I HEAR VOICES

When one hears the name “Gluck”, one usually thinks of two words. “Reform” is the first, and I am afraid that “boring” is the second. Yes, in order to make it possible for the audience to follow all the nuances in delivery of the text by his singers, this German composer tended to a certain regularity of pace that requires from the audience shifting to “Gluck mode” before the show begins. Yet the good news are that there is plenty to enjoy once you’re in the right state of mind. There’s even variety and intensity, but you have to go beyond the “stateliness” screen that envelopes works like Orfeo ed Euridice. This is, however, not easy as it seems, for the stateliness sounds at first misleadingly right for this music. Last time I saw Orfeo ed Euridice, conductor Gianluca Capuano made me realize that there’s lot of room for spicing it up to true theatrical effectiveness.

This is why I had to make an extra effort this afternoon in the reprise of Tokyo’s New National Theatre 2022 production by Saburo Teshigawara, when the work was performed in its full marmoreal dignity. Under Ryuichiro Sonoda, the Tokyo Philharmonic orchestra, in spite of wayward trombones, played with enough clarity and balance always within the frame of elegance and poise. Even the furies sounded well possessed, the demisemiquavers representing the howling Ceberus reduced to harmless yipping. That said, Mr. Sonoda faced a thankless task in adjusting the orchestra to soloists aptly cast in terms of style albeit in a hall too large for their voices (and definitely larger than everything Gluck ever saw in the 18th century), a challenge he managed well in terms of keeping the orchestra just loud enough not to overshadow his cast.

Mr. Teshigawara is not without blame. If he succeeded in offering something visually striking and low-budget, the open sets are a no-no in this repertoire, especially when you have nobody like Shirley Verrett or Anna Moffo as Orfeo and Euridice on the billboard. Singers were kept mostly upstage without any stage walls, backdrops or ceiling flat, their voices a bit lost in the scenic space and coming across rather pale. It also reinforced the idea of stateliness in its non-narrative approach, the furies and the blessed spirits were shown basically like static choristers in black, the Personenregie limited to carefully devised stock gestures, often blending with Rihoko Sato’s aptly athletic choreography.

Sara Mingardo deployed her warm and fleecy contralto with utmost sensitivity, understanding of classical style and musicianship in the part of Orfeo. In a hall more adequate to this repertoire, her subtle shading and tone coloring would have been more clearly perceived by the public. Nonetheless, she found a right compromise between projection and purity of line even in those unfavorable circumstances. Benedetta Torre is probably the most spirited Euridice I have ever heard, using far more color and contrast between registers in a performance of remarkable imagination. Billed as a mezzo soprano, Yuki Sugiyama (Amore) sounded rather like a lyric soprano not entirely at ease with her high notes. Yet the tonal quality is very appealing, especially in the middle, and she sang, acted and danced with great charm.

It is always a bit tricky to speak of editions in Orfeo ed Euridice, but I would say that we heard the original Vienna score with tiny differences here and there, most notably in the end of act 1. I have also never heard the closing of Che farò senza Euridice? as sung this afternoon.

Considering the number of recordings and the list of famous singers who have appeared in the title role, one would assume that Rodelinda ranks among Handel’s best operas along with Giulio Cesare, Alcina, Orlando and maybe Ariodante. I consider myself a great admirer of Handel’s works for the theatre and Rodelinda (Nicholas Kraemer’s CDs) was one of my first Handel opera recordings, but I won’t lie: I have never really liked it. I did try with every recording and broadcast, and still find that Handel was not at his most inspired, many numbers falling short of the emotional demands of the libretto (especially the duet Io t’abbraccio). Of course, it has its moments – usually the simpler song-like arias such as Dove sei, amato bene, Ritorna, o caro and Pastorello d’un povero armento. And yet they remain scattered among stretches rather lackadaisical and formulaic. Maybe this explains why this is the first time I have actually seen a complete performance of Rodelinda live in the theatre. I had made an attempt not long ago, but left at the intermission out of complete boredom.

It is not my first time at the Hokutopia Music Festival, though. Twelve years ago, I had the opportunity to see their concert with Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro, and found it revelatory in some aspects. So why not check what conductor Ryo Terakado and his musicians could do to Rodelinda? If I still wonder what someone like Marc Minkowski or René Jacobs would endeavor to spice things up in a score that often goes dangerously close to the uneventful, Mr. Terakado has done a very praiseworthy job at showing it at its most pleasant and charming, at moments even affecting. His ensemble Les Boréades played with a warm glow in their sound, in tempi just a tad on the safe side. The edition performed this afternoon was rather generous, although some of the numbers shorn of their B section were among those I favor (especially Rodelinda’s final aria, Mio caro bene).

As with the Figaro, Rodelinda was shown semi-staged in a concept created by director Shuji Onodera. There were three small platforms in front of the orchestra and a larger one, catwalk-style, behind it with no props or furniture. Video projections either showed us where the characters were or just enhanced the action with comments or graphic patterns. Two dancers doubled as stagehand, often interacting with singers a bit like in David McVicar’s Bollywood Giulio Cesare from Glyndebourne. Mr. Onodera is not the first director that finds an eight-minute-long ABA aria too long, making singers move a lot and interact with silent members of the cast while singing. That said, he and his singers managed to do it more efficiently than usual, the action coherent to the text and the dramatic situation, fortunately with very little resource to comic relief, but not immune to the occasional cuteness.

