#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 003 - Music Behind the Wall

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. There is a little introduction to who we are and what we would like to achive at the first (or rather "double-zeroëth" episode). It still bears mentioning every time, that your comments, criticism, and suggestions are most welcome, of whatever nature they may be. Now here’s Episode 003, where we are talking, at some length, about Classical Music in the GDR, who some of its great conductors where (with some of my favorite recordings), what it meant to be an artist growing up in the GDR... and we touch on some GDR composers that have become completely forgotten:

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Notes from the 2024 Salzburg Festival ( 9 ) A Masterclass with Malcolm Martineau

Salzburg Festival • Young Singers Project • Malcolm Martineau • Egor Sergeev

Singers, Soon to be on Stages Near You

A Masterclass with Malcolm Martineau and variously ripe vocal talent

What do we learn while attending a publically held master class, actually? The real work of such a class – again with the scottish accompanist-extraordinaire Malcolm Martineau at this year's Young Singers Project of the Salzburg Festival – takes place well before the final concert, behind the scenes. The subsequent 15 minutes with each singer, in front of a decent audience in the University's lecture hall, is really just the tip of the iceberg. Young singers sing and Martineau will find something to nudge into a preferred direction. A little faster here, a little slower there. A phrase a little closer to the meaning of the text, please, a vowel turned from bright to dark. Thank you very much, next.

But even in this limited amount of time, there's quite a bit that can be revealed. Mostly about the character of the person holding the masterclass, rather than the students. Some singers have been rather infamous for revealing themselve as unpleasant species, when they couldn't even (or especially) keep their arrogance or nastiness in check while operating in front of an audience. That would make Malcolm Martineau a superbly endearing, angelic speciment of his kind, just relatively speaking. But he speaks and nudges and teaches with what seems a genuine kindness, a passion, a goofy wit. Charming, gentle, nifty. He praises, only to then suggest a little change. There is no correction that is not accompanied by something postiive. And he gets the audience to giggle (cherishing the humorous effect of his words), but never at the young singer's expense. They tend to giggle along, when he comes up with a clever simile or, for vividness' sake, exagerates a mannerism.

The registers were nicely mixed, hardly by accident. The quality varied. A late-starter of a tenor sounded rather demure (not in the meme-sense). There was a willing bass (who had already shown some of his potential in a Mozart matinee with Ivor Bolton), and a sympathetic Soprano who, alas, was too loud across the board and of whom one hopes the she doesn't give too much of her, too early. Between these registers there was Tamara Obermayr to discover: A surprisingly ready, stage-secure mezzo, with a generous but never dull lustre to her voice – part velvet, part smokey quartz – who delighted with Fauré. She probably need not worry about the bit where Martineau criticized her delivery as "too beautiful". Surely something can be done about that.

And then there was Egor Sergeev. I was tempted to just pack up this russia-born baritone with his gently-french timbre, and put him on the next stage. A tall drink of water, a lanky with natural charme, he has got a hint of Gérard Souzay in his voice, the physique of a young Bo Skovhus, and somethign of the charisma of Yannick Nézet-Séguin (oddly). Made for the theater! His voice blossomed brightly and lightly, with beauty across the entire register, and plenty strength as he sang Tchaikovsky's lovely (superficially simplistic) "Otchego". Martineau visibly enjoyed working with such attractive raw material and audiences are bound to enjoy it, too, and probably very soon!


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Kritikers Notizbuch: Martineaus Meisterkurs bei den Salzburger Festspielen

Meisterkurs • Martineau • Malcolm

Sänger von denen zu hören sein wird!

Malcolm Martineau und verschiedenartig gelagertes Gesangstalent

Was lernt man bei einem öffentlichen Meisterkurs? Die eigentliche Arbeit einer Meisterklasse – dieses Jahr beim Young Singers Project der Salzburger Festspiele wieder mit dem Schottischen Liedbegleiter Malcolm Martineau – findet ja davor, hinter den Kulissen statt. Die 15 Minuten pro Sänger die daraufhin in der Universitätsaula stattfinden sind da nur die Spitze des Eisberges. Es wird vorgesungen und Martineau findet etwas zu kritisieren; man singt hier ein bisschen schneller, dort langsamer, betont eine Phrase textnäher, formt einen Vokal von Hell zu Dunkel. Wunderbar, Danke, der Nächste bitte.

