The Flourishing Arts with Les Arts Florissants in "Les Arts Florissants"

Les Arts Florissants performed Charpentier's Les Arts Florissants at Caramoor Friday evening. Photo: Gabe Palacio
KATONAH, N.Y. -- William Christie, who turned 81 last December, founded Les Arts Florissants in 1979 in France, where he had relocated due to his opposition to the Vietnam War. The preeminent French early music ensemble took its name from a short chamber opera, composed by Marc-Antoine Charpentier in 1685 for Marie de Lorraine, Duchesse de Guise, and likely performed at her residence in Paris. Long after recording the piece in 1982, the group has returned to its namesake work as part of the ongoing celebrations for Christie's 80th birthday. Christie himself is leading a North American tour with the organization, pairing Les Arts Florissants with the same composer's La Descente d’Orphée aux Enfers, which came to Caramoor Friday evening. Although the ongoing wildfire smoke influx threatened to scuttle the performance in that venue's outdoor Venetian Theater, by that afternoon the winds had shifted and the air was relatively cool and clear.

The story of Les Arts Florissants is allegorical. Music, Poetry, Painting, and Architecture greet warriors returning from conflict, hoping that the arts may hold greater sway over Louis XIV, now that war is at an end. War and Discord enter, leading the Chorus of the Furies in frightful displays until Peace appears, dispersing the forces of chaos. The ultimate meaning of the work, and how it may have been referencing the political situation in France in 1685, remains obscure, but its message remains ever timely. The coincidence of this performance, although likely planned long ago, with the renewed hostilities by the United States against Iran underscored Charpentier's message: the arts flourish only when war is kept at bay.

For this tour, Christie assembled a cast drawn from the flower of Le Jardin des Voix, the French Baroque training program for young singers he established in 2002. French soprano Camille Chopin presided as La Musique, with a limpid top range and impeccable phrasing, matched by American soprano Sarah Fleiss's spirited La Poésie. Tenor Bastien Rimondi and Canadian-American contralto Sydney Frodsham made a more comical pair as La Peinture and L'Architecture, respectively, but with musical delicacy. Bass-baritone Olivier Bergeron gave an over-the-top rendition of La Discorde, echoed by the ensemble as shrieking Furies, with plenty of nasal cackling to make the point. Cast and audience alike sank into serene contemplation when Croatian soprano Josipa Balić appeared as La Paix, bringing an end to discord: even a moth, seemingly charmed, alit on the end of her finger at one point.

A quartet of dancers graced the production with their movements, joined in some dances by the vocal cast, and in the final unaccompanied choral section, they sang along with their singer counterparts. The choreography by Martin Chaix was more Mark Morris than Baroque France in style, but the dancers' movements matched the elegant music with visual shapes in ways that diverted the eyes. The costumes, as such, were formalwear and simple gowns in soft pastel colors, again giving the impression of a scene that was more of our age than the past. (Two F-holes on the back of La Musique's white jacket were a nice touch.) The sense of benevolence created by the performance hung in the air, echoing the poignant lines of the final strophe: "Ô paix si longtemps désirée, / Que tes fruits à goûter sont doux, / Tu ramènes les temps de Saturne et de Rhée, / Demeure toujours avec nous." If only peace could bring back the Golden Age and dwell with us forever.

Christie presided in a self-effacing way, adding continuo touches on both harpsichord and chamber organ. Two Baroque violins took the twin parts for treble viols, part of the specific musical establishment kept by the Duchesse de Guise. (Christie recorded the work with treble viols, but they were not missed here.) Two flutists also doubled on flageolets to add a folksy character to some of the dances. Christie's delicate approach and the beautiful French declamation of the singers are what was missing from the ensemble's most recent visit to the Library of Congress in November.

