufficient, though with DSO violins infusing such with almost right lift, light step to it. Even through wonderful harmonic changes in the Development, figuration in the strings continued unvaryingly and brass excessively stuck out. The songful trio section lacked shape, coming off brass and winds’ tuning up on chain of repeated octave E’s to get things started reasonably in tune. Graf over-emphatically underlined the brief C Major episode occurring past midway through the Trio.

The finale began stolidly. Strings of DSO Berlin sounded stressed at all valiant effort to remain together on rapidly moving triplet figuration. The music took such a pause before second theme, fortunately with some lift to it, that it seemed to happen as to make some pause to catch a breath. Graf streamlined paraphrase of Ode to Joy while making considerable strain to scrupulize keeping dotted rhythms beneath together. Right before this, intriguing highly chromatic slow emphatic sequence of chord change in lower brass was played so note by note as to have missed what point there is to it at all - quite the same as happened between heavy octave chords in the second movement. Especially the violins of DSO Berlin however had to have then surmised seeing the end to all this in sight. They suddenly became much more cohesive, pliant making with all effort and aplomb something cumulative out of closing a moderate paced, but still heavily belabored Schubert Ninth. So much emphasis on principal trumpet occurred, to keep things aligned well, one might fully expect Graf to put fine principal trumpet of DSO Berlin on front stand with concertmaster Wei Lu next time Graf should return and it be relevant to have it so.

I was only able to catch two closing paragraphs to Schubert’s Overture in D Major, D. 12, written when Franz was fifteen - showing a determined precocity, even in experimenting with form more than he could make effective yet.. Such precocity is further evident by, following opening D Minor intro, chord progression for opening of its Exposition section aping that for first movement of Mozart’s Prague Symphony. The over-scoring of so much, that had to came across wonky in this outing by DSO Berlin, revealed Schubert, individualism of his writing already apparent, his attempt to compose sonata form well beyond yet attained level of maturity. Such is also true with stubborn holding onto the tonic throughout Exposition of both overtures in D Major he wrote at the time (D. 26 the other) - then to recapitulate each second subject in A Major, before each time jerking us quickly back to the tonic just in time to rescue all formal logic.

One may reckon me disloyal, being from where I am, in being so hard on Graf; in my defense, after what Metzmacher has achieved with DSO Berlin, it would be demeaning to them to be writing in otherwise. In Graf’s defense, he has in Houston applied at times some intellectual acumen to his craft, his having come from tradition of sorts; as such he has so casually, even often at times both here and abroad put such aside. It could be he feels inhibited, working with different class of musicians than he is accustomed in southeast Texas – or that he got cold feet and decided that best way to proceed was ‘safety first’; the music here just called for so much more than that.

There was sloppily more kink to Eschenbach’s 1991 Schubert Ninth, but more color, contrast, more drama; it too put one at considerable strain to sit through it. Graf conducted Schubert Ninth here for first in pair of two weekends with which he made his Houston Symphony debut in March of 2000 – in program paired with John Adams’s Century Rolls with Manny Ax. Carmina Burana (Orff), paired with Mozart 'Prague' went the distance toward making Graf music director to succeed Eschenbach. Some of Charles Ward’s comments about the first concert I have just have found after writing so much above, are very interesting. Recall that Adams’s concerto then got programmed with the Schubert brought up that perhaps Graf had in mind even last weekend a way to find a new chic modernity in taking on Schubert - for it to have turned out sounding so two-dimensional as dud this one. It is, after all, music for players and audience respectively that “probably literally, they can play and hear in their sleep.” Yes, Graf’s Schubert Ninth put underneath one’s pillow, ought to work well – if kept at low volume.

Ward (Houston Chronicle) found the HSO Schubert “lithe, flexible, and transparent” for a piece that – in somewhat a moment of anti-Eschenbach rhetoric here (to reflect sentiment in some quarters at the time as is common for anyone taking leave of such hallowed ground) “does not invite grand or grandiose ‘statements’ of conductorial and orchestral achievement.” Oh, how I would love to be a bird on the rafters of the Philharmonie when Ingo gets back into town, and then (let’s say) tells DSO, “Let’s get together next season, guys, and do Schubert Ninth”- for reaction he might receive. The opening horn solo to Charles Ward was so interesting, being just there for Graf to announce “that the piece was commencing.” Yes, exactly. A ‘Norton scores’ Schubert Ninth would precisely say so.

