ORF: DSCH triumph at Vienna State Opera - Metzmacher conducts Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk - Angela Denoke, Misha Didyk, Kurt Rydl

Production by Matthias Hartmann. 23.10.2009. Rebroadcast by Radio Suisse Romande - 28.11.09.

After hearing the results of how two symphonies of Shostakovich went with Ingo Metzmacher - with DSO Berlin a truly harrowing Eleventh (reviewed on this blog) and with San Francisco a very dramatic Sixth though a little off-center from its competition - news that he had picked up three weeks ahead of time a production of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk at Vienna State Opera arrived in such a way to cause much anticipation.

This work was something of a curate’s egg in the 1970’s and for a while to follow as well. It was several years after the composer had passed away that the world premiere recording of Lady Macbeth got published, with Rostropovich conducting, his wife Galina Vishnevskaya a little past her prime in the title role – ten years after she had participated in classic film of Katerina Ismailova (revised version) in Kiev. As far as a secure musicological grasp of this work goes and other qualities about the EMI recording as well, Rostropovich supposedly set a standard as to how we should hear an opera, in its original, unvarnished state that as such had suffered considerable neglect for forty-three years. I have yet to watch the Jansons dvd of this opera from Amsterdam, but would likely have been more impressed had Jansons tried conducting this ten years earlier, with greater simplicity at approaching Shostakovich’s music more natural to him then.

Ingo Metzmacher’s vision for this work is perhaps not altogether revelatory, but in several crucial ways something likely to approach just that. Presumably the same opening night performance (October 23rd) of this piece has aired on three stations so far this fall – including Austrian Radio the day after and Radio Norway two weeks ago. Radio Norway arbitrarily cut the third scene of Act One from their broadcast, and likely without full authorization to have done so. Radio Suisse Romande today made room for commentary between all four acts, especially between the first three, and of course also played the broadcast complete.

Angela Denoke may have less the verbal nuance for Russian than does Vishnevskaya but very nicely eschewed overacting Katerina, bringing out several different sides to so complex a character as this. Denoke can be heard portraying from Salzburg a Janacek heroine in similar plight, Katya Kabanova. The boredom, frustration, and even utter loneliness of Katerina’s plight immediately became apparent, in being daughter-in-law of a mean kulak married to an inept man.. The pent-up sexual drive of Katerina was also made clear in for instance Katya’s lack of resolve in upbraiding Sergei for being ring-leader in assaulting Aksinya during Act One (very smartly, insinuatingly played by Donna Ellen at first, and then incisively enough for the rest). Metzmacher made the Aksinya episode more brutal than usual in eschewing making something hyper or (radical chic) kink out of it. Her ‘Pusti’s to Sergei needed not to make Katya out as coquette Denoke, unlike Vishnevskaya, made point sufficiently clear without having to resort to that.

Journey was made complete by the dreamy quality Denoke found for most lyrical pages of the score (Act 2, Scene 2) through the utter dejection and despair with which she invested Katya’s laments in Act 4. All this was so for part that may comes less of a natural for Denoke than the German repertoire, but a role, apart from being stretched by one or two high notes in which she revealed the goods to encompass both its musical and psychological demands. Feeling for living the character was a primary consideration for Denoke at all times. During the murder of Boris, she found the right tone of irony and was prudent in not overdoing the staging of her grief over his agonizing death. It was better, for best sake of irony, to leave most of the fake grief, the obviating that she is really 'putting on' up instead to the piccolo clarinet, doubling her one octave above.

Both leading tenors made much incisive of their assigned parts.. Misha Didyk was the Sergei. While not maybe having the vocal goods of even an aging Nicolai Gedda or wisdom thereof, Didyk made as lively and incisive a Sergei, as I have heard yet. One sensed a character tragically less infatuated with Katya than she has been with him. During middle acts, Didyk let us in on what may be just the suggestion of a more sensitive side to Sergei, even if hypocritically so. He was most certainly heard to be brushing off Katya as she first upbraids him during Act One and as callous enough to laugh the way he does for ending perhaps the first real sexual congress Katya has had with any man – while married to one just, figuratively speaking, simply not up to it.

