Captivat fiind de ”Suferintele tanarului Werther”,compozitorul Jules Massenet a adaptat romanul lui Goethe sub forma unei drame lirice,cunoscuta ca opera( in 4 acte) ”Werther”(1892).

”Când, în seara zilei de 12 august, cei doi îşi vorbesc despre pasiune  şi minte, sau despre pasiune şi stăvilirea ei, poziţiile sunt fără echivoc. Când Albert se pronunţă împotriva pasiunii şi în favoarea minţii: un om târât de pasiunile  lui îşi pierde mintea şi trebuie privit ca un om beat, ca un nebun, avem în faţă un vizionar. Tot aşa, ca vizionar, îi răspunde Werther: O, voi oamenii cuminţi!

Ultimele cuvinte ale lui Werther sunt binecuvântarea adresată lui Albert, logodnicul lui Lotte. Albert! Fă-ţi îngerul fericit! Şi Domnul să te binecuvânteze! În 21 decembrie, când îi adresează cuvintele de mai sus lui Albert, Werther nu mai dispunea de sine. Nu mai era un om liber, şi nici vesel aşa cum fusese înainte de a face cunoştinţă cu Lotte. Între 4 mai şi 21 decembrie Werther evoluează de la starea unui om liber la starea unuia care nu mai dispune de sine şi nici de actele sale. Încă din 8 noiembrie el îi scria lui Wilhelm: „dragul meu, sunt pierdut. Poate să facă din mine ce vrea iar în 14 decembrie admite că nu mai doreşte nimic şi nu mai vrea nimic.“

Werther se sinucide din respect absolut pentru legea morală şi păstrarea intactă a sufletului frumos. Astfel el o şi pierde pe Lotte dar o şi păstrează. Pentru că el nu se îndrăgosteşte efectiv de o Lotte carnală, de o Lotte ca simplă prezenţă imediată, palpabilă şi adevărată în carne şi oase doar. Lotte este adevărată pentru Werther ca imagine a lui, ca expresie a sufletului frumos căruia el îi aducea ofranda dragostei sale. Se poate spune, în acest sens, că Werther se îndrăgosteşte de propria sa închipuire, de construcţia imaginaţiei sale. Lotte de care se îndrăgosteşte Werther este un produs fabricat în atelierele proprii după o reţetă a tehnologiei vremii.

…iar aici,frumoasa arie,in interpretarea regretatului Pavarotti.

« Adieu, notre petite table »*.

Sinon, c’était juste pour dire qu’en Inde il n’y a pas vraiment d’au revoir, mes frères. Alors adieu, ouhlà, non.

« Légume: How do you say goodbye in Hindi?

Indien: There is no word. Sometimes we say “Tata” but more and more people say “Bye-bye”…

Légume: But you do say goodbye, in some way or the other? Maybe with a namaste**? When somebody you love leaves for a long time?

Indien: (réflexion) Someone we really love? Wait… … No. »

Ca ne se fait pas. Je comprends leur désarroi face à l’armée de salutations que le colonisateur et le traditionaliste leur ont apportées : toucher les pieds en signe de respect, faire un hug, donner une poignée de main, acquiescer du chef, faire la bise. Tout ça délivre des messages pas encore très bien maîtrisés – notamment tout ça à la fois, qui délivre un message du style “j’ai besoin d’affection”.

Shin Chan aussi sait faire le namasté (on a trouvé son incarnation irl !)

*Nathalie Dessay, 2′15 (très joli malgré la séance de masturbation)(il faut dire qu’elle est envoyée au couvent)

**C’est un peu comme la salutation du moine Shaolin à son ennemi japonais Kyu ; l’air compassé en moins et les mains jointes sous le menton.

An Ezra Pound notebook.

A photograph of F. T. Marinetti.

A Western scene by Charles Russell.

A score by Jules Massenet.

Oriental Limited – Observation car by Walter McClintock

A log cabin, with Joseph Hopkins Twichell and his mother.

A letter from W. H. Davies to Edward Thomas.

            When a ballerina sweeps her foot seductively past the nose of an old lecher in Kenneth MacMillan’s 1974 Manon, brought to the Kennedy Center last weekend by The Royal Ballet, you sense a small revolution in dance. It’s not the motion, the dance step, the gesture that matters. With MacMillan, it’s all about the pretty little foot. Dance has been fundamentally changed, from an abstract representation of sexual beauty to a medium for its open display. When dancers look at each other it isn’t with the mask-like face of classical ballet; it is with passion, desire, lust, need, the full panoply of erotic expression. And when the lead dancer interrupts his routine to kiss his lover’s hand, it’s a powerful sign that the integrity of classical dance—as a language, a contained form for translating ideas about desire and beauty—is breaking down. Dance isn’t just more theatrical, it’s become inextricably bound up with the sexual beauty of the body.

            Thirty years ago, Arlene Croce described MacMillan’s “remarkable sex scenes” as a significant step into new territory: “they’re as far beyond the sex scenes in Tudor’s ballets as contemporary movies are beyond movies of the forties, yet they’re never inhuman or exploitative…” There’s a loss and a gain here, as Croce observed: “MacMillan pushes so insistently against the nature of his art and what it is equipped to express that now and then he achieves breakthroughs and returns a kind of strength to it which has long been absent.”

            It can be horrifying watching MacMillan’s work, the way the body, which was meant to be immaterial in an earlier era, becomes drastically physical. Manon is tossed around like a rag doll through this brutal retelling of the Abbé Prévost’s 1731 novel. As Sarah Kaufman wrote in The Washington Post, she is a “human mop, dragged around the stage by one man after another.” And MacMillan doesn’t stop there: “…we even see the ballerina on her knees performing fellatio flagrante.”

            Sarah reviewed Tamara Rojo in the title role, who, she wrote, “made you believe this pulp fiction was some kind of great art.” I saw Alina Cojocaru, and she too made me feel in the presence of something more than pulp fiction. Unlike Sarah, I have begrudging but real respect for MacMillan’s accomplishment in Manon. I think his treatment of Manon—a flighty courtesan—is a portrait of misogyny rather than a misogynistic work, though I admit that the sexuality has a very 1970s, leather-and-chains theatricality which is wearing thin. MacMillan, like other artists of his time, seemed to process feminist ideas in a heavy-handed and self-serving way: He too readily accepts the radical idea that all sex is aggression, then settles complacently into a voyeur’s appreciation of the brutal spectacle.

