vilaine fille

Weekend opera webcasts

Mes petits lapins, the pickings are relatively slim right now, but check Operacast.com frequently for updates and full broadcast details. Here are a few webcasts that jingle vilaine fille's bells:

Vivaldi's La fida ninfa from Paris with a cast of superb early music stylists (Cangemi, Panzarella, Jaroussky, Regazzo).

Studio recordings of Haydn's Orfeo ed Euridice (Bartoli, d'Arcangelo); Massenet's Esclarmonde (Sutherland, Bonynge); and Rossini's Mosè in Egitto (Raimondi, Scimone).

A London recital by Iain Bostridge of Heine settings by Robert Schumann.

Henze's The Bassarids.

Janacek's Jenufa from the Prague National Theatre, led by Pavel Vanek; Lortzing's Undine with a wonderful old-time cast (Gedda, Prey, Frick et al.); and Smetana's Libuse.

Coming up next week is Wagner's Ring from the Netherlands Opera, in what apparently will be an ear-opening interpretation. (By the way, the Netherlands Opera is translating and reprinting one of my program essays. Isn't that cool?)

Buon ascolto a tutti ! *smooch*

Ariadne

The Met season is off to a very promising start: First that fabulous Falstaff, and now a remarkable performance of Strauss's Ariadne auf Naxos, whose mini-run wraps up on 11 October.

From Newsday, a review of Ariadne auf Naxos by vilaine fille alter ego Marion Lignana Rosenberg.

While James Levine's Ariadne, at its best, is a lifetime's musical highlight, his tempos of late have been exasperatingly pokey even in this urbane score. Thus, I was grateful to hear a new maestro's take on Ariadne. And Deborah Voigt: I adore her, but she's so gentle and ladylike. Violeta Urmana can't soar or linger at the high climaxes the way Voigt can, but her Ariadne has a down-and-dirty, princess-gone-bad wildness and devouring hunger that I find both thrilling and apt. Ariadne, after all, is the daughter of Pasiphaë, the sister of Phaedra, the half-sister of the Minotaur—in short, an eminently f*cked-up girl. She takes up with Dionysus, born of his father's loins when his mother was burnt to a crisp.

Any way you look at it, Ariadne and Bacchus are the baddest of bad-ass seed. They need danger… lunacy… lust!

Jon Villars was not in easy voice at the Ariadne prima, but—yowza!—did he look hot in his cape and thigh-high black boots. This was the first Ariadne I've seen where the stage (and not just the orchestra) really oozed sex at the opera's culmination.

And, yes, Diana Damrau was a super-fantastic Zerbinetta (chapeau to my idol, Manolo).

There are only four more performances of Ariadne. If you're within striking distance of New York, go.

Falstaff

A confession: No opera reduces me to tears more readily than Falstaff. Falstaff, a comic opera! The fact that it was Verdi's last work for the stage explains in part my response. Though he had been grumbling about his supposed decrepitude since the 1880s, Verdi was saddened to bid farewell to the theatre. Gruff and laconic as he was, he opened his heart to Emma Zilli, the first Alice Ford, some months after Falstaff's premiere.

Do you remember the third Falstaff?!!! I took my leave of you all; and you were all somewhat moved, especially you and Pasqua. Imagine what my greeting implied, since it meant: "We will never meet again as artists!!" It is true that we saw each other after that, in Milan, in Genoa, in Rome; but memory carried us back always to that third evening, which meant: Everything is finished! Lucky you who still have such a long career ahead.

Verdi confessed to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, that he could hardly bear to think back on the premiere and the period leading up to it:

Otherwise, I will fly to Milan in a balloon to beg my dear Merry Wives and Big Belly and the Men to start rehearsing again!! It was just exactly two months ago today, the third, that we had the first rehearsal!!! Everything ends!! Alas, alas! too sad!! This thought is too sad!! It is all Big Belly's fault. What madmen!! Everyone… He, You, You, You, You. Everything on earth is a joke.

Mary Jane Phillips-Matz, in her magnificent biography of Verdi, describes the night of Falstaff's premiere.

When [Verdi, Verdi's wife Strepponi, and librettist Arrigo Boito] got to the Grand Hôtel de Milan, they were greeted by the same pandemonium that had reigned after Otello. Dignitaries waited inside the lobby; the flower-decked salon of the composer's suite was decorated with a bronze wreath, a gift of [the hotel's owner] Spatz, who had had many of its leaves engraved with the names of Verdi's operas but had left some of them blank!