That second thankless leading tenor part - that of Zinovy - went to Marian Talaba, who blithely made Katya’s husband out to be little more than unwitting boor he is - and so blithely unaware of it. With light lyric voice he has, he gave Zinovy all he’s got in his ardent bidding farewell to Katya during the first scene of the opera, later to make incisive banter with Katya over news of trouble back at home a moment or two before being strangled and clubbed to death by Sergei. Michael Roider managed to somewhat humanize the Seedy Lout (Shabby Peasant), snitch that he is, even in situation or two he finds unwelcome to come across.

A little free with pitch was Kurt Rydl as Boris, who at least showed the experience and prudence not to caricature the part. In how Boris is written, it is unavoidable that Boris comes across as hateful, but Rydl made us aware of how unpleasant the situation is even for him, though to a great extent pf his own making. He found a pleasing, appropriate dignity with dark tone and somber feeling to Boris’s closing lines before giving out on the rat poison – Boris here presumably to represent the dying race of kulaks – and that even if bumbling idiot - not without though at least a twisted sense of humor - he does not necessarily deserve the fate to which he succumbs midway through the opera. As Ghost of Boris, reckoning his slight variability with pitch at his age, Rydl was suitably, crustily enough, terrifying; the shudder - with very strained attempt to regain composure - Denoke provided immediately became real.

Still more reticent, Janusz Monarcha made good buffoon out of the Priest and also some sense of awareness of what may be afoot all along throughout. The dour, but comically incisive Eijiro Kai from Japan made count in full the boredom of the Police Chief; his strained attempt at social niceties at the wedding at which he must arrest two people in Act Three had all the right irony to it. Nadia Krasteva was the vocally ample hard, worldly-wise Sonyetka, Marcus Pelz the ambivalent toned Sentry to Kat’a’s demands, and Wolfram Igor Derntl unwittingly open simpleton of a professor under police interrogation. In a great variety of guises on stage, the Vienna State Opera Chorus gave of their exemplary best. Dan Paul Dumitrescu led colleagues with ample melancholy as the Old Convict; if perhaps riding the surface of things for his voice being lighter.. He did not quite efface memory of hearing one or two from the Mariinsky making a stab at it.

A sure hand through a score of considerable complexity, even waywardness intermittently was Ingo Metzmacher, who decided we can hear this piece as capably anticipatory of Shostakovich’s later style of composition as revised version written two decades later. Chung (DGG) is mostly cool and detached, Anissimov decisively second or third tier, Rostropovich though expertly finding individual character of numerous episodes very well, but missing it for others, renders so much of this opera episodic. We now have from Metzmacher what Valery Gergiev has approximated quite well already – the orchestral strength of this piece and its inherently very individual grasp of form.

Could Act Four be the first long arch slow movement of the Shostakovich symphonies – while hidden away in an opera? I have only just now heard this music so convincingly this way. Though disguised well, there are definitely elements of sonata style in devising this great scene’s overall shape. The from-behind well controlled rush through quasi-fugato writing for the strings as approaching retransition accompanying something building to skirmish between Sergei and Katya was very effective. It was very telling all within mind - getting past light episode or two - of the implacably stern recapitulatory calling back into line of aroused female convicts – followed by heart-rending very still final lament for Katya (at very end of her tether). The screams, struggle Krasteva put up for Sonyetka’s final moments were very disquieting – as leading into the rest of the convicts marching off toward huge expanse - nothing left in sight. All this was bolstered by the tremendous musical and dramatic argument Metzmacher made for the orchestral and formal strength of how Shostakovich constructed this great extended finale.

One might occasionally ask for a little more feverish intensity, but Metzmacher, while often close to achieving it, steadily kept the larger picture in mind. I have yet to have heard any of the orchestral interludes of this opera played better than encountered here. Most revelatory was first the interlude between the first two scenes of the opera, with dark halo in string tremolo and deep overtones in somber intimations from lower winds and brass and deep, yet firm lament (with no hint of phrasing from behind) in the strings and broken off-beat isolated accents from muted lower brass. Such force with which the closing scene of the opera opened became entirely plausible; such it was to make one think two hours back to this interlude.

