An excellent cast headed by Franco Fagioli makes this concert version of Rinaldo at the Theater an der Wien unforgettable; Il Pomo d'Oro shine in the pit.
Since 2013 marks a Verdi anniversary, the Viennese have been treated to two new productions of Il trovatore: Philipp Stölzl’s pacey, offbeat deconstruction that will open in Berlin next week, and this Volksoper co-production with the Theater Bonn where the curtain goes down after every scene.
Vienna is a nostalgic town, and in few places is the past clung onto more tightly than at the State Opera, where a Tosca created for Renata Tebaldi has been pressed creakingly into service for over 55 years now.
Think of all the adjectives typically used to report on the best of female Wagner singing; add lyrical phrasing and imagine the absence of any shrillness, and you have come as close as possible to a description of the perfection that Nina Stemme achieved in her first Isolde for the Wiener Staatsoper.
You may not know too much about Berlin operetta, but even when you’re not a native German, chances are high that you know Berlin’s unofficial anthem “Berliner Luft”, or “Berlin Air”. Chances are that you can also sing and dance along to waltzes and non-military marches whose choruses go “Luft, Luft, Luft” or “mop, mop, mop”.
Il Trovatore has doggedly survived in opera’s hit charts despite dispensing generous quantities of hair-raising as well as eyebrow-raising content. Verdi’s music is intoxicating, of course, but there is something to this work that makes it accessible beyond reasoning.
Wagnerians who are unfamiliar with the subtle humour of German humourist Loriot might sneer at the mere thought of paying to hear a version of the tetralogy that is cut by about 80% of the total score, but this was not the case with the regular Viennese Ring-goers who filled this performance. And judging from the applause, it was a worthwhile experience for them as well as for Wagner rookies.
Love and death are the two basic ingredients of the standard opera plot, and the more tragedy involved from the first to the last, the more likely it is to spur composers to set it to magnificent music. Andrea Chénier is a textbook example of this although it is not anywhere near as popular as La traviata, Carmen or La bohème, and explicably so.
Under the headline “Why Lortzing?”, the evening’s programme lists 20 reasons by Lortzing biographer Jürgen Lodemann why this composer should not be forgotten, including the fact that Lortzing’s operas were the most-performed in Germany for about 150 years.
Goethe’s epistolary novel Die Leiden des jungen Werthers (“The Sorrows of Young Werther”) hit the 1774 zeitgeist not only because it brought back emotion to the rather sober Age of Enlightenment, but because the tragic title hero sports a multi-faceted character that lends itself to various interpretations and projections, therefore making it easy to feel sympathy or even partly identify with the
Béatrice et Bénédict is Hector Berlioz’s last work; he wrote it between 1860 and 1862 for the theatre that patron Edouard Bénazet had built in Baden-Baden, then Germany’s most chic health resort.
With the business situation in the recording industry being what it is, studio recordings of operas are more or less ruled out. The positive side of this is that the general public gets the chance to be part of concerts that are recorded and enjoy the tension such an event creates more often.
Those who attended Jonas Kaufmann’s Vienna Wagner debut and were wondering why his Parsifal was beautiful but rather underwhelming in volume, were given the answer on the stage of the Konzerthaus two days later, when he announced himself as “still ill after a severe cold”.
Die Csárdásfürstin is set at the beginning of World War I, a time of uncertainty and fear, but also one where the ruling classes of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy were partying like there was no tomorrow.
The Theater an der Wien has a storied history with Fidelio, having hosted the première of the work’s first and second versions in 1805 and 1806 respectively.
Smetana wrote Prodaná nevěsta (“The Bartered Bride”) as a light Czech folk piece in a playful reply to critics who said that his music was too Wagnerian, or too German for that matter – something not compatible with the growing Czech national consciousness in the period he composed it (1863–66), even though he only showed mild interest in the Czech cause.
In times where musical luxury is sometimes associated with having a pop star perform a short “Happy Birthday” and a handful of songs in a private performance – and for a usually undisclosed (and indecent) fee, having a whole piece of music composed for an occasion, or organising a private performance by a famous orchestra, is almost unimaginable.
When Jean-Christophe Spinosi stepped onto the podium to conduct Le Comte Ory that night, he didn’t wait for his applause to cease, but instantly cued a hearty forte from the Ensemble Matheus, and consequently a few incredulous looks from the audience.
What has made Rossini and his librettist Jacopo Ferretti’s take on Cinderella survive on the opera stage for almost 200 years now is not only the universal archetype of the downtrodden girl who is redeemed by Prince Charming, nor its enchanting music: the absence of fairy-tale symbols like the pumpkin carriage and the glass shoe (barefoot ladies would have been too outrageous a sight on an Italian
When the Theater an der Wien’s in-house magazine featured an article about costumes created by none other than Christian Lacroix for this new production of Radamisto, I was intrigued by the pictures, but also a bit nonplussed by the idea that his gowns had been hand-painted in order to illustrate the different levels of Radamisto’s nightmare.
