Introduction

This page has been created to publish your reviews of live performances of Berlioz’s music. You are cordially invited to send us your views and comments on the concert(s) that you have attended. Your reviews will be published here under your own name.

The following are the reviews which we have received to date. We would like to express our gratitude to the authors for their invaluable contributions to this page.

Copyright notice: The reviews published on this page are the intellectual property of the respective contributors and are subject to UK and International Copyright Laws. Their use/reproduction without the authors’ explicit permission is illegal. 

Last update: 1 December 2007

A red asterisk (*) in front of an item indicates an addition since the previous update.

Grande Messe des morts in San Diego

By Mary Weber

Copley Symphony Hall, San Diego
San Diego Symphony
San Diego Master Chorale (director and coach: Martin Wright)
Vinson Cole (tenor)
conductor: Jahja Ling

Performance date: 19 May 2007

San Diego isn’t Paris or London, but I believe that our San Diego Symphony and Master Chorale under the direction of Jahja Ling offered a fine performance of Berlioz’s Requiem to the Master. Vinson Cole sang a “Sanctus” of aetherial beauty which perhaps came a little short of being under perfect control, but was nevertheless tender and arresting. I hadn’t realised what an effort the tenor must make to sing in such an elevated key.

The chorale could have used more voices (I counted 139 on the membership roster. However, there was actually no more room on the stage for more people.) and was a little rough around the edges in the softer, more feeling-laden passages, but belted out the “Tuba mirum”, “Rex tremendae majestatis” and “Lacrymosa” with considerable power. 

Symphony Hall is a fine old twenties-era theatre, beautifully restored. The ceiling in the auditorium is enormously high. The walls are carved old wood painted pale green. The stage was backed with oak panelling. Here’s the interesting part: as in the Royal Albert Hall in London, the old theatre has a balcony, enormous and very steep. At a level with perhaps the highest rows in the balcony and on either side of it run corridors behind the wall and open to the auditorium. There two of the four brass choirs were placed, so they could trumpet right down onto the main floor. The other two were on either end of the balcony, high above our seats in the second row. We balcony dwellers were BLASTED, and the effect was tremendously exciting. We actually couldn't hear the strings whenever the brass choirs were playing, although listeners on the auditorium main floor would have had a better sound balance.

A novel experience was seeing the conductor, while in the midst of conducting, actually turning completely around toward the audience to cue the brass choirs. We had the impression that he was cueing us to join in!

An especially inspired decision, I thought, was to put Vinson Cole up on that same high perch used by the brass choirs so he could sing out to the entire theatre. His location, however, was a bit awkward for Maestro Ling! I realised for the first time that the tenor part, though difficult, is rather brief. Tenors must enjoy their well-paid trips to symphonies to sing this requiem!

One rather unusual effect was that the trumpets and trombones played all their subsequent parts from their balcony locations. When they were to accompany and blend in, the harmony didn’t work as well for those of us in the balcony. The ultra-low notes the trombones played were especially noticeable. (However, there was no room on the main stage for more brass, had the orchestra had them!)

All in all, the experience was highly enjoyable. The venue is lovely and the acoustics terrific. I’m fortunate to have been a witness to the bringing to vivid life of this powerful masterpiece in such a setting and in such an accomplished performance.

Mary Weber
San Diego, California
20 May, 2007

Berlioz at Hollywood Bowl – Funeral and Triumphal Symphony

By John Ahouse

Los Angeles Philharmonic
Granada Hills High School Highlander Marching Band
Pacific Chorale
Conductor: Bramwell Tovey
Hollywood Bowl, Hollywood – 1, 3 August 2006

After his first visit to the Hollywood Bowl, and pleased to find that such cultural amenities had preceded his own move from the American Midwest, novelist Hamlin Garland noted, "This is America at its best." and Garland wrote before the great days of the Bowl, when Max Reinhardt staged A Midsummer Night’s Dream on the surrounding slopes, or a generation of displaced European musicians, Rachmaninoff, Rubinstein, and Heifetz, with Walter or Klemperer on the podium, sustained their musical world during the war years. Later the Bowl would redesign its famous acoustic shell several times while expanding its artistic base to include Sinatra and the Beatles and an annual fireworks display.

Still, the concert on August 1st (repeated on the 3rd) of this year brought something new from the realm of the spectacular when conductor Bramwell Tovey (Vancouver Symphony) programmed the Funeral and Triumphal Symphony of Berlioz in an approximation of its origins in the open air.