The great passacaglia midway through Act Two, thoroughly excelled in maintaining firm bass line, made Britten-esque eloquence out of lines in the strings at midrange, and accumulated in a very sensitively graded, terraced way buildup to a shattering climax. Good tone of regret infused the descent from such within unbroken line – shattering in its intensity – all separations within the line keenly observed. Not self-consciously had Metzmacher found something along lines of baroque precision in the more vivacious interludes instead of banging through them. After bringing out the folksiness of the Seedy Lout’s plundering of the estate wine cellar, he allowed just hardly noticeable slack to the line to make excellent differentiation between varying strands of activity - thus also near end of postlude to the Seedy Lout scene an excellently achieved fugato for the strings. Word has it that final Largo for the Eighth String Quartet (as chamber symphony arranged by Rudolf Barshai) supplied scene change between Third and Fourth Acts – nothing as heard online thus far. A trio of trumpets in close interval very rapid arabesque of triplets was almost precariously brought out in the both realistically and rapidly played sex interlude very nearly closing Act One (excised by Radio Norway).

When given anything incisive for high woodwinds (flute, piccolo clarinet, etc.) – for example prickly flute section descant in unison over rapid stepping scherzo for chorus very early on, followed quickly by piccolo clarinet led galop, as near incisively as possible, Metzmacher could not be denied. He, however, for purely ephemeral purpose of working or entertaining the audience, was not about to work or caricature anything either. Favorite moment of mine has been the workers’ chorus, forces out from whom come two laborers to insolently comment upon Boris’s unfortunate plight, that in just keeping its tune, its folk origins simple, Metzmacher made in place of cliche something definitively Mussorgskian out of it. In full relief was just its simplicity of feeling - plus very compelling scoring to back it up. What occurs here, without smoothing anything out seeming so naturally disjunct, Metzmacher frequently would make seem to uncannily connect by pointing out whatever link by way of motif can often get missed. There would always be fine pulsation to keep a cumulatively well connected, if at times somewhat distracted line alive and moving through everything.

Operetta and opera buffa inspired episodes in the police station and during final scene march to Siberia were piquant. As for color, Metzmacher made Byzantine out of brass and choral contributions to the wedding feast scene closing Act Three, making realization from at once quietly but strongly played fugato, opening the scene, a sense at varying levels to varying degrees of something very tense and ominous afoot. Sharp underpinning of the police chief’s social graces upon entering the scene made for as fine dark humor as one will ever find. The introspection for Kat’a’s opening laments, with clarinet obbligato of utmost simplicity and of the sleep mini-interludes during Act Two, and even for the big concertmaster solo in the previous scene, brought out a melos, especially from the strings - from within what might as well have been Philharmonic in full force – that is indeed also idiomatic for Shostakovich.

In comparing with Rostropovich, two crucial moments come to mind. Rostropovich crudely jumps the rest right before his wife begins the final lament in the last scene of the opera; he also rushes some through the revolutionary or convict’s song for duet of clarinets (and then for tenor trombone) that makes brief postlude to Act Two. He thus ignores markings of molto tenuto and tenuto espressivo, whereas Metzmacher, with sensitively measured pulsation under each so hauntingly got both. If there will be a recording, not for such reasons alone, Metzmacher then stands now as closest to definitive for this score, a success perhaps no longer so elusive to fully achieve.

There was more here than upon which one mere mortal can provide commentary. This, from all reports, was an unqualified triumph for Metzmacher in his Vienna State Opera debut. He has already been received very favorably for at least the Messiaen ad Nono he had conducted with the Vienna Philharmonic. It now seems so very ironic that he has committed no Shostakovich to disc as of yet. For so much expressive finesse Metzmacher brought to this, it comes to mind that one of only two forays that the most important predecessor Metzmacher has had in Berlin made into Shostakovich was with suite of this opera’s orchestral interludes.

Let me be audacious here momentarily. Shostakovich may have adamantly, under some pressure perhaps, made the case that the revised version of this opera was from then on (exclusively) its acceptable performing version. I hardly doubt though that such a performance as this might have been able to persuade the composer otherwise.