            But MacMillan got lucky with this work, a drama that serves his hyper-sexualized choreography very well. The original Manon, the novel that inspired not just MacMillan’s ballet, but operas by Auber, Massenet and Puccini, is about sexual desire that can’t be contained within an elaborate, hypocritical and powerful system of permission and restraint. The young lovers are easy prey. Des Grieux, the young nobleman who sacrifices everything for Manon, is overwhelmed with adolescent sexual desire and while he’s smart enough to see the hypocrisy of the rules that contain it, he isn’t wise enough to realize how much is at stake. Manon is easy pickings because she has no protector, she is easily spoiled by luxury, and she has what seems a basic cognitive defect: When introduced to new pleasures, she can’t remember old ones, so the world seems to start anew with each fresh enticement.

            So what MacMillan is doing in dance terms—breaking down its abstract, formal language—Prévost was doing in novelistic terms. The novelist is asking questions that threaten the refined and ritual system of sexual cheating—the taking of mistresses, the channeling of extra-marital love into courtesans, kept women and the pleasure of the demimondaine. Can real, burning, unquenchable passion be contained within this quasi-legal world of getting it on the side?  What would happen if a fine, good-looking, bright young man of qualities were suddenly consumed with more than extra-curricular love? Can the system contain that? And what would happen if women behaved exactly as this system defines them: as self-aware commodities, trading themselves for their own greatest gain?

            When Des Grieux runs off with Manon the first time, his father and brother rush to Paris, kidnap him, drag him home, and then joke about it at dinner:

 [My father] asked me first whether I had always been simple enough to believe I was loved by my mistress. I told him boldly that I was so sure of it that nothing could make me lose the least bit of my trust.

“Hah,ha,ha!” he exclaimed, laughing with all his might. “that’s excellent. You’re a fine dupe, and I like to see those sentiments in you. It’s a great pity, my poor Chevalier, to put you into the Order of Malta, since you have so much aptitude for making a patient and accommodating husband.”

He added a thousand mockeries of the same caliber…

 

            And near the end of the novel, when Des Grieux tries to explain himself to his father, he cites the very public nature of the system as part of his defense:

 “I am living with a mistress,” I said to him, “without being bound by the marriage ceremonies: The duke of … keeps two in the eyes of all Paris; Monsieur de … has had one for ten years whom he loves with a fidelity he never had for his wife; two-thirds of the gentlemen in France feel honored to have one…”

            Des Grieux can’t find his place within this world because he loves a woman who is equally unable to adapt to it. We never really know much about Manon—she is almost a cipher in the novel—but we do know that she loves Des Grieux, and she loves luxury and can’t make up her mind between the two. If Des Grieux had a simpler mistress, he’d be a happier man; and if Manon had a more fickle boyfriend, they’d both move on and do very well for themselves in this sordid system. The two, together, are the source of each other’s trouble and her tragedy.

            Massenet best captures the psychology of the two lovers. Puccini gets at the elemental tragedy of their passion. But MacMillan is brilliant at depicting the sexual economy of their story. It is a choreography of glances, of torn psychology, of dancers who change direction at unpredictable moments, erratically turning to look in new directions. He captures the powerful distraction of desires as well as its obsessive single mindedness. And he allows Manon to mature, to retain her independence and dignity right through to the very end, something that neither Massenet or Puccini could tolerate.

            He also takes up hints that Des Grieux is emasculated by love just as the ancients so often warned us about unregulated passion. At one point, Des Grieux is forced into the humiliating position of posing as Manon’s little brother (“‘I think he is much like Manon,’ the old man went on, raising my chin with his hand…”), at another, Manon spends the morning dressing Des Grieux’s hair, only to show him off to one of her would-be lovers with a contemptuous declaration: If I can sleep with this, why would I sleep with you? He is a pretty boy, not a hero.

            So MacMillan’s Des Grieux is not represented by athletic dance, but by long extensions of the body. He poses, he shows his fine line, his elegant carriage, his width and breadth and perfect proportions. Des Grieux is a bit like a black-and-white photograph from a perfume advertisement come to life, and Manon dances around him. When she’s on point, it isn’t the ethereal point of classical ballet, but a restless, precarious balancing of a body that is constantly inclining in new directions. She is tossed around plenty, to be sure. But when under her own locomotion, she moves among men like a pinball. And is she flighty? Literally. At one point, she makes a swan dive onto the lover’s ever-present, dishevelled bed. I don’t think this is any more or less misogynistic a story than the one that Prévost tells.

            MacMillan adds further sexual instability to Prévost’s drama by making Manon’s brother, Lescaut, a far more charismatic figure than he is the novel. He has the morals of a pimp and a pickpocket, but the superficial manners of a gentlemen (a tension very well captured by Ricardo Cervera’s brilliant performance with the Royal). And it is just possible that we’re supposed to sense erotic interest between the passively beautiful Des Grieux and the actively charming Lescaut, who seem to conduct some kind of affair with each other through Manon.

            It’s the ideal story for MacMillan, who does for ballet what Manon does for the love story: He reduces it to its essence, pure sexual need and passion. MacMillan also manages to retain a hint of Prévost’s moralizing, a dubious sort of moralizing from a Jesuit and priest who (very likely) knew the depths of squalid passion first-hand. Both Manon and her lover are punished, she more severely than Des Grieux. This is the weakest part of MacMillan’s ballet, the last scene of the last act, with its cheap phantasmagoria and dream sequence.

            Up to now, Prévost’s 18th-century characters have been thoroughly modern, but now they must die like 19th-century lovers. MacMillan can’t really believe this is how the story should end. People don’t leave Studio 54 and die romantic deaths in the wilderness. They use sex to torture each other and then move on. But this is his nod to Puccini and Massenet, to the aesthetics of opera, and you can forgive him the indulgence because he’s managed to compete, so well, on that turf for the previous two hours. By corrupting dance he’s managed to describe a corrupt world, which is an honest night’s work even if the last scene is an old-fashioned lie.    

The idea of production effecting the opera at its core–a combination of words and music–came up in last week’s Monteverdi and Sant’Alessio viewing/listenings.  Which, natuerlich, got me thinking about opera in performance today, especially in light of Anne Midgette’s recent post in the WashPost’s Classical Beat.  Though talking about symphonies, a truly different beast, her central idea is a clear crossover:

“Of course, today’s symphony orchestra is essentially a 19th-century phenomenon; as Fischer said, it hasn’t fundamentally changed for 100 years. But what does it mean, in concrete terms, to change an orchestra? No one wants to throw the baby out with the bathwater and eliminate artistic standards, quality, the ability to play Mahler symphonies.”

