Bass Goran Jurić (Osmin in the COC’s The Abduction from the Seraglio until February 24) is finishing his six year stint as the ensemble member at the Bavarian Opera and heading to Stuttgart next season. We met at the COC offices for a chat.
Tell me about your trajectory, Munich-based Croatian bass Goran Jurić.
I graduated from the University of Zagreb – I did opera studies there, and also Italian studies and general phonetics. My first operatic experiences were at the Croatian National Theatre in Zagreb, where I sang Sarastro, among others…
When did you discover you’re a bass?
My low notes were immediately evident. When I was sixteen, seventeen, I developed my top notes in the course of my studies, but my base was clear early on.
And you knew immediately you wanted to sing – no instrument tempted you?
Music education at all levels is funded by the state in Croatia, and classical musician gets to go to a music-focused high school first and then on to university – what we call the Music Academy. So I went to music high school, where my primary subject was singing, but I had a minor too, the flute. I played the flute for a few years.
Completely different sound from the bass voice?
Yes, but there’s overlap – breathing technique has some similarities, it’s interesting. Then at university, I added Italian and phonetics to my studies. I’m really interested in linguistics, and Italian language and literature, even though I’ve always known I’d never work in the field of language. By the time I was 20, I knew I wanted to be an opera singer.
Do you come from a musical family?
Not at all. I come from a working class family, my dad is an electrician, my mom was a clerk. I don’t come from a family where you take private lessons in French or piano… I had “private lessons” in how to chop wood and stuff like that. If I was to become a musician at all, it was likelier I’d become a folk musician, because I grew up in a village. But somehow, through my education, primary school and high school, in my music classes, I discovered all these composers—and plus the TV probably helped and the occasional concert—and realized I have this great love of classical music. I started to sing in choirs, and my voice was being noticed etc. It’s thanks to our education system that I discovered I could be an opera singer. As it’s usually the case with children who come from rural backgrounds: what you don’t find at home, you’ll find thanks to a good public education system. One of the good things about the old Yugoslav socialist system was the free public schools with music education at every level.
And after the university?
After Croatia, I went to (what we call in our respective countries) “Europe” for singing competitions and I won a few. And that’s how I found my manager. The agency was then called Caecilia, out of Zurich, but now its former lyric section is its own agency, the Amman-Horak Agency for Opera Artists, and it’s remained Swiss. One of the first auditions that they sent me to was the Munich opera house. I had no idea what if anything I’ll get out of it. A chorus position, an opera studio job, an ensemble contract, a one-off role, nothing at all? I just wanted to work. I knew I wanted to move out from Croatia to a bigger operatic centre. And they offered me immediately to come on as an ensemble member. That was my big break. Munich is, well, probably the best opera house in Germany.
I hear Munich loves its opera.
Not only do they have a full season, but a summer festival too, and there’s a different opera on every day, and every day it’s packed. Ticket prices can hit substantial three digit numbers, due to demand. And Munich is the centre of southern Germany, with a really strong economy. BMW is there, Siemens, Bayers. It’s a wealthy city and its budget for culture is equally big, and Munich audiences love opera. There are two operatic theatres in town in addition to the Bayerische and they’re also doing well.
You’ll be in Munich a while longer?
I actually just finished my fest contract there. Learned a lot, sang a lot of roles, and they were careful of Fach. I was never forced to try anything that wasn’t good for my voice; and how they saw me matched exactly how I understood my own voice. They saw me more in Italian, with a little bit of German and Russian rep, and I appreciated that. I sang Banquo in Macbeth, Timur in Turandot, Colline in La Boheme, Ferrando in Trovatore, Raimondo in Lucia, Oroveso in Norma… Rarely baroque, but I did Plutone in L’Orfeo, and we did Rameau’s Les Indes galantes, where I did…
Wait, Rameau has bass roles?
Not only that, it was a female role, written for a bass, and the character is goddess of war by the name of Bellona.
Now I have to get that DVD.
It’s available! I rarely sing baroque these days, though I used to sing some baroque oratorio rep. After six years in Munich, next season I am starting an artist in residence contract at the Stuttgart Opera. It’s similar to being an ensemble member, but you sing much less and have much more available time to guest in other opera houses.
Where do you see your voice going in the next, say, five years?
I will try to keep my voice where it is now. This is my first Osmin at the COC, and I’m enjoying it a lot. I’m not a typical Mozart singer, I don’t do Figaro, Leporello, Don Giovanni. The three Mozart roles I’ve done are Il Commendatore, Sarastro and this one. And I did a Sarastro at the COC last year, and am glad to do Osmin in a house that I know well.
What are your composers now?
