BBC: ROH Aida - Vocally erratic, inauspiciously conducted - Nicola Luisotti (ROH debut) - more off than for eccentric staging (McVicar). 27.4.10

Should Baz Luhrmann or James Cameron ever produce Aida, I would recommend that for a conductor to do nothing compelling to get in his way, look no further – Nicola Luisotti. The new David McVicar production of Aida at Convent Garden was to be one with something to offer everybody, with apparently mix of intergalactic space, ancient Chinese warriors strutting across, even perhaps as described, a touch of Addams Family. It all sounded ready to make light of several ancient civilizations – enough that perhaps several very great ones could or should have sputtered out after only just several decades. Sheer outright gore presented onstage was enough to give Royal Opera patrons and emcee pause – for what all sounded very bloodless underneath. For whatever universal meaning to be on display, we were to get an Aida, regardless how cartoon-ish it might look - short of real singers to get in the way - ‘de-saturated not only of its Egyptian-ness, but ultimately also excessively of Verdi.

For early phrases, momentarily, Micaela Carosi – not to be confused with Margharita Carosio - with warm tone, manner of phrasing, sustained interest as Aida. Soon thereafter, the wobbly top distracted, then through ‘Ritorna vincitor’ gulped low notes, and for strain she was under, the tendency to bulge the line and break it up into small pieces. She tended often to bear down for some of the most lyrical passages of Aida that a dramatic soprano will tend to sing softly, but not often Carosi. Hooty tone and flat acuti made ‘O patria mia’ go for naught – loud for final ‘(non piu) ti rivedrai’ – with sobs ending it.

Cabaletta to Nile scene duet with Radames (Marcelo Alvarez) hardly had anything to resemble either heroic sound or persona with which to match; it mattered little that Carosi was no more than just vocally adequate for this. After some good acting, subtly working Aida’s wiles on Radames, “Fuggiam gli ardori inospiti” got so heavily worked, colored variety of ways, one might think that Cathy Berberian could have once taken the part on herself, as example to follow. Much hooty, also flat tone proceeded from there to replace line, anything resembling real poetry to the end of this section of the duet. Not helping matters was Luisotti’s waltz-y, debonair treatment of the refrain therein. Russ McDonald for Opera (British) noted Carosi’s inability to float, make anything buoyant.

The hard swells, lunges, low rent verismo effects, as though Cilea or Giordano badly done, Carosi inculcated into ‘O terra addio’, with Alvarez in lockstep behind her, making it all quite unattractive. Marcelo Alvarez was notably the semi-heroic Radames. He started out at once sounding the eager warrior, dreamer of a Radames. Except for turning choppy toward its conclusion, ‘Celeste Aida’ went reasonably well, with fine sense of wonder and naivete to infuse the lyricism Alvarez can still muster for it. He also began the Tomb Scene well, but before long joined Carosi as equally vulgar partner, for the lyrical to exquisite lines Verdi wrote to close both their parts.

Incisive lines, including Pavarotti-esque shouted ‘Aida’ near opening of the Tomb Scene, frequently started Alvarez pouting in place of sounding heroic. One thinks back to how previous lyrics have handled Radames. With Bergonzi for Karajan and elsewhere, one had (nearly) sufficient heft for more dramatic outbursts, but as comfortably couched within a very well sung lyric line, letting what musical and dramatic imagination do the rest for his not being quite a spinto for it. If ever ran around a class-act Radames, Carlo Bergonzi was it. With Pavarotti, as for Lorin Maazel, we get a mere coasting through it, with hollow middle register, almost no dramatic or musical insight, except for his ability to maintain secure line. Alvarez, close to how Pavarotti handled things, layered on further attempt at histrionics, that at end of the day made one think better had he just settled for singing this.

Once almost all (in place of some, reckoning Pavarotti) poise leaves Radames, the game is up. ‘Pur ti riveggo’ got off to anti-heroic start and to a nearly derailed finish, with ending syllables of pouted ‘Io vi difendo’ - right before weak ‘Fuggire’ - breaking apart into a wild chain of diphthongs. He then lightly clipped, weakly bellowed his way through “Io son disonorato,” helping Amonasro and maestro for brief trio near end of Nile Scene make an indecipherable royal mess of it. Alvarez recovered poise for opening scene of Act Four, but too late and for not long enough lasting a spell.