Charpentier's La Descente d’Orphée aux Enfers is a showcase for the high tenor who sings Orpheus. American tenor Richard Pittsinger distinguished himself with a shining high range, capable of extraordinary softness, and refined phrasing. In Act II, he gave a different vocal sheen to each of the three pleas Orpheus made to the powers of the Underworld, concluding almost in a whisper. While the opening wedding scene of Act I featured spirited singing and dancing (including the affecting return of Camille Chopin as Euridice), the piece became exquisite with the entrance into Hell in Act II. Two bass viols, played by Myriam Rignol and Mathilde Vialle, set the somber tone of the infernal scene, bathed in red light. The striking trio sung by Ixion, Tantalus, and Tityus (all infamous denizens of the Underworld) featured the perfectly matched voices of tenors Bastien Rimondi and Attila Varga-Tóth with baritone Olivier Bergeron. Their complex, interwoven lines meshed beautifully with the bass viols and other low instruments. The dark episode continued with bass Kevin Arboleda-Oquendo's sunglasses-sporting Pluton and Sarah Fleiss's alluring Proserpine.

The return of the two flutes and higher registers sounded like a ray of light as Orpheus led Euridice out of Hell. Charpentier's opera ends with that moment, probably because a third act has been lost. The choice to end the performance there added to the sense of hope. Beauty can return to the world, and it does all the time, as long as peace prevails.

The Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra performs Handel's Tolomeo, starring Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen, Lauren Snouffer, and Nicole Heaston 4 p.m. July 26 at Caramoor. caramoor.org

Teatro Nuovo marks bicentenary of Italian opera in America

Sedona Libero (Donna Elvira), Kevin Spooner (Leporello, right), and Ricardo José Rivera (Don Giovanni), Teatro Nuovo. Photo: Steven Pisano
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Will Crutchfield, a leading American specialist in bel canto opera, has led the summer festival Teatro Nuovo since 2018, at various venues around New York. This year's programming, more than worth a trip to Manhattan this week, went back to the start of bel canto history, with the 1826 version of Mozart's Don Giovanni, heard Wednesday evening at the Rose Theater on Columbus Circle, home of Jazz at Lincoln Center.

A bit of history is required for that last sentence to make sense. Our country’s first operatic performances go back to the 18th century, with ballad operas in New York and French operas in New Orleans, even before the latter city technically became American. Crutchfield instead is celebrating the 200th anniversary of Italian opera in America, when Lorenzo da Ponte organized a string of performances in New York in 1826. Mozart's one-time librettist had settled in the U.S. in 1805, driven here by his scandals and bankruptcy in Europe. The troupe that presented the first Don Giovanni in America, among other works, was led by Manuel García and featured the Spanish baritone's wife, his son, and his daughter -- she who would become known as the celebrated soprano Maria Malibran. (García's other daughter, later known as Pauline Viardot, was still a child.) Crutchfield has consulted the 1826 version of the libretto, created by da Ponte, and many other sources to reconstruct the opera. His singers studied 19th-century sources to understand how the Italian singers may have added ornamentation and cadenzas to Mozart's score.

The edition is a mixture of the original Prague version with Mozart's Vienna revision, as are most modern performances. Tenor Martin Luther Clark's Ottavio sang "Il mio tesoro" and not "Dalla sua pace," and Sedona Libero's Elvira sang "Mi tradi," but not in the expected place. Noah B. Rogers, who made a pleasingly assertive Masetto, did not get to sing his aria, which was a shame, but keeping the run time just under three hours seemed worth the trade-offs. The most striking change was the shortened Act II Finale, ending almost immediately after Don Giovanni was taken off to hell. The production cut the entire concluding ensemble, as apparently most productions of the opera did until the 20th century. More significant was the adaptation of the recitatives. Conductor Geoffrey Loff led them from what looked like a clavichord, which produced a very faint, tinkling sound. Double-bassist Dane Roberts provided the foundational bass line, while cellist Hilary Metzger created an intriguing harmonic fabric of viol-like double-stop chords and melodic ideas. Along with the rhythmic freedom taken by the singers, it made the recitatives utterly different and of much greater musical interest.