So, when it comes to bel canto. I’m not a Rossini singer, but I did sing Moses in Rossini’s Moses in Egypt in Bregenz this summer. I’m returning to Moses right after the Abduction, I’ll sing it in Naples. Raimondo in Lucia, Oroveso in Norma. That’s for bel canto. Then, Verdi. I would still wait for Filippo, but the Inquisitor I would do now. It’s quite short, it’s a big and important scene, but not as demanding as Filippo. For Filippo, you have to have the vocal maturity and also be mature as a person. Otherwise it’s just… not complete. In Don Carlo, I did already the Monk, and my next rank in that church would be the Inquisitor. Other Verdi, I do Sparafucile, Banquo, Ferrando, and happy with how that’s going. I’d like to do Ramphis as well. But I’ll wait out Filippo, Zaccharia, Attila. There’s still time.
What about the Russians?
I adore Russian composers. Last season here at the COC I did an all-Russian recital, with songs by Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov and Sviridov. I would still wait for Boris a while. I will first do Pimen, which I will sing in Stuttgart in the near future. Pimen has some beautiful monologues. I would like to do King Rene in Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta. And Susanin in Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar. But for now—I’m 34, and that’s still young for a bass—I’d like to keep my voice between Mozart, bel canto and Verdi. I’ve been saying no to offers from the heavier rep. I’m often offered Wagner and most of those I decline. I will take Heinrich from Lohengrin – it’s written in an oratorio manner, the orchestra is not too thick, I don’t have to sing too dramatically. Let’s say King Mark from Tristan would be like like Filippo from Don Carlo for me; something I will wait for. That’s the role that I’d really like to do in the future. People tell me they can see me as Gurnemanz. I’ve sung Titurel, and there you can hear if someone would be good as Gurnemanz or not. But – there’s time.
I wanted to ask you about the Slavs in opera. I’ve read an interview with the Bulgarian singer Vesselina Kasarova in which, well, she put it like this: she encountered racism in the opera world around Slavic voices. Who are booming, unsophisticated, the “Russian School” etc. Does this sound familiar?
Yes! I’ve heard that before. There’s even some truth in what’s otherwise a crass stereotype. But this is how. What we think when we say “Slavs in opera”, it’s the Russian school of singing and the Bulgarian school of singing. Sometimes we add to that the ex-Yugoslav singers. Our languages probably affect our singing cultures. Our Slavic languages are kind of more guttural, throaty… and our folk music is written in a more virtuosic way than the folk music from the west. One of my Profs in Zagreb once told me that the nations that have long and complex tradition of folk music don’t have long and complex traditions of classical music, and vice versa. Perhaps the Slavic singing does come with and require bigger voices and differently coloured voices due to our folk traditions and religious singing, especially the Orthodox influence?
And maybe it’s our way of speaking as well. Perhaps the difference between the European east and the European west is like the difference between south America and north America. There’s a different kind of… expressivity.
Russian operas are full of basses. More of them there than anywhere else.
That’s probably due to their sacred music. Bass is a major voice in Russian Orthodox music. Different from Italian operas, where tenor tends to be the leading voice.
And women’s voices have not exactly been dominating Orthodox chants and liturgies; it’s the male voices, and low ones, in choirs that are the more familiar colour.
Yes, though they also have some really awesome nuns’ choirs. I wish there was an extensive study on this, I’d love to read it. On these differences.
When you listen to a western European choir do Rachmaninov Vespers, like the French choir Accentus, for example, which recorded the Vespers with Eric Ericson Chamber Choir, it’s a very different piece. Gossamer light in comparison to some Russian recordings.
I can believe it.
And then the Balkans are similar but also apart. I grew up in Croatia and Croatia is at a crossroads between the Mediterranean, Central European and Balkan cultures. That’s why the Croatian singers are part of the so-called “Slavic school” but we also have the Mediterranean touch and the Germanic touch via Austria. Croatia, Montenegro too, at a crossroads between larger countries and the empires that occupied us. But we made use of these cultural influences.
Croatia, within and without Yugoslavia, gave quite a few opera singers to the world. Was Sena Jurinac Croatian?
Yes. Also Dunja Vejzović. And Ruža Pospiš-Baldani.
I remember reading about Dunja in my adolescence, in Svijet magazine. Fast forward to much later, I last watched her in a DVD of Il trittico a few years back.
She is now in her 70s and she’s training as a conductor. She went back to school and she’s going to add that to her degrees.
Then there’s Renata Pokupić.
That’s right, she’s a baroque and Rossini singer. And let’s not forget Vlatka Oršanić. She’s my voice teacher and she’s sung in all of Europe really and now teaches at the opera studies department in Zagreb. And if we broaden our search to the entire ex-Yu territory, there’s of course Željko Lučić (b. in Serbia), really one of the best Verdi baritones around.
And Marijana Mijanović, also from Serbia, but she kind of retired.
Oh yes, Marijana! A real baroque contralto. I’ve never met her, but I remember when I was a student watching clips of her on Youtube, she is incredible.