Metzmacher brought out so much, including specific nobility to the original version and to several of its characters, leading kulak included. Shostakovich’s roots in Mahler, in adapting the banal closely alongside profundity, in Berg’s Wozzeck, and his partaking of recent trends in French artistic life did not get denied – as Shostakovich picked up from theatrical life during the thaw of the 1920’s. Such contrast, as so well pointed out and terraced into such an elaborately prepared conception could only work to better illuminate those qualities the aging, still well-intentioned composer wanted us to hear from time of revision. Here such internal contrast was made most distinctive about this piece - as heard now in its original version.

RAVE: Tchaikovsky Eugen Onegin (Bolshoi at Palais Garnier - 2008) - guide to dandyism or Onegin for the cognitively dislocated

Viewing operas at cinemas has become somewhat a mainstay for numerous fans – over just these past three years. One finding traditional experience of opera, Eugen Onegin included, so predictable, perhaps then one might embrace what showed here as though taking in a breath of fresh air. I anticipated this being so - after having heard how Galina Vishnevskaya stormed out once during opening Moscow run of this production. In part, self-styled enfant terrible Dmitri Tcherniakov fulfilled expectations; in other ways he has not. Essentially, however, he is indeed the show here – except nobody actually sees him until curtain calls. And yet one seemed to partly miss him for Act Three; therein the singers and music recovered some due prominence.

I sighed ‘first mistake’ upon seeing action on stage, around a very long dinner table soon after the prelude began. John Steane, among others, has cited every turn this production makes as due to bad judgment. I am not so sure of that; Tcherniakov shows much craft at Regie, but he has not quite learned how to harness his gifts to extent he can show us near as much his command of the art of omission as that of commission. When Tcherniakov finally decided on more prudence, it appeared he was starting to wind up empty. A certain relaxed disdain in how this Onegin has been written up, has hinted at this production not quite well sustaining any well-organized challenge or offense to our sensibilities that we all need cringe. A new production Daniel Barenboim recently conducted in Vienna has been called more radical than this.

The first scene alone would make “Eugen Onegin as comedy” certainly plausible take on what has occurred here. Could one not catch on to several disturbing motifs within action presented, it might just as well remain so. Larina (Makvala Kasrashvili (very accomplished former Tatiana herself) and Emma Sarkisyan (Filipyevna) laughed themselves silly over mutual reminiscences. The staging denied the wistful character of the music, while making it very clear from the get-go exactly what Tcherniakov wanted.

A large family with guests is seated at the large table for dinner; the peasants’ chorus begins and continues as sung by them. That then climaxed in an ample sized Makvala Kasrashvili boisterously tossed to the floor amongst much general ruckus. Lensky may be in love with Olga, but it never got reciprocated, Olga laughing through Lensky’s first aria and then immediately flirting with the Onegin. She also got a bit too much in Tatiana’s face with her own aria – as though trying to make Tatiana snap out of it. One could predict well ahead, without knowing the plot, as to who would be dancing with whom in the next major ensemble scene – in which challenge between Onegin and Lensky quickly developed much physicality. Olga’s laughter at Lensky over his poetry, then over his amorous protestations fully went over the top.

Some playful tryst or gossip ridden dalliance looked to be happening backstage to start final scene of Act One - one of several more clever touches here. Most riotous was Lensky usurping Triquet’s couplets, toward making a complete buffoon out of himself, after smiling much of the way during his first confidences of anxiety to Olga during this scene.

Mariusz Kwiecien made for slightly effortful lyric casting as Onegin – simultaneously so cool an Onegin. The voice has good color to it, when Kwiecien sings softly, but it often gets pushed; this is a voice a bit reticent at sounding forth, except for when push and shove will enter the mix and did here. The tone then spread – as at any point Kwiecien started in on any hectoring - his threat to Lensky at end of Act Two, Scene 1 one surprising exception. As part of arduous scheme to avoid sentimentalizing anything, Kwiecien excited little sympathy as Onegin.

