Notes from the 2025 Salzburg Festival ( 5 ) Cuarteto Casals in Shostakovich

Salzburg Festival • Chamber Music • Cuarteto Casals

Also published in Die Presse: Serenade zum Todestag von Schostakowitsch: Cuarteto Casals in Salzburg

D.Shostakovich, The String Quartets (v.1), Cuarteto Casals Harmonia Mundi D.Shostakovich, The String Quartets (v.2), Cuarteto Casals Harmonia Mundi D.Shostakovich, The String Quartets (v.3), Cuarteto Casals Harmonia Mundi

Death Becomes them: Shostakovich Quartets in Salzburg

The Cuarteto Casals scored with dark sonority rather than hard edges in their DSCH-dedicated chamber music recital

Monday evening at the Salzburg Festival brought another birthday serenade for Shostakovich’s 50^th death anniversary at the Mozarteum Hall – from the Cuarteto Casals. They promised three string quartets. Only three? After all, the Mandelring Quartet (CD reviews here, here, and here) still played all 15 quartets at the Festival back in 2011! (Reviewed on ionarts here.) But one doesn't want to be immoderate, and with Quartets 1, 8, and 15 – i.e. the first, last, and most famous – the selection was promising enough.

All the more so since there are no “early” string quartets with DSCH: When the 32-year-old Shostakovich took his first crack at the genre, with op.49, he was already an experienced composer with one suppressed and four performed symphonies plus two operas under his belt. The Lady Macbeth scandal that had brought him to the edge of the Gulag, and the ‘resurrection’ thanks to the Fifth Symphony, lay behind him. It should not surprise, then, that this first quartet is immediately a masterwork – as if it had sprung, Pallas-Athena-like, from Zeus’s head.

Right away, the Cuarteto Casals’ gloriously solid, perpetually beautiful, expressive sound – from top to bottom, first violin to cello – makes quite an impression. Cellist Arnau Tomàs (check out his Bach!!!) handled his part with resonant, bearish authority. Wonderful, the woody, round-cheeked timbre of Cristina Cordero’s viola. Fascinating the mediating work of second violinist Abel Tomàs. And fitting excellently into the picture: the dark-timbred first violin of Vera Martínez Mehner. One doesn’t miss the rougher approach that has a long tradition in these works at all, because the Spanish quartet’s lyricism, while luxurious, never seems superficial. Nor did it ever feel like the quartet was rounding the edges too much – a criticism that might be (though it doesn’t have to be) made of the Mandelrings. Small and infrequent intonation wobbles couldn’t distract amidst the astonishment over the sound.

That the Eighth Quartet is so much better known than the others does, in a way, surprise, since they all seem equally good. Or more evenly superb than the symphonies, anyway. On the other hand, it doesn’t take much to make the difference between hit and rarity, icon and footnote. (Are, for example, Mozart’s symphonies really as much better than those of Vanhal and Mysliveček as the fame gradient would have us believe?) But perhaps it’s also the dark vein of op.110 – so fitting the clichéd image of DSCH – that fascinates us, seeing that it appears to reflect the composer’s suffering and disguised resistance in Soviet terror…

And it was melancholy-gripping, what the Cuarteto Casals – currently recording all the quartets for Harmonia Mundi (see the Shostakovich String Quartet Survey) – delivered. “If his 15 symphonies are, according to the composer, ‘gravestones’”, writes Robert Reilly in Surprised by Beauty, “then the quartets are the flowers he lays on the graves.” The Cuarteto Casals’ tone – sadly beautiful and mellow – suits this poetry of suffering well.

One could title the six slow, relentless, embittered movements of op.144 with: “The Six Last Words of the Survivor”. Even more so than with Haydn, this deceleration on Shostakovich’s part is a gutsy, deliberate, and pointed imposition on the listener. The interpreters’ long lines made concentration easy, though, thanks to the unremitting inner tension amid this sustained slowness, and the pinch of Haydnesque mischief. The encore from the Third String Quartet, meanwhile, was merciless and had a symphonic earthiness about it. Fabulous, all, and very promising as far as their recordings are concerned.

Vera Martínez Mehner (Violine), Abel Tomàs (Violine), Arnau Tomàs (Violoncello), Cristina Cordero (Viola). SF / Marco Borrelli

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Notes from the 2025 Salzburg Festival ( 2 ) Alexander Malofeev and María Dueñas in Recital

Salzburg Festival • Recitals • Malofeev & Dueñas

Also published in Die Presse: Begeisternd: María Dueñas und Alexander Malofeev im Mozarteum

Unlikely Duo at the Mozarteum

On paper, Alexander Malofeev and María Dueñas have only their age in common. In concert, though, the quiet, pale-blond Russian at the piano and the savvy Spanish violinist made for an unexpectedly effective musical pairing.