This is light-years beyond where I’m at in the Opster Project, but I was in a Massenet mood this weekend and, while listening to the San’Sulpice scene from Manon, was struck at how many different ways this piece could be performed.  And, thanks to YouTube, I was able to sate my curiosity very easily.

There is the purely institutionalized version which, unfortunately, has to come out of the Met–the most famous opera company of the US, if not the world.  It lacks a modern edge and the performances of Vargas and Phlegming Fleming remind me more of two fat people wrestling over the last Milk Dud than it does of two people full of conflict, passion, and hormones a-go-go.  It was embarassing to watch this as they fought towards grandeur with every note, each in their own world and leaving the audience wondering where the fire was, where the passion was.

Not eager to further subject myself to Renaaaaay but interested in seeing as many points of view possible, this was a slightly more on-target production with a more minimal set and the added fire of Marcelo Alvarez, though again they lacked a certain connection that, while imperative in any opera, is uber-important when you’re doing a scene as former lovers, one attempting to reconcile, the other attempting to repent, fighting it out to see which one will win (spoiler alert: the soprano wins).

In one of my freshman theatre seminars, we read Grotowski’s “Towards a Poor Theatre,” which argued that theatre would never be able to compete with television and film in terms of grandeur, so the best theatre should go in the opposite direction entirely.  I sometimes think about what Grotowski would say to the Met, or at least the old, Joe Volpe/Rudolph Bing Met which was full of camels and chandeliers.  It’s upsetting to see our country, a country that was not a part of the creation of opera, still married to the “tradition” of grand theatre, a tradition that they more or less adopted from the European houses and a tradition that is, for the most part, all but dead in Europe.  There are some notable exceptions, and ironically not all of them have to do with age–this Sills/Price San’Sulpice is almost as old as Fleming (or at least Fleming’s birth certificate), yet it is focused entirely on the singers.  There is barely a set, but their energy fills the room.  Sills is sensual in a way that would still make some people call “scandale!” today.   It’s clear here that a production is a living, breathing thing and even the best set can be useless without the right singers/performers.

The two that really got me going, however, were both–ironically–with Anna Netrebko sliding into Manon in Vienna (with Roberto Alagna) and Berlin (with Rolando Villazon).  The Villazon shows restraint, particularly physically with the gates of San’Sulpice separating the lovers.  It’s cruel, acerbic, and spiteful, and ultimately worn down by Netrebs.  But she seems a tad out of place at times, for split seconds it’s as though she’s morphing out of Manon and back into Anna.  Not so with Alagna.  The violent passion mirrors, serves, and enhances Massenet’s score–what every opera production ought to do.  What’s more, it’s as hot as any Brangelina clip.  Show this scene to a bunch of 20 and 30 somethings and there won’t be a dry seat in the house.

And then there’s the one where they almost go too far to the other side, thanks to Natalie Dessay who, while bringing the crazy beautifully in the Met’s Lucia, seems to lack a purpose to her marble-tossing here.

Production study such as this is also innumerably helpful to singers, particularly in researching new (or at least new-to-them) roles.  Ultimately you want to create a character that’s true to your own self as much as it’s true to the composer and librettist.  There’s more than one way to skin a cat, there’s more than one way to sing Manon.  With only one exception, each of these Manons truly works in its own unique way.  The marketers and administrators for opera houses–and in most industries these days–talk about authentically connecting with new audience members/customers through copy, advertising, and the internet, but we also must remember that one of the other vital forms of authentic connection is through the performers themselves.

Jonas Kaufmann es una de las últimas sensaciones de la lírica. Su nombre (y aspecto) levanta pasiones entre las fans.

El tenor alemán ha cultivado una postura de rebelde, antidivo (no hay nada más de divino que negar el estatus), dando ejemplo de humildad. También se le considera como un cantante profundo, culto, que interpreta buscando la verdad psicológica del personaje más que la espectacularidad.

Aquí os traigo su lanzamiento discográfico con la casa DECCA (artista en exclusiva), que salió a principios del año 2008 y donde, bajo el título genérico de Romantic Arias, se nos presenta un batiburrillo de arias de muchos compositores y diferentes estilos, eso sí, sin salirse del más absoluto camino de lo más trillado (era su primer disco y había que enseñar lo que vale).

La voz de Kaufmann, como ya comenté en un post anterior, es oscura, áspera y poliédrica. No es una voz fácil (no es Pavarotti, ni Aragall, ni Di Stefano, vamos), recuerda mucho a la del gran tenor canadiense Jon Vickers, pero menos, por decir algo, histriónica. Al igual que Vickers, su voz tiene volumen y consistencia, y la técnica es extraña, con tendencia a engolar en algunos pasajes, pero seguro en los agudos que suenan muy bien colocados. No es de las que a mi me cautiven a primer sonido.

La interpretación de cada aria está muy cuidada (también como Vickers, gran creador de personajes) pero el disco es irregular porque abundan las piezas en las que no encaja ni la voz ni la interpretación.

En la “manina” falla el color de la voz que se ha de imponer con brillo y refulgencia en frases como “l’anima milonaria”. En el Faust falla la interpretación en general (demasiado cándida) y un do4 agudo en falsete bastante feo (para mi gusto). En el Don Carlo y La Traviata está más adecuado (sobra la cabaletta, bastante sosa). Mejor en los atormentados pasajes del Werther  y Manon (parece que le van bien los papeles de sufridor).

Lo más destacable del disco, donde brilla como la gran estrella que ha de llegar a ser, son la Carmen (ojo con el agudo final que no me acaba de convencer), la Tosca (muy bien), Der Freischütz (espectacularmente bien) y Los Maestros Cantores (maravilloso).

No se porque me da a mi que Kaufmann se hará un hueco cantando los wagners más líricos (Lohengrin, von Stolzin, Siegmund) y con los papeles más emblemáticos del Sr. Vickers (al que tanto me recuerda), es decir: Don José, Sansom, Grimes, y porqué no, Otello.