Kwiecien revealed good swagger while making the rounds to press the flesh during opening Act Three polonaise; He understood well throughout what he was singing. With his legato being a bit hit-and-miss however, he undercut what elegant or noble shape to lines one most often seeks. . He looked fine – better than baritone from second run of this production that opened in Moscow one month ago. That included at literally walking out on Tatiana at end of Act One, leaving her sitting at end of the table opposite to door through which he made his exit – all this replacing the gentlemanly thing to do. In putting forth doing so simply, this proves about the biggest coup de theatre for the entirety of this production.

One must admire the intensity Tatiana Monogarova invested in a deconstructed Tatiana in so many ways. The voice is a lyric, with burnished colors to it - a voice too that can turn cloudy at the break. She sang the Letter scene affectingly enough, but as affected perhaps most of all by the detachment of the staging and dramatic intensity called upon from, expected of her. Legato through normally expected couching of her lines and nuance, shading thereof got compromised.

Monogarova’s acting of Tatiana was riveting, excessively so to characterize what typically is a young woman in love. With the Letter Scene, after seeing her earlier moving slowly with constantly empty look, stare straight ahead, we in effect have unawares picked up Tatiana’s mad scene. The gestures, countenance, jerky motions, everything looked copied out of role-play infused group or drama therapy. The penetrating blank stare on Monogarova’s face – Monogarova not quite a great beauty to behold, certainly not ugly either – became its most intense during Act Two, Scene One – intentional irony this was so – enough to force me to avert my gaze
several times. Should some of this had to do with camera angle, this was also intentional. A momentarily stomach lurching experience of Tatiana from singer certainly competent to how to encompass the part’s vocal demands became hallmark of everything here.

Once into Act Three, while elegantly presenting herself, this Tatiana turned a little bland, though wanting to invite some sympathy during final scene with Onegin. Subtle hints of neurasthenia crept in – as good reference to earlier phase of narrative. Still I would like the name of unseen psychotherapist involved for how far he has been able to get this Tatiana over span of just several years (since the first two acts take place).

Emma Sarkisyan, as Filipyevna, seated herself by Dunaev as he sang his long lament, making gestures for every line, comparable to one finding inserted emoticons at the end of every sentence in a long letter one gets. What frisson in check should be there – purpose for why Tchaikovsky stretches this out - got zapped. Vedernikov, following inartistic goals of this production a little too closely, kept things mildly too foursquare for this scene. He however though infused its closing lines in moderately high tremolo from raptly attentive Bolshoi violins for shudder to evoke – after a quite eccentrically staged duel to have run across.

Andrei Dunaev was the elegantly turned Lensky, one displaying fine open melos tonally to supplement Lensky’s poetic ardor. It was as subtle an aspect of anything one would ever encounter here. In portraying the poet, affably so, Dunaev still conveyed a Lensky altogether cool, self-absorbed. Except for slight strain for a few high notes, Dunaev provided most of Lensky’s music with lovely shape, then only to provide just adequate connection with others on stage while interacting with him – something we usually take for granted in a piece like this. And yet in this production it was impossible to take anything much at all so. It is unfortunate, however, that the duel scene quickly became so undercut, first off by (while taking place in the same long rectangular dining room) having appear during opening chords family and guests all wel engaged in moving out. Valery Gilmanov made a serious Zaretski with strong vocal presence, but Guillot, Onegin’s assistant, had this inanely persistent laugh, as though having been on the bottle all the previous night and not lacking the stamina to carry on more.

Triquet’s couplets, as sung by Dunaev, conveyed a unusually cool, irreverent irony to them, devoid now of any smarminess for sure, who to deliver them but Lensky usurping an always merry, lean as a stick aging Triquet. Triquet certainly looked as though he had had a few too many while enjoying someone else instead sing what he has written. Even Dunaev getting on the floor with a small mechanical white fluffy dog, imitating its motions – I fully expected him to lift one leg - while crowd enlivening - worked no wonders on a still, very still, phased out Tatiana.

