Pandacidal Mania

• Michael W. Kahn, Stolen PandaMania statue found in creek (Associated Press, in the Washington Times, December 17)
  
• Jason Jacks, Stolen panda statue found in community creek (Reston Times, December 17, with a great picture!)

Is this story true, or did I somehow wander into Tyler Green's criminal fantasy? Headline: Panda sleeps with the fishes. Reward of $1,000 for recovering it could have been used to fund interesting art.

Smoke Detector Reminder

A little after 4 am this morning, my family and I were awakened by a multiple-alarm fire around the corner from us (William Branigin, D.C. Rowhouse Fire Kills Four, December 20, Washington Post). The strong winds of the major cold front that hit the District of Columbia last night fanned the flames, which started in a tenant's room in the basement and spread to deadly proportions because there were no functioning smoke detectors. When we first woke up, the smoke was swirling so badly, we couldn't tell if the fire was in our row of houses or even in our house. It was total chaos.

Because of the four fatalities discovered so far, including two children, the fire department has been distributing free smoke detectors to all the houses on the block today and offering to check homes for signs of fire hazards. (It's worth taking some time to think about fire safety in your own home.) The lesson to be learned from this terrible tragedy, dear readers: get smoke detectors and, if you have them already, go and replace the batteries tonight before you go to bed. That's what I'm going to do.

Renata Tebaldi Soars above Her Last Finale

As you opera fans probably know, Italian soprano Renata Tebaldi passed away this weekend, at the age of 82. (If you are looking for a way to keep up on news in the opera world, you should check out AllAboutOpera.com, a site that has kindly linked to Ionarts: thanks for that! Their Today's Opera News page keeps track of the big stories, and there is an RSS feed.) Although there is not much for me to add to the chorus of lamentation, I will translate a portion of Christian Merlin's article (Disparition : Renata Tebaldi, la dernière diva, December 20) in Le Figaro:

Born in 1922 in Pesaro, Rossini's homeland, she came from a family of postal employees in the town of Traversetolo: her aunt made her learn Morse code so that she could take up the torch of telecommunication, but she was drawn to music. Her mother's cousin, a pianist, gave her her first lessons and brought her to the Conservatory in Parma for an audition. Maestro Brancucci fell under the spell of a first-rate vocal instrument and admitted her to his class. However, it was the singer Carmen Melis, her teacher beginning in 1940, who truly taught her the technical foundation of what would become her trademark sound: the control of the diaphragm, allowing her to sing on the breath throughout her range, and vocal support in all the muscles of the abdomen and chest, allowing her to sing relaxed, without strain.

Although she did not appear much in Paris, Merlin notes, she was the chosen voice at many remarkable events, notably the solemn concert to reopen La Scala after World War II and the revival of Puccini's La Fanciulla del West at the Met. He also takes the best stance on the over-commented rivalry between Tebaldi and Callas, saying that "their voices and their personalities were so different that it makes any comparison pointless: it would be better to speak in terms of how they complemented one another."

Tebaldi's voice was characterized by the pure beauty of her timber, the perfect equality of her registers, the sweetness of her line and phrasing, with her milky fine shading and her enchanting runs. The acting, sincere but limited, could sometimes suffer from this care afforded to the singing line and sonorous seduction, even more so because her stage movement was somewhat reduced, possibly as a result of poliomyelitis contracted during her childhood.

The author singles out several opera recordings that show her at her best, of which I direct you to the Cleva La Wally, the Serafin Butterfly, and the Karajan Otello Aida (see Amazon links below). He also mentions les pirates, including a "completely hallucinatory" Forza del Destino, directed by Mitropoulos in Florence in 1953 (possibly this recording?): "at the end of her aria, just before the delirious ovation of the audience, one listener beats everyone to the punch by yelling out, "Un angelo!" (An angel). Now that comment is literally true.

Alfredo Catalani, La Wally, R. Tebaldi, F. Cleva

Giacomo Puccini, Madama Butterfly, R. Tebaldi, T. Serafin

Giuseppe Verdi, Aida, R. Tebaldi, H. von Karajan

Britten's Midsummer Night's Dream

Other Newspaper Article N.B., Nuit d'été aux portes de l'hiver (La Libre Belgique, November 30)

I noted a few interesting productions of the operas of Benjamin Britten around the world, in my Preview of the Opera Season, 2004–2005. After the Washington National Opera's excellent production of Billy Budd (see the Ionarts reviews), now I have been following the news about A Midsummer Night's Dream (the site is in French or Flemish) at the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels, until December 31. The conductor is Ivor Bolton (with Peter Tomek replacing on December 29 and 31), the staging is by Scottish director David McVicar, with sets and costumes by Rae Smith and lighting by Paule Constable. The pictures look terrific.