Jonas Kaufmann – Romantic Arias (CD)

1. La Bohème / Act 1 – “Che gelida manina”

2. Carmen / Act 2 – La fleur que tu m’avais jetée

3. Martha / Act 3 – Ach, so fromm

4. Tosca / Act 3 – “E lucevan le stelle”

5. Don Carlo / Act 1 – Io l’ho perduta… Io la vidi, a suo sorriso

6. Der Freischütz / Act 1 – “Nein, länger trag’ ich nicht die Quälen” – “Durch die Wälder, durch die Auen”

7. La traviata / Act 2 – Lunge da lei…De miei bollenti spiriti…O mio rimorso

8. Manon / Act 3 – Je suis seul…Ah, fuyez, douce image

9. Rigoletto / Act 2 – “Ella mi fu rapita…Parmi veder le lagrime”

10. Faust / Act 3 – Quel trouble inconnu…Salut! Demeure chaste et pure

11. Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg / Act 3 – “Morgenlich leuchtend”

12. La Damnation de Faust, Op.24 / Part 4 – Invocation à la Nature. “Nature immense”

13. Werther / Act 3 – “Pourquoi me réveiller, ô souffle du printemps?”

Orquesta Filarmónica Checa – Marco Armiliato

Binz. Gabriel Fauré (1845 – 1924) gehört hierzulande zu den unterschätzten Komponisten. Ganz zu Unrecht! An der Wende vom 19. zum 20. Jahrhundert zählte er zu den prägenden Persönlichkeiten des französischen Musiklebens. Vom gleichen Range wie seine Landsleute Maurice Ravel und Claude Debussy. Mit einer Soirée würdigte die Stralsunder Brahmsgesellschaft am Pfingstsonnabend im Marmorsaal des Jagdschlosses Granitz dessen Schaffen und lud die versammelten Konzertbesucher zu einer Werkschau der besonderen Art ein.

Ausgehend von dem frühen Stück „Nach einem Traum” op. 7/1 für Violoncello und Klavier zogen Friederike Rann (Violine), Hendrikje Meier (Viola), Dmitri Ilnitzki (Violoncello) und Jens Hoffmann (Klavier) mit ihrem Auftritt eine spannende Linie aus Duowerken verschiedener Wegbegleiter seiner Zeit, die mit dem 2. Klavierquintett in g-Moll op. 45 des Komponisten ausklang. Der Reiz der zusammengestellten Literatur bestand nicht allein in der Klangschönheit des Vorgetragenen, sondern auch in dem indirekten Herausstellen der Beziehungen der ausgewählten Komponisten untereinander.

Leitete Gabriel Fauré ab 1895 Jules Massenets Kompositionsklasse am Pariser Konservatorium, so zählen Charles Koechelin und Maurice Ravel zu dessen bedeutendsten Schülern. Von Letzterem erfreute das Publikum die „Pièce En Forme De Habanera” und erhielten die Spielenden für die feurig dargebotene Konzertrhapsodie „Tzigane” sogar ein kräftiges Bravo. Hier wie auch bei Jules Massenets „Meditation” aus Thais und der „Elegie” von Gabriel Fauré stellten die Auftretenden ihr technisches Können ganz in den Dienst der Musik und sorgten so für einen gehaltvollen Vortrag anstelle einer bloßen Demonstration ihres instrumentalen Könnens. Dadurch erhielt das abendliche Repertoire die notwendige Poesie, eine anmutige Größe und den richtigen Geist.

Und was bereits in der Duobesetzung gelang, begeisterte spielend im Quartett. Natürlich nicht ohne lange anhaltenden Schlussbeifall und einen bunten Strauß farbenfroher Blumen.

2009 has already proven to be a momentous year for Opera North; our 30^th birthday year and the opening of the Howard Assembly Room alone,  and Opera North’s 2009/10 season is set to show even more creativity and ambition for opera and arts lovers alike, with an exciting repertoire on the mainstage and in our new venue.

Presenting five new productions, including our third World Premiere in as many years, Swanhunter, we will show innovation, with our first ever production of Janáček’s offbeat comedy, The Adventures of Mr Brouček, Opera North’s nurturing of young talent in Massenet’s Werther, our continued commitment to exploring the lighter areas of musical theatre in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Ruddigore and our desire to continually reach out to new audiences with our family focused commission, Swanhunter. All this in addition to championing fantastic vocal talent in Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda.

This season we revive two popular operas, Puccini’s La Bohème and Mozart’s Così fan tutte. Phyllida Lloyd’s La Bohème returns after nearly a decade, whilst Tim Albery’s Così fan tutte has a largely young cast of familiar and unfamiliar faces to Opera North. We hope that both will bring a whole new generation of audiences to opera.

Following on from the success of The Adventures of Pinocchio in 2007, Opera North has commissioned the same writing partnership of composer Jonathan Dove and librettist Alasdair Middleton to produce a family-focused chamber opera for the Autumn. Swanhunter is based on a Norse myth and is being lead by Opera North’s highly esteemed education department, further extending our relationships and relevance to young people. It will premiere in November at the Howard Assembly Room in Leeds and will then tour to small scale venues throughout the North of England.

The culmination of Transformation was the opening of the Howard Assembly Room at Opera North earlier this year and we have seen an exciting programme to date, in addition to the venue now functioning well as the home and rehearsal space of the Orchestra of Opera North and the education department. This is the first space to be programmed by Opera North and we look forward to announcing the future programme, which will continue to encompass a diverse range of artforms, from classical recitals and contemporary concerts to small-scale opera and visual art.

We very much hope you enjoy the new season and you can access the full press release here.

Richard Mantle, General Director

Inspired by Twitter-Friend Tittch

Jules Massenet (1842 – 1912)
Méditation religieuse [violin solo with orchestra] from the opera Thaïs (1894)



Sarah Chang: Violin
Placido Domingo: Conductor
Berliner Philharmoniker

youtube upload by MahaKrisna

Hier soir dans le 8ème arrondissement de Paris, avait lieu la soirée de lancement de l’iphone 3G chez SFR. Pour l’occasion la célèbre marque de téléphonie avait convié peoples, journalistes, bloggers et clients au sein de son “Studio SFR“…

C’est ainsi que nous avons pu assister à un concert de Yodelice (Feu Maxime Nucci, ex-compagnon de Jenifer…), à un set du célèbre DJ Wolf et à un défilé de célébrités tels que Zoé Felix (En tant qu’aficionado de la série Clara Sheller, j’ai surtout apprecié cette arrivée !), Julie Depardieu, Jean-Claude Jitrois, Sliimy, Ariane Massenet, Nicolas Deuil, Yaël Naim, Tomer Sisley, Lizarazu… Et j’en passe !

En revanche une fois n’est pas coutume, j’ai eu le malheur d’avoir une panne d’appareil photo… Pour avoir des photos HQ de la soirée c’est ICI.

Et pour celles que j’ai pu réaliser avec les moyens du bord c’est ici > (Je les posterai ce soir)

 
The rich atmosphere of cultural fermentation that animated the 19th century Salonmusik at the Philodramatic Theatre. The protagonists are the two great soloists, Daniele Manara First Soloist Violinist with the Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala with the magic of the harp played by Luisa Prandina, First Harpist with the scaligera orchestra.Music by F.Schubert, A. Dvorak, C. Saint Saens, J. Massenet and N.Paganini.