Before an audience said to number 8000, Tovey’s pacing of the work, at 34 minutes seemed well-judged. The electronically-enhanced sound was generally balanced, overcoming a chronic problem at the Bowl, even if it lacked weight commensurate with what the eye took in. The orchestral players, drawn from the Los Angeles Philharmonic, filled the stage along with a mixed chorus of eighty, but where was the band? The trombone soloist, standing next to the conductor, executed the Oraison with great sweetness of expression, just as it should be. And at the first notes of the fanfare, a local marching band in full ornamental regalia (green and gold) filed in briskly from both sides of the stage to add to the spectacle even if their contribution could not readily be separated from the massed sound of chorus and orchestra.

Tovey saw to it that the Apotheosis crowned the work and did not seem like a patriotic afterthought. Only his prefatory comments were disappointingly weightless, as if Management had said, "This is a pleasant summer evening. Go light on the funeral stuff; tell them something funny instead."

With the aid of the giant picture screens, the conductor called for a demonstration of the "Jingling Johnny". Explaining that "Turkish" armies used to shake such bells at their enemies to terrorize them with the unearthly sound, Tovey had his percussionist rattle it sharply in the direction of the chorus (already onstage). The female choristers uttered a short scream, for all the world like the outburst of women’s voices in the Course à l’abîme. 
The symphony could proceed.

John Ahouse

Harold en Italie in Dublin

By Kevin O’Neill

National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland
Conductor: Alan Buribayev; soloist: Yuri Bashmet (viola)
National Concert Hall, Dublin. Friday 3^rd February 2006

A rather Byronic evening was how one could describe what I listened to and witnessed here. The programme consisted of a pair of works that were inspired by Lord Byron, Berlioz – Harold en Italie Op.16 and Tchaikovsky – Manfred Op.58.

The opening bars mostly coming from the basses, and winds conveyed a sense of calm, danger and foreboding with a rather strange feeling almost like someone painting a landscape with dark clouds in the background denoting a kind of Dissonance. When the viola (Harold) came in it was like a ‘wanderer’ walking and taking in the serene environs surrounding him. Yuri Bashmet had the score in front of him. He was consistent and superb and was turning the pages like a storyteller narrating a story or a drama/dramatic scene. The crescendos or diminuendos among the strings, winds, brass and timpani gave me a feeling of excitement and, with the viola included, it was like watching a fairytale unfold. One could almost feel reminiscence from the first movement of the Symphonie fantastique. A bit like a calm/storm combination.

The winds had quite a prominent role along with the strings and viola. The slowness, mf and the occasional diminuendo made me feel that these "pilgrims" were marching along in a relaxed and pastoral manner. The absence of the forte style brass and timpani gave this movement a sense of innocence. The use of the harps was like a chime of a clock from a village or town hall. Very serene and relaxed.

Again the prominent role of the winds especially the oboes, bassoon and cor anglais portrayed a feeling of happiness, jollity and merrymaking. One could listen to or make out echoes either looking back to the Scène aux champs from the Symphonie fantastique or looking forward to the Menuet des follets from La Damnation de Faust. The winds had a rather hop, skip and jump approach in showing the jollity. A very sans souci interpretation, which for me captured the freedom and enjoyment the movement seems to allow.

The sudden staccato fright introduction of the brass and timpani followed by the bass recalled the danger and dare feeling of the first movement. Throughout this movement (without stating the obvious) the viola seemed to be redundant but I didn’t feel annoyed at all. The viola (Harold) is not a brigand and is innocent of the rather violent nature and the mf/ff sound that the brass and timpani gave, logically speaking, doesn’t fit with a movement or portrayal of violent scoundrels. Sometimes I am almost baffled why Paganini didn’t want to play the viola part in this symphony especially bearing in mind that it is one of THE major works for solo viola. The suddenness and staccato type fright of the brass and timpani was note perfect and their neat precision captivated me to such an extent it would almost have made me jump! Quite violent, riotous and exciting! The viola brings some kind of sanity towards the end like closing the final chapter but the build up of the ascending f crescendo drowns him out before finishing with a real loud brass or trumpet blast.

I was sitting in the Choir section right behind the players of the brass, timpani and winds sections and practically had a very good view of most of the strings section as well. So I could see, listen to and hear the music right in front of me. I could see their scores that one could say it was like a free sight reading lesson! A real treat and something I don’t often get that very close a view of.

Berlioz’s works sound like they have a real tour de force about them. Well, the NSOI along with Alan Buribayev and Yuri Bashmet provided a legendary note perfect performance worthy of a musical or dramatic narration.

Harold en Italie to me is a story of a traveller’s experiences and it logically moves from one "Chapter" to the next. It is not like the Symphonie fantastique, which swings to and fro and keeps one guessing.