I heard some of the Graf 2000 Schubert Ninth and can not adequately remember it, but for now can not help but quote passage in full, on Graf’s conducting of the Adams.

“Had the performance been up to standards, the listener might have found some humor in [the Adams) as well. As it was, the orchestra seemed to be struggling with the piece's rhythmic foundation. It was still foreign to too many players Monday (third time). Century Rolls needs players to have a sense of rhythm similar to a "click track," that metrical tick-tock a conductor has in his ear to keep an orchestra aligned with a film in live performance. Beats and divisions of beats have to be precise; they can't bend or be even microscopically off.” How good for the Barber if they could have ‘bent.’

Could have Hans Graf returned to re-read the above, when contemplating how to take on the Schubert afresh lately? Though a bit erratically aligned at times, I could indeed sense a click track to the Schubert this go at it. More punishing than what you read here might have been had Deutschland Radio repeated, as broadcast encore, American in Paris conducted by Metzmacher. I was reminded of hearing this last fall by someone medical here yesterday confiding to me that he had just attended Graf conducting equally familiar Gershwin here.

Met (in HD) - Boccanegra from Domingo, Levine & Co of mostly weightless quality

Much anticipated has been indeed the debut or series of debuts by Placido Domingo in the part of Doge of Genoa. In fact, I do not quite know in starting out to write, what I should be reviewing here – either Verdi’s opera Simon Boccanegra or status of Placido Domingo, given how certain powers that be might direct me to write what I do here.

Let me blow my own cover by saying I opted to sit at home with score open instead of report to cinema to re-audition Giancarlo Del Monaco’s production from the Met – after I had shut it off at end of Act One, when PBS aired it around 1996. Placido Domingo played Adorno then - in fact so energetically he somewhat disproportionately upstaged the Doge (Vladimir Chernov). If one sought a Placido Domingo & Co Simon Boccanegra, one could not have departed from what has transpired Saturday much disappointed. However, there is much more here than mere star vehicle for anybody.

James Levine conducted a Boccanegra well tailored to supporting Domingo’s best efforts for the most part. One however gathered little sense from Levine here, as opposed to with his Macbeth recently, what makes Simon Boccanegra in its standard revised 1881 version - Meg and Ira constantly reminded us - special. Except for during obvious place as the last five minutes of the Council Chamber scene, at which doge confronts Paolo, and the easier Act Two, one heard, came across simply a little too much compromise for either Levine’s good or for that of this piece. Numerous specific dynamic markings, proper balancing and interaction making use of getting chorus placed right - and of fanfares during Act One both offstage and on - and even correct spacing between chords (such as to begin Il lacerate spirito) went slightly too often amiss, streamlined or ignored.

Pianissimo marked strings introducing Amelia’s aria sounded heavy, Met flutes replying delicately - marked dynamic level louder than the strings. A nearly perfect cloudless day over harbor of Genoa could have only appeared so scenically; it did not musically. Co-ordination of most onstage ensemble, moments for such worked quite well, other than for the Met chorus sounding more strained than they should. Sympathy for the Verdian idiom Levine certainly has some mastery long by now. With Simon Boccanegra, one seeks hopefully a little more – not alone for what special occasion this has been touted to be. With openings of arias in both the first two scenes of the opera, Levine risked falling under spell of a generic blandness, less offensive for start to Fiesco’s scene in the Prologue than here in 2006 (for which Patrick Summers entirely ignored contrast of dynamics starting out). Summers however achieved good delicacy for opening, by contrast, the sunniest passage of this entire work - the first scene of Act One.

Most consistently good in an uneven supporting cast here was the Paolo Albiani of Stephen Gaertner, taking place of Nicola Alaimo on relatively short notice. He was paired with a Pietro, Richard Bernstein, clearly more sonorous than the Fiesco, it certainly sounded. Gaertner made the conniving, menace, bitterness of the Doge’s mortal foe quite riveting, and good abettor in motivating Domingo to making a real challenge out of his address to Paolo to conclude a long Act One. Adam Herskowitz made forthright, dutiful, but somewhat pitch uneven Captain late in the opera.