…An unidentified writer who was with [the party] reported that the composer was "happy and satisfied: his beautiful face was bright with a smile. Verdi gladly received the congratulations of his friends, and did not forget anyone who was there…" Nowhere is there a hint that the composer ever showed fatigue or exasperation during the taxing month before the Falstaff première. Indeed, several men of science published articles on his extraordinary physical strength, energy, and soundness of mind.

Still, despite Verdi's vigor, despite his having created in Falstaff "a new art, music, and poetry" (as Peppina wrote), "an extremely new art form" (in Boito's words), everything really was finished.

I hear time's dreadful march in every measure of this swiftest of operas: in the gossamer of Nanetta and Fenton's love music; in the luxuriant (but oh-so-fleeting) sensuality of Falstaff's "Ber del vino dolce e sbottonarsi al sole"; even in "Quand'ero paggio"—blithe and tripping, but evoking a slip of a boy whose "green April" and "glad May" will never return. Julian Budden writes that much of Falstaff is "instinct with… lacrimae rerum" and an "underlying melancholy."

And the fugue! That triumphant joke at the expense of the conservatory professors and "quartettists" who had heaped scorn on Verdi's abilities; that wrenching suspension, dreadful pause, and dizzying look into the abyss—"Tutti gabbati!" ("We all play the fools!")—before the laughter returns and merry brass flourishes bring to an end the operatic career of this most humane and great-hearted artist.

Budden closes his three-volume study of Verdi's operas thus:

By his eightieth year [Verdi] knew that nothing in this world can be taken for granted and that "Man is born to be made a fool of." That he was no mere destructive cynic; that, if no orthodox Christian, he thought seriously on first and last things we know from the Requiem and the Quattro Pezzi Sacri that were his last compositions; but the final message of the secular Verdi is one of tolerance, comprehension and humour. If we cannot all agree we can at least laugh with each other and at ourselves. It is a message of hope.

The Met's revival of Falstaff is one of the finest performances I have seen in three decades of opera-going, and I commend it to all within striking distance of New York. From Newsday, a review of the Met's Falstaff by vilaine fille alter ego Marion Lignana Rosenberg.

My favorite recordings of Falstaff are the Sony (CD) and Euroarts (DVD) sets led by Riccardo Muti. (I also love the Karajan set starring the incomparable Giuseppe Taddei. Some complain that it is wan and "Germanic" [whatever that means], but I find it wonderfully mellow and wise.)

Now let us bow our heads in reverence and remember Victor Maurel, who created the role of Falstaff under Verdi and was also the Met's first plump Jack. When Maurel recorded "Quand'ero paggio" in 1907, he brought along his own claque. (I mean, don't you just love this guy?) The claque demanded not only a bis but a tris—en français, bien sûr !

Maurel was vain, arrogant, greedy, and by all accounts one of the most arresting operatic artists of his age. He created Simon Boccanegra (in the revised version), Iago, and Falstaff for Verdi; Tonio in Pagliacci for Leoncavallo (who wrote the famous Prologue at Maurel's request); and many other roles. George Bernard Shaw noted of Maurel's Mephistophélès in Gounod's Faust:

He challenges criticism as a creative artist, not as a mere opera singer. In doing so he at once rouses antagonisms from which his brother artists are quite exempt, since his view of the characters he represents may conflict with that of his critics—a risk obviously not run by eminent baritones who have no views at all.

Verdi especially admired Maurel's beautiful enunciation.

In the last decade of his long and fruitful life, Verdi might have claimed as his own one of Sir John's most exultant lines: "A good wit will make use of anything; I will turn diseases to commodity." Boito felt that his own finest work was "the voluntary servitude [he] consecrated to that just, most noble, and truly great man." He wrote to a friend: "To be the faithful servant of Verdi, and of that other, born on the Avon—I ask no more." How nobly Verdi, Boito, and Shakespeare are served in the Met's Falstaff! Quick, book your tickets now.

Pensée du dimanche 25 septembre (Aspetto Bart[o]li)

Farà piacere un bel mazzo di rose
e anche il rumore che fa il cellophane,
ma un birra fa gola di più
in questo giorno appiccicoso di caucciù.
Sono seduto in cima a un paracarro
e sto pensando agli affari miei.
Tra una moto e l'altra c'è un silenzio
che descriverti non saprei.

Oh, quanta strada nei miei sandali—
quanta ne avrà fatta Bart(o)li.
Quel naso triste come una salita,
quegli occhi allegri da italiano in gita…
E i francesi ci rispettano
che le balle ancora gli girano.
E tu mi fai, dobbiamo andare al cine—
e vai al cine, vacci tu !