Ji-Min Park provided the lyric, but wrong-headed, misguided Messenger on this outing. His voice is almost too sweet for even this brief, but important part. It was insightful into the McVicar production however how very wobbly mostly at knees alone this Messenger sounded. As in employ of the Radames of Marcelo Alvarez, it became clear why. Put before an entire Egyptian army made up of such men twelve or thirteen savage Ethiopians (McVicar could have decked out as Japanese sumo wrestlers?) and whole Egyptian army could have en masse capitulated before our very eyes.

The Amneris of Marianne Cornetti, decked out as Queen Elisabeth, in interaction with Alvarez, could have helped explain why. It is hard to recall a more spinster-esque sounding Amneris than this. Other than having Alvarez (or worse, Bocelli) in the part, what claims could have such an Amneris had on Radames? Understandable however the loud yawn with which Cornetti on her ‘Ah! vieni’s opened Act Two, given who sang her beau here - singularly unattractive all the same. Following comfortable feel for conversational, opening lines with Radames and then Aida in the next act, “Trema, vil schiava’ emerged with scoop up to it and uncontrollable beat on its opening F, to come across hardly threatening at all. Declamation at (lower) end of this line was first broken from what issued right before, above it, and lightly barked. Cornetti made almost credible enough case for Act Four duet alone - with Radames.

Amneris’s last plea for mercy to the priests got entirely derailed by closing at-break D that went almost entire whole tone sharp. And then how was Cornetti’s risible notion of a Fata Morgana laugh at them at end of her penultimate line supposed to shake anyone up? More than enough fuss was made over the costuming of Amneris here. Far preferable an Amneris in concert or office attire and much more fuss made over what Verdi wrote, as for instance, where Luisotti undercut Amneris’s pre-trial brief monologue by entirely clipping the rests therein. How Oedipal a situation had arisen here also has to be risible, perhaps along lines of the new McVicar production to show with what ease even ancient cultures could cross boundaries.

Marco Vratogna was the still weaker Amonasro, and in stormiest passage of duet with Aida sounded like taking skip, hop and jump down pathway of hot coals instead of fully enunciated pitches. Several got entirely lost, inaudible during obbligato to ending chorus of the Triumphal Scene. Tone briefly filled out here and there to expand upon still a non legato lyric line. It simply was not enough, except to break Carosi’s well sung reprise of “Ma, tu Re” with a loudly bellowed high F. Giacomo Prestia was hardly stronger as Ramfis, including during trial scene, with very quavery sense of intonation.

If there ever was occasion for ‘flip the ticket’, it was not McCain/Palin, but instead Ramfis and King here in this cast. Luisotti’s cut, heavy clip of between two and not quite three beats of rest before start of the trial of Radames certainly did not help Prestia. Elisabeth Meister, of comparable vocal weight to Carosi, shaped the Priestess’s lines with fine ease and legato line. Finest member of this cast was definitely the oldest –seen before on video of the former, I strongly suspect better Moshinsky production as Ramfis - Robert Lloyd as the King. Though the voice is not what it was seventeen years ago, it still filled the King – part Verdi reckoned less important than High Priest – with fine sense of authority, and still much solid tone, resonance.

Following along behind the rest of what transpired was the conducting of Nicola Luisotti, deft, light for most of the dances during the first two acts and for opening prelude to Act One, and with mostly secure enough ensemble and sound from the Royal Opera orchestra, albeit along with the chorus sounding confused by Luisotti’s flaccid accenting of so much of what Verdi wrote. For at how low voltage so much of this Aida ran on, from Royal Opera forces, it all should have been absolutely together. There was also an incipient tendency to encourage sotto voce reading of numerous lines from his singers, as he has learned from so many years of vocal coaching - late-career von Karajan example as well. It was seldom convincing thirty years ago; with so little character Freni, Carreras, Baltsa gave us, it is definitely not convincing now.

Supposedly tailored, accommodated to singers’ needs, there were a number of places where necessary firm support or underpinning to vocal lines went for naught -.for what diaphanous, then unwittingly shallow sonority Luisotti had in mind. Tempos were frequently mildly slow, but more than that being the case, inner vitality to even volatile accompaniment went for naught. Take for instance the Allegro giusto marking for surging accompaniment to ‘I sacri Numi’ during ‘Ritorna vincitor’ or ascending, descending viola, cello lines in unison under ‘Del Nilo I cupi vortici’ right before ‘O patria mia’. Take also the shallow gilding of brass chords underneath the King in recitative directly leading into opening scene ‘Sul del Nilo’ chorus and flat-line accompaniment to the Temple Scene duet soon thereafter. In effect, so much fuss tepidly left several members of Luisotti’s cast, at one point or another, regardless where, high and dry - nothing any of this cast could afford less than that. Same held true for Luisotti’s flaccid support for Verdi’s choral writing - as an aside his Ketelbey feel for the ‘Immenso Phtha’ business during the Tomb Scene.