Martine D. Mergeay's review (Retour de la féerie à la Monnaie, December 10) for La Libre Belgique calls McVicar's staging "unbridled" and Smith's design "sumptuously visual" (my translation):

The stage curtain already sets the tone: a rich stylized lace, in black and white, which we soon realize has been woven by spiders. Charm and seduction, in one sense, somehow malevolent signs in another. It's with one foot in each of the two worlds that the spectator travels through Benjamin Britten's Midsummer Night's Dream, inspired by William Shakespeare's inexhaustible comedy and premiered in Aldeburgh in 1960.

Unlike the works of Purcell and Mendelssohn, which favor the gracious and unreal face of the fairy world, Britten's opera is closer to the original comedy and takes on its contrasting aspects, at once realistic, raw, and poetic, which reveal that passion drives us to the greatest follies, that no oath can be taken seriously, but that love's intuition remains the primary guide of fairies, humans, animals, the forest, the stars, in short, of all nature (of which it is, once and for all, the only "order"). It is with this mixture of cynicism and indulgence that David McVicar confronts Britten's opera. The visual components, designed by Rae Smith, are of an exceptional quality, in the purest tradition of 17th-century fairy tales: tulles, puffy skirts, leaves and flowers, gilding, glory descending from the rafters.

While she praises the staging as "totally convincing," the casting is less glorious, particularly countertenor Michael Chance who "mixes musicality, intonation problems, and lack of power" as Oberon (one of the great modern countertenor roles, along with Prince Go-Go in Ligeti's Le Grand Macabre). (What is it with countertenors these days? They're not only on stage in New York, Paris, San Francisco, and now Brussels, they're even in the Metro stations here in Washington.)

Michèle Friche's review (Le grenier des désirs, December 10) for LeGuide.be calls the production a combination of a "typically English tale" and "the shadow of that fabulous storyteller Tim Burton, writer and director of Sleepy Hollow." Here are a few excerpts of Nicolas Blanmont's interview with David McVicar («Songe» et réalités de McVicar, December 7) for La Libre Belgique:

Is it more difficult to direct an opera with a Shakespeare libretto?

No, why would it be? He's the greatest author of all time. Britten's Midsummer Night's Dream is not like Verdi's Shakespeares, where you must deal with this Italian 19th-century rewriting: with Britten, you have Shakespeare's exact words. I can help the singers reflect on the exact meaning of the text. It's good to stay close to the text, especially for stupid singers! I hate having to spoon-feed them. That's why I was so happy to work here with children: it gave me someone intelligent to speak to.

You have said many times that the director's job is to tell stories...

What use are we if not to tell stories? To tell you the truth, I don't understand what the fuck Robert Wilson is still doing in the theater! Sorry but with him, no one is acting, no story is being told: I might as well be in a museum looking at an exhibit with the Aida soundtrack in the background! He has done nothing interesting since The Civil Wars in the 80s. No, listen, I am a story-teller. And telling a story does not mean there is no room for social criticism.

McVicar is also quoted by Michel Debrocq in an article (Entre féerie et terreur, December 7) for LeGuide.be:

Why do we invent stories of fairies and spirits, when we know they don't exist? It's a way to explore the dark side of our nature, which we relegate to fairy tales, ghost stories...that way we don't have to live it. For me, a fairy is a Scottish spirit, closer to a troll. They are disturbing creatures, sometimes violent, not at all good-natured. I think it's like that in Shakespeare, and Britten is always sensitive to the dark beast lurking beneath the surface. To accompany Oberon, he uses the celesta, the same instrument he connects to Quint in The Turn of the Screw. This has nothing to do with Tchaikovsky's Sugarplum Fairy! Britten uses it in his two operas in a truly terrifying way. The role of the trickster Puck in the opera is spoken and acrobatic. Puck is the eternal child, completely amoral. He lives outside of society's conventions, with no sense of responsibility: he is the wild child. We have a circus artist, David Greeves, to play the role at La Monnaie.

I would really like to see this opera performed live.

