April, 2003
Ironically, “Messiah” owed much of its popularity outside of England to Mozart, because it was Mozart’s version of the oratorio that was widely performed (in German translation) in the 19th Century through the early 20th Century. Some may frown at Mozart’s well-meaning tinkering of Handel’s sublime score, with added woodwinds and re-arranged vocal parts, but it seems to me more appropriate than, say, Mahler’s rather unsubtle re-orchestration of Beethoven’s symphonies, with wholesale changes in instrumentation and dynamics. To the lay listener, perhaps the most obvious, and startling, change in the Mozart version is that portions of some choruses are sung by the soloists. Also, the six tenor solos beginning with “All they that see Him” are divided between two sopranos, while “Rejoice greatly”, a soprano number, is assigned to the tenor! Handel’s original dynamic and tempo markings remain intact. Gershon followed Mozart’s version pretty faithfully, including the accompanied recitative which Mozart wrote to replace the aria “If God be for us”, and deviated only in the use of Handel’s original SATB soloists, rather than Mozart’s SSTB. I have put together a comparison chart of the different versions of “Messiah”. It is by no means an exhaustive list, but a convenient one to show the various textual and instrumental differences at a glance –
The Los Angeles Master Chorale sang with exemplary precision, scaling one stirring peak after another, and culminating in a staggering double-chorus finale “Worthy is the Lamb” that literally shook the house. The Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra also played well under Gershon. Although it lacked the fleet execution and rhythmic bounce of the best period-instrument ensembles, the playing was memorably detailed, and showed off Mozart’s woodwinds and horns to great advantage. Three of the soloists were, alas, less than inspiring. The boyish tenor Michael Slattery delivered a pallid, joyless “Rejoice greatly” and his singing was unsmiling throughout. Same with mezzo-soprano Kate Butler, who failed to project vocally and emotionally. James Creswell’s oversized bass sounded unwieldy in the slurred runs and coloraturas. Soprano Elissa Johnston rose above the fray and offered singing that was meltingly beautiful (“How beautiful are the feet”) and intensely spiritual (“I know that my Redeemer liveth”). Ms. Johnston had the agility and grace that put her in the league of today’s finest Handel and Mozart singers. A real talent and a class act, too. For Handel and Mozart lovers, this “Messiah” was definitely one
to write home about. Tickets to other L.A. Master Chorale concerts are $25 to $75, (213) 972-7282. L.A. Chamber Orchestra concerts are $15 to $63, (213) 622-7001.
The three works on this evening's program, whether by coincidence or by design, were all dedicated to the wives of the composers. In the case of "Ein Heldenleben", the wife theme develops into a rapturous love duet that would be the envy of all married couples, and those who wish they were enjoying the marital bliss. Darius Milhaud's Suite provençale, dedicated to wife Madeline, is a highly congenial piece in the veins of Respighi's "Ancient Airs and Dances". It is full of bucolic charms and conviviality, and concludes with a rousing country dance scored for piccolo, timpani and bassoon -- delightfully executed by the Pasadena winds. Peter Schickele's Symphony No. 2, nicknamed "Sweet Season" and extensively revised after its 2001 premiere, is a musical token of affection for his wife Susan (both were in the audience). It is an exuberant, richly atmospheric work, with clever quotations of spring themes from Stravinsky, Vivaldi, and Schumann. The Maypole dance crackles with energy and brings the work to its rousing conclusion. In the center of the work is a heartwarming slow movement for strings, beautifully directed by conductor Jorge Mester as a tribute to his long-time friend Mr. Schickele. Richard Strauss was not exactly known for being a romantic in real life, but in music, few could write more coy, sensuous melodies than he. Behind the tumultuous struggle in Strauss's life and work was a woman, Pauline, whose musical cameos appear in many of Strauss's works. In Ein Heldenleben, the 'Pauline's theme', as it were, transcends the mundane battles with the Hero's critics and adversaries to become the Hero's alter ego, as their two themes gradually become intertwined and inseparable (the Pauline's theme is heard again in the end just before the Hero breathes his last.) Pasadena Symphony concertmaster Aimee Kreston tossed off the free arabesques of Pauline's theme with exquisite charm, matching perfectly Strauss's score markings ("tenderly and lovely", "seductively", "playfully", etc.) The augmented 109-member orchestra (there were 125 at the work's premiere) blasted off the battle themes with cataclysmic power -- arguably the most terrifying battle ever painted by music. In the end, despite the three great women who
inspired these works, it was the orchestra that deserved the
ultimate accolade for bringing them vividly to life.
