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January, 2003 Los
Angeles Philharmonic, 1/9
Thursday’s concert began unpromisingly with a heavy-handed, unsmiling account of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto by a 19-year-old Sayaka Shoji who, like most child prodigies, finds her technical facility far outstripped by the music’s emotional demand. Then the Bruckner Symphony No. 7, led by Zubin Mehta in a tender and grandiose performance. The Philharmonic played with a warmth of string tone, a breadth of full, unviolent brass tone and a wonderful deep blend of strings, woodwinds, and brasses such as the orchestra had not found in its account of the same work under Esa-Pekka Salonen last season. The orchestra seemed to be finding joy in the music, and it played with unaffected, unforced beauty of sound.
The San Francisco Opera has seen better days in their productions of the mainstream repertoire. The definitive Madama Butterfly for me was in 1995, when Sir Charles Mackerras led an incomparable San Francisco cast, headed by Japanese soprano Yoko Watanabe, in a performance of incandescent beauty and poignancy. The new production by Ron Daniels and Michael Yeargan, to me, signifies a troubling trend that afflicts today’s opera productions – a disrespect for the creator(s) of the work and disingenuous novelty for novelty’s sake. The set and costumes, consisting of rather conventional Japanese sliding door panels and kimonos, are as uninspiring as the king-size bed in Act One is tasteless. Italian soprano Fabiana Bravo hit all the big moments like clockwork, but failed to engage our sympathies in Cio-Cio-San’s plight and betrayal. Dennis Peterson’s Goro sounded weak and ineffectual as the angry uncle. Baritone John Hancock was an equally undistinguished Sharpless. Russian tenor Sergei Larin’s exceptionally suave vocalism almost made a nobleman out of the loutish Pinkerton, were it not for the vulgar staging that had him jumping onto the big bed during the Love Duet. Italian conductor Fabio Luisi’s idea of dramatic pacing was apparently playing the big moments very loudly and the tender moments very softly, with nothing to show in between. So much for Puccini’s many dynamic markings and pregnant pauses in the score.
Aptly named “A Cncert of Passion and Poetry”, the gala featured the original cast from the ill-fated Coronation of Poppea, plus the surprise local debut of the wunderkind tenor Roberto Alagna, who was flown in from Paris on a week’s notice to replace the ailing Domingo. If Mr. Alagna did not stir up the same media frenzy that accorded Salvatore Licitra’s eleventh-hour replacement of Pavarotti at the MET last year, it bespoke more of L.A.’s cultural sophistication (or lack thereof) than the young tenor’s own considerable talent. As well as the other Gala participants acquitted themselves – Ms. Von Stade’s deeply-felt Charlotte, Baritone Alfredo Daza’s incisive Tancredi, soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian’s angelic, pure-toned Clorinda, Carmen Giannattasio’s passionate, somewhat overwrought, Desdemona – it was Roberto Alagna’s vibrant, stirring singing that rang in my ear long after the house lights had dimmed. I was present as Mr. Alagna’s (and wife Angela Gheorghiu’s) rather inauspicious MET debut in La Bohème in 1995, when the young tenor was suffering from the flu. This time around, apparently in fine fettle, Alagna was able to show us fully his rare gift among singers – a prodigious musicality combined with an urgent need to communicate. The tragedy of Werther is the poet’s inability to convey in action what he so eloquently expresses in poetry. Eloquent, indeed, was Mr. Alagna’s singing. “Pourquoi me réveiller” was full of bittersweet sentiments and poetic ardor that made us feel Werther’s plight. The tragedy of Otello, on the other hand, is the warrior’s inability to express, in rational, verbal terms, what he so readily carries out in action. Alagna’s superbly lyrical singing had the effect of lending a rational, sympathetic voice to the jealousy-mad hero (the “Otello fui” was emotionally shattering.) It takes a special talent to portray so convincingly two roles as diametrically opposed as Werther and Otello. Roberto Alagna is truly one of the finest tenors of our time. It must also be mentioned the honey-voiced Sophie of soprano Maki Mori, who unfortunately did not get to sing her Act Two solo on this night. The two conductors sharing the podium excelled
in their respective specialties – Nagano in Monteverdi/Berio,
and Domingo in Otello. The latter graciously yielded the
spotlight to his younger tenor colleague during the tumultuous
curtain calls.
Opera Pacific’s new production of Mozart’s youthful opera Abduction from the Seraglio forgoes the usual Turkish mosque and other Muslim motifs. In their stead, we are onboard the Orient Express from Istanbul to Paris, circa 1920. The lavishly-appointed cabins are seen in a cut-away view, with compartment walls separating the singers during the ensembles, often with hilarious results. I am thinking the scene in Act III, in which Pedrillo lulls the Turkish guards to sleep with his ukulele, while Belmonte steals in and out of the other compartment in preparation for their escape.
The staging of Abduction is a timely one, in light of the current tensions between the Christian and the Muslim worlds. When Pedrillo, a Christian, timidly asks Osmin, a Muslim, “Can’t we make a fresh start of it and be friends once more?” (in Andrew Porter’s excellent English translation), one senses that he is making as much a personal statement as a political one. The young cast featured the sparkly duo of soprano Anna Christy and tenor Jeffrey Lentz as Blonde and Pedrillo. Tenor Shawn Mathey portrayed Belmonte with a great deal of physical charm which, alas, was largely missing from his singing. Bass Kurt Link’s Osmin was a lovable buffoon with a solid low G in the finale. Soprano Jan Grissom’s regal poise and bearing as the determinedly faithful Konstanze unfortunately did not translate well into vocal terms, with her apparent uneasiness above the staff and less-than-polished phrasing. Pasha Selim is a speaking role that calls for an actor of great imagination and charisma. James Offenbach played the Pasha like a ranting, raving mad man of Bagdad, not a man of enlightenment that he ought to be.
Renowned British Mozart specialist Jane Glover, C.B.E. directed a stylish and lively performance, bringing out every exotic color and relishing every tender moment. The long orchestral introduction to Konstanze’s showpiece “Marten aller Arten” was full of redolent charm with some apposite embellishments in the flute.
All reviews by Truman C. Wang
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