È tutto un complesso di cose
che fa sì che io mi fermi qui.
Le donne a volte sì sono scontrose,
o forse han voglia di far la pipì.
E tramonta questo giorno in arancione
e si gonfia di ricordi che non sai.
Mi piace restar qui sullo stradone
impolverato, se tu vuoi andare, vai !

E vai che io sto qui e aspetto Bart(o)li,
scalpitando sui miei sandali…
da quella curva spunterà,
quel naso triste da italiano allegro.
Tra i francesi che si incazzano,
e i giornali che svolazzano,
c'è un po' di vento, abbaia la campagna,
e c'è una luna in fondo al blù…

Tra i francesi che si incazzano
e i giornali che svolazzano
e tu mi fai, dobbiamo andare al cine—
e vai al cine, vacci tu !
—Paolo Conte, "Bartali"

[A nice bouquet of roses will be welcome, and even the sound of cellophane, but a beer is more appetizing on this sticky rubber day. I'm sitting on top of a curbstone, minding my own business. Between one motorbike and the next, there's a silence that I can't even describe to you. Oh, how far my sandals have traveled, as far as Bartali has gone. That nose as sad as a steep ascent, those laughing eyes of an Italian on holiday… And the French respect us, because their balls are still spinning. And you say—We have to go to the movies. Well, go to the movies, go yourself! There's a whole series of reasons why I've stopped here. Women can sometimes be standoffish, or maybe they just have to pee. And the sunset is orange and swollen with memories you're not aware of. I like it here on the dusty main road. If you want to go, go! Go, because I'm staying here to wait for Bartali, shuffling my feet on the ground. He'll appear from 'round the bend, (with) that sad nose of a happy Italian. Between the ticked-off French and the fluttering newspapers, there's a bit of wind, the countryside is howling, and a moon shines in the depths of the blue. Between the ticked-off French and the fluttering newspapers, you say—We have to go to the movies. Well, go to the movies, go yourself!]

[Gino "Ginettaccio" Bartali was one of the twentieth century's great cyclists. According to this article, Bartali and the Maestro met in 1997, whereupon Bartali remarked: "Listen, Conte, I like the song, but Jannacci sings it better. And then, I must say, there's one verse that ticks me off. What's all this about 'a nose as sad as a steep ascent?' My nose is okay, but you—have you ever seen that schnoz of yours?"]

[Cecilia "Ceciliona" Bartoli tours North America starting this week. For dates and venues, visit this page and scroll down.]

Breaking news

I know this has been making the rounds, but it's too funny not to post.

President Bush Sells Louisiana Back to the French

President Bush and a giddy Jacques Chirac shake hands on the deal.

BATON ROUGE, LA.—The White House announced today that President Bush has successfully sold the state of Louisiana back to the French at more than double its original selling price of $11,250,000.

"This is a bold step forward for America," said Bush. "And America will be stronger and better as a result. I stand here today in unity with French Prime Minister Jack Sharaq, who was so kind to accept my offer of Louisiana in exchange for 25 million dollars cash."

The state, ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, will cost hundreds of billions of dollars to rebuild.

"Jack understands full well that this one's a fixer-upper," said Bush. "He and the French people are quite prepared to pump out all that water and make Louisiana a decent place to live again. And they've got a lot of work to do. But Jack's assured me, if it's not right, they're going to fix it."

The move has been met with incredulity from the beleaguered residents of Louisiana.

"Shuba-pie!" said New Orleans resident Willis Babineaux. "Frafer-perly yum kom drabby sham!"*

* [I totally don't get this and pray it's not offensive.]

However, President Bush's decision has been widely lauded by Republicans.

"This is an unexpected but brilliant move by the President," said Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist. "Instead of spending billions and billions and billions of dollars rebuilding the state of Louisiana, we've just made 25 million dollars in pure profit."

"This is indeed a smart move," commented Fox News analyst Brit Hume. "Not only have we stopped the flooding in our own budget, we've made money on the deal. Plus, when the g-d-awful French are done fixing it up, we can easily invade and take it back again."

The money gained from "The Louisiana Refund" is expected to be immediately pumped into the rebuilding of Iraq.

P.S. Hey, maybe all we pinko fag-loving types can move to Louisiana, and Bill Clinton can be our President! Peace and prosperity—remember that?

P.P.S. Please visit ionarts for more blessed French-inspired vilénie, courtesy of brother Charles. (*bises*)

Weekend opera webcasts

Chéri(e)s, this weekend brings an embarrassment of riches. Please visit Operacast.com for full schedule details and updates.