And her former partner, Krešimir Špicer, who is often in Toronto thanks to Opera Atelier.
Krešimir is from Slavonski Brod, in Croatia. Actually, my very first opera, when I was in my second year at university, was Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo, and Krešimir was Orfeo in it.
There’s a lot of Slavs in German and Austrian opera. There’s the gruff Croatian count in Arabella and who knows, maybe you’ll end up singing the role eventually… or is it too high for a bass?
I’m not touching Strauss yet! In due course, I’ll take a peek.
But Haydn, too, was inspired by folk songs from Croatia. There were times when the Balkans were inspiring to the west European musicians. Nowadays, the word balkanization is a pejorative… And the stereotyping of Slav singers, yes, it’s a thing.
But this stereotyping maybe works in Slav basses’ favour?
Well let’s be honest, a huge chunk of basses come from Slavic countries. Come on. I’ve met Croatian basses, and Russian ones, Belorussian, Ukrainian, Bulgarian especially. It is something that’s ours. Provided that this we exists in the first place, of course.
OMG that’s right. Of course it doesn’t.
A friend from Croatia recently asked me: so when you’re away and you miss home, what do you miss: Croatia as Croatia, or Karlovac, your hometown, or Zagreb where you studied, or Munich where you live? My answer is, I never feel complete. From every city I live in or work in, I get something. But I leave a bit of myself there as well.
Wajdi Mouawad, playwright and director entirely new to opera, read the libretto to Mozart’s The Abduction from the Seraglio one day and decided it was not woke enough. Instead of looking at some other productions of this opera and and reading up on in and on Mozart’s own politics and oeuvre, he decided that, according to his notes:
-it condemns one civilization at the expense of another [it does not]
-that it might be read today as an exercise in caricature, or casual racism [libretto does not inevitably read as anything. If you decide to stage it like that, sure]
-it could constitute an argument for the “wholesale rejection of Islam and the East, thereby falling into larger patterns of Islamophobia in the West which would have us blame all our problems on the threat of an undifferentiated “Arabic” Other”. [What to do with this? I’ll just add that Ottomans weren’t Arabic and nobody in the libretto calls them that.]
So Mouawad rewrote the libretto (or Lyon-COC asked them to do it) to make the western side of the east-west encounter more obviously nasty. Like, really really nasty – and he wants you to know how nasty they are by opening the opera with the scene of a party in which the smug Europeans drunkenly discuss the escape from the Seraglio (the retelling of which we are about to see) by making fun of those awful Muhammedans and by desecrating the representations of the Prophet. This is entirely made up by Mouawad and is nowhere in the libretto.
What’s already in the original libretto, and what a good director can easily bring forward, is precisely the undermining of the idea that “west is best” and that “east is backward”– and the questioning of the east-west division tout court. But Mouaward keeps putting these ideas into the libretto with his own rewrites.
Terrified that any sign of cultural differences could be read as ‘Orientalist‘, Mouawad opted for a set of grey blocks and dresses all the principals in plan robes at the Pasha court (well, I say court… grey walls, on a planet, somewhere). The Janissaries and courtiers are all bald-headed creatures of indeterminate sex. While talking happens face to face, much of aria singing is to the audience: the old-fashioned p&b or a wish to de-naturalize the staging, I couldn’t decide.
Mouawad wants us to know loud and clear that the “Muslim” side (that’s what the Pasha & comp are reduced to here) are not the bad guys; that the pompous, prancing, moneyed idiot that is Belmonte represents the awful Europeans accurately (that’s already in the original libretto, hello). The abducting of women and their captivity is actually quite a sedate business. The Act II Blonde-Osmin battle of the sexes over consent is presented as purged of any real danger of violence ever breaking: it’s a teasing performance. So is Osmin’s rage in another scene.
There are a couple of extraordinary moments in the staging which stand out amidst all the blandness. After the intermission, the opera re-opens with a muezzin chant and we’re in a mosque, with women and men of the Pasha’s court praying — separated, and this is used well for the secret Pedrillo-Blonde exchange. It’s a moment of stillness: the Allahu Akbar chant and the swishing of the clothes as the worshipers bow and rise in prayer. (Did Ottoman Turks use Arabic in prayer? But of course Mouawad’s Pasha is not very Turkish; Mouawad is more interested in placing him and Osmin as the “Muslim Arabic Other” of the Bush Jr. era Pentagon and the American cable news.) Another intriguing tidbit: Blonde leaves the Seraglio pregnant. (This does not make the Act II negotiation between Osmin and Blonde entirely meaningless: they’re already in a relationship, but the question of consent of course remains.)