Most unqualified success here was the pleasantly dark-hued Olga of Margarita Mamsirova, beautifully, securely even across the range. She contributed plenty of spunk, while fortunately stopping short of over-acting Olga. As this production dictated, she also stopped short of ever making Olga sympathetic at all, thus her looks of incomprehension to shock at Lensky during Act Two almost registered as her deserved comeuppance that things might turn out so badly. Anatoli Kotscherga, singing Gremin’s aria almost entirely in Kwiecien’s face, carried necessary gravitas - compromised by odd acting and effortful legato - in vocal weight and physical stature. His voice, heard as Boris Godunov for Abbado (Sony), is full, if still awkwardly produced.

Makvala Kasrashvili, at age of 66, sang Larina more light toned than some, showing slight fraying at the edges, and fell into easy temptation here of hamming things up too much. She can be found on youtube, singing the Letter scene in concert attire, from approximately twelve years ago, with more security and (less interfered with) ample feeling than Monogarova provided us. Away from Tcherniakov, his influence,I’d certainly like to hear Monogarova sing this again. Emma Sarkisyan had the authority with the words of Tatiana’s nurse, look and feel of experience to it all, but voice today showing much wear and tear. Until at least Act Two, the unaffected animation which she invested the part enhanced well all that went on.

With firm sense of orchestral and choral ensemble, Alexander Vedernikov conducted with consistent strong forward motion and frequently buoyant spring to many lines. The big dances in the last two acts had much vitality and swagger to them. One also found practically sufficient pause for poetic scoring to depict atmosphere, but self-conscious on Vedernikov’s part to so painstakingly avoid risking hint of any excess. Feel for this Onegin, as guided by the staging increasingly felt two-dimensional – even imprudently rushed occasionally. He supported his singers well without allowing them much room to expand out on their lines - to extent some of them could have. The cool, distancing effect of Tcherniakov’s production thus held sway. And yet Vedernikov indeed has contributed much vitality and freshness overall to this enterprise.

Trademark here was once more the production itself. Take for instance the mime Filipyevna of Sarkisyan during scene with Lensky soon before he is shot, not to mention the practically barbaric psycho-analytic handling of Tatiana, making it seem that Tatiana has been through worse trauma than Jenufa or Kat’a Kabanova. Idea here, especially with Lensky in his scene was obvious - to avoid, at all cost, sentimentalizing anything. Nevertheless, it backfired on Tcherniakov. In place of genuine emotion, one had instead insipid to silly bathos. Business of Onegin, while facing Tatiana, putting a gun to two different parts of his body at the very end came across as meaningless, silly. There is much craft here, no doubt, in how to move characters around and in how they interact amongst themselves to a detailed extent. Such bravado in putting this on display, though, became very disorienting. It takes much discipline to stage something on a unit set; only a little ways does Tcherniakov seem to have this down yet.

The smugness (frequently on faces of chorus members), self-absorption, constant smiles and laughter even through some serious passages quickly became clumsy. Typical was the highly affected smile on face of one dapper young lad - sitting next to who we soon discovered is a laughing, inebriated Guillot - as tensions rose, among large gathering, between Onegin and Lensky. Dandyism on display, within much a façade of detached elegance here, toward depicting less polite behavior than should be the norm originates from Pushkin and Tchaikovsky. However, what comes across is an exposed narcissism in how Tcherniakov presents his vision. Overall modus operandi eventually I fear more than just intentionally comes across cognitively displaced or dislocated; this entire enterprise has accomplished just that.

Vishnevskaya may have unintentionally provided this Onegin some imprimatur by storming out on it as allegedly she had done; she certainly made this production worth seeing once. One may just never return for second helpings - except to bewilder or confound one's friends. When there is a Russian remake of Stepford Wives, whenever that could occur, the new director need not look further than this Onegin to cast it – this year’s Tatiana - woman who just won the Cardiff - Mrs. Van Sant and Monogarova as the lead (the Katharine Ross character). Once having better learned his craft plus some empathy, Tcherniakov can direct.

For especially the warmer feel of the two leads and equally idiomatic playing by the Met orchestra, better engaged podium of Gergiev, if less so for the Lensky (Vargas) and wobbly Olga (Elena Zaremba), my preference for dvd selection between these two still clearly points toward the Met. If told that mercury levels in potage for the Larinas had become precariously high, I would hardly bat an eye after observing what got sent us here from Paris.