PERSPECTIVE — When Daniel Barenboim announced his Parkinson’s diagnosis on Instagram on Feb. 6, he wrote, “I am planning to maintain as many of my professional commitments as my health permits. As ever, I consider the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra my most important responsibility.”
Thus, it came as no surprise that Barenboim canceled his commitment to conduct a demanding all-Mahler program with the Berlin Philharmonic May 8-10. In his place stood Sakari Oramo, who followed Deryck Cooke’s completion of the 25-minute Adagio from the Symphony No. 10 with the hour-long Das Lied von der Erde. Benjamin Bruns, who had been announced as Barenboim’s tenor soloist, shared the stage with mezzo-soprano Dorottya Láng, who signed on after the release of the Berlin Philharmonic’s season program guide.
The May 8 performance marked the second time I heard Oramo conduct the Tenth Symphony’s Adagio in less than four months. (The first was with the BBC Philharmonic in London’s Barbican in January.) As in London, there was no clear sense of thematic development. Oramo seemed to be doing little more than encouraging the orchestra to play beautifully as the volume increased until, well into the movement, the flow was interrupted by a heartrending cry of anguish. As in London, Oramo prefaced the outpouring by vigorously jumping into the air and landing on the conductor’s podium with a huge stomp. As regrettable as this extra-musical disruption may have been, the Adagio quickly transitioned from one in which Oramo seemed to be biding his time into something vital.
Vitality was the byword during Oramo’s performance of Das Lied von der Erde. Relishing Mahler’s mastery of orchestra color, he made a special point of the contrasting timbres of different solo instruments in different locations. In the second song, “Der Einsame im Herbst” (The Solitary One in Autumn), the Berlin Philharmonic sounded glorious, the radiance of its violins contrasting with the earthiness of the oboe and the clarinet. As Orami gestured to each instrument and section, he seemed to celebrate the sheer beauty of sound the musicians could produce.
Bruns was one of the finest heldentenor-tinged exponents of the tenor solos I’ve heard. From up close, some of his facial expressions may have been grotesque, but his sound gleamed with a bright, sharp edge that radiated peak health and security. Nothing was forced; his sound flowed as freely as the wine in which his character constantly over-indulged. When, at the conclusion of the first drinking song, Bruns sang, “Dunkel ist das Leben, ist der Tod” (Dark is life, dark is death), he did so as if it was the most profound summation of life ever committed to verse.
The unforced strength and gleam of Bruns’ voice did not prevent him from softening fetchingly at the start of his second solo, “Von der Jugend” (Of Youth). He concluded the final song, “Der Trinker in Frühling” (The Drunkard in Spring), with exultant abandon.
Láng’s voice was drier, less powerful, and less expressive. The profound sadness and sense of finality with which Kathleen Ferrier or the very differently voiced Christa Ludwig imbued their interpretations was indicated more by facial expressions than by sound. Throughout Láng’s solos, the orchestra’s eloquence unintentionally vied for attention. It was only toward the end of the final song, “Der Abschied” (The Farewell), that Láng exhibited a touch of glory at the top of her range as she sang out fully.
Ten days later, I attended the May 18 production of Mozart’s Così fan tutte at the Bavarian State Opera (Bayerisches Staatsoper). Benedict Andrews‘ production, which premiered in Munich in 2022, makes a special point of contrasting fantasy with reality. Fantasy, represented by a fairy tale castle that occasionally collapses under the weight of emotional truth, stands in opposition to a surfeit of explicit sexuality, including a lot of carousing about in underwear and far more than one obligatory roll in the hay.
Alas, Andrews sometimes tends to forget that one can make a point without overdoing it. As someone who worked as an art model for a number of years, I never expected to write, in my notes, “Thank God they’ve finally put their clothes back on for the wedding scene.” But even the most revelatory of directorial innovations can prove excessive when their repetition is gratuitous.
Beyond that, the production is a lot of fun, and extremely energetic. At one point, shortly before Fiordiligi (Olga Kulchynska) and Dorabella (Emily Sierra) tried to gas themselves to death in an automobile, Dorabella managed an astounding leap through the car’s open passenger side window into the front seat. Red knees for the rest of the performance evidenced the price she had to pay for such athleticism. Kudos to Magda Willi for her imaginative sets, and to Andrews for keeping everyone moving without impinging on the music.
Vocally, the women were superb. Some sopranos may have stronger rock-solid low notes at the start of “Come scoglio” than Kulchynska, but fewer can also marry beautiful tone with spot-on coloratura and a strong top. Her recitative at the start of her second great aria, “Per pietà…,” was a marvel of expressive nuance, and she hit the highest notes with ease. Sierra sounded marvelous throughout her range, with highs imbued with gorgeous, soprano-like freedom. She also blended perfectly with Kulchynska both musically and histrionically. It was an ideal match.
Nonetheless, the star of the show, without question, was the amazing Sandrine Piau as Despina. Less than a month before her 60th birthday, Piau sang and moved with prime-year ease, beauty, and freedom. To see this most serious of artists run around onstage, dusting everything and anyone with abandon while relishing her classic French maid outfit, was a joy. It is no surprise that the charmed and delighted audience awarded Piau (along with conductor Christopher Moulds) with the strongest applause of the evening.
Rod Gilfry made an especially strong Don Alfonso, relishing every opportunity to prove himself an obnoxious champion of patriarchal manipulation. His voice was in better shape than the last time I heard him, with the transition from lovely piano to emphatically vindictive forte as notable for its seamlessness as for its intentional shift in vocal color.
Daniel Behle (Ferrando) sang beautifully. In the first act, he was the epitome of elegance until he pushed a bit on the highest notes of “Un aura amorosa.” By the second act, however, he managed his entire range with ease. Konstantin Krimmel (Guglielmo), looking noticeably thinner than in earlier photos, had little opportunity to exhibit the melting high notes and interpretive subtlety that distinguish his recent recording of Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin. As excellent as he was onstage, his singing lacked the range of colors supplied by his counterparts.
Moulds’ tempos could not have been better. If his singers had limits, his conducting was so respectful that they were unnoticeable. Under his guidance, it was a superb performance.
Ultimately, Così‘s conceit is deplorable. How could the two women be duped by costumes and beards that could not disguise differences in vocal range and timbre? How could they not recognize their lovers’ hands and touch? In the final scene, it’s the men, not the women, who need to apologize for their manipulative fickleness and lack of faithfulness. Nonetheless, any Mozart lover capable of making peace with the oppressive elements of Lorenzo da Ponte’s libretto (and Mozart’s collusion in same) could only have been overjoyed by the singing, conducting, direction, and production. European audience members rarely stand at performance end, but much of this audience was on its feet cheering after the curtain — for good reason.