The musical side too was unusually clunky last night – disjointed, until almost two thirds in, when music finally gained its polish and the stage and the pit finally danced to the same tune. (Johannes Debus at the podium.) The fizz sorely lacked from the overture, and the act 1 continued as a very deflated, fatigued Mozart. Jane Archibald as Konstanze had her ups and downs, vocally, but credit to her for carrying this production in German — the Lyon one was with French dialogues, and this was a whole new chunk of spoken text to learn. Goran Juric as Osmin and Claire de Sevigne as Blonde were more evenly fueled throughout the evening, with Juric’s bass tireless and precise, and de Sevigne’s sharp, bright, exact singing, though a bit more volume wouldn’t have gone amiss. The actor of Israeli origin, Raphael Weinstock, played the Pasha. Mauro Peter was a decent Belmonte and got to shine in a lot of pretty music, though the character itself is a pompous balloon in need of piercing. It’s a tough act to pull, making Belmonte lovable, and he eventually gets there.
Yet the greatest sin of this production is not that it tries to make an 18th century libretto as inoffensive and didactic as possible; its greatest sin is that it’s deadly boring. The dialogues are endless because they are explanatory; the drama is expunged entirely, because that’s what happens when you eliminate any hint of genuine conflict, disagreement or even difference.
And I must add one last thing. Mouawad was probably asked to rewrite the libretto because he was born in Lebanon and has lived both in Middle East and “the west’ (Canada, and now France). Which is great. But if a woman of any culture was asked for her take on the libretto, it would have been a different take — and a different staging. For example, Leila Slimani, I wonder what she’d make of it? Mouawad’s now flaunted feminist record is not entirely impeccable (7 years ago, he chose to hire Bernard Cantat as a collaborator, the pop singer who served a sentence for killing his girlfriend Marie Trintignant, explaining that the singer had “already paid his debt to society” in, among other places, this insufferable Letter to My Daughter).
Bon ben. Men continue to write and rewrite the canon and decide what is and isn’t culturally offensive and what is and isn’t feminist in it.
Instead of leaving the production thrilled by its directorial vision and musical interpretation, I left Mouawad’s Seraglio thinking about that instead. And of that woker-than-thou correction our Prime Minister recently offered to a woman speaking in public.
I got hold of the libretto for Die Entführung aus dem Serail the other day (Cassell Opera Guides, London 1971) because I wanted to read it before the Wajdi Mouawad adaptation opens at the COC next week and see for myself again if the original was so egregiously xenophobic and orientalist as to warrant a radical rewrite. It is not, I will argue. It had occurred to me that this might be the case when I watched McVicar’s couldn’t-be-more-trad Abduction right after I watched the livestream of this Mouawad production from Lyon two years ago. But I wanted to be sure; and reading and re-reading the libretto itself, English by the German original (translation Lionel Salter) would be essential.
Libretto is a hodge podge by Gottlieb Stephanie the Younger after C. F. Bretzner with Mozart himself editing as the dramaturge. There are two Ottoman Turkish characters, Pasha Selim and Osmin, mirroring the other two aristocracy + proletariat pairs, Constanze and Blonde, and Belmonte and Pedrillo. Pasha is a clement and wise ruler (similar to Tito, but more personality and more moral judgment – and in a lot of productions way hotter), and it’s only Osmin, something of a basso buffo, that may ruffle some oversensitive feathers. He is rough and peeved and mistrustful of the westerners, and threatens with torture and worse. In a lot of productions these play out as not particularly dark threats, since Osmin does not make these decisions himself, the Pasha does. Another instance where feathers may be ruffled — and which maybe ruffled Mouawad’s too — is the scene of the failed forced seduction between Osmin and Blonde who is technically in his possession, but resistant. At one point, he says “Tenderness? Coaxing? This is Turkey, and here we dance to a different tune. I’m the master, you’re my slave; I command, you must obey!” The argument that Blonde is clutching to is: I’m an Englishwoman, I’ve known freedom, and cannot submit now just because I’m in another part of the world.
There’s much to unpack here, nothing is straightforward, as is there much to unpack in the libretto as a whole. As Brigid Brophy, who wrote the intro to the Cassell guide, reminds, the “westerner goes abroad, writes home about the local customs” genre that bloomed alongside the global expansion of capitalist trade and colonization is more often than not a form of criticism of the local, western mores and governance – a form of political criticism of one’s own rulers disguised as a postcard from an exotic place. (OK, you can argue, but why didn’t the lot of them take the time to read up on different cultures instead of fantasizing about them for their own purposes? Some have, others haven’t. A valid question for another conversation.) Here’s Brophy:
Exploration, commerce and empire gave eighteenth-century Europe the raw material for a cult of the exotic… Painters, including Stubbs and G.B. Tiepolo; architects, including J. Effner and John Nash; writers such as Pope, Montesquieu and Defoe; and librettists and composers of opera, including Frederick the Great and Mozart.
The effect made at home by travellers’ tales was the opposite of the effect intended abroad by most of the travellers. Missionaries set out to Christianize pagans, militarists and merchants to subdue and exploit savages. But from the information they sent back to Europe the message read by Enlightened thought was that pagans and savages might be more moral and more civilized than Christendom.
