Dr Kultur: Gustav Mahler Todestag Konzert. Glowing valecdictory 'Das Lied.' Claudio Abbado. A.S.von Otter, Jonas Kaufmann. Philharmonie. 18.5.11

Claudio Abbado accepted honor of doing 2011 Mahler Todestag concert for Berlin – commemorative of his passing one century ago. Two works from Gustav Mahler’s late period occupied this program. Adagio from the unfinished Tenth Symphony opened. Ample, well varied tonal opulence made interpretation here distinctive. A sense of contaminazione – through developing thematic material - became something with which to reckon. Lushness from the strings hearkened back to days the Berlin Philharmonic could play this music with still greater ease. The Philharmonic grew in other ways more attuned to playing Mahler under Abbado - its boorishness, klezmar, eccentricities all becoming more of a natural than during tenure preceding his.

Opening violas resounded distraught – searching, trailing off during introductory idea provided – then to fully realize obbligato to opulent first subject. Abbado deliberately marked recurrent theme for B section during its first visitation. More fully harmonized, brass increasingly prominent, Abbado slightly set back restatement of first theme to build early melodic intensity before through variation process thematic elements then begin disintegrating. Violins passionately sang descant over main theme, for all then to abruptly dissipate into trailing off recitative. Outpouring of emotion henceforth sounded put somewhat at an aesthetic distance, as though to temporally observe from afar.

Any deconstructionist feel is really Mahler’s own – that Abbado let speak for itself – also to eschew notion, even after numerous completions of the Tenth that it is still anything but a torso. (I believe Mahler Ten, though arguably could be completed through the third movement – there seems almost enough there for even the obviously uncompleted first scherzo second movement, but still silly to have attempted completing anything past ‘Purgatorio’ - brief third movement interlude.

Color during quasi-Allegretto-like Andante pages was piquant, with pizzicati in violas and cellos enhancing spectral pre-Messiaen bird call, flutter in woodwinds. Voicing in lower strings, doubled sometimes in the bassoons that often get covered up in an ersatz-Brahms or perhaps Reger like dense texture got fully drawn out to both expand upon the opulence of Mahler’s rhetoric while making one hear from beneath what also tears at, rends the fabric. Chamber groupings of winds with concertmaster strung out light febrile lines between dense tutti.

Any sign of insecurity here was likely due to nature of the material itself. One might have sensed matter-of-fact trailing of unaccompanied violins' duet right before damply realized organ like progression leading into the Adagio’s dissonant climax. Light Abbado shot through such accumulated dissonance then infused lines of peaceful resolve through the remainder of this while keeping violins restrained with their vibrato – until chromatically leaning into low harp starting cadence preparing evocative chord to follow. Brief moment stable in the key of E-Flat high in the violins provided fine benediction – Abbado following Mahler’s instructions to keep matters here simple. This place can ideally, hypothetically provide the listener glimpse of the other side – such a way the Tenth’s very incomplete finale gets spoken of. This Adagio, under the right circumstances, will say all that Mahler Ten can say; here it did.

The other symphony on this program was one alongside that of the Eighth Abbado has conducted least frequently of all of Mahler’s symphonies – unofficially his ninth - just called ‘Das Lied von der Erde.’ Numerous early Abbado Mahler performances were with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. A cool temperament, grasp of atmosphere was paramount then, stressing the surface brilliance, linear clarity of Mahler’s writing, its virtuosity more than other factors then. A more thorough musicality, emotional depth he has eventually well provided, especially through again the Ruckert and Ninth symphonies with Berlin.

A glowing opulent radiance suffused the first movement, ‘Das Trinklied von Jammer der Erde’ throughout. Such in Mahler from the Berlin Philharmonic often gets replaced nowadays by something drier or urbane Things on top lines here started forthright in one, with feeling of some dragging (far) underneath. With this opening movement, Abbado seemed restrained about opening out very much, preferring to defer to his tenor Jonas Kaufmann. Kaufmann with lean tone and a ringing top brought out, unusually febrile, great expressivity of timbre while sustaining good legato and keen, impassioned attention to text. The forced joy on for instance ‘Herr, dieser Haus’, anti-heroism, deep angst came across completely. This piece can hardly get sung better than this.

Kaufmann resounded forth at ease with a ringing ‘euch Klingen’ – long sustained appoggiatura on (B-Flat and) A to fill out ‘Welkt hin du stribst. While stopping short of emphasizing surface brilliance at the music’s expense, Abbado continued slightly cool, detached, while always attentive to Kaufmann. English horn solo/obbligato during central orchestral interlude of this helped fill matters out, complemented morosely by Kaufmann on ‘Das Firmanent,’ for all to then fill with menace for ‘Du aber Mensch’; and ‘following.’ Even with Abbado deferring just emotionally one or two layers back, Kaufmann made very intense the start of last full stanza to this, then to gently back off at tormented brindisi’s conclusion. Abbado provided strong profile to dramatic utterances during its closing stanza.

In contrast with the more contralto like Thorborg, Ferrier, or Ludwig, we had here near as illustriously Anne Sofie Von Otter. “Einsam in Herbst’ here started off at easily flowing pace, never rushed - all orchestrally continuing to leave, likely deceptively a weightless impression. A richer quality to mezzo of choice’s middle register might be coveted, but pay-off in phrasing this music from a more youthful, intimate perspective here was very clear.

Between woodwind and string sonorities from the Philharmonic and Von Otter, there was in some of the modal harmony, lines a blended sense of capturing the blues, greens, rich lavenders of Mahler’s sonorities here. Gentle sense of naïve wonder filled Von Otter’s voice at ‘man meint ein Kunstler.’ Through passing indications of despondency, Abbado connected through overall flowing line without undercutting their emotional or expressive content. “Mein Herz ist mude”, coming off such a moment Von Otter darkly intimated in place of heavily underlining it. Contrast between achieving a brightly plaintive ‘Ich komm zu dir’ and finding deep sadness for ‘ich weine viel’ was excellent.