Feia molt de temps que anava al darrera d’aquesta gravació ja que Ramón Vargas és l’únic Werther que jo he vist en directe ja fa 10 anys, al Teatro Real de Madrid.

La història és que un parell d’amics i jo van organitzar un viatge al Teatre Real al juliol de 1999, que feia poc que havia reobert les seves portes, per veure dues funcions que es prometien d’autèntic luxe: Samson et Dalila amb Plácido Domingo, i Werther amb Alfredo Kraus. El cas es que es va anunciar que Kraus suspenia totes les funcions per malaltia (gran decepció), de fet ja no va tornar actuar més, perquè com tots sabeu va morir al setembre d’aquell any.

Així vam anar a la funció una mica decebuts sabent que en lloc del mestre canari cantaria un tenor mexicà bastant jove, el Ramon Vargas, del que sabien que havia gravat un Tancredi amb la Kasarova feia uns pocs anys i que estava començant a guanyar-se fama mundial amb papers com el Rodolfo, el Duc de Mantua, Edgardo o Alfredo.

El repartiment de la funció incloïa la Charlotte de la Carmen Oprisanu (que s’haurà fet d’ella?), la Sophie de la Moreno i l’Albert de l’Enrique Baquerizo, dirigits pel mestre Julius Rudel.

El record que tinc de la funció és molt grat, i em va impressionar molt la veu i la tècnica de Vargas, que va fer una funció molt rodona (crec que tinc el vídeo per algun lloc).

Aquí us deixo com cantava la celebèrrima Porquoi me revellier (Acte III).

Porquoi me revellier (Vargas, Madrid 1999)

Poc després i de manera quasi simultània van sortir dues gravacions del Werther al mercat: una amb l’Alagna i la Georghiu dirigits per Pappano, i l’altra amb el Vargas i la Kasarova dirigits per Jurowski.

La de l’Alagna ràpidament es va convertir amb tota una sensació, amb tota la raó del món, ja que amb la de Kraus són, per mi, les millors versions en estudi de l’òpera.

La del Ramon Vargas no l’he sentit fins que me fet amb ella aquest dies.

La veritat és que la versió no és rodona, fonamentalment per tres punts febles:

El primer és l’erràtica direcció de Jurowski, amb molts contrasts i amb un so a empentes. Tallant o interferint moltes vegades en la línia dels cantats.

La presa de so, bastant opaca, tampoc ajuda gaire a ressaltar la rica orquestració i mil matisos de la partitura.

Per últim els cantats, que exceptuant lleugers moments, no entren en els papers amb tota la carn a la graella, sobretot en els duos entre Werther i Charlotte. Vargas i Kasarova cantant molt bé, però no hi ha gens de química i el resultat es bastant fred, comparat per exemple amb els magnífics duos de la versió Alagna-Georghiu.

Per que veieu un exemple de passió i química us deixo un link amb un fragment (continuació del aria anterior) de la màgnifica versió que van fer a Viena el apassionadíssim Marcelo Alvarez i la magnífica Elina Garanca.

Alvarez-Garanca en Werther (Acte III)

Cal dir que Vargas canta amb un molt de gust i tècnica, i la veu té un timbre maquíssim, però no arriba ni al romanticisme majestàtic i senyorívol d’Alfredo Kraus, ni a l’apassionament desbordant de l’Alagna. La Kasarova per la seva part aporta la seva veu timbradíssima, però està out. La resta del repartiment és digne.

Ara a veure si programen aviat un Werther al Liceu.

Com sempre més informació i links dels discos en el primer comentari.

Amb l’objectiu de diferenciar-se de l’oferta musical programada en temporada turística i dirigit especialment als habitants del municipi i de les comarques de l’entorn, s’enceta el proper diumenge 25 de gener a Roses, a l’Alt Empordà, la primera edició del Festival Moments Musicals.

El cicle, organitzat per l’Ajuntament de Roses i sota la direcció artística d’Opus Artis, està pensat per ocupar el període que va d’octubre a maig, a excepció de l’edició d’enguany que s’iniciarà aquest gener i finalitzarà al mes de maig. La voluntat dels organitzadors és “enriquir i consolidar l’oferta musical de qualitat al nostre territori en aquest període fora de l’època estival”.

Les cinc actuacions, que coincideixen en diumenge i s’esdevindran una per mes, són d’alt nivell artístic. Segons els mateixos organitzadors, “la programació és molt acurada i pensada perquè el públic quedi seduït per la música i agafi l’hàbit d’assistir als concerts”. Els estils són molt diversos, des del món de la clàssica fins als Tangos, i les formacions estan adaptades a les condicions tècniques de les sales, amb grups corals, grups instrumentals, cambrístics i solistes.

Els concerts tenen lloc a les 19h al Teatre Municipal de Roses, una sala que gaudeix d’unes condicions tècniques excepcionals, “ja que disposa d’una conxa acústica d’última generació que garanteix la qualitat sonora de l’espai”.

El tret de sortida d’aquesta primera edició anirà a càrrec dels artistes Giuseppe Nova, a la flauta, i Giorgio Costa, al piano. Sota el títol “Grans Melodies”, aquest duet interpretarà obres de Beethoven, Gluck, Massenet i Donizetti.

La segona actuació “Piano i Inspiració” tindrà lloc el proper diumenge 15 de febrer. El pianista Antony Gray oferirà obres de Bach, Gounod i Bizet. Es tracta d’un concert de piano sol amb les Transcripcions de Saint-Saëns sobre cantates famoses de Bach, o Thais de Massenet o el mateix Pecheurs de Perles de Bizet.

Al mes de març serà el torn de l’actuació anomenada “El Violí Virtuós”. Els germans Ewers, Michael Ewers, al violí, i Christoph Ewers, al piano, interpretaran el dia 22 la música de Grieg, Dvorák i Sarasate.

El Festival Moments Musicals continuarà a l’abril, el diumenge 26, amb “Veus de Dona”. La mezzosoprano Claudia Schneider juntament amb el Cor Sarabanda i el Cor Lutiana, a més de Coloma Bonnin, al piano, i Mariona Castelar, a la direcció, oferiran obres de Britten, Fauré, Barber i Villa-lobos. Un concert especial on pujaran sobre l’escenari dos cors femenins, una pianista i una mezzosoprano solista, i on es farà un recorregut per la història de la música dels segles XIX, XX i XXI, amb obres especialment escrites per a aquesta singular formació.