The taste for the exotic was the aesthetic and fictional face of a searching intellectual comparison. […] The form of the fictitious traveller’s tale, in which the traveller questions the natives about the institutions of their society and the answers cast a satirical and sceptical light on institutions at home, had been sketched by Sir Thomas More and is still in use by science fiction. In the eighteenth century Swift expanded the traveller’s tale into Gulliver’s Travels and Voltaire developed the form into his pamphlets in the shape of fictions (including his interplanetary science fiction, Micromegas).
So to return to my main question: of all operatic librettos of the standard repertoire, does The Abduction warrant a rewrite? Or do good, complex operas allow, are roomy enough, for a rewrite within existing parameters through an innovative, seriously engaging production? That’s what good staging does: identifies the kinks in the piece, and works up a concept that would make the opera viable to us, the present day audience. As I mentioned in my notes about the Lyon streaming of The Abduction, while Mouawad eliminates the danger of sexual slavery by making the easterners into Enlightenment salonniers who resolve conflicts through communication and not violence, the now notorious Bieito production of The Abduction emphasizes nothing but sexual slavery.
A good libretto can take this kind of interpretive beating on the regular, and is better for it.
And that’s how we re-signify most operas, without having to actually rewrite them. Has anybody done it with Butterfly, the rewrite? (Bieito’s production again reverses various things through the staging, but does not rewrite the actual text.) If there’s an opera in need of intervention, it’s that one. Or The Rape of Lucretia, which for me is a lost cause until someone radically re-stages the ending. The dramatically weak IlTrovatore could also use some help from a smart playwright. Most of Gluck needs an infusion of life. Yet the recent rewrite of the ending of Carmen in one (1) Italian production caused a disproportionate amount of international uproar.
The NYT went to Lyon the year of the premiere and hailed the production in its piece on (roughly) how art brings people together and reconciles the antagonisms, but it’s unfair to ask that of opera or any art form – to program itself in order to fix historical injustices. Is that what the arts are for? What an operatic production is for? I’d argue good art does that any way, but not because it sets out to do that, but by its very existence.
Anyway. I have a soft spot for Mozart and his librettists, who take the side of the women, the servants and the ‘cultural other’ par for the course. I’d argue that he’s the last of the standard rep titans whose operas should be rewritten because ‘offensive’ or ‘cliched’.
Remains to be seen if the COC Abduction is in any way different than the Lyon livestream. I’m keeping an open mind. Mouawad, who is now running Theatre de la Colline in Paris, has not been reviving his own production here; this fell to Valerie Negre, assistant director, and I think that’s good. Women should stage and (if needed) rewrite things that directly concern them, and decide if something in an operatic work is misogynist or not by themselves. I hope more of them break into opera directing – there are quite a few in the assistant tier right now. Negre had to follow Mouawad’s instructions, I’m sure, but maybe she added her own touches here and there as well.
First guest is Victorine de Oliveira, contributing writer @ Philosophie Magazine in France, who talks about her opera and classical highlights this season, books she’s been reading and also the French opposition to the MeToo. (Recorded on Skype, please forgive the extraneous sounds) People mentioned: Lea Desandre, Claus Guth, Kaija Saariaho, Terry Gillian, Paris opera loggionisti, Sarah Bakewell, a historian of the May ’68 Ludivine Bantigny, sociologist Eva Illouz, Virginie Despentes, Catherine Millet & the signatories of the PasMois letter.
Song: Emoke Baráth with Emese Virág on piano, Debussy’s “Nuit d’etoiles” (Hungaroton label, May 2017)
Followed by the conversation with opera director Christoper Alden on directing Rigoletto at the COC, the figure of the “Fallen Woman” in Verdi, working on a Peter Pan play via Leonard Bernstein and Nina Simone, whether his (rent-controlled) apartment in NYC is more Zeffirelli or minimalism, what his worry would be if the Met ever came calling, and what is opera to do in the age of Trump and the internet domination of culture.
It’s called Alto, it’ll cover music and literature and occasionally other stuff too and it’ll drop last Thursday of every month. The first episode is right here and on the Soundcloud, & can be streamed or downloaded. Guests Jenna Douglas Simeonov of Schmopera, John Gilks of Opera Ramblings, Joseph So of Ludvig Van and Opera Canada, and Sara Constant of The WholeNote and I talk about the good, the bad and the WTF of the year that was.
I’m still getting the hang of the technical side of things so don’t judge my sound equalization, clip quality or my anti-radio voice too harshly. For now.
I also realized while I was editing the audio file that there’s not a lot from my own list in the mix, but that’s just fine, there was so much to talk about that I never got around to going down my own list. I did point out my Greatest Disappointment, so there’s that. Here’s the run-down of some of the Best of… choices but for the Worst of… (and we were all much naughtier than our writing voices) you’ll have to listen in.