Had Verdi been able to write Aida as neatly couched array of diaphanous colors, textures, it might have suited Luisotti, even late-career Karajan just fine. Harp for opening of the Temple Scene sounded tinny enough to have been mistaken for a ukulele - to accompany priestesses imported from plantation off the Mississippi. Boosted accelerandi to close excitable passages came across - instead of forceful - light, cheaply scherzo-esque. Such exemplified here close of both ‘Sul del Nilo’ chorus and Act Three. This turned out indeed a most inauspicious conducting debut for Convent Garden.

Much abetted lunge into ‘O terra addio’ from both protagonists showed wholesome confidence of the afterlife to follow. Breaking into it was, most likely unintentional, what one could construe as someone on stage having kicked over something. And yet the singing carried on. For realistic fear of meeting one composer on the other side, what then should be their, even our own take on approaching what life there is for the hereafter?

ROH Don Carlo (revival - Nicholas Hytner): Escuriel in two dimensions - Semyon Bychkov. Jonas Kaufmann the Infante.

This marks second time to have covered airing of the Nick Hytner production of Verdi’s Don Carlo - in interest of hearing several singers and Marina Poplavskaya repeat Elisabetta. Previous comments date from June 30, 2008, weeks after this production first opened – and can still be found at BCCLS opera listserv.

Semyon Bychkov took over from Antonio Pappano this time. He invested more imagination into several passages, darker tinta overall, but moreover a verticalization of Verdi’s orchestral fabric to extent that structural cohesion of numerous passages sometimes would give way. Toward accommodating cast members, some other compromise factored in.

Remindful too soon of Radio Norway with Shostakovich last month was Lisa Simeone’s claim on NPR that what we would be hearing would in effect essentially be the 1884 Milan four-act version of the opera. It is indeed more compact than any of the five-act versions, including the 1886 Modena version. What we got instead was still the 1886 Modena – its last four acts - because if this really had been the Milan, Jonas Kaufmann then would have had the aria “Io la vidi” to sing – with altered recitative then newer version of the aria written a whole tone down.

Jonas Kaufmann took Rolando Villazon’s place as the Infante. One missed some Latin warmth and intensity from Villazon, but less so persistent intonation problems he has been having. Kaufmann had some of his share as well. Presuming youtube excerpts to be from same opening night as this broadcast, the evening for Kaufmann got to a somewhat rocky start. Word has it that both Kaufmann and Poplavskaya used ‘Fontainebleau’ as warm-up for the next act.

Break in legato off tied B-Flat for “Di qual amor” from Poplavskaya instantly became desecrating, plus later instances she’d break up the line to accommodate what vocal shortcomings she has. Kaufmann’s mezza voce high B in “Io lo vidi” practically scraped the throat. Intonation was sour and legato proved unfeasible while stuck in the throat. However, matters improved well for him for most of what followed - until final duet with Elisabetta.

Kaufmann succeeded best while onstage with Simon Keenlyside (Posa), but had success too with Act Two duet with the queen. The deeper, more phlegmatic, less explosive temperament of this Carlo next to Villazon’s meant also less specificity about the Infante than with Villazon. It is lovely, when not too self-conscious or phrasing from behind in doing so, to hear Kaufmann caress his lines and reveal as well, perhaps less keenly than his baritone colleague, a lieder like sensitivity for words, such as ideal in either Schubert or Schumann. And yet in early duet with Keenlyside, Kaufmann’s focused “Tristo me” leading into friendship cabaletta revealed such metal that momentarily it could have been a good second-tier Otello doing this. Kaufmann’s purposefully dull waking up from swoon into which Carlo has coalesced in front of Elisabeth carried both distinctive poetry and verisimilitude.

There is still more personality to draw out of Verdi’s Carlo than Kaufmann provided; safety net of mezza voce eventually became a cliché a good ways through this. From what we know now, portraying Carlo as person hard to get to (really) know could be insight one can draw from hearing either Kaufmann or Domingo. One could look to Carreras for Karajan (preferably 1970’s EMI) for a slightly more valid extrovert approach, or with less than perfect intonation, Villazon.