Finalment, el proper 17 de maig el Festival culminarà la seva primera edició amb una cloenda enèrgica i sensual sota el títol “Tango i Passió”. El Cuarteto del Ángel, amb instruments com el bandoneon, el violí, el contrabaix i el piano, interpretaran els grans Tangos de Gardel i Troilo i una mostra de la producció de l’indiscutible “Rei del Tango”, d’Astor Piazzola.

Font: http://www.gironanoticies.com

La “Manon” di Massenet veniva rappresentata per la prima volta il 19 gennaio 1884 all’Opéra-Comique di Parigi.

L'Opéra-Comique

125 anni, però guardate come li porta bene 

(Anna Netrebko a Berlino 2007)

Often prodigious artists become literally myths after their death, especially when they meet it at a very young age and under tragic circumstances. This is most definitely the case of the splendid Polish violinist Józef Hassid, according to the celebrated British pianist Gerald Moore’s words:

“with the possible exception of Menuhin, is the most incandescent talent I have ever heard”.

Born Józef Chasyd in Poland to a Jewish family in 1923, lost his mother when he was still a little boy and almost concomitantly started showing a quite timid and reclusive temperament, an introverted nature that worsening accompanied him until his tragic late days. Nevertheless, since his boyhood he revealed a great musical talent becoming one of the most famous pupils of the celebrated Hungarian maestro Karl Flesch. He received an honorary diploma in the 1935 at Warsaw’s Henryk Wieniawski Violin Competition (won by Ginette Noveau) where also the great David Oistrakh, Henri Temianka and the young Ida Haendel participated. Apparently poor Josef, whose touch was undeniably excellent, suffered a temporary amnesia during his performance, most probably due to his highly emotional disposition. His depressive and melancholic temper was greatly accentuated by a disillusioned and highly contrasted adolescent romance that blossomed during his sojourn in Spa, where Karl Flesh used to teach violin summer classes. It seems that due to the religious differences between the two youths, the love-story was brusquely sedated by their parents.

In 1938 Josef’s father decided to move to Britain where the young prodigy would have started to perform and record. He made a magnificent first appearance in London in 1940 at the age of sixteen. At the Queen’s Hall on December 5th he performed as violin solo with the London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Sir Adrian Boult. He also started recording with EMI and the celebrated label “His Master’s Voice”. Yet, while performing in London he had another memory drop while playing the Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35 by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, unanimously considered one of the most technically complicated pieces of music ever written for violin.

In 1941 he experienced a deep depressive crisis and nervous breakdown and therefore was committed to St Andrew’s Hospital in Northampton where he underwent insulin coma therapy and electroconvulsive therapy, unfortunately with very scarce results. Sadly his unparalleled art and music quickly faded away: regrettably his celestial sound fell still and his violin became mute. In fact after a short dismaying period spent with his father out of the clinic he was eventually diagnosed with an acute case of schizophrenia and committed again, this time to Long Grove Hospital a mental asylum in Epsom, Surrey, which had a wing for Polish civilians. There he remained for many years until his death caused by a barbarous leukotomy in 1950. Between January 1947 and June 1952, 180 people died as a result of unsuccessful lobotomy in England and Wales. One of these victims was Josef Hassid, age 26, one the greatest violinist of all times.

His music was bright and his intonation spotless, his playing was effortless, without any shade of possible forcing; in each performance he showed exquisite style as he was masterly governing the bow and impeccably controlling his fingers. The final effect was indescribably brilliant, suave and the overall outcome moving and heartbreaking. A few hardly findable recorded performances are all that remains of his art as his great gift to music resides in only nine recordings among which:

• Dvorak’s “Humoreske for Piano Op. 101/B 187: No. 7 in G flat major” – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) on November 29, 1940
• Joseph Archron’s Hebrew Melody Op.33 – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) on November 29, 1940
• Kreisler’s “Capricho Vienes Op.2” – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) on November 29, 1940
• Massenet’s “Meditation de Thais” – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) on November 29, 1940
• Pablo de Sararsate’s “Zapateado Op. 23, No. 2” recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) December 6, 1940
• Pablo de Sarasate’s “Playera for violin and piano, Op. 23, No. 1” – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) on June 28, 1940
• Sir Edward Elgar’s “La Capricieuse, Op. 17” – recorded with Ivor Newton (piano) on January 9, 1939
• Tchaikovsky’s “Sourvenir d’un lieu cher Op. 42, No.3 Melodie” – recorded with Gerald Moore (piano) December 6, 1940

Once listening to Josef Hassid, it is quite natural to believe what Fritz Kreisler said:

“A Heifetz violinist comes around every 100 years, a Hassid every 200.”

This was terrific. The production by John Cox, with lighting by Duane Schuler, was imported from the Lyric Opera in Chicago, where I saw it in December 2002, but here it looked much better. I think the stage designs have been improved, because I remember the desert scene in Chicago looking pretty shabby, whereas here it was cleanly stylized, and made a good effect. There were also wonderful new costumes for Thaïs designed by Christian Lacroix, and the designer’s name, which was Paul Brown in Chicago, was omitted so I suspect other changes were also made. As in Chicago, Renee Fleming was Thaïs, and Thomas Hampson was Athanaël. They were wonderful — she was glorious as a great courtesan, and as a convent sister in the desert, while he gave a strong portrayal of a repressed fundamentalist Christian, struggling to contain his own desires. Alain Vernhes sang the role of Palemon, head of the order of monks, doing a fine job vocally and with his stage presence, but I found Michael Schade disappointing as Nicias, the ex-monk and lover of Thaïs. He did not have the rich tenor of Joseph Calleja, who appeared in the concert performance at the Royal Opera in June 2007, and as an actor he was rather dull, apparently unmoved by the sexual allure of the great courtesan for whose favours he has sold valuable acres of land. She had to go it alone in that respect, only aided later by the simmering desires of Athanaël. Jesus Lopez-Cobos conducted with fine sensitivity, and the solo violin meditation was strongly and yearningly played by concert master David Chan, far better than the cloyingly weepy vibrato I heard in Chicago. These cinema screenings by the Metropolitan Opera cannot be as good as the real thing, of course, but by incorporating backstage information, such as details of the costumes, they do a superb job of bringing opera to the rest of the world. The Royal Opera’s pathetic attempt to do likewise, mentioned below, is simply embarrassing.