Konstantin Lifschitz's Wish-Liszt

J.S.Bach, Goldberg Variations, K.Lifschitz Denon

Stepping in for Roberto Cominati, Konstantin Lifschitz presented his own transcription of Ravel's Daphnis et Chloé at the Terrace Theater, on December 11th. The 28-year-old Ukrainian, known among connoisseurs for his recording of the Goldberg Variations (Denon), made when he was 17, certainly succeeded in drawing on those parts of the orchestral suites that suited the ability of the piano best. The result is a pianist's transcription that lends itself to showing off the multitude of colors of the instrument, and Mr. Lifschitz played them with the expected dedication. His playing, physically at least, is theatrical, an impression only enhanced by the Japanese (?) silk cape he donned. The shy veneer cannot hide that Mr. Lifschitz is very, very aware of his special ability. A somewhat haughty air and a certain geekiness—coupled with a playful streak that belies his mature age (for a performer)—make a marked contrast to the Horowitz-like composure of an Arcadi Volodos but cannot distract too much from his skill.

Two waltzes by Chopin (op. 69, nos. 1 and 2) followed the Ravel, which by that point had lasted about long enough. The well-known first waltz in A-flat from 1835 was no challenge for Lifschitz's finger virtuosity and was delivered in a lightweight rendition with a limping rubato, while the 1829 waltz no. 2 (B minor) sounded more like an introductory work for a piano student. If I had to blame anyone other than myself for that perception, it would more likely be Chopin than his interpreter.

The Polonaise-Fantaisie in A-flat, op. 61, written in the dusk of Chopin's life, was fortunately not plagued by the Chopin-the-wilting-flower attitude that so often distorts his works into fragile piano whispers. Instead, Mr. Lifschitz dug into the New York Steinway, much to the benefit of Chopin and the audience. I could still have taken more bite in the softer passages and skipped the self-consciously slow opening, but in a concert performance the result was very satisfying.

A comment from Washington Performing Arts Society President Neale Perl announced the opening of the new Strathmore Hall in North Bethesda (the politically correct name for Rockville) that will bring such luminary performers as Itzhak Perlman, the Emerson String Quartet, and Orpheus to suburbanites, all courtesy of the WPAS.

Then followed some stunning Liszt in the form of the Hungarian's Ballade No. 2 in B Minor and the Six Grand Etudes after Paganini. The ballade, perhaps an 1848 homage to Liszt's soon-to-be-dead friend Chopin (as Eric Bromberger's program notes suggest), was played every bit as tempestuously as one could wish for. The 1832 études, performed after some waiting and the consequent request that the coughing audience members please excuse themselves (none did, but there was great murmuring and everyone tried to get a last, juicy cough out), are some of Liszt's more difficult (indeed sometimes gratuitously difficult) works, even in their 1851 modification.

It is the showmanship of Paganini transcribed for piano, literally so, in that the études are based on five of Paganini's 24 Caprices for Solo Violin and the last movement of the second violin concerto (Etude No. 3). With fleet fingers, a wide palette of tonal colors, an impressive expressive scale, and redoubtable technical ability, he made the most of these works when it would have been impressive alone that someone can play all the notes right. Those performances alone were worth the price of admission, and they brought the remarkable cough-restrained house down.

Romanian Christmas carols by Béla Bartók were a most welcome and conveniently seasonally appropriate encore. For someone who can't take even one more Christmas-themed piece with jingles or bells in it, it was a godsend. For those who don't like Bartók much, it was a chance to reconsider and recant. The carols are a gorgeous introduction to Bartók's work and style without the scary dissonance. Even after the most impressive Liszt, this was the highlight of my afternoon. The second encore was the seldom heard Beethoven Polonaise, typical Beethoven over a flavor of Haydn and darn pretty. It seemed a soothing dessert after much rambunctious virtuosity.

My Big MoMA-ent

It was so damn cold in Manhattan on Thursday that I would have paid $20 to get out of the weather: oops, I did.

I don’t know if more can be said about the new admissions fees at the MoMA, but one thought is, if you want more great art to be made, artists have to have access to the library on a regular basis.

I was starstruck on my first visit to the new Moma, because all the big boys and girls were back. I really did miss them. The treat for me are all the drawings, watercolors, and prints on view in spacious, well-lit, new digs. I need to see the spontaneous process, the drips and erasers. I probably spent most of my stay in these galleries.

The new MoMA is still familiar, just a lot bigger. Even with the crowds, the traffic flows well. I enjoyed the openness of the central atrium: it's visible from any floor, great for people-watching. A little mint between gallery courses. Welcome back and thank you, trustees, for spending all that money on art.