Adrianne Pieczonka was the both enraptured and bold sounding Amelia Grimaldi, in most wisely taking on lyrically this part. Vaguely remindful of what Gina Cigna may have said of Callas, one had at times impression with Pieczonka, especially through Act One of hearing at times three voices instead of one – the way in which there lacked facile connection between shifts, registers – such lack audibly so at times Saturday. When especially descending stepwise down a line, all would go smoothly, but once she had to make any leap whichever direction, one had to take on a little faith that one would be hearing everything intact. A little tremulo around the break affected the famous (or by now infamous) trill during the Council Chamber Scene. In contrast to what I have read several ftimes about Pieczonka – just recently having made her HGO debut in Lohengrin – I find her ease in achieving legato better in the Italianate repertoire than in the German thus far; such was achieved with mostly very even, lovely results for last half of Saturday. Approach, though tense, to high notes was always fearless, but especially early on at risk of sounding unsupported on them. Even with what vocal lapses might have been occurring, she sounded the more consistently engaged than did Domingo through their recognition scene in Act One together.

With approach to production somewhat similar to that of Domingo, Marcello Giordani sang Gabriele here. He is the one character to be first heard offstage, and predictably enough, registered awkwardly enough so, as though being heard from echo chamber not far offstage for his first entrance. He sounded uncharacteristically less loud once on stage in his first scene than he did off a moment before. One had to wonder if Amelia could have had trouble as to where to find him. For such earnest jump at trying to sound heroic here, Giordani, with just fortunately at least at times a little more subtlety than stock tenor mannerisms at his command, found himself with an entirely unreliable, unsupported top. Throughout any of Act Two past his big aria, he sounded almost completely lost in regards to placement altogether - after fishing for proper placement of repeated A-Flats several lines before lyrical refrain to "Sento avvampar." He fortunately recovered both semblance of voice and good behavior for Act Three.

Entirely lacking in both low notes and anything resembling gravitas, outside of prudent care for Boito's text, was James Morris as Jacopo Fiesco. The voice is now a shell of its former self, for what indeed here became a comprimario Fiesco. In duet with Giordani during Act One, even Giordani’s unsupported top unsettled matters less than did much lack of solidity underneath. Levine’s bland conducting of Fiesco’s first scene - all to eloquently frame “Il lacerate spirito” - most certainly undercut Morris for its entirety. Morris did however manage to achieve decent approximation of legato for noble refrain to the aria, as he did several moments later for "Se conceder" during following duet with Domingo. Both passages, with dignified reserve, reminded of better days for this singer. His failure at anywhere nearly being able to underpin the closing quartet in the opera made one episode therein positively sound like Offenbach, barcarolle-like, for having indeed become weightless. Fiesco’s facing off of Boccanegra - informed by seniority combined with implacability towards aspiring corsair - made no impact.

The vocally aging-defiant Fiesco of increasingly distant memory in my experience is Cesare Siepi (in place of indisposed Ghiaurov) in Houston in 1984 – at 63 years of age, opposite a somewhat weightless, at times tremulous Leo Nucci as Boccanegra. It was last spring that Domingo sang at Met gala the Act One recognition duet with Angela Gheorghiu in good form - quite effectively to anticipate taking on such a hefty assignment as faced him last Saturday and previously in Berlin. Domingo sang the duet at the gala as lyrically as if it had been bel canto. Such, though it may not have promised very much, turned out just quite aesthetically pleasing.

Saturday it was instead the complete role. Domingo’s model for Otello was primarily the fine Chilean tenor Ramon Vinay. Vinay graduated downward to Iago for a Dallas Otello (Mario Del Monaco) that possibly also included Domingo – on visit from Ft Worth Lucia - as Cassio, legend has it. Vinay also sang Telramund at Bayreuth several years later. If I had to pick just one major baritone role for Domingo to add, it would probably be Amfortas. I seriously doubt that Telramund would work for him, as sure as I am that Iago most certainly would not and that Vinay never attempted Boccanegra – and neither, for being so well versed in Verdi if not particularly idiomatic for it - Fischer-Dieskau (well known for both his recorded Iago and Telramund). Had it however been Fischer-Dieskau at peak of his powers today instead of ‘then’, the unanswerable question today would then indeed be ‘why not?’ Thomas Hampson, like a young Leo Nucci, has near as weightlessly as Domingo got some of this and with it obvious a lieder artist’s sensitivity for text – that one could have slightly more reliably picked up from Fischer-Dieskau.