Marina Poplavskaya made a vocally fragile queen this time – more so than interpretively. She somewhat blasted through “No, pensate a Rodrigo” to Kaufmann moments after “Tu che le vanita” with wodge encircling the passaggio - recalling late-career Scotto. There were fine moments still, to recall Poplavskaya’s better lyricism in approaching this – cause for some optimism – such as her reply to Eboli near start of Act Two garden scene. Her “Non pianger” was still sensitive, though lacking secure reach over crest of its arching line. Bychkov then rushed her slightly through “Ben lo sapete” (during confrontation scene).

“Tu che le vanita” was just disastrous, though unlike with Cedolins so off key (with Gatti) it became hard to recognize what it was, here the aria was still fully recognizable. One sought in vain legato for both “s’ancor si piange” and its later reprise. Marcia altogether lacked vitality and in effect ‘farewell’ barcarolle with Kaufmann was both choppily phrased and accompanied, through final tastelessly bench pressed, punched out (by both singers) “e sempre Addio” right before Inquisitor and King enter, both hardly to mind their mowing both of them down. Perhaps neither should we for the effect on what Verdi wrote. Lovely stage appearance apparently was inadequate toward providing good vocal countenance - with legato as between worn and patchwork as Ricciarelli’s (DGG); this being so, it is hard to explain what interpretation remained, except for having heard her earlier with Pappano. Intonation was more intact and Pappano more supportive, conventionally so.

Marianne Cornetti was the light voiced Eboli, with lovely top, until pressing upon it hard. Several choked low notes hither and yond indicated verismo effect and/or perhaps just some lapse in technique. The veil song went reasonably well, though with some rushing, rhythmic distortion to accommodate rolling from break to top – given how soprano in timbre Cornetti is up high. She definitely proved the weak link with male colleagues in Act Three. Top notes for “O don fatale” were vaguely supported and penitent middle section was placed back to extent of making Eboli sound somewhat over the hill. Ganassi was last year’s Eboli, but with better established record in Rossini; such did not qualify her either for taking on this qualitatively dramatic soprano part.

Ferruccio Furlanetto most notably repeated Filippo II from last year. He resorted to excessive shouting and pouting in the part when this production opened, some of which he has internalized by now. For what wear and tear on the voice has ensued, he became more prudent here. He sang as movingly as I have ever heard him do so both “Oso lo squardo” at end of Act Two and opening lines to his fourth act aria; he and Bychkov agreed on maintaining more conventional line for “Dormiro sol”- out of which perhaps more could have been said. It was already obvious last year, clear by now that the Hytner/Furlanetto Filippo II is somewhat a diminution thereof. One felt pity for this Phillip, but less than full appreciation for the King’s dignity, with which Verdi fully invested him.

The best two dramatic events that occurred between both performances broadcast occurred with this revival, for two passages over which hard to favor any – even most anything in Aida - duologue for King with Posa and same with the Inquisitor. As somewhat Bychkov undercut the meeting with Posa, he fully rose the occasion for that with the Inquisitor (John Tomlinson, in place of Eric Halfvarson). Keenlyside last year had to drop out for indisposition for unstable Kostas Paskalis protégé Dimitri Tillakos to replace him. Keenlyside sounded a little darker this go-around than what little I have heard from him last year and slightly more compromised in legato. Interpretively he was ideal here, in standing up guilelessly beseechingly, to the King and in also revealing for Posa on last dying breath particular weakness for inciting Carlo.

Bychkov undercut Keenlyside by denying him full space to ideally encompass expanding lines in “Per me guinto” - by conducting phrase-ending a cappella lines from violins too strictly. Keenlyside evinced too considerable grace and charm as Rodrigo, such that the King might envy him at what chances toward winning Eboli exist, but also nobility with darker tone ideally enhancing some calming influence on Carlo Rodrigo has. “O Carlo, ascolta” may not have yet been the most moving account (accompanied by extra wide trumpets at its outset) of it I have ever heard. Apart from mariachis accompanying him, from the Royal Opera pit, he still transported it forward through a telling intimacy, free parlando, plus complete grace and poise.

The other triumph from this cast was as Posa’s nemesis – yet after the insinuating way Keenlyside referred to Carlo , i.e. “la vendetta del Re” – John Tomlinson indeed alone was the true epitome of a real nemesis; there could not have been possibly any worse since Martti Talvela, in almost very equal power struggles with a still young Nicolai Ghiaurov. I would rank both instances as among best handful of performances I have ever heard. Tomlinson essayed his lines with absolutely steady tone, a hint of the visionary though venomously misguided, his flexibility in being able to needle the King into getting the Inquisition’s way. I would have liked however for Furlanettto as King to have been able to stand up to the Inquisitor a little more. The despondency with which Furlanetto addressed Tomlinson – “Mio padre” – was heart-rending for what clearly is defeat for the King. It was perhaps here that Philip, in Hytner’s take on things, became again three-dimensional in full. This was not so much great music-making as theater, but still fine music-making indeed – with it hardly more Bychkov could do than step back.

