Double showcase

The crowd at Handel and Haydn's season opener on Friday had clearly come to see Andreas Scholl, the countertenor who's rarely heard in the U.S. despite an international cult. And so, frankly, had I; to my surprise, however, I was more gripped by the work of the visiting conductor, Jean Christophe Spinosi (at left) of the French group Ensemble Matheus. By this I don't mean to slight Mr. Scholl, who was often transporting. But it was Mr. Spinosi who had the charisma and chops to command a space the size of Symphony Hall.

And command it he did, from the first notes of the opening Vivaldi overture (to La fida ninfa). It usually only takes seconds to realize you're in the presence of a star, and Mr. Spinosi is indeed a star. What caught the ear immediately was his commitment to what's known as "terraced dynamics"; in the Baroque world, because the harpsichord was not capable of gradations in volume, musicians generally "terraced" their performances with abrupt changes from loud to soft. Mr. Spinosi has taken that technique and run with it; on Friday night, he sculpted the strings into a series of clean plateaux of sound. The effect went far beyond the usual "echo" trick to conjure a whole musical landscape in space, and brought a striking sense of dimension to Vivaldi's habit of repeating the same musical cells in a steadily growing build. Spinosi also conducted with infectious enthusiasm, and a light but propulsive hand; he not only drew a subtle palette of color from the orchestra, but seemed to engage with, and energize, the players physically as well. In brief, he pretty much had it all.

Meanwhile Scholl (below right) had pretty much everything, too, except the power that countertenor fans always dream of. The horrifying tradition of the castrati left behind it a kind of longing for a dream vocalist with the range of a soprano but the power of a bass - indeed, by at least some accounts, that's what the greatest of the castrati had; they were compared not to other people but to trumpets.

The modern countertenor, by way of contrast, is generally confined to a form of falsetto, or "head" voice, which can rarely match the power of "chest" voice. This is how Mr. Scholl produces his gorgeously pure tones, and at times he had trouble cutting through the background support of the period orchestra behind him. But at the same time, it must be admitted his high notes are so mysteriously involuted and self-contained that they sound almost ethereal; at least it seems unlikely that anyone of this earth, male or female, could have produced such immaculate tones. To be bluntly honest, Mr. Scholl doesn't seem to have much acting range beyond passionate earnestness, and his voice isn't highly flexible; his effects were all in different keys of melancholy. Still, at his best, he achieves something close to holiness, a rare virtue in our secular age, and one that has a special resonance in sacred music.

Thus it was no surprise that his best moments on Friday came in Vivaldi's "Filiae Maestae Jerusalem" and especially Stabat Mater, a moving contemplation of the Virgin Mary at the foot of the Cross. With the orchestration pared back to a despairing spareness, Scholl's radiant vocals seemed to embody a sorrow so pure it had been transmuted into eternal mystery - and the crowd was soon on its feet roaring its approval. And for a moment, I understood this charming countertenor's cult.

A small, but somewhat good, thing

I've been meaning to note that my prayers regarding the tacky, brass-plated ad on the interior façade of Jordan Hall have, at last, been partly answered; New England Conservatory replaced it some time ago, with a new ad that is conceptually slightly more tacky (in that it includes the school's logo), but which is subtler in its typography, and thus blends into its background. So one step forward, one smaller step back; the ad is conceptually slightly more offensive, but you can pretty easily ignore it. And the improvement only took two years! Maybe in two more the damn thing will be gone completely.

Of course you know this means war

Ian Thal, a friend of and commenter on this blog, is holding a reading of the revised version of his new play Total War at Outpost 186 in Inman Square this Sunday night. I confess to having something of a personal stake in this reading - because I gave him input into the last version - but alas, I'm going to have to miss it (maybe he'll share the electronic copy if I promise not to "nick" it!). The topic is a fascinating one - the legacy of Catholic anti-Semitism on a very Boston-College-like campus that is, of course, not, not Boston College. Details above, or more info here.

Crying Woolf

Tina Packer and Nigel Gore rest their lungs in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Boston's been getting a double dose of the absurd recently, with both Pinter's The Caretaker and Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? up and running. Neither production is satisfying - but the Nora's thoughtfully-produced Caretaker at least raises interesting questions about precisely how a production might work Pinter's old black-comedy magic in a post-ironic age. I'll be writing more about that issue soon.