The difference between then and now is that a greater number of singers - and during a time there were more great singers than there are today - knew better, knew they should be daunted by such an assignment as this. For Domingo to have achieved as much success as he did with it, though limited, Saturday, at age of sixty-nine, certainly speaks well enough for itself. The valor, the courage to do so is already such to automatically be able to become legendary. Attempt at this in a barn such as the Met I would normally reckon however slightly vain. Even so, it was most certainly the way to be heard the most places and simulated (not in person) live any great number of places around the world. One can only go so far to demean such a feat.

Domingo’s production here certainly sounded phlegmatic enough, especially in early scenes here, to have been mistaken for Germanic in place of Italianate. “V’amplesso” started off eager enough, if also with curiously phlegmatic feel for expressing uncertainly as well. The always-readily engaged Domingo showed up in Prologue as at least halfway decent match with the young Boccanegra. The stunned “Morta’s” replying to Fiesco’s news of the death of Maria resounded well as the grief of a young man – a bit amazing, coming from someone pushing seventy. “Sublimarmi a lei spira” sounded forth with good valor, fervor, almost as eager enough to take anything on, but ‘Sul mar nel lido’ a little more generically espressivo. “Qui sempre silenzio si tenebra” came across Viaay-esque foreboding enough - of uncertain future ahead.

Rougher sailing lay ahead for Act One. Uncertainty as to proper placement - even as to where correct tessitura, approach to it lies tended to over-ride expressive considerations for the first scene at seaside - mostly the recognition duet with Amelia. Levine mostly accompanied supportively enough, but as slightly too eager through piu animato for marcia that so poignantly recalls Act Three duet from Luisa Miller; he also pushed excessively through closing Iago anticipating exchange between Paolo and Pietro.

“Messeri, il re” started off right, but then Domingo made continuation of it sound like equally likely recitative out of Ernani. A certainly dark enough “Tutto e silenzio” got immediately undercut by weak, generically phlegmatic “Ecco i plebi”, instead of eruption of most deeply ingrained, cynically mixed rage and irony. The great address, ‘Plebe! Patrizi!” started off badly, with uncertainty of pitch and very choppy line, with still some incipient whine to it, up until a well couched, enveloped “Piango su voi’, even while still tight on F-sharps. This finally prepared contrastingly well for with Simon’s implacable address to Paolo - Levine and very fine bass clarinet with it all every step of the way - that recalled some of Domingo’s best days as Otello - as for instance during the Venetian delegation scene. Domingo’s real menace in forcing Paolo to repeat curse was no affectation, but somewhat compensated however for his perhaps jumping too quickly at “Sii maledetto”. Gaertner replied with good shudder, horror here.

Domingo found fine rhetorical eloquence for the last two acts, making something very affecting of the death scene; he had in previous scene sufficiently reckoned line about the bitterness of the taste of water to even who wears the crown during Act Two well. His blessing on both daughter and forgiven rebel Gabriele together with extension of clemency to Fiesco and hope for peace to all sounded sincerely heartfelt if slightly untethered vocally – with passionate cry of Maria’s name capping everything off. One felt however that towards such a fine ending one had not witnessed it for a Doge having come down from even near supreme heights as one should.

Meg and Ira sounded taken up with notion that we had arrived at a great moment of history, that we had a piece during their show of all that went on during year the revised Boccnaegra had its 1881 world premiere, all the way down to outback that year for execution of bandit Ned Kelley. Most jarring perhaps would have been to turn on right after attending this Boccanegra the 1982 La Scala dvd of Ernani Muti conducts that also stars Domingo. It is so well produced, performed for that one practically has Ernani even ape momentarily belonging to same class as we normally reckon Boccanegra and Otello – no less for what Domingo invested therein on that occasion. With Boccanegra again, one ascertained at least a somewhat humble sense on Domingo’s part of approaching end of career toward eventual end of life - something here that at least carried some poignancy - with as backdrop Saturday this great score. Verdi reckoned too that he only had so much time left in his craft for what valecdictory statements he was making here.