Aber auch in dieser beschränkten Zeit zeigt sich einiges. Zum Beispiel blitzt ein bisschen vom Charakter des Meisters oder der Meisterin auf. Gerade einige Sänger waren ja berühmt-berüchtigt dafür, sich als unangenehme Zeitgenossen zu entlarven, wenn sie nicht einmal (oder gerade vor) Publikum ihre Arroganz oder Bösartigkeit zurückhalten konnten oder wollten. Nicht nur vergleichsweise ist das Malcolm Martineau ein liebenswertes Engelchen; charmant, witzig, behutsam, keck. Er lobt, um dann eine Verbesserung vorzuschlagen; kein Korrigieren ohne nicht auch aufmunterndes zu sagen. Er bringt die Zuschauer oft zum Lachen (und genießt das auch), aber nie auf Kosten der Sänger… die oft genug mitkichern, wenn er einen witzigen Vergleich zieht oder, der Anschaulichkeit wegen, einen Manierismus übertreibt.

Die Stimmlagen waren, wohl nicht zufällig, gut gemischt. Die Qualität unterschiedlich. Ein feiner Spätstartertenor der noch etwas brav klingt, ein bemühter Bass (der schon in einer Mozart Matinee zeigen konnte, dass Potential in ihm steckt), eine sympathische aber dauerlaute Sopranistin, bei der man sich hofft, dass sie nicht schon zu früh zu viel gibt. Zwischen diesen Lagen Tamara Obermayr, eine schon erstaunlich fertige, Bühnensichere Mezzosopranistin die mit samtigem aber nie dumpfen Schmelz in der Stimme – zu gleichen Teilen Samt und Rauchquarz – in Fauré entzückte. Wenn Martineau moniert, es sei „zu schön“, dann muss man sich wohl keine Sorgen machen: Dagegen kann man etwas tun.
Und dann war da noch Egor Sergeev. Den in Russland geborenen Bariton mit dem zart-französischen Timbre hätte man am liebsten gleich eingepackt und auf die nächste Bühne gestellt. Ein Riesenlackl von Bursche, in der Stimme etwas von Gérard Souzay, die Physis eines jungen Bo Skovhus, von der Ausstrahlung etwas vom Charm eines Yannick Nézet-Séguin, scheint er fürs Theater geradezu geschaffen. Hell und sanft blühte seine rundum schön und kräftig klingende Stimme in Tschaikowskys „Otchego“ und Martineau hatte sichtlich Freude an der Arbeit mit so attraktivem Rohmaterial. Wir auch bald. [04.08.2024]


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#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 002 - Alfred Schnittke's Little Tragedies

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. There is a little introduction to who we are and what we would like to achive at the first (or rather "double-zeroëth" episode). It still bears mentioning every time that your comments, criticism, and suggestions are most welcome, of whatever nature they may be. Now here’s Episode 002, where we’re talking about Alfred Schnittke's film music in general but more specifically about his music to the Mikhail Schweitzer filmed version of Pushkin's Little Tragedies on the occasion of Capriccio having released the 6^th volume of their Schnittke Film Music series with that extended soundtrack. (With Vladimir Jurowski). I love Schnittke, and we get to play one of my favorite little bits of volume 4 of the series. (Which, admittedly, I panned, when reviewing it for Fanfare Magazine. Let us know if you find Schnittke half way as intriguing as we do:

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#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 001 - Jeanne d’Arc & Walter Braunfels

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. There is a little introduction to who we are and what we would like to achive at the first (or rather "double-zeroëth" episode). It still bears mentioning every time that your comments, criticism, and suggestions are most welcome, of whatever nature they may be. Now here’s Episode 001, where we’re talking about Walter Braunfels and his opera Jeanne d’Arc on the occasion of Capriccio having released the 2013 Salzburg performance which I reviewed for ionarts. (I also reviewed the fab Decca recording of this opera, here.) And now unto the thing itself, if you are intrigued:

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#ClassicalDiscoveries: The Podcast. Episode 00 - Who Needs Another Podcast?

Welcome to #ClassicalDiscoveries. You have stumbled upon our podcast!