Tchaikovsky’s "Manfred" Symphony was equally wonderful. Quite calm and mellow compared to Harold en Italie but alongside it was a lovely conclusion to a rather ‘Byronic’ evening.

Kevin O’Neill

Excerpts from Les Troyens in Dublin

By Kevin O’Neill

RTE National Symphony Orchestra
conductor: Gerhard Markson
National Concert Hall, Dublin, Friday 16^th September 2005, 8.00pm

This concert was a nice mélange of the Contemporary and the Romantic. There was a world première – an RTE commission called Winter Finding by Ian Wilson; Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, Op.61 by Camille Saint-Saëns with Pierre Amoyal as the soloist; and, the highlight of the evening, excerpts from Les Troyens by Hector Berlioz.

This performance of the excerpts from Les Troyens was quite extraordinary. Gerhard Markson’s direction and conducting brought out a Tour de force interpretation of sound from this marvellous orchestra.

Lamento for Les Troyens à Carthage
(listed on the concert programme as Overture)

A very pleasant introduction almost like awakening to a dream. There was the feeling of fear and foreboding along with calmness and serenity. The opening had a sudden sinister carefree element to it.

Royal Hunt and Storm

There was a sense of regality and majesty before the coming of a storm. The use of the horns gave one the feel of an enjoyable day out with a hunting party. The combination of the strings, brass and timpani in the sudden crescendos gave a sinister premonition of the terrible event that is to come – Aeneas would soon leave Dido to found Rome. In the Storm, the strings also gave the sense of violent waves were crashing against the shoreline. A taste of things to come.

Ballets – a). Pas des Almées, b). Danse des Esclaves, c). Pas d’Esclaves nubiennes

These ballets had the sensation of a court soirée for guests filled with relaxation – in the opera they are performed to celebrate Aeneas’s victory over Iarbas, the Numidian king, the enemy of Carthage. In listening very carefully to the smooth calm movement of the strings and winds, I could almost recall the heartfelt feeling of the Passions or the idée fixe from the Symphonie Fantastique.

Trojan March

What a splendid piece! The forte and tempo of this March had a sense of magnificence about it. The use of the brass and strings almost denoted a sort of unity in calling on all forces to unite and fight under one banner. The Trojan March felt so triumphalist that I felt there was a very strong musical resemblance to the triumphal and superb setting of La Marseillaise as arranged by Berlioz in 1830.

On the whole this programme of excerpts shows in my opinion Berlioz’s own mastery of the Romantic era in his own music, his love of literature and also of his own unique style of the Passions. I think this is another fine example of how people (to quote Meat Loaf!) will do anything for love regardless of the consequences.

The National Symphony Orchestra gave a wonderful performance and produced an excellent sound. This concert was the last in which the Principal Third Horn of the NSO, Tom Briggs, played. He worked for the RTE NSO for 43 years as Principal Third Horn and played under many distinguished conductors. It was a moving and special occasion for him too and is something he can be proud of. I noticed how he gave the horns a very ‘senior’ sound in his playing. In performing the Berlioz, I thought it was a rather nice way to bow out on a high note and "blow his own trumpet".

Kevin O’Neill

Roméo et Juliette at Royal Albert Hall, London 

By Alan Merryweather and Mary Weber

31 July 2005, Royal Albert Hall, London
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
London Symphony Chorus
conductor: Ilan Volkov 
Katarina Karneus (mezzo-soprano)
Jean-Paul Fouchécourt (tenor)
John Relyea (bass)

My annual visit to the Proms this year had to be to hear the Berlioz Roméo et Juliette at the Royal Albert Hall in London. By yesteryear’s standards the concert was far too brief, but the opportunity to hear this surpassingly beautiful work could not be missed. In any case, all music is enhanced by the ambience of this magnificent concert hall. It was a little disappointing to find the hall only about two-thirds full, but no doubt the televising of the event had an effect on attendance.

The opening allegro seemed to be taken at a furious pace, but the orchestra was equal to the challenge of the conductor’s tempo, and any lingering doubts my companion may have had that the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra was not a first-rate body of players were quickly dismissed. Live trombones with tuba resounded as they played the part of the prince.

The voice of Katarina Karénus could have been a little stronger, but she sang the strophes clearly.

For some reason, listening to Roméo seul I had the pleasure of one of those momentary flashbacks to many years ago when I first heard this movement, adding a special delight.

But the core of the work is, of course, the sublime adagio. It was so moving that it seemed to be over all too quickly. Here I experienced the unique but all too rare delight of live music: the bloom and warmth of the strings which never comes across so well in recorded versions, no matter how fine the equipment.