Virginia Woolf?, by way of contrast, is just disappointing, and only raises questions about director Diego Arciniegas's choices and the waning powers of actress Tina Packer. I was surprised at the production's weakness, but perhaps shouldn't have been; audiences are greeted by a weirdly prescient message from the author (inserted in each program) which reads, "This production is not approved by the play’s author, Edward Albee. Nevertheless, the production has been allowed to open."

Well, I didn't approve of the production either. There's been a chorus of local exasperation over the Publick's struggles with this famously difficult author, but really, there are many obvious reasons why Albee might have wanted to stop the curtain from going up on this particular version of his masterpiece. The leading actress is twenty years past her character's proper age (and isn't really right for the role, anyway); she and her leading man inexplicably sport British accents in this nearly-iconic American play; the set is strangely sleek and postmodern, and the abstracted lighting prone to intrusive effects; perhaps worst of all, the text has been modestly, but tellingly, trimmed into a star vehicle, à la the movie version - only this time there's really no star to drive the vehicle.

But please, all of you in the Tina Packer cheering section, before you write in - this talented lady is 71 years old, hardly an age for rough-and-tumble nearly-three-hour marathons (I know I don't want to be working this hard when I'm 71). I admit I'm stunned by her stamina - she's still got the lung power for the role, and then some (in fact she and co-star Nigel Gore bellow their way monotonously through most of two acts). But she's hampered by memory problems, and doesn't always move confidently on the set (she does the role barefoot). All this would be beside the point, of course, if she were emotionally credible in the part, but she's not. Packer could do Martha from a walker if need be, if she had a handle on her frustrated vengefulness; but while she hollers every insult with gusto, there's no real malice behind their delivery, and not even a hint of hatred or despair. (There's merely pain and vulnerability, which would have disgusted any Martha worth the salt in her wounds.) Thus the play simply doesn't have its central arc; when Martha wails toward the finish that she's "not a monster," we only think to ourselves, "Well of course not; you're just a big, unhappy baby."

At least Nigel Gore, as passive-aggressive hubby George, holds up his end of the game (although here and there he's a bit mannered). Still, watching him is like watching a mime play tennis with a non-existent partner - he dashes to the right emotional spot, and then doggedly lobs back his retort, just as if the actual blow had landed. Meanwhile, as Nick and Honey, the not-so-innocent guests who have wandered into this dysfunctional couple's crossfire, newcomer Kevin Kaine and the talented Angie Jepson make an impression, although perhaps not quite the right one. The expertly coiffed Kaine is certainly a looker, but is slightly too prim and prissy for the smart, crass, all-American jock he's playing, and Jepson sometimes goes a bit manically overboard (Honey's more intriguing when she slowly zones out).

But to be fair, both have been cheated of their best lines - in particular, the revelation that Honey actually aborted her baby (rather than suffering a "hysterical pregnancy") has been unconscionably deleted. This was missing from the movie, too - probably because censors thought abortion an impermissible topic for the big screen - but it's really essential to Albee's larger themes, and here has only been cut, it seems, to streamline things for the stars. Other bits seemed to have disappeared with even less reason - including my favorite line in the play, the one about George and Martha cracking each others' bones and sucking out the marrow. Which only made me wonder what could have possessed director Arciniegas, who recently directed note-perfect versions of Humble Boy and Travesties, to make these changes? My guess would be that he was railroaded by Packer and Co., who worried that an uncut Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? would prove a rather a long evening. Of course with great central performances, the journey is worth it. Here, I couldn't wait for it to be over.

If you ever doubted that we are a rigidly class-based society . . .

Ponder the fact that the news that Harvard students have to do without bacon, and that Harvard faculty had to give up cookies, made the New York Times.

Sweet "Sixteen"

News reaches us that Harry Christophers, the new Artistic Director of the Handel and Haydn Society, and his choral group "The Sixteen" (with Christophers at center, above) have just been named Artist of the Year at the Classic FM Gramophone Awards in London. Now celebrating their 30th anniversary, the group, which Christophers founded, specializes in English music from the 16th century. In an embarrassment of riches, Classic FM Magazine has also bestowed on the group their inaugural Artist of the Year Award.

Of course readers of the Hub Review already knew that Christophers was something special in the world of vocal music. The first time I encountered him, way back in 2007, conducting H&H's annual version of Messiah, I wrote:

". . .somehow British conductor Harry Christophers worked a thrilling alchemy with the H&H singers. I may have never heard a chorus find such a precise match between eloquence and passion - somehow the line between word and song simply melted away under Christophers's direction . . . the Christophers version [of Messiah] was something special."

