Met on NPR: Levine valecditorily led Wozzeck. Unqualified triumph for Waltraud Meier (Marie). Mark Lamos production. James Levine. 16.4.11

James Levine has since 1974 made Wozzeck, then several years later Lulu central staples of Met repertoire during his now very near forty years with the company. A certain amount of credit is due him for being, as many Met patrons estimate, a stirring advocate for Alban Berg’s two operas. His long familiarity with Wozzeck, played Saturday without a break, clearly evinced itself here. He dropped conducting Das Rheingold in its second run for the season and also second run of Il Trovatore (as presented at Met in HD) to guarantee himself this now likely valedictory opportunity to do Wozzeck at the Met.

Virtuosity of the Met orchestra for Wozzeck became, as expected, fully on display. Hardly anybody could have left disappointed, including with fine principal solos from viola, flute, contra-bassoon during this opera’s first scene alone. Much of their work fulfilled many, if not quite all of Alban Berg’s formal, expressive intentions. Lushness of realizing full expressive potential of the final scene of Act One got better realized this time than perhaps on two previous occasions. For Levine’s better, if still less than ideally integrating fanfare derived ‘lust’ motif introducing it into remainder of hothouse the scoring provides also on its own merits, the deeply interwoven motivic fabric infusing everything spoke forth more decisively. Contrasting with this, intricate pointing of detail, mostly to bring out character for instance of the individual dance movements of quasi-Baroque suite to which the opera’s opening scene is set was very attentive, incisive. Buildup of climax during ‘rhapsody’, scene among the brushes with Andres – with Wozzeck, literally on the verge, so to speak, achieved evocative realization

Levine, ever loyal accompanist to his singers, tended also to succumb here and there to restraining himself from tightening up musical and dramatic tension to where it might put one of his singers under additional strain, such as during brief epilogue for Marie to single encounter with Wozzeck during Act One, capped by her impassioned reprise of Wozzeck’s signatory ‘Wir arme leut.’

For Act Two, concentration for maintaining optimum grip on the inner workings of Berg’s scoring then seemed distracted. Key was impulsivity on Levine’s part to underline or enhance some extra certain key moments – such as his rushing exaggeratedly through brief stretto interlude between its first two scenes. Even with the bizarrely transitory quality of how much of the central Largo (Scene Three) of Act Two is written – and its episodic references back to both Drum Major sightings during Act One, this Largo contains much of its own material on its own merit. Principal cellist Rafael Figueroa’s vulgar rushing of his opening solo to this made segue into streamlining of much of the rest of this scene.

Proportions for the tavern, ‘grand opera’ scene emerged mostly intact, with fine Mahlerian lilt for its opening laendler. Concertato of brass framing ‘pitchless’ huntsmen’s choruses was excellent, until toward end of scene becoming too rushed. The best at grandiose gesture had to wait until interlude into the final barracks scene, starting off with choral snoring amongst the men clearly louder than marked. String section parody, gavotte style, of military piquancy got the point across, though all slightly worked, toward abetting clipped brass stretti to break out.

Waltraud Meier’s artistically superior command of Marie assisted bringing Levine, his shaping of things into intense focus, with fine lyricism, including well honed in tone painting to limn numerous things during first half of Act Three – such to never fully get restored again until orchestral epilogue to the opera. Crest to the big line building through this interlude formed in part by much reminiscence of earlier events was very fine. The two scenes prior to it got rushed - played mostly for melodramatic effect, through, frustrating, rushing through the swallowing up of Wozzeck into the depths; eerie atmosphere surrounding children at play for brief final scene eloquently, disquietingly framed the preceding interlude.

Allan Held, replacing Matthias Goerne, played Wozzeck. While singing calmer, still despairing passages, such as aria with which to fully introduce himself, he disguised well some thinness from often now a conspicuously hollow middle register. Low notes are also weak. It was for these moments, calm opening of final exchange of lines with Marie by the lake included that Held won the most sympathy for his character.