One had to rely upon the Berlin Philharmonic for sufficient lightness on ‘Von der Jugend.’ Deeply expressive was Kaufmann’s handling of sudden infusion of melancholy halfway through – after starting this reticent, heavily on purpose, over Abbado and Berliners lightly pointing the chinoserie; they then joined Kaufmann in lingering over melancholy of having encountered something deep, so unknowable midway through.

Lightness through ‘Von der schoenheit’ was, especially from woodwinds Mozartean - youthful stance of Von Otter to match. Several weak low notes apart, all gradually opened out to a world half-opiate, half-transfigured. Abbado wisely chose to keep slight lid on bacchanalian accents during middle section to this, both without losing character or instead unduly rushing Von Otter through it. Combined deep yearning and brightly rich colors infused closing stanzas, passing moment of occluding despondency in postlude to this - not shortchanged - only to highlight expression, sound world in very strong relief.

“Der Trunkene in Fruhling’, slightly deliberately paced, anticipating ‘Abscheid’ somewhat, sank things in more deeply. Kaufmann, equally as earlier, was again perfect. Something of a truly besotted Chinese temperament strongly rubbed off here – something all at once reticent, stubborn or distraught – drowsily reticent Kaufmann’s handling of ‘Der Lenz ist da.’ Indication of distraction from the wonder of Nature all about an irony-laced Kaufmann potently picked up - with honeyed tone several places. Abbado calibrated the bright chatter of woodwinds against both lighter string and more foreboding sonorities with utmost simplicity.

Abbado set his interpretation of ‘Das Lied’ – what may have been allusive to Bruno Walter and/or Herbert von Karajan already – slightly more apart with ‘Abscheid.’ Sense of the fragility of Mahler’s sonorities over deep undertow remained mainstay here. More radical sounding still was, in specifically spacing everything, austerely a sense of vast empty space – without any massive slowdowns to achieve it.

Von Otter, with lighter voice than perhaps customary, while completely filling out her lines, meaning within, sang somewhat obbligato to overall orchestral line This held true, at ‘O sieh; Wie eine Silberbarke’ – spinning forth at once lighter tone and intense word painting. Berlin woodwinds emerged deeply expressive, such as lied-like oboe at ‘Der Bach singt’ – Von Otter extending, floating out continuing line thereof. Von Otter then found it more sublime to instead of overstating despondency with ‘Die mude Menschen’ to, more potently, merely suggest it.

Anticipating dry, utterly desolate rendering of ‘Die Welt schlaft ein’ was Abbado to evocatively highlight, set up in foreground various strands of horn and lower woodwind obbligato over muffled strings. Other sudden change of perspective, switching what may be in background with foreground, or sudden emergence in fore of something absent a moment earlier was but one subtle means Abbado employed to draw all he could out of the ‘Abscheid’ – Abbado also less the novice with Mahler’s music than was Karajan when he helped give the world the Berlin Philharmonic’s very first commercially issued rendition of ‘Das Lied.’. The greater emotional, psychological engagement Abbado strongly insinuated hardly held back any secrets. Certainty restating opening recitative (‘Es wehet kuhl’) concerning much grief was complete. Beseeching friend final time before parting became, by still lighter means, most intimately expressive – without breaking line.

Coming off Von Otter’s dry, but fully engaged ‘Lebenstrunkene Welt’, arrived abruptly recapitulatory cortege interlude forthrightly issuing forth ongoing tread. Reach for deeply chromatic intervals in lower instruments underneath, naturally compelled much despondency to the fore. A plaintively febrile Von Otter re-entered with ‘Er stieg von Pferd’, all then quietly distraught with ‘Er sprach.’ Even with tone light, sentiment expressed continued to be deep. Arising, emerging from desolate landscape was Von Otter’s febrile, Schubertian impassioned ‘Ich wandle auf der Heimat, with winds left to fill things out further. In a way Von Otter’s interpretation of Mahler’s ‘Das Lied’ resembled Stotijn’s – perhaps a little more Stotijn as she performed this for Metzmacher than the more tragically weighted performance in London under Bernard Haitink several months later.

Coda starting with ‘Die liebe Erde’ with Abbado restrained from having strings dig in too deep, preferring to more sublimely suggest their doing so instead – all lingering, from Von Otter included – quickly turned all febrile. Through obbligato in mandolin, celesta, all emerged radiant and warm – blues through overall perspective gradually turned up without gilding anything - Von Otter’s ‘Ewig’s’, all melting into soft down Berlin provided, still had allotted to them modest remainder of the way.

ORF: Bayreuth Festspiele - Musically disastrous Lohengrin opens festival. Andris Nelsons (debut). Hans Neuenfels (new production). 25.07.10

Lohengrin is said to be the darkest story among Wagner’s operas, music dramas; it is most of all in rejection of the light to descend upon Brabant from Montsalvat or ambassador thereof. In light of so much that is politically, socially correct and must even at times strenuously so to avoid anything Teutonic in quality, certainly that might purport superiority along those lines, Lohengrin may only barely be possible anymore. Oh, certainly a higher criticism stance is welcome, but what purpose is there in hearing Lohengrin, experiencing it in the hall, if one can really no longer hear it? Andris Nelsons’ tempos were somewhat breezy; standard cuts taken toward end of Act Three, all came in at slightly over three hours and twenty minutes. Such pacing usually indicates an approach to Wagner steeped in earlier Romanticism or Weber – Nelsons’ tempo choices that just about alone made this impression.