Given the renaissance in recent years of an interest in Jules Massenet–consider, for example, the 1999 release of two Werthers back to back–the time definitely has become ripe for a new account of his late opera, Tha�s. This is the first alternative to appear on CD since the problematic version with Beverly Sills from the 1970s. While far from flawless (curiously, it was recorded in two stretches, with a pause of 15 months between them), it makes a mostly convincing case for the stirring beauty of Massenet’s much-misunderstood work. For Tha�s, with its exotic setting in Egypt of the early Christian period, achieves much more than the sentimental romanticism often conveyed in out-of-context performances of its best-known excerpt, the violin instrumental Meditation. A kind of Tannh�user in reverse, this story of sin and an illusory quest for salvation (adapted from Anatole France’s novel) has its two main figures–the monk Athana�l and the beautiful courtesan Tha�s –crisscross in their interior journeys, only to end by arriving at diametrically opposed destinies (in a chiasmus that is the exact opposite of the one depicted in Tennessee Williams’s Summer and Smoke).

Many will seek out this account chiefly for the presence of Ren�e Fleming in the title role, and she indeed crafts a memorable portrayal of Tha�s’s path from worldly irony to trusting soul. Fleming deploys her familiar, unique vocal style with subtlety for the earlier scenes of Tha�s as courtesan, delivering her great aria of doubt with a Marschallin-like vulnerability. Indeed, it’s the breathy sumptuousness typical of her voice that makes the converted Tha�s almost more of a challenge–although Fleming does achieve a noticeable softening effect, above all in her death scene. As the monk who tries to repress his very worldly feelings for Tha�s, Thomas Hampson clearly carries the seeds of doubt from his first scene; if anything, the contrast between his two selves isn’t stark enough, and he brings too much vocal polish to the scenes where we should hear a John the Baptist in hair shirt. Still, Hampson’s sensitivity, however reserved, elicits the crucial sense of compassion for Athana�l’s predicament. As Nicias, the cultured lover of Tha�s, Giuseppe Sabbatini is excellent–their bittersweet farewell duet actually contains some of the best chemistry on the whole set. True, Massenet’s score succumbs to passages of filler (for example, much of the ballet music) that aren’t at the level of its more inspired lyrical stretches, but young conductor Yves Abel (making his Decca debut) captures its integral, supple beauty despite some roughness in transitions and an occasionally raw surface from the orchestra. Sound balances are less than ideal. An excellent booklet with full libretto is included. –Thomas May

Massenet – Tha�s / Fleming, Hampson, Sabbatini, Shkosa, Vidal, Devellereau, Cals, Yves Abel is available at Amazon for $27.49. To Order click here
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Other Products of Interest

• Puccini – La Rondine / Gheorghiu � Alagna � Matteuzzi � Mula � Rinaldi � Ciofi � Bacelli � LSO � Pappano
• Four Last Songs
• Massenet – Thais / Mei, Pertusi, Joyner, Fel, Viotti, Venice Opera
• Dvor�k – Rusalka / Fleming � Heppner � Zajick � Hawlata � Urbanov� � Czech Phil � Sir Charles Mackerras
• Berlioz – La Damnation de Faust / Veasey, Gedda, Bastin, van Allan, LSO, C. Davis

This three-act ballet by Kenneth Macmillan was first performed in 1974, and I remember seeing the original production that year; Act III included a scene between the gaoler and his mistress, but it made things too long and was later cut. The music is wonderfully orchestrated and arranged by Leighton Lucas, using various works of Massenet, but with nothing from his opera of the same name. I saw three performances this time, all conducted by Martin Yates.

In the first performance I saw, Laura Morera did a fine job of Manon, warming up to her part as the ballet progressed, but Federico Bonelli was very disappointing as Des Grieux, looking at first as if he was practicing in ballet class. His partnering was fine, but he never showed much emotion, even though this is a highly emotional role. Lescaut was well danced by Ricardo Cervera, and he kept the part under control in the drunk scene, where others sometimes go overboard. Monsieur G.M. was Christopher Saunders, who lacked the right stage presence, and the pas-de-trois between him, Lescaut and Manon looked particularly awkward. This pas-de-trois is a brilliant piece of Macmillan choreography and can be riveting if done well. Lauren Cuthbertson was disappointing as Lescaut’s mistress, overdoing the drunk scene, but Gary Avis was very effective as the gaoler in Act III. Altogether this was a disappointing evening, but Laura Morera deserved her four bouquets of flowers.

In the second performance, Tamara Rojo was a fine Manon, excellently partnered by Carlos Acosta as Des Grieux. He had what Bonelli lacked: stage presence and acting ability that made him seem natural in the part. Lescaut was very well danced by Jose Martin, with Laura Morera giving a good performance as his mistress. Thomas Whitehead was a strong gaoler, but we had the mechanical Christopher Saunders as Monsieur G.M. again, completely unconvincing.

In the third performance, there were two changes from the intended cast so we had Bonelli and Cervera again (instead of Pennefather and McRae), but this time Bonelli was far better. He was comfortable in the part, and things went swimmingly. Moreover, Bennett Gartside was Monsieur G.M., and there was really no comparison to Christopher Saunders. Gartside was utterly convincing, and smoothly lecherous in the pas-de-trois. Helen Crawford was excellent as Lescaut’s mistress, far better than Lauren Cuthbertson had been in the drunk scene. Eric Underwood was a very strong gaoler, with the terrific stage presence that is his hallmark, and the girl who played the fancy boy in the party scene was wonderful, but the cast list did not name her.

So the Deborah Voigt post turned out to be more cynical and pessimistic than I meant it to. I was really just trying to shed some light on why Americans might be reluctant to admit it if indeed her thinnification has damaged her singing—because we want to see skinny people on stage, and surely that’s not news to anyone. I do think that a very ugly, narrow-minded side of the opera industry exists and expects singers to conform to a set of cookie-cutter expectations regarding both physical appearance and vocal sound. I don’t think you can argue the fact that this makes it undeservedly  hard for certain singers with certain directors, certain houses, et cetera . . . but I generally believe that the innovators who actually seek out the genuine and unique, not those who eagerly sacrifice it for superficial values they hope will get their production some attention, are the more successful ones. I think the recent obsession with making opera interesting and relevant to new audiences has mostly been healthy; it’s gotten rid of the more meaningless performance conventions and reminded everyone that opera is a form of entertainment, not just “high art” or a place to show off the fact that you can afford a box seat and a fancy schmancy outfit to wear on opening night. The shift from superficial convention towards innovation and a focus on artistry that’s currently taking place in opera is a huge part of what attracted me to the field, as opposed to straight theater, in the first place. Although they’re sometimes obscured by annoying banalities like weight bias, I believe that the soul and art in opera are still very much alive.