Who is the “us” in “our”? That’s Johannes “Joe” Kernmayer, proprietor and manager of the classical music label Capriccio Records and my little self, the “Jens” in the blathering equation. With #ClassicalDiscoveries, we try to offer a podcast about classical music that, well, is interesting, honest, and perhaps on the odd occasion amusing. With two opinions (and the occasional planned guests), we want to look at forgotten composers (“Surprised-by-Beauty”-style, in a way) both within – but certainly also outside – the repertoire of Capriccio. (If not right away, well get there, before long.) We won’t be shills, we’re not trying to do marketing in podcast’s clothing, we will never tell you to “like and subscribe” to the podcast (although that does, apparently, help a great deal in the visibility) and we’ll take your criticism to heart, so lay it on! Suggestions are welcome, too.

We’re working on the podcast also to be available in audio-only versions on the relevant podcast platforms. Now here’s Episode “00”, where we’re trying to introduce ourselves and figure out how we should go about the whole thing:

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Critic’s Notebook: Budapest Festival Orchestra's Brahms Festival in Vienna

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Iván Fischers Budapester Brahms begeistert im Konzerthaus

J.Brahms, The Symphonies Fischer Iván / BFO Channel Classics

J.Brahms, The Symphonies G¨nter Wand / NDRSO RCA

J.Brahms, The Hungarian Dances Fischer Iván / BFO Philips

The Delight of Sheer Craftsmanship

The Budapest Festival Orchestra has a little Brahms Festival going on at the Konzerthaus in Vienna, where they play(ed) all four Symphonies, the major concertos, and a little stuffing and garnish around it all. On this, the third of four concerts last Thursday, they presented the Third Symphony and the Violin Concerto, embedded in two Hungarian Dances. It was a triumph of craftsmanship over showmanship.

In their unassuming way, the two Hungarian Dances, Nos. 17 (orchestrated by Dvořák) and 3 (by Brahms himself), almost stole the show. Relaxed and matter-of-factly on the outside, but lovingly painted in with all the Echt-faux Hungarian/Gypsy vibe, that Brahms so lovingly imbued it with. The orchestra produced that color in spades, with real fiddling, twirping, cooing, lively and colorful, and with lots of transparency amid the large orchestral apparatus. The third Dance wasn’t so much played, it was downright danced – all with a coy, knowing little smile around the orchestra’s collective lips.

Then there was Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider (he’s not going the full Stephen Bishop-Kovacevic on us, he’s merely restored his full last name to his artist’s biography, having felt bad dropping the first part out of career-considerations many years ago). Happily, he was playing the violin, not conducting. He played along with the tuttis before his entry – and when it came, it was as if notes simply poured forth from his instrument, in a nice, leathery tone. Fischer and Znaider both went for a nicely unsentimental, none-too-sweet tone yet for plenty romantic freedom: Flexible phrasing, liberal portamenti, all building on the dark sound of the orchestra. More buoyant than energetic, more flexible than suspenseful. Even the oboe, gifted the finest melody of the work, didn’t indulge and went for clear lyricism instead of schmaltz. After the imposing first movement, a part of the Viennese audience applauded. Shocking, I know. More shocking still: This was the third time this week this happened (all after movements that clearly demand applause, that is), and already the second time that the Vigilant Applause Police^™ did not hiss them down. Might things be changing for the better?

In the rhythmically tricky Third Symphony of Brahms, the Orchestra under Fischer Iván showed full command over the score. Without much of a fuss, they started in the Allegro con brio. The shifted pulse, that the second violins answer the first violins with, came to the fore beautifully – helped by the antiphonal seating, with the violins facing each other on either side of the orchestra. The double basses were happily plucking away amid the swinging rhythm or, when called upon, drove their colleagues on with furious strokes. Everything worked like clockwork, everything was solidly put together. There was no show, no smoke and mirrors. No radical tempi, no aggressively accentuated subsidiary melodic lines… but when a brass chorale entered, it did so on point, nicely blended in, and in nearly Wagnerian splendor. The fourth movement, before it comes to its relatively quiet close, built up such force, that the experience became a visceral, physical one – almost oppressively so. Finally a choral encore, as Fischer likes to do: A Brahms serenade (Abendständchen op.42/1) from the entire orchestra-as-amateur-choir. A lovely gesture about making music together – and touching, to boot.