John of Opera Ramblings, Best Shows:
Neema Bickersteth’s Century Song at The Crow’s Theatre
Toronto Symphony with Against the Grain: Seven Deadly Sins, staged for concert
The Ana Sokolovic Dawn Begins in the Bones recital 21C Festival at Koerner Hall
The Vivier show, Musik fur das Ende, by the Soundstreams
Category: Reconciliation : COC Louis Riel, the symphony putting on shows with First Nations content; Brian Current & Marie Clements’ opera Missing which opened in BC; land acknowledgements in the arts world.
Sara Constant, Digital Media at the WholeNote:
The Soundstreams Vivier show
Intersections Festival hosted by Contact Contemporary Music (Jerry Pergolesi’s ensemble) – immersive event at Allan Gardens
My own addendum to this:
Soundstreams doing R Murray Schafer Odditorium
PLUS Judy Loman in anything
Joseph So, a long-time opera critic (Opera, Ludvig Van, Opera Canada):
Category: Event – the Trio Magnifico concert at the Four Seasons Centre (Netrebko, Hvorostovsky, Eyvazov)
Toronto’s best operatic performance: COC’s Gotterdammerung
COC’s Arabella (even though he describes it as a “German Harlequin novel” – or maybe because of that exactly?)
Best recital: Barbara Hannigan & Reinbert de Leeuw recital: “Like Melisande is singing Berg, Schonberg, Webern and Zemlinsky”
Best singing performance in an opera: Andrew Haji singing Nemorino in COC’s Elixir d’amore
Best opera seen abroad: Goetz Friedrich’s Ring in Deutsche Oper Berlin – the farewell performance.
Jenna Simeonov (Schmopera):
Absolute top of the chart: ROH Rosenkavalier directed by Robert Carsen with Renee Fleming, Alice Coote and Sophie Bevan.
The Depraved Appetite of Tarrare the Freak – an opera with puppets by Wattle and Daub at Wilton’s Music Hall in London.
Katie Mitchell’s production of Written on Skin at ROH with the original cast
A Schmopera interview highlight of the yer: Dr. Paul E. Kwak on vocal health of singers.
+ + +
For detailed info on the musical tidbits in the podcast, head here.
My own Best of 2017 coming out before end of year.
Against the Grain’s new Handel concoction, Bound, is still very much a work in progress. Last night, we had a chance to see the first version of the three-year process of developing a production, and the final version may end up being completely reinvented.
The founding idea is good: 7 characters who are confined due to a brush with the immigration law sing Handel arias about their condition. The spoken bits connect the arias – the Stage (voiced by Martha Burns, in a dark far away corner of the COC’s Jackman Studio) interrogates each inmate in a weary and slightly menacing tone through a glitchy microphone.
The Handel aria texts (Cara sposa, Ombra mai fu, Iris hence away and Ah mio cor I did manage to recognize) are discarded and new words written to build the stories for these specific characters. Music is often rearranged as well (Topher Mokrzewski @ piano) – sometimes to the detriment, when the coloraturas are sacrificed, and sometimes the arrangements indeed enrich the song, as when Arabic-inflected singing is added to Miriam Khalil’s character take on Ah mio cor.
The cast of young singers are good actors to one though neither is exactly a fireworks Handelian voice. The vocal side would matter much less if the dramatic core of the piece solidified — which is still not entirely the case. Is the State specifically Canadian, or is it American, or an abstract cross-cultural entity? Is the State meant to be uniformly oppressive? In which case, the individual stories need to be revised and made more specific. In one case, a man was asked about a German relative of his who’s had ties to the Nazi party. Sadly, Nazis are back in the news and I wasn’t entirely sure if the libretto was suggesting that the relatives of Nazis or the Nazis themselves have been in the past or are being today unfairly prosecuted or harassed by association?
Another character is sister of a man who committed I presume one of those white terrorism acts: lots of innocent people are killed, is all I gathered; and the man’s name is Liam, the name which, when sung out in a plaintive aria, sounds almost comical. She is being interrogated, I presume, as is customary to talk to family members of mass murderers? I am not entirely sure that that too is an extremely oppressive act.
Perhaps the main dramatic problem is that the reason why these characters are being interrogated remains unknown? More detail would help clarify the absurdity of the charge – the vagueness doesn’t help. Perhaps Joel Ivany should look at some of the news stories and work them in, with changed names? One of the characters wears a hijab, and is questioned by the State about it – but the exchange just doesn’t sound credible. Since we don’t have all the other information on why she’s being detained, it sounds like she is being given extra hard time because of the hijab? The hijab question is also a bit more complicated than that. If the State was Iranian or Saudi Arabian the woman harassed would be the one without a hijab or niqab. I kept thinking of Zhara Kazemi, who was an Iranian-Canadian photographer apprehended on false charges and beaten to death in a jail in Iran. Might be wise to take a wider look at what some other States are doing as well when it comes to women and how they dress.