The orchestra again showed its mastery in the tomb scene where the attack of the violins has to be absolutely precise.

To me the weakness of the performance was the singing of John Relyea, a rich bass indeed but, from where I was sitting, a little unfocused, even fuzzy (all richness but no edge). However, he successfully held his part but could not compete with the very large chorus who brought the work to its majestic conclusion.

However, who could not be profoundly moved by the whole, adding yet another memory which will linger for a very long time?

Alan Merryweather
Cirencester, England

*****************

My first experience of a live performance of Berlioz’s personal favourite, Roméo et Juliette, (discounting TV lights and cameras and what seemed an embarrassingly sparse attendance) was sublime. The sensual appeal of the colours and luxury of the Royal Albert Hall was an ideal setting for the playing out of Berlioz’s and Shakespeare’s most sensual and heartrending tragedy. My seat was high in the balcony of the Circle, a location which added to my impression of other-worldly beauty while listening to Berlioz’s divine music. In short, the venue and the music were beautifully wedded, doing honour to the two lovers’ own union.

Berlioz’s deeply loved music washed over me in my aerie perch, and I floated through it all blissfully. I was particularly struck by the Queen Mab scherzo, its lightness and precision offering an enchanting intermezzo from the unrelieved sadness of the balance of the symphony. The other moment which captivated me was the plaintive murmuring of the clarinet as Juliette awakens from her drugged death-like state. John Relyea’s (Le Père Laurence) incredibly rich bass voice made the Finale a special pleasure for me. I felt that he added a certain credibility to his role which is missing from other interpretations.

My sole complaint was that the concert was brief with only the one ninety-five minute work being offered. The presence of three competent soloists would have offered an ideal opportunity to perform some of Berlioz’s lovely Mélodies.

All in all, the experience of a Proms concert featuring this transcendently beautiful work was worth the trip from California.

Mary Weber
San Diego, California
2 August 2005

Symphonie Fantastique in Belfast

By Kevin O’Neill

Friday 20 May 2005, Ulster Orchestra, Waterfront Hall, Belfast

The performance of the Symphonie Fantastique was quite superb. The Ulster Orchestra captured the essence of Berlioz’s music perfectly thanks to Thierry Fischer’s direction. I would say his interpretation was worthy of being a 5 star CD recording. It was close to the version that I have with the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal, conducted by his fellow Swiss countryman Charles Dutoit. There was a real ‘French’ feeling to this performance. I say this due to watching the dedication Thierry Fischer put in conducting this superb œuvre of the orchestral repertoire. And doing this LIVE made it that bit more special.

1^st movement (Rêveries – Passions)

This contained all of the excitement and passion of the early Romantic. In listening one could feel these "Passions" all the way through with the theme of the ideé fixe creeping in here and there which gave me the impression that this LOVE for the lady concerned (ideé fixe) was never going to go away. Almost like an opening and outpouring of the heart. The players played to the best of their ability, almost as if they were the individual who was in love.

2^nd Movement (Un bal)

It was very relaxing, pleasant and flowing. It gave me the feeling of being joyful and cheerful. But despite this any feeling of cheerfulness is hauntingly brought down to earth with the reality of the theme of the ideé fixe going in and out a few bars before closing the movement. It was like the calm before the storm.

3^rd Movement (Scène aux champs)

A combination of calm and the storm. The use of a cor anglais in the orchestra and an oboe behind the stage with an open door conveyed the impression of the distance of the two shepherds as they were talking to each other. The theme suddenly changed from being settled to disturbed like a nice day becoming a bad one. I had the feeling of sadness and heartbreak listening to certain bars in this movement. The thunder of the timpani gave me the impression of the violence and exactness of a storm just like Beethoven in the Pastoral Symphony. The ideé fixe theme creeping in and out gave me the feeling of isolation and loneliness. It was like being troubled and filled with fear and foreboding. An acceptance of what was going to happen was going to be anything but good. The piano sounding of the instruments gave it the sensation of being quiet and peaceful despite the unfolding story to the contrary.

4^th Movement (Marche au supplice)

Chop Chop! This was a very thunderous and violent outburst. I was captivated by a feeling of judgement and dread before the final execution. The last couple of bars to close this movement gave me the impression of watching an execution two centuries ago.

5^th Movement (Songe d’une nuit de sabbat)

One has to feel pity for the gruesome ending in this work. The triumph of the witches gathering was like evil being the dominant force. The bell booming out the "Dies Irae" theme was quite solemn. It was like the Dark Side (in Star Wars) had won and where the character was concerned this meant doom. Almost as if he was dragged down to hell. The loudness and violence of crescendos in the brass, timpani and percussion communicated this very effectively.