In an interview in an intermission feature of a telecast from the Met, Renée Fleming said that what makes the title role so interesting for a performer is the fact that Rodelinda is not a damsel-in-distress, but rather a woman with some experience, a mother having to survive in difficult circumstances relying on her own intelligence rather than a hero or a saviour to go through with her business. In other words, she is relatable. It has indeed been a vehicle for divas such as Joan Sutherland and Anna Caterina Antonacci, and yet some singers rather on the seconda donna group have tried it too, most notably Danielle DeNiese in the video from Vienna under Nikolaus Harnoncourt. Handel wrote it for Francesca Cuzzoni, then praised by the touching and expressive quality of her singing (and technical finesse, of course). With that in mind, the casting of Roberta Mameli as Rodelinda was fortunate. Even if the part ideally requires someone with a richer middle register (and maybe freer high notes), Ms. Mameli is musicality itself and manages her resources in a way that is both efficient and natural. With the help of very pure pianissimo, a tad pop in slight breathiness, she offered unaffected and moving accounts of lamenti like Ho perduto il caro sposo and Ombre, piante, while managing the most formidable numbers such as Morrai, sì and L’empio rigor del fato by virtue of expert inflection and crispy and idiomatic delivery of the Italian text. In terms of characterization, her Rodelinda is probably the most fun I have ever seen in the role. That woman might be living her annus horribilis, but she won’t play the victim to anyone.

The part of Bertarido seems to be a chasse gardée of countertenors, who can sound themselves a bit out of sorts around the break in key moments. Clint van der Linde, for instance, took a while to warm. In his arie d’affetto, there were moments of dubious intonation and puffy tone, and yet he rose the challenge of his arie di bravura in the grand manner, offering very exciting coloratura and surprising volume. I can’t recall a better performance of Io t’abbraccio, when both he and Ms. Mameli managed to produce admirable Innigkeit and some exciting intervals. As his rival Grimoaldo, Nicholas Scott brought to the game a tenor richer than one usually finds in this repertoire. In passagework, the tone acquires sounds a tad grainy and nasal (not unlike Adrian Thompson’s in the above-mentioned Nicholas Kraemer recording), but this is just an observation in a solid, classy performance. With her firm-toned mezzo and solid, dark low notes, Maria Koshiishi left nothing to be desired as Eduige, singing with sense of style, clear divisions and enough glamour. Toshiharu Nakajima was a far more positive Unulfo than what one usually hears in the theatre and seemed to be having the time of his life dealing with fioriture, never failing to get an extra amount of applause from the audience. Last but not least, Daisuke Oyama had the right voice and attitude for the part of Garibaldo, but seemed to be battling an incipient flu or something like this.

Bach Collegium Japan is celebrating its 35th anniversary, and it seems that there has never been a dull moment in their story. Although it is not the first non-European ensemble to inscribe its name in the history of performances of the music by Johann Sebastian Bach (there is Joshua Rifkin’s Bach Ensemble from the US, to start with), the BCJ has developed from something of a curiosity from the Far East into a reference in this repertoire, their recordings universally praised and their concerts welcome by audiences in Japan and elsewhere. The reason for its enduring success has probably less to do with the consolidation of their reputation but rather with Masaaki Suzuki’s (later joined by his son Masato Suzuki) undying commitment to perfecting his views and the execution of Bach’s music. I saw concerts with the BCJ ten years ago, and I must say that the comparison with those in the current season only proves that the sky is the limit when one has enough curiosity, endeavor (and discipline, of course).

When I last heard the Christmas Oratorio (with the J.S. Bach-Stiftung, St. Gallen, in Luzern) last year, I wrote that I find it the trickiest among Bach’s large choral works: it is long, it is less coherent and it requires a celebratory spirit hard to keep up for two and a half hours. What Masaaki Suzuki offered this afternoon cannot be praised enough. Not only did he manage to make light of all these challenges, but he also found a way of reconciling qualities not always found at once. This afternoon, the six cantatas sounded poised AND animated, sprightly AND fluid, expressive AND never self-indulgent. I often write about balance when the subject is Bach, and today the audience was shown an ideal example of balance in many levels. To start with, every voice in the four-per-part chorus was so perfectly matched to each other that you could hear every subject in imitative writing bouncing left to right and back as graphically as in the score. Then, the orchestra wrapped the choral (and solo voices) in perfect dialogue, every combination of colors ideally rendered and without any loss of the overall effect. The brass offered a tour de force, with above-standard trumpet playing and really commendable French horns. Bravi.

Korean countertenor Minho Jeong proved to have enough velvet in his voice for arias like Schlafe, mein Liebster and Schließe, mein Herze, Makoto Sakurada, in great voice, glided through passagework with absolute clarity and treated his last aria with the right amount of gutsiness, and Christian Immler sang with admirable flexibility and energy. If Hana Blazikova offered boy-soprano-ish purity of tone and unfailing sense of style, her middle register lacked tone, what made moments like Nur ein Wink von seinen Händen a tad underwhelming.

Mr. Suzuki had an extra Christmas gift for the audience, playing on the organ the recently discovered chaconnes BWV 1178 and 1179 on the organ, with colorful registration and flair.