The good news is that the folks at H&H thought so, too, and Christophers is now a fixture on the local scene. The awards for "The Sixteen" not only ratify what was obvious to me two years ago, but also provide a very neat kick-off for H&H's fall season, which commences tomorrow with "Viva La Voce!" featuring the world-renowned countertenor Andreas Scholl. Although I have to admit, you won't hear Harry at the concert; instead, it's being conducted by rising star Jean-Christophe Spinosi, who specializes in Vivaldi (which Scholl will be singing). But you can congratulate Mr. Christophers on his award at a champagne reception following the concert, and that ain't half bad.

Fond farewell

Von Stade in the pink at Carnegie Hall(Richard Termine/ The New York Times).

Symphony Hall was packed last Sunday for the Celebrity Series "farewell concert" of much-loved mezzo Frederica von Stade, the New Jersey girl who made good at the Met, and just about every major opera house in the world. "Flicka," as she's known to friends, brought a very-special-friend with her to bid Boston good-bye - Kiri Te Kanawa, whom we last saw in these parts two years ago, looking and sounding fabulous in her own "farewell concert." And surprisingly, the ensuing afternoon felt like just what these two dazzling divas insisted it was: a long, affectionate duet between superstars who do indeed happen to be good friends.

To be frank, I'd expected (and hoped) there'd be more focus on von Stade, and so was slightly surprised when Dame Kiri (at left) handled most of the serious singing. This seemed all the stranger because "Flicka" seemed in fine voice; her upper register in particular sounded rich and commanding as ever, and was still underpinned by that lustrous hint of smoky vibrato. But von Stade was definitely not pushing herself; most of her songs were hearty and quick, and relied on diction rather than sustained tones (particularly in her middle register). The upper end of Te Kanawa's voice is likewise probably in best shape - indeed, her meltingly transparent high notes are as ravishingly opalescent as ever. The difference between the two was simply that Te Kanawa picked better material to showcase her strengths. Some of her songs, in fact, we'd heard two years before (two witty ditties from Poulenc and Copland), but there was also some lovely new material - particularly memorable were Poulenc's sadly lilting "The paths of love," and the dramatic "It is thus that you are" from Metamorphoses.

"Flicka," meanwhile, rarely ventured into dramatic territory, and only occasionally wandered into the love-lorn groves of so much art-song. She was clearly in the mood for a farewell party rather than some kind of wake, and all but bubbled with a sense of knockabout fun. She and Kiri kicked off the concert together (von Stade in hot, hot pink, Te Kanawa in a strapless crimson sheath) with the duet between Marcellina and Susanna from Figaro - a charming choice, given the two met nearly forty years ago, in different roles in the same opera (a YouTube from roughly the same period, with each in their signature roles of the Countess and Cherubino, from Glyndebourne, below).


Te Kanawa and von Stade in Figaro, with Ileana Cotrubas as Susanna.

The two then traded Mozart arias (they sang together again, in blissfully blended harmony, for a stretch of Cosi fan tutte, too), before settling into the program, each often watching the other from a relaxed, attentive pose against the piano, or at other times actually joining in. Indeed, von Stade's best moment might have been her duet with Te Kanawa in "Shepherd's Song," by Joseph Canteloube, one of a suite of the composer's Chants d'Auvergne featured in the program's second half (songs often sung with full orchestra, but which sounded lovely here, too, to the spare accompaniment of pianist Brian Zeger). By now both divas had switched costumes - Te Kanawa was dazzling in a gasp-inducing pure-white wrap, von Stade jaunty in a shining black pantsuit. In another nod to her many "pants" roles, "Flicka" then offered a beautiful aria from Ambroise Thomas's Mignon, followed by an elegantly ribald reading of "Bois de Boulogne," from Jardins de Paris by Daniel Schmitt and Marc Berthomien. Te Kanawa likewise essayed lovely renderings of Gershwin's "Summertime" and "By Strauss" before joining von Stade for a final, hilarious duet, the yowling "Duetto buffo di due gatti" by Rossini.

And then at last it seemed we were really alone with just von Stade. There were a few heartfelt moments among the ensuing encores; von Stade included two songs, by Carol Hall and Jake Heggie, written for her daughters, before wrapping with "La Vie en Rose," a favorite of hers, which she sang with all the burnished warmth and rueful joy she's known for. And then, all too quickly, it was time to say good-bye.