Left as vague as this, neither of the character stories actually work. The one thing that is clear is that they are all massively incovenienced. A big crime in Canada, I know… But silliness aside, if the libretto is to stay Canada-specific, the stories should be more specific. A clear cut case that Ivany could have used is toddlers being stopped at border crossings because their names appear on do-not-fly lists, for instance. Or live-in caregivers being denied family sponsorship visas because their children have medical conditions which would be “a burden to Canadian health care system”. Or the live-in care-givers themselves. There is much to be mined from the actual news – no need to invent vague unspecific instances of what we are told is oppression.
This show can be much better. Meet you same place, next year?
Head over the Globe to read my article on Tim Albery’s COC-Santa Fe-Minnesota produced Arabella which will open at the COC next week. I look at the politics and geography of Hofmannsthal’s libretto — it concerns me not only as a lover of Strauss-Hofmannsthal collabs but personally as well, as I am South Slav, like Mandryka. South Slavs appear in Austrian and German opera and operetta with some regularity, and I’m all in favour. The Merry Widow, for example, both lampoons and celebrates Montenegrin culture, and I can’t really muster any amount of cultural appropriation outrage (actually these cultural crossings are crucial if humanity is to progress and de-parochialize, but that’s a topic for another post. Cultural theft is also another, and very different topic).
Strauss consulted South Slav folk song sources and gave Mandryka some of the stuff, if of course Straussified and deconstructed. But the text to “I went through the wood” sounded familiar, and after some memory refresher journey through YouTube, I remembered and tracked down the actual song that still exists and is still being performed in various musical arrangements in Montenegro, Serbia and Bosnia. The text is utterly absurd, and perhaps an allegory for proposing or propositioning or getting married:
I went through the wood, I don’t know which one
I met a girl, don’t know whose daughter
I stepped on her foot, don’t know which one
She screamed, no idea why.
which is almost word for word (with one extra line added) what Mandryka says:
Gieng durch einen Wald, weiss nicht durch welchen
Fand ein Mädchen, weiss nicht, wessen Tochter!
Trat ihm auf den Fuss, weiss nicht auf welchen,
fieng es an zu schrein, weiss nicht warum doch:
seht den Wicht, wie der sich denkt die Liebe!
Now, stepping on somebody’s foot is odd, but there’s a slang expression to step on a crazy rock, stati na ludi kamen that means to get married, to get hitched, so maybe it’s connected. I also read in a Balkan folkie forum that in some parts of Serbia this version of the song is usually sung at weddings. (There’s another version of I walked through the wood, in which there’s no stepping on feet but in which the man and the woman come across each other and just know they’re meant to be.)
I think Hofmannsthal and Strauss knew a thing or two about the Balkans. There are clues that Arabella and Mandryka are meant to be, and this song appears as one of those clues, I think. I don’t think it’s there to illustrate how bizarre those “Slavonian” songs are, though that’s a legit surface read too. It’s both a clue, and something that’ll sound absurd to the Viennese.
Another thing also intrigued me. Zdenka (a Slav name, by the way) lives as a man Zdenko because the family can’t afford the dresses, the balls, the accoutrements required to bring another daughter into the high society. This is also what has been happening in some impoverished families in rural, mountainous parts of Montenegro, Dalmatia, Bosnia and Albania. There is no money to raise a daughter, so she is raised as a boy – and will later dress as a man, work as a man, run the farm or the household as a man. In order to be able to live as a man, though, she can never marry — or even date. Did Hofmannsthal know about the Balkan sworn virgins (virdzinas)? I wouldn’t be surprised. (Croatia and Bosnia don’t have them any more, the last one in Montenegro died recently, but Albania still has a couple of dozen, to the delight of western documentary filmmakers, journalists and novelists.)
The COC-co-produced Wozzeck (with Salzburg, Met, and Opera Australia) directed by William Kentridge will be streamed on Medici TV this Sunday at 2PM Eastern. Watch it here. Medici will ask you to create a free account with a working email after a couple of minutes, so you might want to do that in advance.
I read somewhere that the Met will have it in 2019, so I doubt we’ll get it in the 18-19 season, but maybe the Met will have it in the Fall of 2019, which leaves a slight possibility that we may get it before NYC. We’ll stay tuned.