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Kritikers Notizbuch: Das Wiener Kammerorchester unter Jan Willem de Vriend Erfreut

J.C.Bach, The Symphonies A.Hoalstead, The Hanover Band CPO

W.A.Mozart, Piano Cto. No.15 K.450 V.Ashkenazy, Philharmonia Decca

F.Schubert, Symphony No.5 D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

Klassische Morgengabe

Das Wiener Kammerorchester überzeugt unter Jan Willem de Vriend auch zu früher Stunde im Mozart Saal

Halb-Elf Uhr morgens ist der natürliche Feind des Orchestermusikers; mehr noch, als der des Musikkritikers. Aber das Wiener Kammerorchester spielte im Konzerthaus das Zwillingskonzert zu dem so großartigen Konzert vom 23. September (siehe Rezension in der Presse): Die gleichen Komponisten, die gleichen Gattungen, andere Werke. Johann Christian Bach: Sinfonie g-Moll, op .6/6. Mozart: B-Dur Klavierkonzert K 450. Schubert: Sinfonie No. 5. Konnte dieses hohe Niveau unter dem neuen Chef Jan Willem de Vriend auch ante meridiem wiederholt werden? Kurz: Ja! Spannung von der allerersten Note und im Mozart Saal noch direkter erfahrbar als im Großen. Da knarzt das Blech gleich nochmal so sehr, das Fagott brummt herrlich und zwei engagierte Kontrabässe füllen den Raum locker mit peppigen, antreibenden Noten. Kaum Spannungsabfall im Andante mit aufheulenden Geigen und packend „furioso“ im Allegro molto finale.

Ohne Sperenzchen spielte Jasminka Stancul, mit sympathisch-nervöser Energie, das Mozart Konzert (mit bemerkenswerten Beiträgen von der Flöte und den Oboen) und wurde von freundlich-familiären Publikum wärmstens beklatscht. Ob es die zum Ritual sklerotisierte Zugabe gebraucht hätte, sei dahingestellt.

Dann Schuberts Fünfte. Über Vernachlässigung kann sich die Sinfonie nicht beschweren; alleine im Konzerthaus ist sie seit 1913 öfters aufgeführt worden, als ihr vermeintliches Vorbild, Mozarts „große“ g-Moll Sinfonie die erst am Vorabend vom Bremer Kammerorchester gegeben wurde. Auch diese zeitliche Nähe macht die Beziehung allerdings – außer im letzten Satz – kaum deutlicher, denn wer die Fünfte als „Schubert“ kennen und lieben gelernt hat und nicht als epigonalen Mozart-Light, der hört ein originelles, durchweg entzückendes, zu Recht populäres Werk: Die mit Abstand lebendigste seiner frühen Sinfonien. Aber auch eine schwierige, denn sie soll einerseits sonnig-lyrisch klingen, andererseits heiter-lebendig. Etwas kantig im Holz und mit kurzen Phrasen und wenig warmem Streicherklang ging es hier zuweilen hektisch voran, mit wenig Sonne, aber lieber lebendig und bewölkt als geschmeidig und langweilig. Wenn das Kritik sein soll, zeigt dass nur, wie hoch die Erwartungen nach eineinhalb superben Konzerten unter de Vriend schon sind, nach eineinhalb Jahrzehnten Enttäuschung. Nein, in dieser Verfassung kann man zum Kammerorchester schon nach der Frühmesse gehen und musikalisch Hocherfreuliches erwarten.


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"His face was boyish, despite his wrinkles": STC's cheeky "Babbitt"

Mara Devi and Matthew Broderick (center) in Babbitt, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane Photography

This month's production from Shakespeare Theatre Company is a stage adaption of Babbitt, Sinclair Lewis's critique of middle-aged Midwestern conservativism from 1922. Joe DiPietro converted the novel for an ensemble cast starring Matthew Broderick at La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego, imported to Washington with a few new cast members, seen Friday night at Sidney Harman Hall downtown.

Broderick dives into the plain, empty-headed everyman role of George F. Babbitt, real estate broker, with understated relish. His characterization, two parts "Aw, shucks" to one part "apple pie," reads as if his iconic character Ferris Bueller had grown up into a small-town Republican. "He seemed prosperous, extremely married and unromantic," as Lewis put it in the novel. Broderick's biggest laughs came from his hilarious, very slow attempts to sit on the floor in a younger woman's apartment, as well as dancing with her. The political ideas, representing both liberal and conservative sides as Babbitt rebels from his staid existence, echo today's divides with surprisingly few textual changes (the novel's forays into racist language are happily omitted).