Back into the cold and down to Chelsea. Gilbert and George seem to be everywhere, at Lehmann Maupin and Sonnabend galleries anyway. They're big and brighter than than ever. They should consider putting themselves in their art more, kinda like Oprah.

Some exhibits of note: Lori Taschler at JG Contemporary, I love this small store front space. Martha Rosler at Gorney Bravin + Lee, real cutting photomontages; some things never change. Armando Morales at Robert Miller. A Robert Ryman room full of white, at Pace Wildenstein and a discussion going on at artblog.

Season's greetings to all! Love, health, good will towards everyone and peace on earth: it is possible.

Icon Maker

Other Newspaper Articles: Cecile Brisson, Statue of Liberty's birth on display (Associated Press, in the Fort Wayne News-Sentinel, December 7) (I note with pleasure that a friend of mine in Paris, Kate Brumback, contributed to this story!) Jon Henly, Exhibition retells tortuous French tale of the Statue of Liberty (The Guardian, December 7)

A little article (Les poses de la géante [The giantess's poses], December 9) by Marie Audran in Le Point made me aware that this year is the 100th anniversary of the death of sculptor Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi (1834-1904). Who? He was the creative mind behind a large statue he named La Liberté éclairant le monde, built in the late 19th century, a cast skin designed to be attached to a huge metal frame made by Gustave Eiffel. It's standing right now in the middle of New York Harbor. A new exhibit commemorates the event (my translation):

The Musée des Arts et Métiers [in the 3rd arrondissement of Paris] had the excellent idea to exhibit some fifty photographs from its little-known collection (from a total of 14,000 images). These shots, taken from 1876 to 1886, reveal the broad stages of the construction of the torch-bearing giantess. In his Parisian workshop, the elegant Bartholdi and truly minuscule workers pose next to a gigantic foot or an ear, of which the actual-size mold is shown with the photos. A model tells us about the patient work on the proportions by progressive advances in dimension until, in the photos, the massive silhouette hangs little by little over Eiffel's metal framework. When it was completed in Paris, the statue was disassembled for the trip by frigate from Rouen to New York.

These images were so fascinating that their sale helped, at the time, to finance the construction. Bartholdi, who dedicated fifteen years of his life to this work, was, we see, one of the first great self-promoters...

Thank you, France, for this most magnanimous gift and for remembering its builder. I think a museum here in the United States should approach the museum to discuss bringing the exhibit here next year. What do you say, National Museum of American History? Or why not the Statue of Liberty National Monument itself?

Bartholdi: Les bâtisseurs de la Liberté (Bartholdi: the builders of liberty) will be at the Musée des Arts et Métiers until March 6. The Web site (available in English) is beautifully designed, but I wish we could see more of the actual photographs.

Hallelujah, It's Over!

Handel's Messiah around this time of the year is a tradition—and fairly unavoidable. Many Washingtonians tried, though, and the Kennedy Center's Concert Hall was more than half empty. I wish I could say that they missed out on something special: alas, they did not. The NSO and the Washington Master Chorale, under the baton of the youthful Paul Goodwin, delivered a pleasant performance, but nothing extraordinary or somehow remarkable.

The Orchestra played, understandably perhaps, on autopilot with fairly pedestrian results. The male batch of singers, countertenor Brian Asawa, tenor Benjamin Butterfield, and baritone George Mosley were adequate, too, but not much more. The 71 throat-strong choir performed in a way that deserved neither lavish praise nor negative criticism. (That is, of course, if you don't consider withholding praise a negative criticism in the first place.)

Soprano Jenniver Casey Cabot (“The Arnold and Marie Schwartz endowed Soloist”—that cumbersome title would have been funnier if the object of such support had been the countertenor) had a starling voice and hit all the notes right. Paul Goodwin's obvious enthusiasm for the music (he may have been the only one) did not jump over to anyone else. His precise and detailed conducting—one of the few highlights—steered everyone safely through the performance though.

Handel's Messiah being a good deal less exciting than some of his other oratorios (notably Saul and Theodora) and given how often we have heard that work, “good” and “safe” are not quite enough. And while my internal wager of who would fall asleep first, I or one of the performers, was gratuitously facetious, it might go some way in characterizing the night's impact on me. The program will be offered again today, Friday, and tomorrow, Saturday, at 8:00 pm, as well as Sunday at 1:00 pm.

Update: Tim Page's review can be read here. Kinder, more detailed, but ultimately not very different. I, too, don't mind a big Messiah - though I would not have minded a tight, taut, tart little thing, either. Just anything but a run-of-the-mill version.