With its naturalistic plot and gloomy atmosphere, Alban Berg’s Wozzeck is usually staged in greyscale. This is why the strong colors and bright lighting in Richard Jones’s production for the New National Theatre caught the audience by surprise. The main character is shown in yellow, the higher-ranked officers wear bright red, there is a splash of hygge in the blondwood interiors, warmly lit and decorated with vintage furniture, where characters act in an almost subduedly chummy manner. So where’s the oppression and the depression? The desperation and the destitution? For 21st century’s sensibilities, no tragedy is so devastating as a personal tragedy, no outside event is so relevant as what happens in one’s own world, nothing is more real as what takes place in one’s mind. The social drama that informed the creation of Georg Büchner’s play Woyzeck maybe seems a bit outmoded for the public in the opera house, arguably readier to sympathize with the predicament of an individual out of touch with a reality where he does not fit in. Anyway, as shown here, Wozzeck’s alienation and Marie’s hopelessness veer a bit towards feelings usually considered bourgeois: boredom and indifference. If the concept ultimately comes across as inconsistent, the stage direction itself is efficient and coherent, everyone on stage comfortable with what they have to do and convincing.

On the other hand, Kazushi Ono’s take on this tricky score does not tone down at all the edge of Alban Berg’s music. This was very much an orchestra-centered performance, all singers having to work hard for their money, and the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony offering nervous, muscular sonorities within the context of absolute structural transparence. Ideally, to produce the desired effect, a higher-octane group of singers would be necessary, but there is no criticism here of the singers themselves, who offered commendable performances across the board. Replacing Thomas Johannes Mayer in the last minute, Japanese baritone Toshiaki Komada deserves praise, first of all for the intrepidity. It is a role challenging in many ways, especially for someone who is not a native speaker of the German language. Mr. Komada, nonetheless, delivered his text in fluent German and very clear diction. Moreover, his handling of the Sprechgesang was natural, rightly poised between keeping a musical line and giving individual words its discursive quality. If his voice is a tad soft-centered for the part (and he could be overshadow by the orchestra in his middle register), the tonal quality is pleasant, velvety and dark, and he shades it expertly and intelligently. Irish soprano Jennifer Davis tended more to the cantabile as Marie, her very rich sound making it sometimes difficult to understand the text when things got high and fast. She showed unusual command in all her registers, producing big, firm and full acuti, a focused middle register and really solid low notes. I have very positive memories of Arnold Bezuyen as Loge in Bayreuth some years ago and was glad to hear him as the Captain this evening, the tone still firm and penetrating, the text crispy and incisive. Hidekazu Tsumaya has a long experience with bass character roles in the New National Theatre, and offered an all-round convincing performance as the doctor. John Daszak’s tenor in the part of the Tambourmajor had enough contrast to Mr. Bezuyen’s and he acted famously too. Tatsundo Ito too deserves praise for sustaining the impossibly high tessitura for the role of Andres

Although Richard Strauss was Bavarian, many associate his name with Vienna, and this is not because they mistake him for Johann Strauss, but because of his connection with the Vienna State Opera (where Die Frau ohne Schatten had its première) and by the fact that the Austrian capital city is the setting for the libretti to Ariadne auf Naxos, Arabella, Intermezzo and Der Rosenkavalier. For many, this is the most Viennese of all operas, and curiously one I have never seen in Vienna. This is why I couldn’t miss the opportunity to check the Otto Schenk production (as seen in the video with Anne Sofie von Otter and Carlos Kleiber) live in the State Opera’s visit to Tokyo. To be honest, it is not a staging I am particularly fond of, and act 2 looked far less striking in the simplified sets on the stage of the Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, and yet it has been framed so many important Straussian performances that it has acquired some a historic status itself. As with many old productions, the director’s ideas are nothing but guidelines at this point, members of the ensemble have been adding their own personal touches year after year and, in the end, everything feels really mannered.

On the musical side, this performance has offered me the opportunity of hearing again a conductor and singers I had witnessed in different productions in theatres here and there. For instance, I saw Phillipe Jordan conduct Der Rosenkavalier 16 years ago (yes, Die Zeit, sie ist ein sonderbar Ding…) at the Berlin Staatsoper. Reading what I wrote back then, I have the impression that he has become since then a little disciplinarian with his beat, pressing forward his singers in an account of the score that tended to the objective, the orchestra a bit rough on the edges and no time for sentimentality. He remains consistent, though, in what regards clarity, even if I have heard the strings in the Vienna State Orchestra a tad more precise in articulation elsewhere. As much as in Berlin, the last 15 minutes of the opera proved to be truly effective, an exemplary crescendo in the final trio without any unnecessary rush building up to a powerful climax.

I had seen Camilla Nylund as the Marschallin only once in New York, and while it was a most satisfying take on the role, all can I say is that this evening was a surprising improvement in every aspect. First of all, she seemed more comfortable with the staging, looked really well in her costumes, oozed charisma eschewed any affectation and delivered the text with clear diction and great feeling. Even after heavy usage in Wagnerland, her soprano still sounds ultrasmooth in this part, her middle register warm and appealing. That said, her Marschallin is not all poise. In key moments, one can hear the character’s darker side in a more metallic, chesty tone that suggests a snarl behind the velvet. Her mezza voce seemed here more floating than at the Met six years ago too. As a matter of fact, I haven’t heard in a long while any other singer who had both launched the trio in ideally floated mezza voce and sustained the climax without any constriction or strain as she did this afternoon. Brava.