So I thought I’d balance out my previous post about a woman whose career suffered (at least temporarily) because of the bad in the opera world with a post about one who seems to embody the good, getting ahead by being herself and concentrating on doing her own artistic thing. Thus far, she’s been richly rewarded for it. Of course I’m talking about Measha Brueggergosman. She doesn’t look like people expect an opera singer to look, she doesn’t always sing what people expect an opera singer to sing, and she proudly displays her seriously unique personality at every opportunity without worrying about whether she’s typical of or appropriate for the world of opera.

I think this makes her something opera’s needed badly for a while. Any art form has to have its celebrities to draw audiences in. We certainly have a few of our own, but self-disclosure is not a requirement for successful or even famous opera singers the way it is for movie stars or pop musicians. Opera is only a fledgling celebrity culture. Many who choose to put themselves out there still seem to be consciously filling roles they believe the public wants them to play. Witness Anna Netrebko, whose simplistic personal brand consists of little but sex appeal and seems to have been purposefully created to tie her to the burgeoning “opera should be sexy” movement, or Renee Fleming, who carefully circulates sound bites about her humble beginnings (in fact no humbler than any other opera singer’s), struggle to rise to the top, and final triumph over her vocal issues, painting herself as opera’s hardworking, seasoned, unequaled grande dame—an image which is often not supported by her singing.

Ms. Brueggergosman doesn’t seem to be making any such calculated play for the public’s affections. Like our other examples, she showcases herself in a way that’s sure to attract people’s attention. For the release of her CD Extase in 2006, she made a high-concept music video of one selection, like a pop star—a strategy that only she and Anna Netrebko have employed within the world of opera. This fact may reveal that Measha’s ambition is comparable to Anna’s, yet unlike Netrebko’s videos themselves, which feature predictable slinky outfits and makeout scenes, Brueggergosman’s video relies on the text and spirit of the song (“L’Extase de la Vierge” from Massenet’s rarely-performed oratorio La Vierge) for inspiration. She doesn’t try to look or act sexy or edgy or otherwise meet conventional expectations of a music video. The modest goal is to deliver an original and moving artistic take on the song and the video does no more and no less than that. 

Which isn’t to say that Measha and her publicity lack flash. Check out her trippy-ass website. 

I’m not trying to single her out as the savior of opera or the best singer around, but neither is she, and I really, really like that. It’s refreshing and encouraging to me to see someone in this field selling herself, without having to sell herself as anything other than a skilled singer and actress who loves what she does and is also kind of entertainingly kooky.

For good measure, here she is recording and chatting about her latest album. “It’s SEW EWVer the top!” . . . Why don’t we have more Canadians in this business?

So the Deborah Voigt post turned out to be more cynical and pessimistic than I meant it to. I was really just trying to shed some light on why Americans might be reluctant to admit it if indeed her thinnification has damaged her singing—because we want to see skinny people on stage, and surely that’s not news to anyone. I do think that a very ugly, narrow-minded side of the opera industry exists and expects singers to conform to a set of cookie-cutter expectations regarding both physical appearance and vocal sound. I don’t think you can argue the fact that this makes it undeservedly  hard for certain singers with certain directors, certain houses, et cetera . . . but I generally believe that the innovators who actually seek out the genuine and unique, not those who eagerly sacrifice it for superficial values they hope will get their production some attention, are the more successful ones. I think the recent obsession with making opera interesting and relevant to new audiences has mostly been healthy; it’s gotten rid of the more meaningless performance conventions and reminded everyone that opera is a form of entertainment, not just “high art” or a place to show off the fact that you can afford a box seat and a fancy schmancy outfit to wear on opening night. The shift from superficial convention towards innovation and a focus on artistry that’s currently taking place in opera is a huge part of what attracted me to the field, as opposed to straight theater, in the first place. Although they’re sometimes obscured by annoying banalities like weight bias, I believe that the soul and art in opera are still very much alive.

So I thought I’d balance out my previous post about a woman whose career suffered (at least temporarily) because of the bad in the opera world with a post about one who seems to embody the good, getting ahead by being herself and concentrating on doing her own artistic thing. Thus far, she’s been richly rewarded for it. Of course I’m talking about Measha Brueggergosman. She doesn’t look like people expect an opera singer to look, she doesn’t always sing what people expect an opera singer to sing, and she proudly displays her seriously unique personality at every opportunity without worrying about whether she’s typical of or appropriate for the world of opera.

I think this makes her something opera’s needed badly for a while. Any art form has to have its celebrities to draw audiences in. We certainly have a few of our own, but self-disclosure is not a requirement for successful or even famous opera singers the way it is for movie stars or pop musicians. Opera is only a fledgling celebrity culture. Many who choose to put themselves out there still seem to be consciously filling roles they believe the public wants them to play. Witness Anna Netrebko, whose simplistic personal brand consists of little but sex appeal and seems to have been purposefully created to tie her to the burgeoning “opera should be sexy” movement, or Renee Fleming, who carefully circulates sound bites about her humble beginnings (in fact no humbler than any other opera singer’s), struggle to rise to the top, and final triumph over her vocal issues, painting herself as opera’s hardworking, seasoned, unequaled grande dame—an image which is often not supported by her singing.

Ms. Brueggergosman doesn’t seem to be making any such calculated play for the public’s affections. Like our other examples, she showcases herself in a way that’s sure to attract people’s attention. For the release of her CD Extase in 2006, she made a high-concept music video of one selection, like a pop star—a strategy that only she and Anna Netrebko have employed within the world of opera. This fact may reveal that Measha’s ambition is comparable to Anna’s, yet unlike Netrebko’s videos themselves, which feature predictable slinky outfits and makeout scenes, Brueggergosman’s video relies on the text and spirit of the song (“L’Extase de la Vierge” from Massenet’s rarely-performed oratorio La Vierge) for inspiration. She doesn’t try to look or act sexy or edgy or otherwise meet conventional expectations of a music video. The modest goal is to deliver an original and moving artistic take on the song and the video does no more and no less than that. 

Which isn’t to say that Measha and her publicity lack flash. Check out her trippy-ass website. 

I’m not trying to single her out as the savior of opera or the best singer around, but neither is she, and I really, really like that. It’s refreshing and encouraging to me to see someone in this field selling herself, without having to sell herself as anything other than a skilled singer and actress who loves what she does and is also kind of entertainingly kooky.

For good measure, here she is recording and chatting about her latest album. “It’s SEW EWVer the top!” . . . Why don’t we have more Canadians in this business?