Here’s a short Salzburg Fest video with Kentridge talking about his ideas for the production:
Opera 5’s staging of two one-acts, Fête Galante and The Boatswain’s Mate, is probably Ethel Smyth’s (1858–1944) operatic debut in Toronto. The general and artistic directors of the company Rachel Krehm and Aria Umezawa as well as the director Jessica Derventzis and conductor Evan Mitchell deserve kudos for shedding light on this unexplored corner of the early twentieth century creation. Both librettos show their age, though — former is based on a story by Maurice Baring (read it here), and latter is adopted from a story by W.W. Jacobs (which in turn you can read here). Smyth adapted both. Umezawa rewrote the dialogues from the Mate libretto and that, together with a filmic, naturalistic direction of an ensemble of capable young singer-actors who unreservedly advocated for each of the characters salvaged the piece and gave it new life.
Fête Galante was a different story. It’s a fast one acter on betrayal and mistaken identities and courting outside your marital unit. There are characters in it called the King and the Queen as well as characters from commedia dell’arte. It’s more oneiric and fantastical than naturalistic, yet it mostly got a naturalistic directorial treatment. Its absurd and comedic elements probably needed drawing out. As your regular old naturalistic narrative, it didn’t quite tick. Perhaps if it was treated as akin to an opera like, say, Pelléas, the engine might have revved up.
It was, luckily, followed by the Mate which straight from scene one blossomed into a full-blown comedic opera–in this case, in the chamber orchestra score reduction obtained, as Mitchell explains in the program, thanks to Retrospect Opera. The story is of a pub owner Mrs. Waters (Alexandra Smither), her persistent suitor and customer Harry (Asitha Tennekoon), and a random pub goer Ned (Jeremy Ludwig) who’s recruited by Harry to pretend to be a burglar so Harry can fight him off and “save” Mrs. Waters. In a large-ish cast of young singers, there wasn’t a single weak link – a rare occurrence. A group of drunk revelers barged into the pub half-way into the proceedings, and everything was sung and done with impeccable timing and just the right kind of rowdiness and noise (the revelers were Kevin Myers, Alan MacDonald, Jean-Philippe McClish, Elizabeth Polese, Eugenia Dermentzis and Michael Dickey, who plays Mrs. Waters’ waitress on staff). If I had to pick a dramatic standout among the principals, it would be tenor Asitha Tennekoon who has a gift for physical comedy rarely found among opera singers. His smooth tenor all the while never wavered. Alexandra Smither was equally impressive — vocally as well as in her acting: here is a singer who is already in possession of a fully developed instrument and undeniable charisma. Jeremy Ludwig as Ned too struck the right note with his character and while maintaining the required supply of goofiness never fell into caricature.
Mrs. Waters discovers the awkward “burglar” Ned in her pub before the plot by the two men could even hatch and after Ned confesses everything, they concoct a plan on their own for Harry (fast asleep on guard by the cat flap). She leads Harry to believe that she had killed the house intruder with a baseball bat, which gives the tenor even more room to exercise his comedic gifts. A policeman gets involved and after the resolution of the farce, and some additional flirting, Mrs. Waters agrees to see Ned again. She’s again alone in her inn when waitress Mary Ann arrives and the two sit down to talk over what happened since they last saw each other. Curtain.
Ethel Smyth’s music in the Mate is certainly not along the lines of Puccini–it’s not particularly melodic or emotional except when she’s quoting, her own suffragette anthem The March of Women composed for the Women’s Social and Political Union, for example, or folk melodies–but it’s neither along the lines of the Second Viennese School either. It’s tonal, if ruggedly so, often chromatic and unrepetitive and eager to experiment with the pairing of instrument and voice and with instrumental solos. The transition between spoken and sung text worked well.
And while Smyth herself had a fascinating life, the libretto for the Mate, which turns the smart female protagonist soup-brained and romantically interested in a hapless stranger who broke into her house, resorts to some implausible old tropes on women. Consent is important throughout, which I suppose is new–and having the romantic couple in the making not romance each other immediately, but agree to meet and get to know each other later (Mrs. Waters has a business to run after all) is a nice twist. But imagine if Smyth had worked with a libretto that actually reflected at least some of her own life: defied her militaristic father’s wishes, did what she wanted to do; doggedly pursued music education in UK and Europe against all odds; as a young person met and worked with Brahms; spent two months in jail after being arrested for breaking a window at a suffragist protest; had affairs with women; was friends with Virginia Woolf; worked as a nurse during World War 1; became a successful writer later in life.
But I think we are still waiting for operas with female characters of even remotely that kind of scope. A lot of the contemporary composers still love the victimized or dead woman in opera, and even if you’re a singer specializing in contemporary music, you’re probably still likelier to sing Ophelia than a woman with any kind of agency. So it’s a question that still lingers. While Smyth put some of her politics in other musical forms–in choral piece titled 1910, for ex, which her obit describes as the “hullabaloo of a Parliament Square riot”–in choosing her operatic librettos she resorted to the paths more travelled. Mrs. Waters has rare pizzazz, but up to a point. We’ll relish it up to that point.
Smyth’s opus, meanwhile, remains of interest and worth exploring in the twenty-first century. Thanks Opera 5 for the discovery.