Tendency to shoot much higher for pitches or Sprechstimme suggestion thereof also showed up early though. Exaggeration of dramatic gesture during long scene in Act Two in company of both Captain and Doctor needling him, took Held clearly beyond the pale, beyond point he could maintain any tonal quality either spoken or sung, at all - rendering him practically hoarse. His giving some lines, often hallucinatory text some shape and meaning during passacaglia alone with the Doctor revealed good musical and histrionic understanding of what is going on, along with calm solicitude of Marie and child during two other scenes. Loss of dignity for Wozzeck during much of this was such that other than to voluntarily suspend disbelief, it became difficult from Held to perceive any better a Wozzeck than as though cut out of cardboard.

Stuart Skelton emerged sturdy vocally, at first gentlemanly as the Drum Major, scrupulous to pitch and Berg’s note values while coming across haughty, a little blown up in both what develops into confrontation with Marie and then later with Wozzeck. Of less consistent quality were the Captain and Doctor of Gerhard Siegel and Walter Fink, respectively. For each of their individual scenes in Act One, their individual comedic sense of their absurdist lines was very fine. Siegel relied well upon text, good pointing thereof to at first convey the Captain’s (willful) neuroticism. Fink drew upon deep vocal reserves to assist in making parody on much hyper-attenuated gravitas of the Doctor. Over what started as fine intricacy and voice leading from Met wind principals, both failed to avoid exaggerating everything during their Act Two extended scene together.

Russell Thomas made very flexible turn out of an ideally earthy, artless, simple Andres, with fine bonhomie, sanguine demeanor. The two workmen, Richard Bernsteibn, Mark Schowalter, started off lustily, robustly, but with Bernstein hamming up the absurdity of opening his proto-Marxist sermon at the tavern until making better sense of how it wraps up. Wendy White took to Margret’s exchange of gossipy invective with Marie on very broad terms, then settled comfortably into her Thrid Act song for Swabian lass with fruity aplomb, but got rushed off making the most of her menacing designation of ‘Blut’ across Wozzeck’s right arm. Philip Castagner made exaggerated caricature of the Idiot.

Utter theatricality of this venture was seldom in doubt, pairing up Mark Lamos’s plainly lit abstract set, with which to amply provide the action space, and toward humanizing matters with James Levine’s broadly Romantic leaning approach Pacing overall was good, exception being some compulsive rushing through certain passages – in part to compensate for lingering a bit much to gild several others. Levine, even today, wears things still a little on the sleeve his affection for this music, and narrative it unfolds.

Nothing here however could compete with the fierce and uncompromising dedication to the part of Marie Waltraud Meier provided. Not only does she fully convincingly live the part on stage, but painstakingly accomplishes singing literally everything perfectly in tune, drawing out of the Met orchestra beautiful limning of their sonorities during for instance the first scene of Act Three.

Contrast between saucy repartee with Margret and doting lullaby over her son, just as much between her at first glib attention to Wozzeck’s raving and smoldering passion for the Drum Major became perfectly established here. Meier also made Marie’s pleasure in company of her son and with gift from the Drum Major equally palpable, contrasting with her growing anxiety in presence of Wozzeck and then her eventually, ominously defying him. Marie’s beginning to awaken to conscience, while sifting through varied emotions and Bible verses very stoically, realistically took on tragic proportions, together with very poignantly rendered belated attempt to better reach out to Wozzeck during their final scene together. Some can still recall Falk Struckmann’s definitive interpretation of the title role at the Met, fourteen years ago, to attempt reckoning what such match-up practically anywhere could have yielded. Meier and Struckmann have now met for short run of Parsifal in Vienna the following week.

As an aside, Struckmann was the dramatically vivid Scarpia on an otherwise quite ordinary January Met broadcast of Puccini’s Tosca; I did not remain tuned in after Act Two. Since, as further aside, the Luc Bondy production of Tosca opened at the Met in 2009, with its willful postmodern eccentricities, nobody else has so definitively contributed to portraying any character therein so well ,as Struckmann now has.

Had the Met been able to bottle up the intensity Meier and Struckmann have contributed to their parts from principal players and conductor involved too, overall effect of such a Wozzeck, instead of being just relatively fulfilling as occurred here, could have been explosive. What will linger on from this experience will most of all be the unforgettable Marie from Waltraud Meier, taking curtain calls with John Albert,as the boy – Meier again revelatory of what might or could have been – in context her selfless and complete dedication to marriage of Alban Berg’s music to Georg Buchner’s text.

Comments dedicated to Dr.'s Richard Kim, John Baird (retired0 and to Connie and their seemingly indefatigable good work.

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.