First impression arriving out of Bayreuth however was the highly eccentric staging of Hans Neuenfels – much of it looking as though cut out of comic strips. You had the cornucopia of swan appearances (flying overhead all skin and bones above the rafters, on platter as major entrée for wedding feast, etc.) and men of Brabant costumed as rats - all as taking place in an animal research laboratory. From sound of it alone, it could have just as easily taken place alongside a steel mill in the Ruhr,inside aircraft hangar or along the autobahn in-between. Hearing this could make one speculate whether or not Neuenfels could have heard how this Lohengrin would sound before making any decision on how to stage it.

Best news about this Lohengrin was – from lower end of the vocal spectrum – casting of the Herald (Samuel Youn) and King (Georg Zeppenfeld). Youn, decked out in pouffed up wig and tux, sang with solid, fervor, delivering his lines with fine certainty, focus, to extent of making one wonder why he could not have been here the Telramund instead. One could note the Herald’s address to men of Brabant in immediate advent of Elsa’s first entrance, how Youn started it incisively and naturally developed superb fullness for its closing lines. Together with very driven tempo for middle of Act 2, Youn had Andris Nelsons most of all to contend with, but he very capably stood his ground nevertheless. Exaggerated timpani crescendos to segue in his first address and shouting contest Nelsons made orchestrally to segue in his second address to the knights characterized all occurring here.

Georg Zeppenfeld only slightly eclipsed Youn as best member of this cast. His was clearly the most vocally secure and three-dimensional portrayal in this the entire way through. His response of sounding somber, reticent at first to Telramund’s first round of accusations early on, how it melted into legato spun out tone of warmth and compassion, as if to insinuate at Telramund possibly being wrong or in error, was most affecting. Same variety in demeanor marked his first address to Elsa, and sadness equally felt in his becoming aware of something having gone horribly wrong during Act Three. Zeppenfeld’s briefly reassuring address to Lohengrin opened one of several shafts of light to pervade so much amorphousness during the finale to Act Two. Nothing to faze Zeppenfeld, Nelsons even half unwittingly attempted to undercut him for his public address to emcee face-off between Lohengrin and Telramund, Mediocre preparation, soggy attack and glib coasting through specific harmonic progressions in the brass indicated as much.

Hans Joachim Ketelsen made a highly uneven Telramund. Ketelsen sang much of this as though both out of vocal stamina or energy - as though marking the part. First entrance, with Ketelsen, while tonally lean, presenting Telramund as attempting well to put best face forward, was good. With things vocally tensing up more for Ketelsen, this became a Telramund of almost as much an Alberich (or even Mime?) as anything else. Nelsons’s hefty accompaniment just further emphasized how threadbare Ketelsen sounded. Ketelsen, past very shaky scene with Ortrud, recovered poise for entering during finale to Act Two, but even then it did not take long for things to slide down again to being on verge of withering away. Nelsons occasionally, obviously had to pick up pace underneath Ketelsen to pull him through.

Evelyn Herlitzus, unsteady as Ortrud, provided some clue that this performance indeed came from Bayreuth, with her very keen attention to text. Her inability to provide any consistent vocal evenness to anything gave the sorceress hardly more significance than that of a character part. Anything more than an octave above middle C tended to wobble, even squall. On good measure of adrenaline, she managed her brief invocation to the pagan gods in Act Two quite well – none of it at all pretty to hear. Nelsons unusually made room for her to deliver Ortrud’s gloating chutzpah, triumphalism with ringing high A-sharp at opera's conclusion.

Annette Dasch was the shaky, always too vulnerable sounding Elsa. Musical sensitivity apart, it is hard to construe a more faceless, often vacuous Elsa than this. Dasch has basically a lyric instrument that wisely she restrains herself from pushing too far – suitable for Mozart, Desdemona perhaps (i.e. in recent Otello in Dallas), but without likely providing even close to any last word as to how Elsa or similar part should go. Tone would turn white, through the break and approaching the top - and whenever pushed at all, hooty, then strident and out of tune. She somehow however managed to put such issues aside for most of the bridal chamber scene. Most confounding was sense that this Elsa may not have been more than skin deep infatuated with either dream or presence of the swan knight. The breezy tempos Nelsons gave 'Einsam in truben Tagen" and 'Euch luften" did not lessen risk of this Elsa coming across very generic. Her ‘Mein Ritter’ for instance near end of Act Two sounded more despondent than worried, worried what is most commonly expected – creating doubt as to there being any reason to carry on at all with proceedings.


There was then Jonas Kaufmann’s overrated interpretation of the title role (costumed as your working class man off the street). It is seldom I have heard maestro and leading soloist in opera sound so much on path of mutually assured destruction of work right before them as have Kaufmann and Nelsons now. No doubt, Kaufmann has ample voice for assignment here and on a good half a dozen occasions proved the well forged metal to deliver the goods on most often high A’s, coming off the fight with Telramund and to close ‘In fernem Land.’

Where went however the lyricism? Where was anything as such to last longer than for half a phrase? Early on during Act Three, he sufficiently relaxed his voice to provide some light; most of the rest of the way, this should have had most anybody pleading to have somebody caliber of Petr Hofmann (once of almost comparable sex symbol rock star status in the operatic world) back as Lohengrin. On occasion Hofmann would provide good shape, lyricism if not always an ingratiating sound.

The coagulated tone - a most peculiar placed back mezzo voce - from Kaufmann for first entrance and, much later, ‘Mein lieber Schwan’ was nothing to be coveted. Nelsons and Kaufmann were practically equals in the department of forced, projected, and pushed up sound, devoid of sufficient basis underneath. In fact, Kaufmann’s way of addressing Elsa at times, for instance during final scene of Act Two and during the bridal chamber scene took on uncharacteristic quality of a mean upper lip – ‘mean old Lohengrin’ or ‘mean old nameless dude’, as though Kaufmann could have dubbed in for Franco Citti (from early Pasolini flicks) as the swan knight.