One had to have left this experience grateful, but also slightly confused, confounded that it is indeed still Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra; it is that for sure with which we all must contend. Such is true with the master no longer alive - this yet again being the shoddy Del Monaco production the Met brings back – and no longer able to defend himself.

Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra however still endures, beyond how mere mortals may undercut, weaken its impact on our feeble psyches, minds, emotions. The apparently endless cycle of sea and sky, with its hues, colors, interaction in change of light and of mood informs all of Verdi’s score. This is even so as the engine that as while even ontologically fueling the wrath of provoked mobs also provides balm for our still more frequent need for consolation, time to reflect. The sea is something, as depicted here, always for plebeian and patrician of Genoa alike – hard for me to perceive how anyone can live happy too far for long from it where one might reside – that has endured over generations and centuries. Nobody so far has out-endured it and nobody ever will.

HGO: A mostly unerring Turn of the Screw eerily haunts the Wortham - Amanda Roocroft (HGO debut), Andrew Kennedy - Neil Armfield production

Benjamin Britten’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, to paraphrase Neil Armfield, represents (stasis of) being in a most utopian sense caught in a state of childhood (purity and) innocence. Armfield very successfully produced Midsummer Night's Dream here a year ago. Both enclosed within, handed out openly is ideal of being free of the corruption by adult world all about – Dream construed as oasis or Eden amidst a very dry or arid land.

After catharsis like Turn of the Screw, it should be. Houston Grand Opera scheduled the appearance of these two pieces, a year apart, in flip order, leaving so to speak (paraphrasing Peter Quint) 'ceremony of innocence all drowned' at last. Midsummer Night’s Dream exquisitely blossoms out within the oeuvre of Benjamin Britten, and vice versa, became the flip side of this setting of Henry James. The simplicity with which Neil Armfield approaches the operas of Britten remains paramount here. Such remains a virtue for what is the shortest of three taken on so far here but also the most complex of them in numerous ways. In it is quite a challenge, and if not met here in all aesthetic ways possible, still a very strong attempt at it. Numerous elements to this Turn of the Screw made it very well worth going to see it.

HGO music director Patrick Summers was at the helm. With orchestra involving fourteen musicians, he at times could be found only as strong as his weakest link. Weak links - every participant in this a soloist - out of HGO orchestra ranks, were not too numerous - just sufficient to be distracting. Even though the magic of Screw is of a very dark and sinister quality, none of this element should be rendered neutral at all, there also being those episodes composed to sound innocuous instead.

As cited in Phyllis Howard’s commentary on Turn of the Screw (Cambridge), the work came under a little drubbing by the composer Malipiero for leaving all the scoring for this opera precariously exposed. Strongest in this ensemble were the playing of Elisabeth Priestley (oboe), Dennis Whitaker (double-bass), Barrett Sills (cello), Sarah Cranston (horn) and also Bethany Self (keyboards). Weakest were first, second violins, including HGO concertmaster Denise Tarrant, flute, and percussion (two players).

Gian Francesco Malipiero mentioned acute need for each part to havee to register at or near height of its expressive potential for (the) chamber music scoring to work; he construed this unable to match realistic expectations. Such became true when command of one’s instrument with Britten’s purposefully awkward writing became tentative.

Even though Britten uses tone rows, here the central row based on ascending perfect fourths in whole tone spelling for his theme and variations structure, his adaptation of such is not serial. This is so, even while manipulating tone centers half-tones apart. Even so, his development of his material is interwoven, complex laced with much symbolism. There is even some of what is called a hard kernel to some of the musical symbolism that must be heard, even if subconsciously, for this music to fire off on all cylinders. Enough of what element was here to make the HGO Turn of the Screw effective; still more on part of Summers and his players one would hope could have been possible. Acute ear for balances and interaction between varied activities going on was lacking, especially with gaps in playing quality from a handful of soloists therein.