Opera, some like to argue, is not about singing, but a universal, all-encompassing art form in which singing is a small part of the whole. This kind of intellectually probing but emotionally acerbic view of opera stems from the Wagnerism and Jungian symbolism of the late 19th-Century, which were foreign to original visions of opera’s inventors 400 years ago. The Florentine Camerata had envisioned a new art form that would tell a compelling story through the expressive powers of the human voice (be it solo or in ‘Greek chorus’). The opera-as-total-theatre concept was carried out to the extreme with the advent of Regis-theatre in the 1950’s, in which stage directors, not singers, got the top billings with their often bizarre, surrealistic productions. Despite the efforts of the authenticity-movement practitioners such as Mackerras, Leppard, and Harnoncourt to restore opera (and instrumental music) to its humanistic roots, the late 19th-Century view persisted and still tinted our perception and enjoyment of opera today.
With this production of Verdi’s Otello (on loan from Washington Opera, by way of San Francisco), San Diego Opera has done a commendable and noble job of connecting opera to its humanistic origins, free of any directorial excesses. It is rare indeed to find a director as in sync with the composer’s intentions as Sonja Frisell. Many memorable stage vignettes lingered in the mind long after the final curtain – The frightened Cypress folks scampering away as Otello enters to break up a drunken melee; Otello’s slow ascend up the staircase to meet with Desdemona at the start of the love duet (Act I); Otello feigning disinterest amidst a pile of paperwork while Iago tells of his suspicions of Cassio and Desdemona (Act II). My only disappointment with the staging was in Act III, where Otello takes Desdemona’s hand in a feigned gesture of reconciliation, then throws her out of the chamber – through the wings, not through the main door as per the libretto. (I have yet to see this bit of stage business done precisely as Verdi and Boito had prescribed in any “Otello” production.) The period sets and costumes by Zack Brown are tasteful and unobtrusive to the drama, and offer a colorful glimpse of the Venetian life, circa 1600. The dramatic lighting by Joan Sullivan-Genthe manages to capture the chiaroscuro of the score, whether in the airy, bright chorus of the townsfolk in Act II, or in the noir-like long shadows in the Act III finale.
And then, there is singing. This is quite simply the best-sung “Otello” I have heard in a long while. San Diego Opera struck a vocal goldmine with a superb international cast that is hard to beat. Romanian baritone Alexandru Agache gave a thoroughly credible rendition of the famous “Credo” (“I believe in a cruel God”) and revealed facets of Iago’s chameleon-like character that would have escaped many lesser singers. Mr. Agache’s weighty baritone was flexible enough to negotiate the many treacherous (pun intended) trills and slithering lines that pepper Iago’s music (Act I drinking song, the “Credo”, etc.)
As Desdemona, Russian soprano Marina Mescheriakova was a class act through and through, a singer-actress par excellence. Her vocal qualities are considerable – pure, angelic high notes, gorgeous soft tones that can melt stone, a rock-solid technique with no audible breaks in the vocal registers. In the great Senate Chamber scene in Act III, Desdemona tells Emilia in an aside, “una gran nube turba il senno d’Otello e il mio destino” (“a great cloud hangs over Otello…and my fate.”) Ms. Mescheriakova here darkened her voice at the words “il mio destino”. The effect was dramatic and heartbreaking. Surely, Ms. Mescheriakova is destined for a great career as that most rarified breed of opera singers – a true Verdi soprano.
The remainder of this exceptional cast includes tenor Richard Troxell’s suave Cassio, bass Julien Robbins’s gravely authoritative Lodovico, and Priti Gandhi’s sympathetic Emilia Conductor Edoardo Müller gave a
musically compelling and dramatically cogent reading of Verdi’s
score. One does not usually associate Müller’s work with much, if
any, excitement. But here, perhaps inspired by the high
caliber of the talents involved, the orchestra played and breathed
as one with the singers. The San Diego Opera Chorus did an
admirable job of acting and singing in the opera’s many demanding
choruses, notably the campfire chorus “Fuoco di gioia” in Act
I. One more performance of Otello remains on April 30. Radio broadcast of this production can be heard on June 22, 2003 at 7pm on KPBS 89.5/89.1FM in the San Diego area
Reviews by Truman C. Wang
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Russian
tenor Sergej Larin is probably the best-known cast member to
the American audience. Over the years, I have seen and heard Mr.
Larin many times in the lighter lyric roles such as Pinkerton
(“Madama Butterfly”) and the Prince (“Rusalka”). I was, therefore,
pleasantly surprised to hear a voice that has gained much weight,
and yet lost none of its grace and lyrical qualities. He is the
rare Otello indeed to be able to match his Desdemona in poetic
utterance in the love duet, with ravishing soft high notes on “io
t’amavo per la tua pieta”. From the opening heroic cry of “Esultate!”
to the final despondent sigh of “Otello fu” (“Otello is…no
more”), Mr. Larin painted a tragic picture of the Black Moor
with shattering intensity – a portrayal all the more remarkable
given this is his first outing in the role.