The adaptation is essentially a one-man show, with seven "story-tellers," as they are called, both narrating the story, with text lifted more or less directly from the book, and also becoming characters in dialogue with Broderick. Ann Herada reprises the role of Myra Babbitt, the long-suffering wife, with pathetic patience, while Mara Davi plays the younger woman, Tanis, who enchants Babbitt. Lewis's slightly twee commentary does not exactly convert easily to the stage, undermining the play's dramatic potential. The main appeal of the production remains the chance to see Broderick in his STC debut.

Christopher Ashley's production, made for La Jolla Playhouse, revolves around a somewhat pedestrian concept: it is set in a sterilely lit library, complete with shelf stacks, book carts, desks and chairs (scenic design by Walt Spangler). The action remains in Lewis's 1920s, although some character changes do not quite fit that setting. The justification for the library setting comes from a tiny alteration to the story: Babbitt's wife goes to stay with her sister when they have fallen out and is comforted by reading books in the local library. To make up with her, after her life-threatening illness that forces Babbitt to see reason, he atones by handing her a new library card.

Babbitt runs through November 3 at Sidney Harman Hall. shakespearetheatre.org

Critic’s Notebook: A Flying Dutchman from the Budapest Opera

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Fricsay, RIAS SOB DG/Eloquence

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Konwitschny, StaKap Berlin Berlin Classics

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

A Pleasing-Enough Dutchman

The point was to come to Budapest and witness the Hungarian Premiere of Nixon in China, but en passant it only seemed fitting to stop by the opera house proper (Nixon took place in a different venue) for a Flying Dutchman. It was celebrating its 140th birthday and, owing to it having been shut down for several years for comprehensive renovation work until its re-opening in 2022, I had never actually been. High time to change that, after all, it’s one of the finest examples of the neo-Renaissance style, a jewel among opera houses, perfectly sized (unless you want to make money with it), and now glowing again in its new-old splendour that had (allegedly) elicited the congratulatory grumble from Emperor Franz Joseph I at its opening that he “prescribed it to be smaller than the opera house in Vienna” but should also have “decreed that it not be more beautiful”. And indeed, it’s a truly grand opera house, all gilded, marbled, satined, and candelabraed. And yet just small enough to be intimate. (Far away enough to be ignored by the Western press, you’d think it’s the ideal stage for trying out new rôles for ambitious singers.)

So the Flying Dutchman it was. Earlier that day, a matinee of Carmen had already been produced… and apparently exhausted the Budapestian’s hunger for opera that day: The attendance was somewhere between “low” and “pitiful”, but certainly below 50% capacity of the roughly 1000 comfortable seats (fitted with subtitle screens) that the new post-renovation arrangement provides. What the hardy Wagnerians got was a fine Dutchman with some good singing in a production by János Szikora that means to offend no one or maybe just doesn’t mean much at all. The costumes (Kriszta Berzsenyi) are toned down, except for the slightly more elaborate getups of Senta and the Dutchman (a red dress and coat, respectively, with matching concentric yellow and orange circles painted on them) and a brief appearance of the Dutch sailor’s chorus as clunky papier-mâché zombies. Incidentally, that was the production’s only veritable failure. When the Norwegians call on, invite, and tease the Dutchman’s crew, their delayed, eventual response is supposed to be positively overwhelming. Various directors have come up with variously successful means of creating that effect. Amplification of the voices, as done here, is often among them. But then it should really be overwhelming. Here, it was an electronically distorted whimper that never got particularly loud and certainly never intimidating. A damp squib. The cowering visible chorus on stage was shivering for no reason.

Everywhere else, the production did not stand in the way of the music or the singing, which some more conservative audiences (for whatever that’s worth) might consider a good quality. The set by Éva Szendrényi is highly economical; two, three props (large ropes, a large frame, a loom) and otherwise it’s an empty stage, framed by frames with fabric stretched across them, doubling as a projection screen and revolving doors for getting all the seamen on and off the stage.

The singing had a few positive surprises in store. András Palerdi’s was a very pleasantly understated Daland, subtle, with good pronunciation. A bit on the soft side but never trying to overcompensate. Like his Steersman, István Horváth, who seems a fine all-purpose character tenor, à la Kevin Conners, he could be easily found on any international stage in that rôle. Anna Kissjudit’s Mary with a huge, natural, controlled voice that easily rang throughout the round was quite