Expression of romantic ardor for Elsa sounded more often affected than it did genuine. Legato or heroism of any depth got just about thoroughly compromised for ‘In fernem Land’; Kaufmann’s brassy hectoring of the knight’s closing lines right upon point of taking off was icing on the cake. There were intonation problems - warning of further trouble down the road, should Kaufmann not soon switch back to singing more lyrically, more legato soon. No amount of bench pressing can compensate for this lack. Nelsons, very hard, jerked descending triplets in lower strings, brass off the Act One fight with Telramund – maestro in battlestar galactica mode - toward goading Kaufmann to mightily squeeze out all he could muster to declare victory.

Of what definition is any darkness in Lohengrin if all light therein is so obscured? The projected opening of Act Two revealed how Nelsons could so casually shirk off attention to Wagner’s dynamic markings. His ear for harmonic chromaticism toward evoking things mysterious, such that shows the way into Ring to follow was weak. Hush over the chorus as dark clouds begin looming over the horizon, put there by the two baddies, near close of Act Two, was hardly at all any, starting out at forte, moving too quickly to fortissimo – not what Wagner marked. The very interesting harmonic change among diminished sevenths eventually from C Minor to E-Flat Minor, for what import or overtones this must have, went completely for naught, as did two important brighter harmonic transitions during for instance 'In fernem Land.'

Organ entrance near end of Act Two sounded devoid of resonance, with chorus entering too loud, allowing in place of any true crescendo hard jerked accents to provide artificial level of excitement in its place. By this point, a general feeling of malaise, even of slight nausea had to have crept over anybody musically sensitive in the least, even at grandiose place such as this. Things got pushed so, that in place of stirring, they culminated in something verging on clotted instead. Orchestra and chorus were occasionally little together at all; there were also several shouting matches of strings over brass – sufficient indictment several very simple harmonic progressions completely out of tune from the brass.

Several vocally incited instances of lyricism, plus that for fine principal clarinet midway through Act Three and calm opening to the bridal chamber scene were more the exception than the rule. Even the strings betrayed toughness toward achieving hopefully fine sonorities during the prelude to Act One – and overt aggression for prelude to Act Three. The stirring quality of repeat note triplets underneath Elsa’s early reassurances to Ortrud (decently sung – as affectionate toward Ortrud as she ever was toward Lohengrin) were, as somewhat hammered out, denied what stirring quality this writing naturally has. Equally unmagical was similar underpinning of ‘Athmest’ - Kaufmann very affected here - during the bridal chamber scene.

What of the cowl to partly cover the pit at Bayreuth? At least, Georg Solti in 1982 did not have the ego to ultimately assess it as somethig to be so challenged as Nelsons, should Nelsons be willing to be or get invited back. Certainly, the stage design had as much a chilly steel glint about it as could be projected. It certainly had as much a look about it to match the quality of sound provided as other way around. Rhetorical conjecture that this is, it still had me wondering.

There has been hardly anything historically informed or up-to-date either about this most of all musically wrong-headed take on Wagner's Lohengrin. Except for several rare instances, it all sounded devoid of anything to intimate at Bellinian lyricism altogether. Even Morton Feldman’s Coptic Light is capable of sounding closer to indicate light from Montsalvat than this did. In how cold this Lohengrin sounded, there may have been some expressive point to make, but there are far more subtle ways of going about it by which the music can be much fuller participant in the undertaking. There was certainly nothing here to overcome recent charge by progressives of Bayreuth turning stuffy, stilted – with the photo-ops for Angela Merckel and first man – and of two towering great-granddaughters carrying their own brand of dilettantism.

Musically should Wagner not be able to work any better than this, there is one bit of advice the wise bard offered – that in mind of preserving historical posterity nobody will ever heed. How anyone is to remember from this how Lohengrin should sound seems daunting. I recall here in Houston last fall having left a Lohengrin, of which I was so unsure at its conclusion what I had just attended for stretch of four hours. This from Bayreuth proved still less satisfying.

One can only hope Bayreuth will find somebody less green at it than Nelsons next time. There are always the historical archives to draw upon, the recordings of past festivals to which to listen, but there should also be some hope for some musical legacy to persist at Bayreuth, vague as it may sound, but that leaves Wagner sounding still slightly better than anonymous. If anything, this Nelsons Lohengrin sounded more ‘storm-trooper’ than taking Lohengrin along more traditional lines.

MET: Tosca - Second (and good) attempt to produce Puccini thriller this season - Patricia Racette. c: Fabio Luisi (new Met PGC) - 24.4.10

The Met in one season has almost brought us a second new production of Puccini’s Tosca, though less identifiable than the previous. It still uses the same quasi-abstract sets by Richard Peduzzi (of Chereau Bayreuth Ring fame) employed for the Luc Bondy production last fall. Seeing the same sets is not reassuring. You would think from reading other press that this Tosca might be resurrected from the dead; one can indeed be quite sure it no longer belongs to Luc Bondy. With cast that has helped make this near-end-of-season revival happen, Puccini’s Tosca has though in fact returned to life.

One plan floated early on after first run this season of Puccini’s Tosca was for the Met to offer their patrons next season choice of both the just recently taken down grandiose Zeffirelli production and new Luc Bondy production. This was quite obviously not going to work, so how about for most of the new set designs to stay up, change back most but not quite all the stage direction to traditional and let everybody do the best they can, with committee (Gina Lapinski, Paula Williams, et al) to monitor things from there? From a conceptual point of view, it had to have made matters confusing, but given what audiences are like these days, who was watching? A good time was had by all, so we should rest content with that.

I still lack complete answers to dilemma lying beneath the surface of operations here, except to generically observe that it resembles the inmates having been left to run the asylum. Fortunately the Met has picked handful of competent inmates this go at it; in this sense, the Met has become very lucky. So much is specific to time, place, event and metaphor, with Puccini’s Tosca. It is at best tricky to come up with something innovative that really can work. One however has only to watch the Netherlands Opera dvd – also starring Bryn Terfel as Scarpia – to find it. There is also a very effective Madrid dvd (starring Daniela Dessi and Ruggiero Raimondi, produced by Nuria Espert), only mostly traditional by impetus - Scarpia cleric-inquisitor therein as much as police chief.