Baritone Ricardo José Rivera, who is familiar to Washington audiences from his turns with Washington Concert Opera in recent years, made a caustic and insistent Don Giovanni. His scornful anger and his tender love-making, the latter heard most effectively in "Deh! viene a la finestra" (senza mandolino but with a velvety violin solo from concertmaster Laura Lutzke, accompanied by pizzicato strings), were both credible. Both leading women suited their roles admirably, with mezzo-soprano Sedona Libero's Donna Elvira erupting in spitfire ornamentation and cadenzas, and soprano Elizabeth Novella reaching an intensity of Donna Anna's grief and anger with interesting rubato choices in her big scenes. As Leporello, Kevin Spooner displayed nimble comic timing, especially in the Catalog Aria, and sure-footed rhythmic skills.

The voice shifting choices also included casting the potent mezzo-soprano of Simona Genga as Zerlina, for sheer volume the most present singer on the stage. The vocal weight affected her characterization as well, giving her a more aggressive touch in the duets with both Don Giovanni and Masetto. The Commendatore of bass-baritone Daniel Mobbs, a veteran singer, impressed more with elegance of tone than raw power. Tenor Martin Luther Clark used the pointed edge of his sound to give Don Ottavio a dignified presence, occasioning none of the usual audience laughs at the character ending up in the friend zone.

Teatro Nuovo is essentially presenting concert opera, with formal wear for costumes and a set consisting of a large projection-bearing screen (images designed by Adam J. Thompson). The orchestra of gut strings and early instruments made mostly pleasing sounds (with the natural horns and trumpets sounding most rustic), although just because the instruments are less powerful than their modern counterparts does not mean they cannot overpower singers, which Loff should have taken greater care to avoid. A skilled ensemble of ten extra musicians provided the on-stage musical performances during the Act I finale, to appropriately confusing effect.

* * *
Crutchfield paired the Mozart with Rossini's Il Turco in Italia, premiered in Milan in 1814 before the Garcías brought it to New York, also in 1826. Singer illness gutted that first American production. Happily no such issues plagued Teatro Nuovo's performance, heard at the Rose Theater on Thursday night, even with the unbreathable air in New York City this week, caused by smoke blowing in from the devastating Canadian wildfires. This is not one of Rossini's most sparkling achievements, and at well over three hours, it could have used serious truncation along the lines of what Crutchfield did with Don Giovanni. One could certainly start by excising the superfluous aria given to Albazar toward the end, as well as one or maybe both of Don Narciso's arias.

Felice Romani's libretto is predictably absurd. Selim, a Turkish prince, visits Naples and falls in love with Donna Fiorilla, who is already managing her intimacies with a husband, the aged Don Geronio, and a lover, the vain and ridiculous Don Narciso. In Naples, somewhat miraculously, is Selim's former slave and lover, Zaida, now disguised as a Roma fortune-teller. (The use of the word gipsy and some Muslim stereotypes might also make the libretto unpalatable to modern listeners.) The most ingenious part of the story is the character of Prosdocimo, a poet who, in a metafictional twist, is creating the entire story as the basis of his latest opera libretto. Many funny jokes at the art form's expense happen along the way. (Crutchfield's program note pointed to a performance of Mozart's Così fan tutte in Milan just before Romani wrote this libretto, which may have influenced the Donna Fiorilla's polyamorous excesses.)

Kresley Figueroa, familiar from her recent and excellent work with Washington National Opera's Cafritz Young Artists program, showed exceptional technique as Donna Fiorilla, lighting up her many arias and ensembles with firecracker virtuosity. While her intonation strayed at times toward the top, Figueroa's physical presence made the character's outrageous vanity and ability to manipulate men more than credible. Of her three love interests, Mattia Venni's Don Geronio, the long-suffering husband, made the best impression, with impeccable comic timing and buffo antics. As the eponymous Turk, Vincent Graña displayed the most potent instrument, easily filling the room with sound, although in terms of comfort on the stage he seemed reserved. Tenor Max Alexander Cook struggled at times in the top range, but he sang the role of Don Narciso with technical ease in melismatic passages. Soprano Sabatina Mauro, as Zaida, and David Freides, as Albazar, both made worthy appearances from the ranks of this year's Resident Artists. Hans Tashjian brought more stage antics than vocal refinement to the poet Prosdocimo, with some charming breaking of the theatrical fourth wall.