Kids at work: Malofeev is 23, Dueñas 22, and when Karol Szymanowski wrote his Violin Sonata in D minor, Op. 9, the Polish composer was just 21. The three met , not for the first time, at the Salzburg Festival soloist recital in the Great Hall of the Mozarteum – and they delighted the audience. Dueñas, with her wild, expressive tone — a touch of viola-like smokiness, high intensity, and more than a hint of risk (or at least the impression of it) — threw herself irresistibly into her part, lips pursed, eyes shut tight. A bit of show? Surely. But who would begrudge her.

The lanky, long-limbed Malofeev, sitting at the Steinway like the Peanuts’ Schroeder, fingered a surprising amount of music from his score. One wanted to listen to him every bit as much as to her, as seemingly simple accompaniments were turned into impressionistic studies or sounded as if he were improvising them on the spot.

That the young man would impress was no surprise, after causing a stir at the Musikverein last February (“Critic’s Notebook: Alexander Malofeev gives his recital debut in Vienna”). He is surely one of the most exciting, promising pianists of his — already well-stocked with good pianists — generation. María Dueñas, on the other hand, had so far made her mark with a meticulously planned and marketed career, stoked by media hype and record contracts, helped by rich parents and dusted with pristine “vanilla cupcake” playing (“Wiener Symphoniker: 16er-Blech und die ‚Fünfte von Brahms‘“). Musical character, however, less so.

That this combination should succeed was by no means a given when the concert was booked — though a nearly identical program intermittently performed in New York’s Weill Recital Hall had raised hopes. In any case, this recital (like most in the “Soloists’ Concerts” series) is not an indigenous Festival event but at best an ornamental garnish, that pretty much anyone can garnish their musical with, assuming they knock at the right agency’s door. That’s neither good nor bad per se; it all depends on the combination. Any Wiener Schnitzel with potato salad benefits from a touch of parsley. But only parsley — musical commodity fare — makes for a dull plate. See Grafenegg.

After the youthfully-exuberant Szymanowski — already cheered frenetically by the (nearly as) youthful crowd on the balcony — things continued promisingly with Debussy’s swan song, his G minor Sonata, written just before the composer’s death. An earthy note came into play, here, not the cliché of ether, but variety and depth. In this work, as in the first two movements of the concluding, massive César Franck A-major Sonata, Dueñas impressed not only with the energy of her playing but also with her kaleidoscope of timbres: smoky, delicate, hefty by turns.

The third movement’s hectic episodes seemed a bit aimless, and in the finale Dueñas’s personal touch — the variety that had benefited the music so far — gave way to a clean, somewhat sharp and loud tone, as if she were intent on bringing the final stretch home without mishap. But this did not diminish the overall impression — and the vociferous audience refused to let the duo go until after a third encore, among them Piazzolla, and an arrangement of Richard Strauss’s “Morgen”, tenderly, almost hesitantly accompanied by Malofeev.

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Notes from the 2025 Salzburg Festival ( 1 ) A Recital with Igor Levit filling in for Evgeny Kissin

Salzburg Festival • Recitals | D-S-C-H • ex-Kissin | Igor Levit

Whispered Brahms, Affectatious Shostakovich

Substituting for Evgeny Kissin is no picnic – even for Igor Levit. But at least he tried.

The solo recital with Evgeny Kissin, part of Salzburg’s “DSCH” series of concerts, had to go ahead without its planned soloist who had fallen ill on short notice. He was going to play the same program he gave in late March at the Musikverein. Shostakovich, who died exactly fifty years ago that week, at least, remained the focus of the second half, thanks to Igor Levit, who stepped in for his colleague and left that part similar enough. In fact, on paper, the Second Sonata was still the same piece. Musically, everything was fundamentally different, though – including said sonata.

D.Shostakovich Preludes & Fugues op.87 Igor Levit Sony (2021) US | UK | DE

D.Shostakovich Preludes & Fugues op.87 Keith Jarrett ECM (1992) US | UK | DE

The surge, seriousness, and underlying humor that Kissin had drawn out were blown away. In their place came playfulness, a murmur, a small-small in stubborn mezzopiano – here and there interrupted by an occasional furious, note-snatching dash across the keyboard. Musical incidents that each stood like a monolith amid the whispering. Energy, when it was present at all, was derived from speed, not mass. This worked quite nicely for the Preludes and Fugues from Opus 87, as did Levit’s inclination to dissolve the notes into architectural elements. Quirky, in the best sense; a little as if Gyro Gearloose had taken up the piano.

