Posted in Classical, Opera on Sep 13th, 2009 No Comments »
For the last twenty years of his life, the years of his superstardom, it became difficult to see much beyond the the rather grotesque, larger than life notoriety of Luciano Pavarotti. ‘Nessun Dorma’ fixed his fame in the wider public’s mind. It became hard to do justice to his real talent. His gargantuan size made him seem ridiculous. Opera fans began to disdain him in direct proportion to the growth of his world wide fame.
Pavarotti, for me, was simply the greatest tenor voice of the twentieth century. Others may have had greater dramatic talent - Jon Vickers, Placido Domingo to name two. But few, I think, had Pavarotti’s delicacy, and none his voice.
I’m not sure that it was in the big arias of Verdi or Puccini - ‘Nessun Dorma’ the most widely associated with him - suited him naturally - though his ‘Che gelida manina’ would rightly bring the house down. He was at his best, in my view, in the gentler, more reflective and wistful music of Bellini and Donizetti - the bel canto repertoire in vogue before Verdi’s dramatic revolution.
Here he is singing ‘A te, O cara’ - ‘You, beloved’ - from Bellini’s ‘I Puritani’. Nicolai Ghiaurov and Giancario Luccardi join in, with La Stupenda - Joan Sutherland - mooning about up top.
At his best.
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From Catalani’s famous opera is one of the most hypnotic and haunting arias in all opera. Wally (absurdly named young woman) has been banished by her cruel father for refusing to marry the wealthy, but old, man he had arranged for her. She is a strange, rather wild woman, a child of nature who longs to live in the mountains. She determines to leave - ’I will go far away, alone, as far away as the sound of a distant tolling bell.’ Her voice mimics the insistent tolling of the bell, each word sounded on the same note, as if in a trance, before her anguish at leaving her mother’s home forever.
The aria is famous too as part of the soundtrack of Jean-Jacques Beineix’s cult 1981 film ‘Diva’.
It is sung be the magnificent Italian soprano, Maria Chiara.
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Posted in Classical, Opera on Apr 19th, 2009 No Comments »
The duet, ‘From the Depths of the Temple’ from Bizet’s opera ‘The Pearl Fishers’, has always been immensely popular, and for some years was the most popular selection in the BBC’s ‘One Hundred Best Tunes.’ It was also my mother’s favourite. When I was 14 I bought it for her as a 45rpm record - an EP, or Extended PLay, two numbers on each side. In addition there was the duet from the fourth Act of La Boheme, and the tenor arias ‘Questa o quella’ from Verdi’s ‘Rigoletto’ and the ‘Lamento di Federico’ from Cilea’s ‘L’Arlesiana’. I don’t have to remember them - I have her EP here before me.
The tenor in question is Jussi Bjoerling, one of the finest tenors since Caruso, equalled only by Pavarotti. Here he is singing Bizet’s duet, with Robert Merrill, in that famous recording my mother loved so much.
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Guglielmo and Ferrando have been summoned to war, leaving their sweethearts, Fiordiligi and Dorabella, at home and prey to the machinations of the world weary cynic, Don Alfonso. Mayhem ensues. But here, at this moment of innocence, the three of them stand and watch them sail away, across the Bay of Naples.
‘May the winds be gentle, and the waves be calm, and every element respond sweetly to our desires.’
The most sublime trio in all opera.
Lisa della Casa, Christa Ludwig and Paul Schoeffler.
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This charming and heart-lifting moment from the second act of Richard Strauss’s opera ‘Der Rosenkavalier’. The young noble, Octavian, is despatched to present a silver rose to Sophie, on behalf of the man she is betrothed to, but never seen. Sophie is sixteen, pretty, innocent and just out of convent school. She is to marry the noble, but boorish, Baron Ochs, whose fortune will save her family.
Octavian arrives to great fanfare and presents the silver rose, with due formality. Sophie takes it, and overwhelmed by the solemnity of the occasion and the beauty of the ceremony, is unable to conceal her emotions. They are heavenly, not earthly roses. Roses from Paradise. A greeting from Heaven. When has she ever been so happy. Octavian is bewitched. He hardly knows himself. It is a moment neither will forget till they die.
Strauss plays the innocence and beauty for all its worth in a duet of sublime beauty. Sophie captures it - ‘for this is time and eternity in one blessed moment’.
The moment passes and Sophie chatters on, like the child she is. Octavian can’t take his eyes off her.
Teresa Stich Randall is Sophie, Christa Ludwig Octavian.
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Posted in Classical, Opera on Mar 28th, 2009 No Comments »
Monteverdi’s last opera, written when he was 75, is a celebration of illicit love. The final duet between Nero and Poppea as they find each other.
‘Just to look at you, to rejoice in you, just to hold you, to be joined to you. No more can I suffer, no longer can I die. O my life, my treasure.’
It is reticent and understated, as if discovering each other by faltering steps, each transfigured by the other’s gaze.
This is Magda Lazslo and Richard Lewis.
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Posted in Classical, Opera on Mar 19th, 2009 No Comments »
This is one of the most haunting arias in all opera. I cannot understand why it is not more popular. It is from Die tote Stadt (The Dead City) by Erich Korngold. Korngold was one of the greatest of all Hollywood film composers - and one of the most underrated classical composers. This opera, written when he was a very young man, before he left for Hollywood, is about the city of Bruges, in Belgium. A city of grim churches, dark canals, decaying houses - all of which mirror the state of mind of the hero, Paul, mourning the death of his young wife. He meets Marietta, a dancer from Lille, who reminds him of his dead wife. She sings this song to him. Its words are trivial.
‘Joy sent me from above, hold me close my faithful love. In the darkness of the end of day you will light my way. Fear trembles in our hearts - hope rises up to heaven.’
Marietta leaves. Paul, now obsessed with her, stalks her through the night, watches her as she laughs and sings with the dancing troupe she belongs to. He becomes outraged by what he sees as her mockery of religion and the hope of the afterlife in which he might be reunited with his dead wife. Marietta, piqued by his obsession with his dead wife, tries to seduce him. Next morning, she is there at his house. She mocks him and the religous procession passing by below. She snears at the portrait of his dead wife, takes the braid of the dead wife’s hair and dances with it. Paul enraged strangles her.
But he doesn’t. It’s a dream, a vision. He is alone. The braid of hair is still where it was. Then Marietta knocks and comes in brightly. She has forgotten her umbrella and flowers. She smiles at him, shrugs her shoulders at his indifference and leaves. But she has brought him back from the land of the dead to the living. Paul is now reconciled to his wife’s death. He sings Marietta’s silly song. He can begin again
Here is the version from the first act, as Marietta sings it. This is Carol Neblett, with Rene Kollo as Paul. The end, where they duet, is immensely touching. Then she flies of.
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Dido’s great lament, her farewell to life at the end of Purcell’s opera ‘Dido and Aeneas’. If you’re English, the melody is in the blood. Heard among the dead silent crowd at the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday, it is heartstopping.
‘When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast. Remember me! But ah! Forget my fate.’
‘Remember me!’ - the same note repeated, the voice forlorn, almost pleading, unsure she will be remembered at all. Cupids come to cover her.
This is Janet Baker, recorded in 1961 - never equalled.
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