Violinist Elisa Citterio, who stood facing the orchestra, led the performance while partially playing as well, with Derrick Goff seated at the clavichord next to her. The results were not as clean in terms of ensemble cohesion, as the establishment of fast tempos did not always happen with clarity. The same division of labor occurred for the recitatives, far fewer in number, as heard in Don Giovanni. The instrumental playing, here and in Don Giovanni, was generally impeccable. The extended horn solo from Nathaniel Udell proved a highlight of the Rossini overture, with the charming alternation of stopped and open notes necessary because of the natural horn's lack of valves.

Second image credit: Mattia Venni (Don Geronio) and Kresley Figueroa (Donna Fiorilla) in Teatro Nuovo's Il Turco in Italia. Photo: Steven Pisano

Critic’s Vault: Shipwrecked in Ireland

eX presents:, Music from "Shipwrecked", De Cabez, De Morales, De Victor, Byrd et al (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

The Dublin Drag Orchestra, Music from "Motion of the Heart" & "Viva Frida!" Dowland, Lawes, Coperario, Ward et al. (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

A musical journey with Francisco de Cuéllar

In 2009, a fascinating, even prescient production marrying theater to early music was mounted at Dublin's Royal Hopsital

Queen Elizabeth and Philip II are goofing around behind chairs to the left and right of the U-shaped stage before both break out in a dash through the marvelous Great Hall of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham in Dublin. What are Elizabeth and Philip doing in Dublin, and why is the former wearing ankle-high silver sneakers and a blue dress, and the latter waving a feather and making silly faces?

Abbey and Robert are actually eight years old, and they play their royal parts in “Shipwrecked”, a production of the early music ensemble eX which took place in the (truly) Great Hall of what is now the Irish Museum of Modern Art. The two are impossibly cute child actors who patiently sit through the long rehearsals—almost until midnight the day before the premiere – and they have quickly become the mascots of the production.

Later during the final rehearsal, Queen Elizabeth, who barely reaches up to Caitríona O’Leary’s belt, pipes the tune of Greensleeves in duet with O’Leary, which sounds absolutely adorable – and moderately musical. Then the little Queen gets her wig affixed while rummaging through her Hello Kitty bag and Philip II chats with Kate, the make-up artist, and crinkles his nose as her brush applies white powder to his face.

Shipwrecked is an early music jamboree, a soundtrack of the (literally) incredible journey of a Spanish captain of the Armada who strands in hostile 16th-century-Ireland, and is then chased, maltreated, and occasionally helped by murderous Englishmen and local savages until he – barely – makes it back to safety in the Spanish Netherlands. If only half of his account, a twenty-page letter, is true, Francisco de Cuellar is a mixture between Voltaire’s Candide and George McDonald Fraser’s Harry Flashman. Music directors Caitríona O’Leary (an expert researcher on – and performer of – early Irish music) and Lee Santana (lutist extraordinaire and Los Otros-founder) cobbled together the musical tapestry from lute books, 16th century Spanish composers, traditional songs, and improvisations.

Members of Los Otros, Sequentia, and the Harp Consort, fortified with Irish music experts, provided the music, breaking out into an early music jam session for the finale that had the pint-sized Queen and the King waving their hands in rhythmic excitement. Director Eric Fraad, meanwhile, had the performers – all in full costume – work out the semi-staged element of the performance which included actor Keith Dunphy, as one of three incarnations of Captain Francisco reading out (and sometimes shouting) excerpts of the actual letter, thus providing the story line upon which the pieces of music are hung.