The Largo of the Sonata no longer stood, as with Kissin, in spiritual proximity to Debussy; it was pushed toward twelve-tone music and Schoenberg. “Pointillist,” one might say. Or “frayed.” The ostentatious renunciation of loudness – especially effective in the broad expanse of the Grosses Festspielhaus – was not without appeal. Levit’s delicate, soiree-appropriate soft, and even touch was consistently admirable – especially in the Brahms Intermezzi Op. 117 and Four Ballades Op. 10 of the first half. Brahms benefits from this, to a point – though the approach shifts the burden of generating tension from the performer to the audience: either it sits in raptness (which, in the restless first half, could hardly be claimed) or one faces a certain risk of the audience nodding off.

The question also arose whether there might be such a thing as “over-interpretation,” so much did Levit demand of every phrase in these simply beautiful Intermezzi; so introspective every attack had to become; so brooding every pause: every tiniest note a carefully curated miniature. The Ballades, too, received this detail-minded, intelligent treatment. Like pulled pork, it seemed: so tender it fell apart if you as much as looked at it – a tightrope walk between touching and tiresome. The contrast of the thunderous leap into the B minor Ballade, as rough-hewn as Michelangeli liked to play it, came out all the sharper in this setting. Sweetening the close was another Brahms Intermezzo as encore – holding back the already-breaking-out just once more, and making the already-jubilation-primed remainder of the audience cheer all the harder.


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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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Notes from the 2024 Salzburg Festival ( 5 ) Don Giovanni • Currentzis • Castellucci

Opera • Don Giovanni • Currentzis • Utopia Orchestra

Also reviewed for Die Presse: „Don Giovanni“ bei den Salzburger Festspielen: Jubel für weiße Bilderkunst

ALL PICTURES (DETAILS) COURTESY SALZBURG FESTIVAL, © Monika Rittershaus. CLICK FOR THE WHOLE PICTURE.

50 Shades of White: Currentzis’ and Castellucci’s Don Giovanni Triumpans/span>

Robert Castellucci’s Don Giovanniwas first performed at the 2021 Salzburg Festival. For the premiere of the revival, the production has changed only in some small details. It still begins with a professional crew of movers clearing out a church. By the time they get to taking down the renaissance crucifix from the wall, the overture bursts on the scene, courtesy Teodor Currentzis and his Utopia Orchestra, which is in essence his MusicAeterna Orchestra, but the West-European edition, to avoid unnecessary controversy about a Russian orchestra performing in Europe. (More about that, in a bit.)

Whether the pre-overture action means to suggest that art is replacing religion is up for speculation. But they must clean house. Perhaps to get rid of clichés and old-fashioned ideas about Don Giovanni. Or simply to make room for this production. Lots and lots of white room. So white, in fact, and in so many different warm and cool shades, sometimes draped with vast sheets of cloth, and brilliantly lit, one might have mistaken it for a Dieter Dorn production, except with a slew of animals making witty cameos: A goat, a poodle, and a rat!

The Dieter Dorn comparison might not even be so off the mark, because despite the overwhelming, wafting pictures that Castellucci painted unto the stage – set, costumes and lighting all being one homogenous one – his production is essentially a fairly conventional chamber play, which relies on the actor-singers to bring it to life. And that they did!

Homogenous Ensemble

The Singers were a very homogenous, very satisfying ensemble. No reasonable person would have attended this Don Giovanni for any one particularly singer – and yet, the vocal offering was excellent. Nadezhda Pavlova’s Donna Anna, for example, who got the loudest ovations: Strong-voiced and soaring above all, when necessary. Or the much appreciated Federica Lombardi’s Elvira, touching, half-motherly, half-seductive, with a nicely low timbre. Anna El-Khashem’s minx of a Zerlina was a little muted, but the way her voice betrayed experience-beyond-her-years worked nicely with her character, who is rather more worldly than her oaf of a husband-to-be, Masetto (Ruben Drole: smokey, sturdy, blunted – all befitting his character). This becomes deliciously obvious, when she rather enjoys being tied up with a bondage rope by Don Giovanni, whereas her encouraging “Batti, batti, o bel Masetto” is rather lost on the poor chap, who doesn’t, much to Zerlina’s resigned disappointment, get her drift.