Samantha Hankey was the Octavian in the first run of Barrie Kosky’s new production from the Bavarian State Opera, which I saw at the time. If her mezzo is not ideally voluminous for a big hall such as the Bunka Kaikan, as much as in Munich she sang the part with admirable abandon, her voice homogenous and creamy throughout the range, and she knows the style to the manner born. She is also very convincing in trouser roles, and acted with enthusiasm. Katharina Corradi is not a Sophie for those who make a point of floated mezza voce in the delivery of the silver rose, yet she sings the part with commendable ease and naturalness, her high notes flashing in the auditorium, the text crispy and the phasing musicianly and intelligent. This is a difficult character to perform, and she manages to maker it vulnerable but not too vulnerable, with just the right amount of attitude to make her stand out from the wallpaper. Peter Rose was my first Ochs, ages ago at the Met with Angela Denoke and Susan Graham. I would see him many years later in Munich with Anja Harteros and Sophie Koch, and his portrait has become a tad heavily underlined with time. His extreme low notes are solid and true as always, yet the voice now sounds a bit clearer and lighter above. It is a part he knows from inside out, and he manages to fulfill all the requirements, even the trickiest ones, to satisfaction. Among the minor roles, I have to single out Regine Hangler as the best Marianne Leitmezerin (the duenna) I have ever seen live in the theatre in my hole life.

In their 8th concert in the series of chorale cantatas, the Bach Collegium Japan follows the presentation of works for the chorale cantata year (1724). When the congregation in Leipzig assembled on November, 19th (the 24th Sunday after Trinity) and heard, for the first time, the Cantata BWV 26, Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig (Ah, how fleeting, ah, how trifling), they did not need to think twice to understand what this music is about, as Bach’s descriptive genius was here at its most exuberant. In the opening chorus in chorale cantatas, we would expect to hear against the hymn sung by the sopranos complex imitation carried over by the remaining voices. However, in music meant to illustrate the fleeting nature of life in earth, the composer chose an entirely different structure. We have very busy parts for the orchestra – woodwinds vs. strings – in a strong contrast with the long lines of the cantus firmus, as the very image of an atemporal truth hovering over the hassles of daily life. And yet it is important to hear this truth, and that is why the remaining voices join together to call your attention to the text, almost as if they said “hey, listen, it’s important!”. In the ensuing aria for the tenor, So schnell ein rauschend Wasser schiesst, flute, violin and the tenor sing a moto perpetuo of passagework as the aural image of the flow of water that goes so fast that you barely notice. After a recitative in which the alto warns us that beauty, riches, all earthly things are annulled by death. Then the bass with not one, not two but three oboes, shows us what the alto is talking about in an aria that could have been copy-pasted from Handel’s Agrippina. A final recitative warns us again about how insignificant worldly affairs are before we hear the final chorale.

Rougly a month later, in the second day of Christmas (December, 26th), the parishioners in Leipzig would have the opportunity to discover the Cantata BWV 121. Christum wir sollen oben schon (We should already praise Christ). Its opening chorus must have felt a bit old-fashioned, in its complex polyphony. When the sopranos finally get to sing the chorale melody, the lower voices are already engaged in imitative writing under an undulating bass after the decoration of the theme. The movement in E minor goest steadily into its surprising conclusion in F sharp minor. Clarice Lispector famously starts her novel An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures with a comma and ends it with a colon, and I can’t help seeing that Bach here is showing us that the praise of Christ is something that we should be _already_ doing, something under way that will extend into dimensions still unknown to us at this point. The chorus is immediately followed by the tenor aria O du von Gott erhöhte Kreatur (O you, exalted creature of God) in which the oboe d’amore gives the singer a run for his money in florid writing. The melody flows back and forth between the two soloists in a symbiotic way, as something that they don’t need to share because it has always been theirs. The text says “don’t try to understand [how God will achieve the salvation of flesh through flesh], just marvel”. After the alto recitative in which God’s grace is described as so overwhelming that it cannot restrain itself to Heaven, the cantata goes further into feel-good atmosphere in the sprightly aria for the bass Johannis freudenvolles Springen (John’s joyful leaping). In the next and final recitative, the soprano goes high and low in her range to express the gratitude for Christ’s sacrifice before we hear the final chorale.

The Cantata BWV 139, Wohl dem, der sich auf seiner Gott (It is a happy person the one who can rely on God) was composed for the 23th Sunday after Trinity (November 14th, 1724). It is only faintly related to the sermon of the day (the episode in which Jesus says that it is fitting that things consecrated to Caesar should be returned to Caesar) and rather dwells on the fact that one must have blind faith in God even when everything turns against you. Although its opening chorus follows the patterns of the other items in this program, it feels different somehow in its reassuring atmospThhere, with lovely solos for the oboes d’amore, and a gentle counterpoint in which the hymn’s melody carried by the sopranos is imitated in diminution by the other voices. The following tenor aria, Gott ist mein Freund, was hilft das Toben (God is my friend, what use is the fury?), establishes a contrast in its animated, almost defiant atmosphere. The confidence in God is depicted in long regular lines, whereas the enemies’ fury gets the fioriture. In a recitative, the alto acknowledges that God does indeed sends those who believe in him to dangers, but he has also promised to protect them. In the next aria for the bass with a violin and the two oboes, Bach shows dangers from all sites by continuously shifting the tempo and using different musical material for each part. Before the final chorus, the soprano gets a recitative in which the Christian soul affirms to repay God’s protection with unwavering faith.