The battle of the percussionists Mel Mercier and Francesco Turrisi and Steve Player*’s Renaissance tap-dance (a combination of brute force and Fred Astaire) rang in the conclusion of an early music spectacle that emerged, seemingly out of buzzing chaos just a few hours earlier, into something akin to perfection, delighting the 150 attendees who had found their way up to the Royal Hospital on a mild Dublin Sunday night. While the music was passionately played and the singers delighted – especially O’Leary’s early music soprano and genre-defying vocalist/guitarist Clara Sanabras – the costumes

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Critic’s Notebook: Barokksolistene and their Alehouse Sessions at the Konzerthaus

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Alehouse Sessions (Rubicon, 2017) US | UK | DE

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Image of Melancholie (BIS SACD, 2014) US | UK | DE

Jolly Musicke Till You Drop

Hip vibes at the Norwegian baroque hoedown

For the most part, the crowds pouring into the Konzerthaus on Thursday evening surged up the grand staircase straight into the Great Hall: Mahler’s Ninth, Rattle conducting! The high temple of music was calling. Those who took a turn a little further down the foyer, meanwhile, found considerably lighter fare waiting behind the doors of the Mozart-Saal. Nothing lowbrwo, mind you—Bjarte Eike and his Norwegian Barokksolistene are a superb early music outfit. But their motto (“It’s just old pop music”) already hints at the fact that the promised Alehouse Sessions probably aren't too darn serious.

This baroque watering hole promised Henry Purcell, English shanties, dance, ballads, and traditional tunes. You’d need to have known your Purcell pretty well, though, to pick him out from the charming tangle of virtuosity, comedy, and kitsch. The dramatically—even theatrically—conceived program, about ten years old now, cheerfully plops Purcell’s "Virgin Queen" next to a sea shanty with a Bach riff rising suddenly from the hand harmonica. Bass, percussion, and guitar solos are handled the way they’d be in a jazz club.

The result is less "classical" than when Berlin’s Lautten Compagney tackles similar material, and not as relentlessly dramatized as comparable projects from Ireland’s Heresy Records. It’s just a bunch of cool old dads in mildly hipster=casual carb, noticeably graying hair, beers in hand, having fun with the music and goofing around a good deal. Who could possibly be curmudgeon enough to hold that against them—even if the slow-motion fight scene staged at the end finally tipped this early-baroque hoedown definitively into slapstick territory. Well, if clap-alongs and audience participation were not your thing, then you might have felt a sense of mild vicarious embarrassement. As it was, everyone got the right turn at the Konzerthaus; the crowd in the reasonably well-filled Mozart-Saal positivley lapped it up and responded with enthusiasm to everything that was on offer. So much so, Barokksolistene could almost have forgone the plants in the audience, that goated the audience into the right responses.

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A (Very!) Fine Messiah From Václav Luks and Collegium 1704

G.F.Handel Messiah Luks/Collegium 1704 Semenzato, Schachtner, Adam, Stražanac Accent, 2019> US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah McCreesh/Gabrieli Consort Röschmann, Gritton, Fink, Daniels, Davies Archiv, 1997 US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah Bernius/Stuttgart BO Sampson Taylor, Hulett, Harvey Carus, SACD, 2009 US | UK | DE

To say that there is no dearth of recordings of Handel’s Messiah is putting it mildly. Even granting that every generation needs its interpretations of the classics, there is a glut. On the downside, not all of them are very good. On the upside, choice is a beautiful thing and there is bound to be a recording out there for each taste. The recording at hand might be an interpretation for a listener who has heard Handel’s masterpiece one too many times and needs a deliberately fresh take. While Václav Luks and his Collegium (Vocale) 1704 are not yet international household names (though well on their way there), they certainly are a first-class ensemble, up there with the best and most famous… and they have a knack for finding and working with good and excellent singers. So, the fact that the recording features a quartet of unknown soloists does not make this release less promising.