In quest to unearth the soul of Luc Bondy’s production of Tosca, a good place to turn is review posted at www.concerto.net. After reading off this link, one could surmise Bondy has arrived at it from world of the comic strip; mention is made of how effectively Bondy has worked for the lyric theater already. There is the Royal Opera Salome (also starring Terfel opposite Maliftano, just as for the Netherlands Tosca), but also a Don Carlo the Met would have been wise to pick up - most preferably over what they did instead.

So, given the character of last fall’s staging, how about having had Luc Bondy, if this was indeed what he had in mind, taking his concept all the way? Oddly enough, there are elements of his production that almost copy what some of us have seen elsewhere. Floria Tosca being on tough end of relationship with Cavaradossi is hardly new but hard to accept to come up with exaggeratedly interpreting their Act One scene together this way. She should be embroiled in petty matters mixed with her own religiosity with him putting his life on the line for friend of his and visionary political cause. This can sometimes happen even unwittingly in comparison of voice type, between the two leads. It did so too decisively in Houston’s1991 revival of Firenze production that had starred Jo Barstow - here placing a very weak, Russian tenor opposite Eva Marton. It surprised me how effective Jonathan Miller’s production is of Fanciulla del West (La Scala), dating from same year as Tosca here, once I watched it much later on dvd.

Playing Scarpia as smarmy demon, kind of one not to be so overtly menacing, as to be nipping at Tosca’s heels, was not new either. The Lehnhoff from Amsterdam even toys with this risk with the rather serpentine costume it handed Bryn Terfel. Ira Siff demeaned last Saturday Terfel uselessly bringing on stage with him a cat in Amsterdam to start Act Two. Does anybody remember how funny Ruggiero Raimondi’s first interpretation of Scarpia was for Herbert von Karajan? He even puts it down himself in the interview, with nudge and wink enough, on the Madrid dvd on which he is so very effective. The Karajan/Raimondi Scarpia definitely contributes to this Tosca being what I rate best ‘party cd’ of a Puccini opera for two generations. Neither is it new to ironically play Mario as acting completely unaware of possibility there could be anything wrong with Tosca’s news to him of their imminent freedom, life together as she imagines it, in Act Three.

Let us then throw in Met staff and attendant panel of expert witnesses. I speculate here – with their mysteriously to nefariously achieved poll data as to what audience reaction might be to an avant-garde, progressive or even simply irreverent take on Puccini’s Tosca. Luc Bondy’s Opera News interview last October was muted in tone to extent of appearing muzzled; it told us nothing. Other recent new productions at the Met, Jurgen Flimm’s Salome (2004) included, have looked confused enough gesturally to also possibly have been arrived at by committee. With new game plan, according to what I heard in nuance Saturday – much but not completely different than before – path of least resistance is to review again mostly a traditional production replacing Zeffirelli's.

Patricia Racette gave us the major up-stage of the season, suddenly to take Karita Mattila's place after making her role debut as Tosca in Houston last January. Mattila still has the greater amplitude, Racette’s voice is still one size too small, but almost on nuance alone Racette suggested toppling who now still might rank higher as Tosca – as though possible with a feather-weight. Those passages in which Racette passionately threw her all into it – though at expense of vocal capital - made for exciting theater.

Racette made Tosca unequivocal in her love for Mario, which in context of this production, made forgivable some unsteadiness around the break (remindful of her 1998 Antonia at the Met) and several unsupported high notes. She prudently let things grow only so agitated at Cavaradossi early on – to be more solicitous of his love than anything else. It took a short while for Racette to match Jonas Kaufmann in tone quality, but find a meeting place that way, they eventually did. With Scarpia, her sorrow for Cavaradossi’s supposed infidelity was heartfelt but defiance toward situation slightly weak.

Racette’s acting poise caved somewhat for first half of Act Two. A few lines, right into resuming conversation with Scarpia attempting to re-ignite her suspicions, still came off right. She then tended to coast through the interrogation scene, thus making something coy out of Tosca’s reactions. Coyness was still an issue through early phase of being finally alone on stage with Scarpia. It shows still a little inexperience, but also insipid type of acting to be putting on to Scarpia as just barely hiding much toughness underneath – i.e. the contriving or generic putting on of ravaged female of sorts,. Due to lack on Kaufmann’s part, all the way through rest of the time he was active in Act Two, neither he nor Racette made it seem either character was near end of his or her tether. This and all of the above was due in part both to priority in saving voice for Racette, plus some inroads original stage directions still made into some of their interaction.. “Voglio vederlo” still came off too tough, - but vis-à-vis Mattila, Racette made purposeful show of how to get lines off exactly right during critical later decision-making with Scarpia,

After stormy Act Two trio, Racette hardly looked the inexperienced diva anymore. “Vissi d’arte” had the right catch in the throat to indicate desperation. It was here that Racette’s voice, while still lyrical, beautifully filled out with fine color what she was singing – with fervor, secure line, femininity and poise, hardly compromised by minor pitch problems at very end. Acting, in the traditional sense was just about perfectly ideal for the rest of Act Two, with fine command of low notes too. Racette’s hyperventilating made having her remain on stage until very end of Act Two very effective.

Just as in ‘Vissi d’arte’, in vividly suggesting involvement and also great vulnerability concerning latest news for Cavaradossi, Racette kept voice lyrical and beautifully focused. The power she needed for solo acuti and several matching Kaufmann was then reassured for the asking. A little confusion showed with directed insipid intrusion of Tosca’s assurance of Mario being gone before asking him to get up (after being shot), but with adrenaline pumping, Racette capped off “Ah Scarpia, avanti a Dio” with a blazing high B-Flat all anyone could have given it; The gentle, solicitous ardor earlier for badly injured doomed Cavaradossi ideally said all the rest.