First performed on October 22nd (20th Sunday after Trinity), the Cantata BWV 180, Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele (Adorn thyself, dear soul) opens with a solemn chorus with two oboes and two recorders, in which the chorale melody (as usual, sung by the sopranos) is adorned by a bouncy figure in the orchestra, while the lower voices in the chorus fill the texture with their own material. The celebratory spirit is intensified in the tenor aria Ermuntre dich (Cheer up), with a graceful solo for the transversal flute and plenty of coloratura for the singer. The soprano sings then a recitative with a part for the violoncello piccolo to enhance direct quotation of the chorale. The text affirms that there is no comparison between the gifts from God and earthly riches. A second recitative, for alto with two recorders, sounds more intimate in nature in its acknowledgment of the fear inspired by the surpassing nature of God’s intelligence, which extend beyond the limits of reason, but within the compass of faith. The soprano is back for a aria with the full orchestra, Lebens Sonne, Licht der Sinnen (Sun of life, light of the senses), the dance-like character of which represents, as usual in Bach cantatas, the confidence inspired by faith. The text of the last recitative, for the bass voice, is a prayer before the final instance of the chorale.

Today was the first time I heard a concert in the Bach Collegium Japan’s Chorale Cantata Project at the Suntory Hall. Differently from the last event in Chofu, there was also a four-per-part chorus. Therefore, it is hard to be “scientific” with two variables at play, but I have to say that this was by far the best item since I’ve started to follow it last May. The blend between orchestra and chorus proved no less than ideal, with the perfect combination of warmth and clarity. As I have observed in his concert at the Kusunoki Hall last May, Masato Suzuki is a conductor a bit more exuberant than his father, offering this afternoon a lively concert with many a theatrical twist, like strategic unwritten pauses, dramatic accents and gutsy playing from his orchestra, led by a fautless Yukie Yamaguchi, faultless in her solo in the BWV 139. To be accurate, the program had two non-vocal items, two pieces for organ, BWV 644 and BWV 654, inspired by the choräle behind two of the cantatas in the program (BWV 26 and 180). It was endearing to hear Masato Suzuki at the organ, for I first saw him 17 years ago playing the organ in Kobe.

The BWV 139 opened with a smooth, considerate tempo, very warm in a J.S.Bach-Stiftung-ish manner, while Mr. Suzuki offered something entirely different for the BWV 26 in a brilliant execution of the opening chorale in a daringly fast tempo. After the intermission, the BWV 121’s old-style opening number seemed a tad less austere in its forward-moving pace. I was a bit surprised by the sprightly approach to the beautiful first movement of the BWV 180, which I am used to hear under a more serene light and sustained phrasing. No complaints here, it works well either way, provided there is true clarity of articulation, as heard this afternoon.

The lion’s share of the arias in these cantatas goes for the tenor and the bass I am always intrigued by Shimon Yoshida’s dark, a tad covered sound, rarely found in tenors in this repertoire. I am used to hear these cantatas with brighter-toned singers, and one could feel him a bit opaque in the higher reaches in Gott ist mein Freund (BWV 139). So schnell ein rauschend Wasser (BWV 26), on the other hand, proved particularly well suited for his voice, the melisme sung legato perfectly illustrative of the text, the shading effects and the voix mixte elegant and pleasing. Ermuntre dich (Bwv 180) showed him at his best, with the ideal balance between color and focus. I am curious to hear him in Mozart. Although all bass arias in this program are on the low side for Toru Kaku’s baritone, he managed the bottom notes accurately in pitch, while dazzling the audience with his precision in fast coloratura and very (really VERY) long breath. With her silvery soprano, Kristen Witmer handled recitatives with intelligent word pointing, while singing her aria in the BWV 180 nimbly, her voice really shining in the high notes. Countertenor Noriyuki Kubo sang his recitatives in a firm and clear voice. As usual in the BCJ’s concerts, the chorus, of which all soloists made part, offered ideally balanced and clear singing.

Since 1980, the Vienna State Opera has taken part in a series of tours to Tokyo, with performances at the Tokyo Bunka Kaikan (and sometimes elsewhere), in which the Japanese audience can have a taste of a night in the theatre at the Ringstrasse. In their first tour, Karl Böhm conducted Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro with Gundula Janowitz, Lucia Popp, Agnes Baltsa, Bernd Weikl, as one can see on video. Since then, the Vienna State Opera has presented the same title in 1994 (with Claudio Abbado), 2004 (with Seiji Ozawa), 2012 (with Peter Schneider) and 2016 (with Riccardo Muti), always in Jean-Pierre Ponnelle’s production. I did manage to see one of the performances in Yokohama in 2012, which felt a bit lackadaisical. It is only fitting that the Staatsoper show Tokyoites their new production, by Barrie Kosky, which I could see two years ago in Vienna. Back then, there were some cast changes, so Maria Bengtsson ended up replacing Hanna-Elisabeth Müller as the Countess and Isabela Signoret stood in for Patricia Nolz as Cherubino. It seems that I was meant to see the singers originally cast that evening in these roles, for here they were this afternoon. However, André Schuen and Ying Fang (who did show up for the performances in Vienna two years ago) cancelled this evening, being replaced by Davide Luciano and Katarina Conradi as the Count Almaviva and Susanna.