And indeed the singers are very fine; not all of them impressive but all devoid of mannerisms or any ostentatious modi. Bass Krešimir Stražanac hasn’t the most sophisticated bass voice – it’s a little nasal, just a little barrely – but he certainly doesn’t spoil the party. Giulia Semenzato’s soprano is clear, clean and accurate… more like an operatic Mozart soprano than a baroque specialist, although these two fachs very much overlap in reality. Alto/Countertenor Benno Schachtner is a delight; in the duet with Semenzato (“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd”) his voice rings out with artless, unfussy beauty and his “He was despised” is touchingly natural, becoming a highlight of this recording. Tenor Krystian Adam remains a wee indistinct throughout because he blends nicely into the proceedings and never sounds strained or trying too hard. He might be unfairly overlooked: “Thy rebuke hath broken His heart”, for example, is exemplary for unaffected-yet-dramatic singing and very impressive in its subtle ways. The chorus is well drilled, usually easy to understand, and with five singers to a part offers thrilling energy and depth – for example in “Surely, He hath borne our griefs…” (Sound clip)

In Luks’ hands, the famous bits stand-out for being taken in various, slightly unusual ways: “For unto us a child is born” is not just fast which, for its own sake, could be tedious, but communicates splendid excitement and a tangible sense of joy. They sail right through the Halleluja, too. If you come straight from Malcolm Sargent, it must seem flippant but it has ripping, infectious energy to it. The opening of Part II, “Behold the Lamb of God” and the subsequent “He was despised”, makes René Jacobs and his Freiburgers seem positively glacial. (Sound clips) It’s one of Jacobs’ more extreme moments, granted, taking four and half minutes where well under three is HIP-standard. And while Jacobs can certainly please our every inner speed demon – he switches gears sometimes mid-number to press on like there is no tomorrow – there’s a generally heavier touch to the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra while the Collegium 1704 seems to be blown along on a light cloud. Breezy. Too breezy, for some. But after an initial double-take here or there, on repeat listening no part felt like it was being brushed over; what remains is just the impression of a good quick and steady pulse.

With Jacobs being a much more dramatic, downright operatic account with a far stronger interpretative stance, it might not actually make for the best comparison. Frieder Bernius’ fine, slightly matter-of-fact (sound clips) Messiah on Carus is a more similar take: strait-laced, similar tempi, good singing, no-nonsense. Both present a good modern HIP standard; neither outright demand to replace your reference versions, whatever those may be. (A little trivium: In the ten years between those two recordings, the aforementioned Schachtner had made it from choir member for Bernius to soloist with Luks.) The sound on the Accent recording is brighter and more transparent than that of the Bernius SACDs, and the more prominent harpsichord (Joan Boronat Sanz) adds welcome texture. (Bernius uses a positif organ.) You won’t notice that this is a live recording until the enthusiastic roar and applause erupts at the end – but it explains why the chorus is set a little further at the back in this recording than, say, Jacobs’ studio effort.

9/9

(Originally on ClassicsToday)

Critic’s Notebook: Early Music Days Resonanzen Open with Jordi Savall and Les Musiciennes du Concert des Nations

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Jordi Savall im Konzerthaus: Zeitreise in die Ära des Langeweile-Vivaldis

A. Vivaldi Le quattro stagioni R.Alessandrini, concerto italiano (naïve, 2002/2006) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi Le quattro stagioni Alfia Bakieva J.Savall, Les Musiciennes... (Alia Vox, 2024) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi + Bach L'estro armonico + Transcriptions R.Alessandrini, concerto italiano (naïve, 2022) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi La Viola Da Gamba in Concerto (incl. RV 544) J.Savall, Le Concert des Nations (Alia Vox, 2006) US | UK | DE

The Resonanzen Opening Goes Awry

Jordi Savall and his ensemble of musicians make boredom in Vivaldi respectable again

Last season, Jordi Savall and his wonderful band, the Concert des Nations, presented the first (albeit none-too-successful) Beethoven symphony cycle on period instruments in the history of the Konzerthaus. Now they opened this year's early music festival "Resonanzen" — themed "Les femmes" — with a pure Vivaldi program culminating in the Four Seasons.