Jonas Kaufmann replaced the vocally smoother Marcelo Alvarez - all suavity before having come at too heavy a cost to the character of Mario Cavaradossi, at least under anything resembling conventional circumstances. Alvarez did not quite take things to tasteless extent of Pavarotti, but proved that ‘lucky Luciano’ means of going about it had not yet met the death it has richly deserved since Pavarotti himself passed away. Kaufmann, still following some post-modernist impetus from Luc Bondy, sounded confused occasionally – i.e. weakness in staring down Scarpia during Act Two and then well before his ringing Vittoria’s sounding slightly stronger, healthier than he should right after being carried back on from behind stage. He tailored his dark, baritonal timbre, just at first close to being able to mistake for that of Hans Hopf, to suit Puccini’s music well.

Kaufmann quickly recovered heroic stance for “Qual occhio al mondo” - after making too much light of banter with Tosca right before - yet with one G-Flat slightly caught in the throat. He started both “E lucevan’ and ‘O dolci mani’ completely mezza voce, brought, though affected, t a lieder artist’s intensity to the words and to moulding a legato enriched by real pathos. High notes, bolstered by fine temperament in characterizing the accompanying action, had fine ring and body to them. For both such vocal splendor and restoring so much definition to Cavaradossi, Kaufmann accomplished much.

Bryn Terfel brought experience as Scarpia elsewhere to bear in his depicting here the sadistic police chief. His mastery of acting Scarpia’s manipulation in doing business with Tosca, Cavaradossi, his officers proved complete – such perfect calibration numerous times of how to threaten, pull back, accommodate, etc. This was so, as long as Terfel did not concede to a few silly ideas that lingered on and to which he did cave several times – i.e. the oily demon interpretation that Gagnidze used as his model last fall. It is odd to hear Terfel attempt such lightly incisive stuff, since Terfel has so often naturally been inclined to go for so much the opposite. Terfel is good at affecting the Latin machismo and romantic ardor for Scarpia, much as Tito Gobbi had down complete Terfel is not yet quite the complete natural at this. Some hoarseness on several top notes during Act Two betrayed too some signs of aging.

This is however still an important accomplishment. Terfel’s voice is still in handsome shape, and he made himself clearly heard over so much bombast, to effectively close the Te Deum. He was prudent in gradually building up the grand line for his part in the Te Deum, while leaving it palpable the frustration and impatience that Scarpia suffers all the way through opening scene of Act Two. Whores on stage with Terfel most definitely sounded much more out of place than they did with Gagnidze.

Improved supporting cast was again led by David Pittsinger (Angelotti). His Emile LeBecque credentials should soon qualify Pittsinger for Michele in the Met Il Tabarro, given what ‘visually (non-)monotonous’ insights Jack O’Brien provided us. John Del Carlo replaced Paul Plishka as the Sacristan. He wisely opted for playing much of this straight, while lending his sound a little crustiness - also, exaggerated, going over the top on ‘Fuori, Satana, fuori.’ He elicited very well the attitude in face of Scarpia of just insipidly cooperating best he can, without responsible thought at all of what consequences. Eduardo Valdes, with it fine to keep intact the ironic attitude of ‘another day at the office’ with Scarpia, was definite improvement over a wheedling Joel Sorensen. Richard Bernstein was the dignified Jailer, Jeffrey Wells a good Sciarrone - and once more Jonathan Makepeace the wistful, very articulate Shepherd.

For attempting to do Tosca intent on turning the meaning of it on its head, James Levine’s and Joseph Colaneri’s tempos last fall were certainly too slow, flaccid overall. .The only way either one saw Tosca as being detached in the least was to make, late Bertolucci style, a picture postcard out of it all. Such a quality was instead a tempered virtue of Fabio Luisi’s leadership, as Luisi also proved a guiding light (back to Puccini) for his singers dramatically as well. His was the much better line in which the story could find context - with which to accentuate its drama, frisson, and also pathos. The only place he allowed too much slack was during the interrogation scene; brief trio to follow came off too careful by half. By time for ‘Vissi d’arte and Spoletta’s entrance to happen, all returned to being tight. With warm resonance evoking Rome at different times of day, the Met orchestra has not sounded better this year than on this occasion.

What made for a veritably Ozzie-and-Harriet level Meg and Ira show was for the emcees to affect that most (conscientiously not all) of the Luc Bondy staging was intact, when anyone who has heard Tosca even at most ten times could hear this second cast often giving us very different information indeed. Did, contrary to Tommasini in the Times, the freeze frame for Tosca’s leap get restored, just so Ira Saturday would not see Racette, late-career-Olivero-style, merely walk off at the very end?

If Luc Bondy’s take on Puccini’s Tosca was entirely indeed of the polo, ironic variety, perhaps the Met could have last fall allowed him unfettered access to what were his genuine preferences. Cavaradossi might then laugh back at Scarpia during interrogation and Tosca gasp ‘Ohime’ - and later give Scarpia a peck on the cheek right after her ‘Muori’s.’ Scarpia, while momentarily sputtering back to life, might then usurp Tosca with ‘Avanti a me …’ … or perhaps an ‘Avanti a lei' …

Radio Bayern: La Scala opener - auspicious debut by hot new Georgian mezzo - but otherwise was it Bizet's Carmen - or was it Sominex - or Sophocles?

This was indeed something preceded by much hype, but after all, Opening Night at La Scala - yet with embarrassed impresario – mostly by how disastrous his opener was last season - Don Carlo conducted by Daniele Gatti. The loggionisti have also shown that Daniel Barenboim has also slightly fallen out of favor with them, with recent Aida performances.