A great deal of the success of Le Nozze di Figaro depends on the singer cast as Susanna, even if her fiancé got to be named in the title of the opera (as much as in Beaumarchais’s play). Back in 2012, one could feel what a difference it makes. Although having a singer with good voice, technique and knowledge of Mozartian style is fundamental, the requirements go beyond that. It is essential that the Susanna master the art of the recitative, as she is behind most of the scheming going on during the whole opera, and one must know when she is lying, when she is being sincere, when she is happy, when she is unhappy, and that happens basically in the recitatives and ensembles in which she takes part. Her first aria is so busy with stage instructions that most members of the audience don’t even notice it is an aria at all, and the second one is short and sweet and almost in the end of the opera. If Ying Fang was a brilliant piece of casting in Vienna, I can’t say that Katharina Konradi had any trouble filling her shoes. First of all, her gently scintillating, silvery soprano projects superbly in the hall, and – barred some low notes – you can hear every little turn of phrase (and that is not as obvious as it sounds) and every little consonant in the text, which she delivers in impeccable Italian, great intelligence and absolute naturalness. She checked all the boxes of my personal wish list for the role and delivered a truly lovely Deh vieni, piquant, bell-toned and without the excessive lingering on notes that sometimes tamper with the sexy lilt Mozart devised for that very special moment. Brava. Davide Luciano shares with Ms. Konradi the mastery of the art of projection. His baritone has a most pleasant and natural sound and it just runs in the auditorium in every dynamic level. As much as in his Don Giovanni in Salzburg, he inhabited music and text as a second skin, singing with unfailing charm, even in the tricky stretta of his big aria, which he capped with a free, full high f sharp. I have the impression that Patricia Nolz was not in her best voice this afternoon, as I could not recognize in what I heard today the tangy, characterful mezzo from a performance of Mozart’s Mass KV 427 in Salzburg two months ago. Although she sang well, even when the conductor pressed hard as in Non so più, the tone seemed curiously indistinctive. As much as in Vienna, Riccardo Fassi brings a dark-hued bass to the game, non problematic and consistent throughout the whole rang, just a tad recessed in a theatre as big as the Bunka Kaikan. He is a naturally funny guy, and has the ideal personality and attitude for the role of Figaro.

Hanna-Elisabeth Müller is a singer I first saw as Zdenka in Munich 10 years ago. Back then, the voice had a bright, high-set sound, as one would hear in a couple of -ina roles. Six years later, in a concert with Richard Strauss’s Four Last Songs in Zurich , she produced an entirely different voice, consistent with what I heard today. Even if puffed up into a more “lyric” sound, her high notes remain firm and reliable (she sang all her high notes without ado in the trio with the Count and Susanna in act 2) and she can hold very long lines on the breath. Yet the tremulousness in the middle register and the so-so intonation made her Countess less Mozartian than one would wish for. In terms of acting, she has found a very effective angle to the role – her Rosina is through and through the bored, rich wife who wouldn’t miss an opportunity to strike back at the husband she still loves for reasons she herself is unaware of. In other words, for the moment, she still enjoys the unhealthy marital dynamics. Among the minor roles, Hyejin Han’s Barbarina caught my attention by the uncute take on Barbarina’s aria, albeit entirely within the limits of Mozartian style.

Back in Vienna, Philippe Jordan’s capitalized on the Vienna State Orchestra’s absolute facility in this repertoire, offering an unusually grand account of the score, fascinatingly old-fashioned yet surprisingly effective. Bertrand de Billy’s conducting proved to be more in keeping with what one expects from a Mozart performance these days, more vital in tempo, crispier in phrasing, but no less keen on showcasing the orchestra’s amazing clarity of articulation. Nay-sayers tend to consider Mozart’s music rather slim in texture, but I have the impression that they have never heard it in ideal conditions, with the orchestra truly in dialogue with singers, bringing far more complex layering than it takes credit for. Some moments this evening, one almost felt as if the VSO was the 12th character on stage. For instance, when Figaro (and later Susanna) discovers that Marcellina and Bartolo are his parents, you could hear by phrasing alone how the “orchestra” was alternately shocked and delighted by the delicious material for gossip unfurling right in front of them. Bravi.

In the current state of world affairs, it is normal to feel nostalgic about days with a more positive outlook, but if there is anything in the world where progress is undeniable, this is the performances of the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. I sincerely cannot imagine why anyone would want to hear today Bach as one finds in recordings with Klemperer, Jochum or Karajan. And this does not have necessarily to do with period instruments. I have listened to baroque music commendably performed by the Berlin Philharmonic, keeping in a way or another with the developments in the understanding of Bach’s music since the days of Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Gustav Leonhardt. And this is not only in Berlin, but in places as varied as São Paulo and Winterthur. This was probably the first time I hear it live so close as how one used to hear until the 1960’s: solemn tempi, sustained legato, huge chorus (there were probably more than 100 singers in the hall), a bass-heavy orchestra and a Romantic large-picture approach to interpretation. Fortunately, the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra under conductor Jonathan Nott played with great distinction, all instrumental solos nimbly executed, good balance between sections. Moreover, the large chorus – considering all limitations involving contrapuntal music with a large chorus – sang with enough clarity (albeit little textual crispness). I mean, if you are into archeology, this was probably a prime opportunity. If you are someone used to the kind of forces you’d find in a performance, say, in the Leipzig Bachfest *, you’d find it all hopelessly flat, layers and layers of meaning in terms of phrasing, accent, rhythm and tone coloring replaced by an austere sense of religiosity.