The orchestra and conductor have earned considerable trust with decades of impressive quality - and they desere our benefit of the doubt. Accordingly, one might say of the first half — with two concertos from the L'estro armonico collection (both later arranged by Bach) and the Double Concerto for Violin (Alfia Bakieva) and Cello (Bianca Riesner) RV 544 — that everything sounded very elegant, delicate, and chamber-music-like. Consistently witty in the cello. Rounder, calmer than the typically explosive, punchy interpretations of their Italian colleague-ensembles. Very refined and relaxed, both on the part of the orchestra with it's familiar warm sound and on the part of the solo violinist. All that, one might say.

On the other hand, one might also point out that the troupe also sounded somewhat lost in the Great Hall; that the sound was muffled, that Bakieva wouldn't or couldn't project, that she displayed a certain flexibility of intonation, and remained (not uncharming, admittedly) a murmuring part of the ensemble rather than pushing to the foreground. The Concerto for Four Violins (but without Bakieva), RV 580, went a bit better — but was still more blancmange than spiced-up gingerbread.

At intermission, there was still hope, even expectation, that Bakieva would take off her hotel mute (at least that's how it had sounded thus far) for the Four Seasons, at least. And that she would show why Savall is so enthusiastic about her ("the only violinist who has ever convinced him in this piece"). No, this enthusiasm remained difficult to fathom, in this concert. (Maybe it is different on disc; see reordings on the left). Arguably, the enthusiasm might stem from the intended, bold pianissimos and gutsy, forcedly quiet passages that Currentzis's former concertmaster undulged in. But, alas, these were unintentionally ungainly, imprecise, hesitant, very unsteady.

For all the prancing physical engagement and the forced smile, it was too often off-key and crooked and scratchy — and, at least on this Saturday evening, not really competent. The standards in this work are simply higher. The orchestra trickled along, without biting (intended) dissonances or the characterful playing that can and must bring this so often — almost too often — heard work to life. It was like a time-travel to the era of boring Vivaldi; as if — just one example — Rinaldo Alessandrini and Concerto Italiano's Seasons had never existed. The (certainly subsidy- and marketing-friendly) all-female version of the orchestra didn't help either.

Photo by Carlos Suarez, courtesy Konzerthaus

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Critic’s Notebook: Concentus Musicus and the Arnold Schoenberg Choir in Seasonal Bach

Also published in Die Presse: Feiern mit dem Concentus: Bach im Musikverein

J.S.Bach Christmas Oratorio N.Harnoncourt, Concentus, ASC (DHM, 2007) US | UK | DE

J.S.Bach Christmas Oratorio J.v.Veldhoven, Nederlandse Bachvereniging (Challenge, 2003gg) US | UK | DE

Bach and a Message for Contemplation

Stefan Gottfried is not Nikolaus Harnoncourt, but that's OK

In the winter of 2006/2007, Nikolaus Harnoncourt led and recorded the Christmas Oratorio in the Golden Hall with Concentus Musicus, the Arnold Schoenberg Choir, and an incomparable line-up of singers (Christine Schäfer, Bernarda Fink, Werner Güra, Christian Gerhaher, Gerald Finley).

On Saturday evening, in that very same hall, Stefan Gottfried conducted the same forces in the first two of the six cantatas that make up the oratorio. Had Werner Güra not fallen ill, one of those original soloists would even have been back.

Anyone who’s carried either the recording or the memory of it in their inner ear and compared the two would not have failed to notice that the twenty-year-old interpretation sounded fresher, brisker, more spontaneous: colourful, warm, heartfelt, yet crisp.

It would have been a pity to let such an—admittedly unfair—comparison keep one from appreciating the beautiful things offered here. Must everything always be a chase for superlatives, for “events”, for the sensational? Must every concert be earth-shattering? Must we, just because a performance may not eclipse everything previously heard, immediately grumble and go excavating for tiny blemishes to justify our disappointment? “Aha! The continuo organ wasn’t always in rhythm. There—those trumpets squeaked. An oboe was flat. Or the stand-in evangelist sounded heraldic rather than urgent or particularly text-attuned. And the soprano’s mordents and trills were more of a wobbled vibrato.” Can’t something simply be good?