Administration appeared to see to it that notice get out, that more radical steps on Emma Dante’s part get softened or removed – even partly at Barenboim’s insistence, allegedly, for no better sake than just to animate, use the press, in covering so much about all this ahead of time. All it could have accomplished was just (further) muddying of the waters. I have even run onto a website or two to engage the loggionisti in some online dialogue, I suppose, as to expectations, when they have been reported as of late having become restless about this opener coming up. Giuseppe Pennesi (La Scena Musicale) has most meaningfully reported here ultimately a passionless, sexless Carmen. It indeed sounded very much like his description – even with the amount of sexual, of course to be socially correct all misogynistic violence to have occurred on stage.

There was also an ante-prima for the deemed highly respectful under-30 crowd Friday evening –for the press to milk for all its worth. The new Dante production indeed has its rebel youth chic, experimental appeal, but half-commercial look too. With what I have read, it seems she might have received more hospitable welcome at almost any smaller house in Italy, such as in Genoa, Parma, or Siena, instead of the big time in Milan. With the fully expected fischiato (booed) response she received Monday night, it was though Danny boy could have put up a lamb for slaughter. Perhaps with all the religious symbolism she layered on, she might have welcomed something of a heroic martyrdom of sorts –myopic as to what might work for the good of Emma Dante in the long run.

Before editorializing on this further, it is time to move on to what it was like just to hear this. To Emma Dante’s credit, there are perhaps two things – even without seeing this in action. For one, and for her quote about Carmen being ‘pure as a nun, but also animalistic’ – something along those lines – her Carmen, in Antia Rachvelishvili, somehow avoided turning in a heavy statuesque iconic tragedy queen of a Carmen – harmful for a lyric voice such as that of this new artist.. Complementing that was also heard a welcome amount of witty irony spun forth in especially spoken dialogue. Fortunately the spoken dialogue got chosen here, in place of the badly concocted Guiraud recitative that makes so much of Carmen come across contrived.

What confounded me more than anything long before this draggy Carmen came to an end, though avoiding very well some of the obvious Teutonic accents of a Karajan or Maazel, was still how stodgy it sounded under Barenboim – almost as though the recitative could have fit in just fine. He was certainly out of his fach here, whereas La Scala audiences can remember the passion with which he infused Tristan und Isolde for their opener two years ago. Barenboim’s scrupulous ear for textures, through which soloists in his orchestra emerged effortlessly, proved worthwhile however.

Tempi were often slow, apparently for sake of achieving pleasant quasi-Gallic dovetailing of many lines. Carmen though first and foremost should emerge as something living –as vibrant a piece of musical theater as possible. Jerking forward of the pulse once or twice during quarrel between Jose and Escamillo sounded cut and pasted - as way of managing dramatic pacing instead of it emerging organically from what has preceded the marked shift to allegro or two. Barenboim does not have it for conducting French opera at La Scala other than for some Berlioz – still inherent to Berlioz a sense of both internal and underpinning French rhythm as well. Such is certainly even so in attempting to disclose to us what multicultural influences from as afar as northern Africa or Cuba Barenboim - perhaps at behest of Emma Dante - now claims to hear in Carmen – many of us would find a novel insight indeed.

Numerous places in this Carmen actually sounded draggier than actually may have been the case, but Barenboim had singers who whether they asked for better or not had him upon whom to depend to provide some sense of pulsation to their lines. Especially in the Jose/Micaela duet in Act One, the Card Song, and in the final scene, it was obviously lacking, for what probably were some of the slowest tempos Monday evening. All preludes, entr’actes came off well - flute principal effective for one starting Act Three (and then back-phrasing moments later the smugglers’ chorus tune) – with enough snap and pizzazz for the Act One prelude and aragonaise starting Act Four as well. All that is fine, but with most interest of all in how Barenboim might aid, build dramatic interaction between his singers. Rachvelishvili sustained the Card Song very flexibly well; build-up to “Encore…toujours la mort” was ineffective, other than from her alone.

What indeed seems almost miraculous now was the La Scala debut of now quickly rising young Georgian mezzo Anita Rachvelishvili. One heard her take command of the stage right away - fearlessly so. An entirely new name to most of us, she had auditioned for Frasquita, but with Marina Domashenko and one or two other mezzos unavailable for this run, Rachvelishvili found herself quickly catapulted into taking on the title role. Though compromised by some of the stage direction - clutter surrounding her with all that - there was apparently nothing to faze her in the least, or for that matter, to compel her to unsuitably force a lyric voice, even with it having its Slavic cutting edge. She used it always lightly and often most incisively to make the words of Carmen count, eventually defiantly. Mind you, it was the words alone, not having to spend principal on a voice to make it happen for this young singer.

One noticed right away a Carmen not the least bit in love with Don Jose, from Seguidilla on, but who could have Jose wrapped around her little finger at any point she might like or upon demand. The lower register smoldered, the upper register was always clear - all evenly connected the entire way. If Dante expected a free spirit of a Carmen on her stage, she got it; if she expected instead ‘Carmen-as-victim’- all heavily enveloped and back-phrased – better then for Dante to have looked elsewhere. Where amidst everything here Rachvelishvili got her impetus to deliver us the Carmen she did remains unclear; it appeared to have been from personal dramatic and musical instinct possibly more than anything else.

An occasional note may have gone sharp, she may have missed harmonic contrast as one picky critic quipped between minor and major mode in the Habanera. In this piece, the words, together with the music, one and both inherently the same in such a number were paramount and she always made the words speak. Rachvelishvili was the one singer among four principals with which the natural color of her instrument always clearly emerged, and shifting colors within - effortlessly at her command. The Slavic edge I mention she will want to avoid allowing to harden – especially under pressure of taking on parts dramatically beyond her scope. Most welcome here was her utter refusal to force anything for dramatic emphasis, with her getting it all practically with the words alone. Even in a vocal yet wordless passage as dance with castanets in Act Two to freshly entice a frequently moribund sounding Don Jose as that of Jonas Kaufmann, she could infuse it with concise swivel to its line and rhythm that could even entice a ground hog. How it failed to do more for the Jose on stage with her than it did was as confounding dramatically as anyone could have run across lately.