In the “good old days”, performances of Bach music involved vocal personalities (Gundula Janowitz, Fritz Wunderlich, Christa Ludwig, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau et al) to fill in the many blanks, and again this evening was more often than not satisfying in this department. Apart from the basses in charge of arias, this was a distinguished group of soloists who added some spice to the proceedings. Katharina Konradi sang the soprano solos with an ideal combination of tonal purity and perfect control of vibrato, her high notes free and clear, her middle register warm. Anna Lucia Richter offered a fascinating contrast between a voice of instrumental poise made even more attractive by a truly colorful low register and a more exuberant personality than you’d expect to find in a sacred piece, the remorse in Erbarme dich with a splash of the operatic in the emphasis in words like bitterlich. If Werner Güra tiptoed a bit in his high notes, I have rarely heard an Evangelist so spontaneous. This German tenor delivered his lines in almost pop-like directness and clarity. Sat (and set) apart from the other singers, as if he belonged to another world, Makoto Sakurada sang the tenor arias with his customary sense of style and clarity of phrasing, if a bit cautious in the extra challenge a “Romantic” symphonic orchestra brings. Michael Nagy’s Jesus sounded more commanding and varied than usual, his voice in great shape, clean in the higher reaches, rich the lower end of the range.

* In the 2025, the orchestra in the performance of the Johannes-Passion in this festival founded by the Neue Bach Gesellschaft was the La Cetra Barockorchester.

In the new production of R. Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier at the Opernhaus Zürich, director Lydia Steier and conductor Joana Mallwitz seem to have decided to free the Feldmatschallin, Sophie et al from their feel-good duties by showing Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s and Richard Strauss’s opera from an entirely new point of view, one that certainly does not seem to looking to please at all costs. 

Ms. Steier’s stagings have often involved decontextualizatiom, often by updating the action to American contexts made universal by way of cinema. But not here. In a highly stylized approach, with strong basic colors, geometrically designed costumes and a splash of commedia dell’arte in ensemble scenes, the approach seems at first quite traditional, albeit with an edge: the Marschallin makes no secret of what she’s doing in her room with Octavian in act one, Ochs is into s&m in act 3. Yet there is an angle, a subtle yet refreshing one, and still very much Viennese in the Freudian reference to “was will das Weib?” Here the Marschallin knows what she does not want, but she is tormented by the fact that she does not know what she wants. Sie weißt nix, gar nix. Then she hears about Sophie, sees herself in her and is surprised by the fact that the young woman actually  knows what she wants and acts accordingly. And here she does the act of generosity and transformation, which is central to the work of Hofmannsthal: she makes way for this new woman she herself could not be.

This naturally involves some twisting with the text. Sophie’s little-woman-ish lines are all said with air-inverted-commas, the Marschallin is far less poised than we are used to see and the whole neo rococo mumbo jumbo takes a secondary place. Nobody cares about the Italian tenor’s aria, Octavian arrives alone to deliver the silver rose, what he does evidently unwillingly. There is a development in act 3 that does look like an afterthought though: the policemen, the prostitutes, the band are not in period costumes, the beisl is decorated with huge photographs of women’s faces that gradually rotten and become skulls. As such the final trio is sung in a blood red set that looks like the those of a hard rock concert. And this takes us back to the public’s reaction. Although there was a single booer, I could overhear people here and there complaining that a real Rosenkavalier should look more pleasant. 

I had seen Joana Mallwitz conduct Der Rosenkavalier not long ago at the Lindenoper, and found it unclear and lacking atmosphere, but it seems that die Zeit, sie ist ein sonderbar Ding, because what she offered this evening could be described in opposite words. Even if the house orchestra cannot compete with the Staatskapelle Berlin (most notably in what regards their French horns), this evening’s performance showed them at their best. And yet Ms. Mallwitz seemed determined not to please or flatter, but rather give this score its full due, no ice cream or vanilla sauce on the side. In a rendition in which you could hear every single phrase — even in complex ensembles — with its clear motivic relation (including sung parts), you wouldn’t find here a Karajan-esque gloss, a decadent, tasteful rubato or a singalong flow, but rather this music at its most angular, forward-moving and experimental. I mean, it sounded indeed like the opera composed right after Elektra.