Yes. It can, and it should. Especially in this reflective season, when one might consider not letting the best become the enemy of the good. Why not, then, delight in the Arnold Schoenberg Choir, in sensational shape, singing their choruses and chorales with precision, point, and an impressive dynamic span: “Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light!” — what a radiant line, that alone. Or take Olivia Vermeulen’s tenderly delivered “Schlafe, mein Liebster”. Or, in the Advent cantata of the first half, “Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland”: the delicately sustained recitative “Siehe, ich stehe vor der Tür”, sung by bass Manuel Walser. Or again the choir, in the instructive chorale “Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, und vergiss all Not und Qual” from Wachet! Betet! Betet! Wachet!

And then there was the Concentus itself, playing with commitment and good spirit — even if the exuberant timpanist, alternately whispering and metaphorically (and literally) hitting the big drum, almost stole the show in the first cantata, which proclaims to us the joyful news of Christ’s birth. In short: It was beautiful.

Concentus Musicus Wien

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Critic’s Notebook: Golden Apple Sauce — and a larger-than-life serving of Jakub Orliński

Also published in Die Presse: Hier rockt der Elvis der Alten Musik: Orliński im Konzerthaus

Jakub Józef Orliński Beyond Il Pomo d'Oro (Erato, 2024) US | UK | DE

Jakub Józef Orliński Anima Aeterna Il Pomo d'Oro (Erato, 2021) US | UK | DE

The Elvis of Early Music

In his Konzerthaus show, the Polish countertenor did his thing while the band enabled him.

Ten musicians in black, in a dimmed Great Hall, began to send the haunting sounds of Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea into the semi-darkness of Vienna’s Konzerthaus. The sell-out crowd, well younger than average (possibly padded with some incentivized tickets?), perked its ears as the members of Il Pomo d’Oro dug into their historical instruments.

And then Jakub Józef Orliński strode onstage, in a getup that looked halfway like a black garment bag and which I would swear was at least in part self-designed. Under better light one later noticed: the musicians of Il Pomo d’Oro are dressed the same way. It’s all part of the staging (though that might be overstating it)… the dramaturgically woven show titled Beyond, conceived by Orliński and musicologist Yannis François. Aptly timed to go with the newly released album of the same name (Warner; meanwhile vinyl-lovers beware: the LP-version contains considerably less music than the CD).

At first, it wasn’t immediately obvious why there is such hype (and apparently there is) around Orliński. The voice seems rather small, doesn’t carry particularly well in the large hall, and sounds somewhat – if not unpleasantly – mealy. The generously applied “accent vibrato” recalls (late) Dominique Visse. Yet already the lyrical passages – of which there would be many during the uninterrupted ninety-minute arc – have real intensity. That small voice-business dissipated quickly, it turned out: as he warmed up, moving from Caccini via Frescobaldi to Strozzi, Cavalli, and Netti (rare, obscure bits and pieces, almost all of them), Orliński inched toward full form.

Still, things came properly alive only about an hour into the show when lutenist Miguel Rincón whipped out his Renaissance guitar and all but rocked the hall. The singing briefly became secondary, even though Orliński, on vocal break or not, made sure always to be the gravitational center of the room.

That the individual Renaissance rarities had been stitched together into a storyline is something you more or less had to have been told while the pervasive tone of despair in these pieces hardly lends itself to vivid dramaturgy. Good, then, that Orliński eventually spiced things up – strolling through the aisles while singing (which produced some delightful acoustic effects), playing the lovesick old woman in “Quanto più la donna invecchi” with comedy bordering on slapstick, or shaking his hips to wild cadenzas in the encores. The fans adored it; they lapped it up: roaring enthusiasm in a full house. That he also benefited considerably from outstanding musicians – above all cornett, harp, violins, and viola – should not go unmentioned.


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