The Card Song had an air of being at once morose but casual as having to accept an imminently ominous fate. Rachvelishvili made all so alive, incisive at times, but never ostentatiously so – even in obbligato to Mercedes and Frasquita during smugglers’ ensemble in Act 3 – obbligato to which the ear could not help being directed. It is perhaps why she won the audition - for more than which she had bargained.

The greatest implausible in all of this was the Don Jose of Jonas Kaufmann. Could this really be one of the world’sleading Don Jose’s now? The voice certainly has plenty of heft, though of essentially a singer on the lyric end of the spectrum of dramatic tenors. All it seemed that Kaufmann was out to prove, with also his mildly coagulated French vowels, was how good a honk he indeed has, but such quickly became boring here. Should we be grateful that Kaufmann has enough goods vocally to supply the demand for doing the part of Don Jose alone? It has been said already that he has been more flexible in shaping his interpretation of this part other times; on parlando lines, yes, he did give some hint of that, but here that was not quite enough.

Other than for Kaufmann’s good looks, what might have ever turned Carmen’s head, especially a Carmen instead of being for instance in the hands of Jessye Norman in those of Rachvelishvili, must remain mysterious. One person writing in praised Kaufmann for lovely mezza voce he achieved on high B-Flat in the Flower Song – so back-phrased as to sound cowering before a Carmen of Rachvelishvili standing over with a whip - suggesting reverse interpretation from Emma Dante’s vision of all this - but what of the five notes building up to it? If he could have placed them farther back glottally, one might have started to hear grating noises – or indistinguishable from that.

In fact, for photo of more consensual Act Two scene I have seen, done riding the saddle style, than encounter in Act Four, Rachvelishvili as Carmen is clearly the one playing top. I could not hear, other than such heavily misdirected testosterone being put out - with things getting allocated the wrong way - how this Don Jose could have put out for such an encounter. Fortunately, Rachvelishvili did not attempt competing with Kaufmann on vocally putting out the hormones – regardless what was happening onstage. I am equally frankly surprised that Carmen, with a Don Jose of so little manliness as this one, would not have entirely cast him aside from joining the smuggling party for Act Three. As phoned in as finale to Act Two finale sounded, Carmen might’ve as well been merely thinking just 'been there, done that' to 'here we go again.'

Equally fine, dandy competition for the hand of Micaela, even that of Adriana Damato, was the Escamillo of Erwin Schrott. The dry start to "Votre toast" (‘Toreador Song’) was embarrassing. Schrott did intermittently evince bravado, macho here and there, but such coming only in fits and spurts – again not to excite the Micaela too much - constantly followed around by two priests. The one time Rachvelishvili sounded bored the entire evening was for Act Four Mozartean duetttino with Schrott.

Adriana Damato (Micaela) was equally dicey as Schrott in experimenting around as to good vocal placement. The two might have made a fine match indeed. When Rachvelishvili dropped scorn on the Don Jose about his obliging his mother, I then expected Rachvelishvili to meet her, Jose’s mother, in the mountain pass – during the following scene. Damato certainly sounded older than listed age for Micaela from just about the start. One had to admire a little valor on her part in attempts at long lines in her big aria in a single breath, but that and some of the high notes then became somewhat of the ‘hail Mary’ variety. Her best singing came for last several minutes of the slowly taken Act One duet with Don Jose.

Gabor Bretz’s Zuniga (Gabor Bretz) was strong, albeit with phlegmatic accent here and there, but with fine sense of humor and irony - understandable given what minor drawbacks he may have encountered. A young Morales (Mathias Hausmann) was also good, plus Carmen’s two animated companions (Michele Losier, Adriana Kucerova). Rodolphe Briand (Remendado) had some of the finest diction in this cast, but tone so thin that when things started to pick up a clip, it would tend to almost disappear. Francis Dudziac (Dancaire), accommodating him, had to sing softly, not to drown him out.

This was, plus being such a multicultural Carmen, one very internationally cast. I can imagine worse diction emerging from such, but can also imagine diction – coached well here – making it sound like everybody much more idiomatically understands each other than was apparent. So much clutter going on – many extra characters onstage – seemed to take place of more meaningful dramatic interaction.

The final ‘Tiens’ near the end from who was indeed smartest person in the class said it all - just as to such a wuss of a Don Jose standing right in front of her. One must look forward to future Carmens and also some Rossini from new Georgian bombshell having entered our midst – but in more sympathetic environment, even while still at La Scala. This project resembled most of all product of mutually supported, perpetuated insecurity between producer, impresario, and conductor – most naïve the producer – with what booing greeted them during curtain calls.

In this great re-telling of Sophocles by Georges Bizet, as all clarified to me by minion of La Cieca (www.parterre.com) – no wonder that both Don Jose turned out to be way he is and that Emma Dante likes the music so much - and Danny’s slow tempos - pointed out already about Act One duet. I however would like to suggest some further changes.

Have Don Jose still rape Carmen at the end, but make it look half-consensual - that she might be enjoying or even egging it on. Have her start to exit stage as Escamillo re-enters – Carmen in exiting as to equally blow both guys off - and get shot to death by Don Jose. Escamillo, in retelling Carmen according to ancient legend, originally might have hitched up with Micaela - all it seems he might have been worth anyway - then making him eponymously Don Jose's father. Schrott already made Escamillo sound old. At least then it would all make perfect sense. There may be less bravado, esprit, swagger to it, but so little need for that has been implored much anywhere as of late.