When I saw Diana Damrau in Munich as the Countess in R. Strauss’s Capriccio, my impression was that she fulfilled at least minimally all the requirements for a Straussian soprano in terms of tonal glamour, radiance and ductility.  I can’t really say that this was the case this evening, as the tone was often glaring, she failed to pierce through when singing in ensembles and had to work hard to fine down the tone to piano, and one could see those limitations clearly in the final trio. However — and that’s a big however — she was probably the most interesting Marschallin I’ve seen in a long while, or maybe in my life. This was definitely a woman with no urge to please. She is way past that point. I was listening only last week to Régine Crespin in the Rosenkavalier from Glyndebourne, and she sounds chic, sensuous, spirited. It corresponds exactly to what everyone would describe as a desirable woman: ladylike in public and fun in private. Ms. Damrau acted and sung her Marschallin as a woman who does not care at all about what anyone expects from her. She is on the top of the food chain, has paid a price for that and will collect her dividends whenever she can. She speaks like a grown-up, she doesn’t sugarcoat anything and she hides behind no façade. When she says “you have to go, leave me now”, Octavian has no doubts there: she is giving him an order. This may sound like the kind of things reviewers write when they want to praise something from a subjective point of view, but if you have heard everyone sing this past as I probably have, you’ll notice that there are patterns. Some will sing it like Schwarzkopf, some will sing it like Della Casa and so on. When you really start afresh like Ms Damrau has done, then you’re on your own creating the contours of tone coloring , inflection, emphases. It was indeed fascinating to hear the text and the music under such an individual and intelligent light. Brava. 

I had the opportunity of hearing Angela Brouwer in the Colombian premiere of Der Rosenkavalier, when she sang stylishly and smoothly in a voice with very little of the mezzo soprano in it and her attitude a bit too girly in the role. Now her middle and lower registers have gained color and weight and she has also learned to act more boyishly too, while retaining the instrumental poise and the ability to shade into mezza voce in her high notes. Her performance as Octavian was highly commendable and endearing too. 

It is hard to say if Emily Pogorelc’s Sophie came across as strongly as it did because if this production’s concept, but I did took a while to adjust to the “womanly” sound in the role, the middle and lower registers register smoky and a tad chesty, the high lying phrases a tad short on float, the text chiseled with broad strokes. It is the first time I hear her, and I would have to see her again to say. As it was, her soprano has an individual color, a solid core and projects well, but high mezza voce is not truly there. 

I have seen Günther Groissböck’s Ochs both in Salzburg and at the Met, when the voice seemed a tad shorter and less voluminous. In Zurich, size was not an issue, and he managed the extreme low notes securely and firmly. Maybe it’s my impression, but the characterization now sounds a bit broader than before, with a generous serving of distortion of intonation for effects. He is a committed actor who avoids the idea of making the character entirely charmless, what always makes it more interesting. 

Minor roles were more often than not sung below standard, what compromised some key scenes, especially in act 2. 

I saw Kasper Holten’s production of Wagner’s Lohengrin at the time it was premiered back in 2012, and today is only the first time I got to see it again. Although I was not crazy about it, I found then that the director had an original and thought-provoking take on the title role and the way the other characters related to him. Thirteen years later, some key elements of the concept have been lost. Now one senses that Lohengrin is a manipulative guy in a power move, but you’d only be sure in the final scene. On the other hand, I have found both sopranos this evening more convincing in terms of acting. 

Fiurina Stucki sang the role of Elsa in a medium-size lyric soprano with Mozartian poise, never forcing her high notes and phrasing with great affection for the music. Beneath the polish, one could find a highly intelligent interpretation, the text used with imagination, each ambiguity explored in a characterization in which Elsa is not entirely convinced that Lohengrin is the godsend he claims to be. She could also find a note of hubris in the second act, which is something that always makes the character more three-dimensional. 

Attilio Glaser, a tenor of the ensemble as well, was a lightweight Lohengrin with easy, punchy high notes and a splash of Nicolai Gedda, albeit with a darkened middle register. He sang with unfailing good taste, but the results were rather austere. This — and a poker face not unlike that of a politician in campaign — hit home somehow in the context of this production. 

For many a member of the audience, this evening’s main source of interest was Nina Stemme’s Ortrud. At this point of her career, the role flatters her voluminous, rich middle register — and her low notes were actually more forceful than those of some mezzos I’ve seen in the part. She does need to push the highest notes in the part (most notably in her invocation to the gods in act 2), but the sound is nonetheless big in those moments. For a change, there is nothing witch-like in her interpretation. She sings, for the most part, with a keen sense of line and subtle shading, seeming grand and persuasive rather than frightening and harsh. This approach is again appropriate for this particular staging, in which Ortrud is not exactly with the bad guys. 

I saw Egils Silins as Telramund maybe 10 years ago in Beijing and wrote back then that he was probably the best Telramund I had seen so far. It is admirable that he still sings this difficult part with enviable firmness and forcefulness of tone. Bravo. 

Byung Gil Kim’s big, dark bass is secure over the whole range, but the sound is a tad bad-guy-ish for the role of King Heinrich, while Dean Murphy was a noble-sounding, well-projecting herald. 

The Deutsche Oper Orchestra is the dictionary example of a German orchestra, with dense, rich strings and a formidable brass section. Conductor Marc Albrecht made sure it confirmed its Wagnerian credentials in a performance a bit regular in terms of tempo, a challenging choice for Lohengrin, yet convenient to show what these musicians can do. The orchestra enveloped singers’ voices in sheer velvet, responded to them in full, flexible passagework in the strings and coped brilliantly with a fast and furious conducting in the prelude to act 3. The house chorus sang vigorously. At times, one feared that it would derail in moments when precision is required, but they kept it excitingly in track, especially in the scene before Lohengrin’s entrance.