Patrick Summers, when not hamstrung by limitations listed above, has come a good part of the way in coming to grips with Britten’s complex vision here. He made mostly good choice of tempos, moving the action forward well, and drew out of Britten’s music many of its numerous colors and implications. However, there were a number of moments that sounded pushed – some of for instance Peter Quint’s melismatic sextuplet lines, when doubled by orchestral players – played in rhythmic space at times for what might fit five sextuplets instead of six – during finale to Act One but not there alone. Due in part to dull flute playing, contrast in color between opposing sonorities of a pristine nocturnal D Major and encroaching sinister A-Flat tritone below (or from below) was compromised in scene (‘The Tower’) during which Peter Quint is first sighted. Duet for horn and celesta was introspectively very effective for one of the opera's more expansive interludes (called variations). Extended mostly unaccompanied solo for oboe (Priestley) with sinister insinuations from double-bass also fully made its impact.

Some high raising of arms in the air in what Summers turned into a somewhat scherzo-esque close to the scene immediately preceding variation and closing scene - passacaglia for final scene closing out the theme and variations design to the whole opera - exacerbated instead of effectively raising dramatic tension to anticipate the finale. All fortunately did cumulatively come together as building toward what resulted in the harrowing final moments of this opera. That Summers indeed has at least some ear for what goes on here became evident during the playing of very icy sonorities from string harmonics toward end of Act One and incisive staccato for ‘atonal’ leaning fugato interlude midway through Act Two.

Neil Armfield was most deft at finding just the proper amount of space between rear mirror laden casements for ghosts to appear and then often descend out of view, often walking backwards. Not just as path of least resistance, Armfield deftly chose to leave it up to the viewer how to halfway correctly interpret what is going on. With such there was certailnly neither ambiguity betrayed nor explanation added, solution found that perhaps not even Britten or his librettist may have intended for us to have. Costuming was period, most effective with the billowing dress in which one found Miss Jessel and that for boy Miles - with how light from rear would hit him as covered in long white nightshirt and also in making procession in front of mirrors costumed in purple robe with Flora in white.

Moving of casements around on stage between scenes - even as tightly encroaching on quartet of singing actors at one point - was unerringly effective. Some subtle emphasis could perhaps have been found however, for early scenes of nursery rhymes for Miles and Flora, with for comic relief just the playfulness of these scenes emphasized, that music here was left alone to provide. It is perhaps churlish to mention since better perhaps to do nothing instead of too much some other ways in handling such passages.

A long crumpled sheet of iridescent fabric supplied river or symbolism thereof for the set in an uncannily effective way. Especially the dramatic rolling back of it at end of scene where Flora, while being taken away by Mrs Grose, claims to be able to see nothing of any ghosts haunting the Governess was quite a coup de theatre. A flaring purplish red with which it showed up once or twice, as opposed to a dull gray as it first appeared made for great contrast in both what one would expect and to dark coloration all about. Contrast between sets for the first two scenes of Act Two was also very effective. For colloquy between the two ghosts - the tall mirror casements are quite oppressively to front of the stage, light smoke billowing forth from behind. ‘The Bells’ featured ample semblance of normalcy with fine wide-angle view of most of the stage and clear lighting.

In terms of interaction between characters, most of this was also effective – with what challenge it might pose to make the children appear possessed. Both Andrew Kennedy (Peter Quint) and Tamara Wilson (Miss Jessel) looked malevolent – with it being left subjective how much of such malevolence, if any at all, should be perceived by anybody else, either on or off stage – Neil Armfield’s way of showing complete respect.

Amanda Roocroft made probably the most important HGO debut for 2009-2010 here thus far as the Governess. Her command of musical idiom was absolutely complete. Her revealed a woman certainly rattled, slightly unnerved by presence of evil at Bly (country house at which most of this takes place), but a bit blandly to make some of the neurosis of the Governess subdued; this may have been on purpose. With warm tone, she encompassed the vocal range of this part with ease, Roocroft made count the doting, overweening characteristics of the Governess toward Miles especially. During ‘The Tower”, so evocative of night, she floated what are on the surface her calm lines over crest of high B-Flat with fine ease, while expressively giving hint of inner agitation - obvious why moments later with first sighting of Peter Quint.