The fact that Don Giovanni are just about doppelgängers reminds of Peter Sellars’ 80s production, where he cast the rôles with the Perry twins. Kyle Ketelsen’s Leporello, dark-hued and gruff, and Davide Luciano’s all-in Don G., steady and with a warm timbre, and never, never prone to barking, hit all the marks – and especially Luciano embodied the personified id. Superstars in the Pit None of this would have been as satisfactorily possible, had it not been for the support from the Orchestra. The Utopia Orchestra offered precision, force, and lots of bite – but also oodles of transparency – to a degree that you simply don’t get from an orchestra where, not a minute into their scheduled lunchbreak, the first trombone already raises their hand. From full-out attack to the height of tender reticence, even the smallest phrase was fully thought-out and shaped. Any sense of harmlessness is out of the question, in such a performance and if anyone could possibly niggle, it would be about this approach being a bit too much of a good thing. Except, not really. The fortepiano had inspired, free-wheeling passages, with ‘planned-improvisatory’ contributions that even included a bit of late Beethoven, to underline the seriousness of Act 2. The consequence was great enthusiasm for the music and near instant, unanimous standing ovations for Teodor Currentzis and his musicians.

If one only followed the “Currentzis Question” through social media, one might get the idea that he’s controversial. And yes, there are enough bigots out there – well, one, specifically – who make a point out of trolling Russian artists (not that Currentzis is Russian – but he works there) that don’t kowtow to their demands for explicit renunciation of all things Putin… and all consequences for their careers (and the livelihood of the musicians that rely on them) be damned… and some cowards who will immediately try to distance themselves from presumed controversy or Twitter-pressure.

In Salzburg, the audience couldn’t possibly care less about this one-man witch-hunt against Currentzis (who has, in any case, shown his true colors by immediately programming Ukrainian works in the aftermath of the Russian invasion, and the Britten War Requiem). What they want is great music-making. And that they get in spades from the weirdo-conductor and his supremely willing band of musical Nibelungs.

Dramma giocoso

For all the grandness of the production’s sets, populated with 150 choreographed women of all ages, shapes, and types – a none-too-subtle but perfectly effective manifestation of Don’s “catalogue” – Castellucci does not leave the “giocoso” part of Don Giovanni unattended to. (Unlike Glaus Guth, whose perfect Giovanni was all bleak and dark.) Of course, playing up the comedic element of the story rarely works well; least of all when the Don is played as a sort of oversexed Falstaff. This is something that Castellucci fastidiously avoids. The laughs come from other corners. Like Masetto’s hiding place, from which a (live!) rat scurries across stage, as he is discovered. His shriek might have been real, too. Chuckles also ripple through the Festspielhaus, when Donna Elvira’s two little kids are chasing Daddy Giovanni, who is distinctly put off by these two unintended consequences clinging to his legs.

But the comedic coup de théâtre is the treatment of that big fat zero of the opera, Don Ottavio, that ineffectual bloviator, who sings much and does absolutely nothing, except stand on the sidelines making helpful comments like an acquaintance telling you that you’re putting the Ikea closet together all wrong. Every time Castellucci and his Theresa Wilson, his costume-assistant, send Ottavio – who starts out looking like a posh hobby dictator in his silky mess uniform – out on stage, they stuff him into a yet-still-more ridiculous costume: A Pierrot with a coiffed (real) poodle. The King of Jerusalem. As a nun. And the more earnestly Ottavio sings, the more pathetic – and hilarious – it becomes. Julian Prégardien does this with total commitment, great lyrical stretches, and just a brief, intermittent stretch where the intonation softened. Once scene, with him and Donna Anna, features two artist’s mannequins who, as graphically as is within their abstract ability, act out what really happened between her and Giovanni, earlier that night, before the overture. A wink, a nod, and a reminder, as if it was needed, that a point of view, one’s reality, and the truth are not necessarily the same thing. A move, reminiscent of what Kasper Holten’s does in during the overture of his film version of the opera, Juan.

There is probably no production that will be liked by everyone. And a small group in the audience, evidently less impressed by things falling and crashing onto the stage at irregular intervals (still basketballs and a grand piano; the car and the carriage now only dangle and don’t fall, in this updated production), hollered “Boos” at the production team. But those were immediately drowned by contra “Bravos” from an audience that wouldn’t have its good time spoiled.

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Photo descriptions:


Above
Picture No.1: Don Giovanni 2024: Extras of the Salzburg Festival (Pre-Overture)

Picture No.2: Don Giovanni 2024: Anna El-Khashem (Zerlina), Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.3: Don Giovanni 2024: Julian Prégardien (Don Ottavio), Nadezhda Pavlova (Donna Anna)




Below
Picture No.4: Don Giovanni 2024: Ensemble

Picture No.5: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni), Federica Lombardi (Donna Elvira), Ensemble

Picture No.6: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.7: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.8: Don Giovanni 2024: Nadezhda Pavlova (Donna Anna), Ensemble