Two offerings stand out for vilaine fille: from Covent Garden, Puccini's La fanciulla del West, starring Andrea Gruber, Pepito Cura, Mark Delavan, and (as Jake the minstrel) Jonathan Lemalu; and from Pesaro 2005, Rossini's Il barbiere di Siviglia, starring the great Juan Diego Flórez.

From the Maggio, Verdi's I Lombardi alla prima crociata, with Erwin Schrott as Pagano. (Come now, we all know that Pagano is the leading role in I Lombardi. E se non l'avessi detto, mi sarei fatta pestare… A proposito, G, proprio oggi ho intervistato una tua concittadina. Sai indovinare chi è?)

A repeat of Verdi's Un ballo in maschera from Covent Garden (Mattila, Álvarez, Hampson). I heard this some weeks ago: Mattila was overparted and largely incomprehensible, but I have never heard Marcelo Álvarez (whose charms generally escape me) sing with greater passion, bite, and finesse.

There's a classic studio Ballo, too (Price, Verrett, Bergonzi, Merrill), along with vintage sets of Donizetti's Lucia and Bizet's Carmen (both with Callas), Weber's Der Freischütz (Carlos Kleiber conducting), and Verdi's Rigoletto and Don Carlo (both led by Carlo Maria Giulini).

How about Rimsky-Korsakov's Le Coq d'or (from Moscow), Shostakovich's Moskva Cheremushki (the Chandos set), Hindemith's Mathis der Maler (Falk Struckmann in the title role), or Cherubini's Lo sposo di tre e marito di nessuno?

Jussi Björling fans won't want to miss his 1954 Stockholm performances of Mascagni's Cav and Leoncavallo's Pag.

There are repeats of Schreker's Die Gezeichneten from Salzburg and Meyerbeer's Les Huguenots (starring Annick Massis) from l'Opéra de Wallonie, both of which generated mucho buzz.

Finally, from Washington National Opera, Federico Moreno Torroba's Luisa Fernando with Plácido Domingo. Here's a treat for those of you who have toughed out this post to the end: Hop over to Laura P's Carlos Álvarez site and listen to him sing Torroba's gorgeous "Amor, vida de mi vida."

Happy listening! *smooch*

Mazel tov, maestra!

From Playbill Arts: Marin Alsop Wins MacArthur "Genius" Grant.

From mondo marion: My 2004 profile of Marin Alsop.

Woo-woo!

P.S. If I can score some Adderall, I might be able to post about the Met's opening night. Verdict: Someone wake me when they do L'Amour de loin, or Le Comte Ory, or anything but the same old cr*p… *yawn*

Pensée du dimanche 18 septembre

Be mindful, my Lady, of that which I think there is no need to teach you:

Time takes and gives back all things; everything changes, nothing is destroyed; and there is one alone who is immutable, one alone who is eternal, and can endure for all eternity one, the same, and identical.

With this philosophy my soul is magnified, and my intellect is exalted. Nevertheless, whatsoever be the end of this evening I await, if the transformation holds true, I who am now in the night await the day; and those who are in the day, await the night: all that exists, exists either here or there, near or far, sooner or later, now or hereafter. Be glad, then, and if you can, be well, and love him who loves you.
—Giordano Bruno, dedicatory letter to Il candelaio

[Italian text here. Sorry for the delay in posting this: Connectivity issues over the weekend.]

Weekend opera webcasts

Mes petits lapins, hop on over to Operacast.com for additional listings and full broadcast details. Here are a few webcasts that tickle vilaine fille's fancy:

Two by Britten: From Edinburgh, the church parable Curlew River (which received brilliant reviews); and from Washington National Opera, Billy Budd with Samuel Ramey as John Claggart.

Three by Verdi: Jérusalem, a relative rarity; a 1939 La traviata featuring Jussi Björling as Alfredo; and Claudio Abbado's peerless recording of Macbeth, starring the late Piero Cappuccilli.

Several early operas, somewhat to exceedingly rare: Cavalli's La Calisto; Scarlatti's Telemaco; Cimarosa's Il pittor parigino; and a "recréation en première mondiale" of Callirhoé by André-Cardinal Destouches.

A repeat of Wagner's Die Walküre from the Proms (Domingo, Meier, Terfel).

Meyerbeer's Margherita d'Anjou featuring three vilaine fille coqueluches: Annick Massis, Daniela Barcellona, and Alistair Miles.

Happy listening! *bises*

Opera Today

Opera Today has long been one of vilaine fille's favorite sites. This portal for "opera news, commentary, and reviews from around the world" has a handsome new look and lots of mouth-watering new content. Mazel tov to all responsible. Now hurry on over there!