Accompaniment for the Governess’s musings (just past start of Act 2), “Lost in my labyrinth,” sounded a little more like a scramble from especially upper strings than it should. Roocroft made quasi-heroic, with clearly suggesting absence of stable basis for it, the Governess's confidence in rescuing Miles. She then moments later made so distraught her quoting his mysterious song, ‘Malo’, right before last curtain fell.

Judith Forst was the dramatically involved Mrs Grose, as character ineffective, passive toward hope of curbing the Governess’s neuroses, but singing a part lying slightly high for her at this stage of her career. Her “Dear God, is there no end,” refrain starting and re-starting arioso during fifth scene (“The Window”), carried sufficient force, but with percussion underneath (so often unvaried in dynamics) too much louder than doubling violins of her lines for good support to them here.

The last role for HGO studio alumna Tamara Wilson at the Wortham was Amelia in Verdi’s Bsllo in maschera; it obviously stressed her beyond vocal capacity to sustain it. For Roocroft being also lyric - the Ballo Amelia not quite being suitable for her either - Roocroft projected more loudly than Wilson singing together with her - Wilson the brighter on top. The intelligence of Wilson in having avoided doing much damage by engaging in such previous misadventure became obvious in her fine limning of Miss Jessel here. Standing next to Andrew Kennedy, a definitive Peter Quint, Wilson was undaunted here in having to cover a wide range - with need to project well throughout. She elicited too a decent ear for the odd intervals and spacing in her part while making the menace of her text so elaborately set to music count also. With Kennedy having to opt for something more subtle, Wilson’s Miss Jessel was the more obviously menacing figure on stage for this. Wilson’s tone for low notes had the right covered, dark quality in contrast with much brighter sound on top. With decent legato at last she capitalized fully on making all her lines count here, each of them with what punch she could give them.

Matching Wilson vigorously was Joelle Harvey as Flora. Harvey conveyed the manner of a young girl with her petite appearance on stage, but vocally revealed some real carrying power that at times betrayed vocal maturity to extent one practically had to suspend disbelief. Her gangly acting and countenance went much distance in making up for such lapse – conveying some hope too of Flora being able to stand up to situation all about.

By way of contrast was the obviously more passive Miles of Michael Kepler Meo. One saw through Meo definitely the more brooding, introverted child from among the two - and appearing the more possessed throughout. In spectral manner, tone was often covered to the point of being slightly too reserved. A few notes failed to quite adequately speak beyond the footlights. He had to have on purpose projected a somewhat resinous, hollow tone, almost as to resemble wooden (alto) flute in low register; his doing so conveyed much mystery. With Miles eventually put on the defensive, he made his lines take on all clarity and incisive attack necessary.

Guiding many of his steps through this was the chilling Peter Quint of Andrew Kennedy, much of which played as simply though deceptively innocuous at least up until near - at least while in company of others - point he goads Miles to steal the letter. From starting as Prologue, Kennedy’s clarity of line and with text, making all speak most effectively, was absolutely first-rate. He sounds like a high baritone at times, but with free extension up fairly high – never going excessively so here – projecting with fine ease and subtle variety some very artful writing in so many melismas, chains of sextuplets. He disallowed being rushed too much through this, as to otherwise deny himself full shape to such passages. He was heard acoustically placed on stage and off in subtle variety of ways engaging such – considering the varied multicultural allotment of sources upon which Britten drew for writing Peter Quint. His timbre and artistry would suit his ideally being cast here as Pelleas for Debussy HGO has never yet staged before. We would do well to attempt bringing Kennedy here for a full evening of recital as well.

With several changes to orchestral personnel and a little more rehearsal, familiarity with this work, it would be interesting to hear what better stab Summers might make at Turn of the Screw, toward making it a more complete experience. One would ideally seek something still more specifically eerie out of this than felt already at Wortham Center this week – so much that Britten acutely points out in his scoring in manifold subtle ways.

Guiding hands and voices of especially the malevolent Peter Quint (Andrew Kennedy) and of the Governess (Amanda Roocroft), in addition to the fine staging excellently compensated toward leading this where it should go. I surmise too their influence abetted Tamara Wilson toward making Miss Jessel so sinister as she accomplished here. It was such, should be that Turn of the Screw, Neil Armfield and his cast of his players all leave us, via intended psychological murk throughout, asking more questions than finding answers.