Robert Lloyd, former Phillip himself, made Friar - one of both quite estimable (and also noticeable) age, experience - of considerable gravitas. Pumeza Matshikiza was the eager, but slightly quavery Tebaldo. Robert Anthony Gardner and Eri Nakamura made fine casting of Herald (and Lerma) and Celestial Voice, with resonant choral forces led very capably by Roberto Balsadonna.

Semyon Bychkov has indeed the heart for Verdi’s Don Carlo. There was though much compromise with his singers, leaving the structure of what Verdi himself penned down almost in the lurch. Granted, there was certainly much more semblance of an interpretation at work here than at La Scala’s opening night a year ago. One noticeable moment was for the duet in the last scene – bump intruding legato lower strings in obbligato to “Ma lassu ci vedremo” to go with the utter non legato of voices above. Passages of this score under Bychkov, instead of being varied components within a connecting line, would occur in blocks. Of note were several instances of accelerando or sudden change of pace to usually faster. Posa’s first solo during Act Two duologue started flat-line from Bychkov, then to infuse quasi-scherzo accenting halfway through to make agitation welling up in Rodrigo’s mind seem to have externally come about.
Opening of the prison scene was too fast - accents on lower middle line in the strings jabbed to extent of sounding positively Slavic. Other unmarked accelerandi, following convention, sounded applied from without. Bychkov does have some feeling for Verdi’s music and idiom, but his language for conveying it being conspicuously vertical at times though trips him up – such as with starting both monastery scenes (that bookend the 1884 Milan version). He certainly sounded most engaged during the two duologues, during much of Carlo and Elisabeth’s Second Act duet, and brought out more darkly than with Karajan, the diaphanous, insinuating textures of womens’ chorus just earlier starting garden scene and of Carlos awaiting audience with the queen, starting Act Three. One might surmise that Bychkov could have mistaken some of the latter for introducing scene out of Parsifal.

Entrance of royalty during the auto-da-fe had fine gravitas. Concertato started by Flemish deputies proceeded with fine, well limned solemnity. Mannerism abetted by influence of von Karajan was some alchemy between producer and maestro here calling for certain amount of mezza, sotto voce to convey intimacy between characters; more direct delivery of numerous lines would still leave us impression of dialogue occurring in private. Bychkov believed for obsequiousness to some of his cast in keeping so subdued the accompaniments that they then robbed cantabile vocal line above, of ebb and flow, except for singer who could enliven it all on his/her own, which Poplavskaya and Cornetti mostly failed at on their last two arias, respectively. Bychkov also confusingly made lumbering viola and cello triplets underneath Philip’s Ah si maledetto 1866 version (Maudit soit le soupcon infame) thirty-seconds (but on different pitches than 1866) in place of the 1886 sixteenths.

Supposed intimacy with characters for the audience broke down - with hardly any irony on Hytner’s part – subtle wall to remain up between the two parties, not to put us at ease, but for us to process information we receive from onstage for ourselves. Stage direction for actors to in essence do our work for us, provide us with our response to what goes on, is very irresponsible.

Addition of new assistant inquisitor (Teo Ghil) to the auto-da-fe is excessive - fortunately, as opposed to with Pappano, not shouting over music for banda for interrogating the condemned men he administers. He sounded this time placed further back. Watching 2008 youtube, I take issue with portraying the condemned heretics almost equally contemptibly as the Inquisition. Any self-respecting Catholic will look down upon both the horrific abuse that took place in 16th century Spain and abusive neglect by the Church since. Sorry to say, but Hytner victimizes the heretics, afresh perhaps, by also dehumanizing them. Fine skill is apparent, but such a narrow aesthetic grasp - hardly at all with Don Carlo alone. Sweeping contempt for organized religion is long familiar by now, but not some more effectively creative way of putting it across?

Don Carlo was never a good piece by which to lift the weight, cares of this world off one’s shoulders, yet Verdi seldom provided us with as complex thinking and empathy for all his characters involved so well as here. Long do we pine for escape to a better world - so remote also to those once inhabiting the Escuriel; we toil, wax and wane for seemingly long hours, yet especially while compared with the hereafter, our time is short.