Kevin O’Neill

Some Notes on the staging of "Benvenuto Cellini" in Gelsenkirchen,
as performed on 12 December 2004

By John Ahouse

Between October and December of 2004, the Musiktheater im Revier, the regional opera company in Gelsenkirchen, Germany, gave Benvenuto Cellini for a remarkable run of a dozen fully-staged performances in the thousand-seat "Grosses Haus", with two more scheduled for early in January. Well received by the local press, the opera seems to have caught on with audiences as well, since the performance I attended on December 12th was reportedly sold out.

Reviewers spent praise on the Cellini of Burkhard Fritz, whose light tenor seemed just right for the role in a production that emphasised the more giocoso aspects of the story. My own favourite was the Teresa of Claudia Braun, who brought tears to my eyes with her "Ah, que vais-je faire?" at the start of the carnival and continued to convince me that she, poor thing, was caught up in emotional tides beyond her young years. Reviewers had faulted the chorus on the opening night; no doubt after two months of performing their difficult music, much had become second nature. The Swiss conductor Samuel Bächli certainly had the measure of the music, which came across as pure Berlioz, without exaggeration or idiosyncrasy. As infrequently as Cellini is staged, however, some interest might attach to a brief description of what audiences actually saw during the three-hour performance of the opera.

With the curtain down, the overture begins with its familiar explosion anticipating the allegro to come. Once the quieter music takes over, a spotlight finds a woman (long hair, dress) standing on a small platform, slightly to the viewers’ right in front of the curtain. With the progress of the music, this figure removes her skirt, donning trousers instead, and pins her hair invisibly beneath her cap. When the allegro returns, the light and the lady vanish, Beethoven’s surprise having been completely undone. Beethoven? Yes, it is Fidelio, in nearby Dortmund three nights after Cellini (in a mediocre staging of the kind where large photos of "desaparacidos" are displayed around the stage throughout in case anyone missed the point that this is an opera about political prisoners).

The vignette during the Fidelio overture is described first because much the same sort of impudence occurred during the Cellini overture in Gelsenkirchen. In front of the curtain showing the gigantic head of Perseus, and ‘after the familiar explosion anticipating the allegro to come’, two figures had been spotlighted during Berlioz’s larghetto. The Cellini-to-be is on his knees, furiously sketching, while the Ascanio-to-be wanders distractedly off the box where he has been posing. Rebuked (pantomime) by Cellini, Ascanio resumes his position. He has a wooden sword in one hand and is holding some sort of gourd dangling from the other. The pose is suddenly and unmistakably that of the future statue of Perseus, a nice touch, which also captures the master-apprentice relationship of the two. With the return of the allegro deciso, the light and the figures vanish.

Is this something new in German opera houses – putting the overture to use to anticipate the drama by more than musical means? In the case of Benvenuto Cellini, a work containing its own pantomime, perhaps it was a questionable decision. It brought a first laugh of the evening, however, when Ascanio, like many an artist’s model, obviously "drooped" the moment Cellini turned back to his drawing. This was to be a performance of Cellini which would continue to emphasise the more burlesque elements of the drama.

The first scene played out on the street in front of Balducci’s house, represented by a perfectly captured De Chirico façade (white receding arches, such as appear in several of his well known paintings) running at an angle from the viewer’s left toward the rear centre of the stage. Large upper story windows were cut low enough for the various figures to lean out below their knees, so that the drawing room antics with Balducci could take place without a "fauteuil" or any other props: the characters simply popped out and disappeared from the various windows suggestive of the hide-and-seek going on inside, while the spacious street allowed for a properly comedic thrashing of Fieramosca by the throng of neighbours in night clothes.

For the second scene, the De Chirico wall had been realigned to run straight back on the left, now serving as the tavern, with a long table placed before it to accommodate Cellini’s men when they raised their cups. Since the stage itself was raked, the table must have been engineered with complicated algorithms, and in the event was not as level as it appeared, since several prop items unexpectedly slid from it, despite this being the tenth performance of the opera. For the carnival, the wall on the left was then recessed even more, and a stage-within-the-stage with its own curtain for the pantomime closed off the view to the rear.

Filled with revellers, the space for the carnival seemed cramped, and the director (Andreas Baesler) had the bizarre idea of adding a photographer to the general milling about. This angular and anachronistic figure in modern dress darted among the merry-makers popping flashes long after any humorous effect was lost. Another dubious inspiration marked the duel, where the Cellini-monk, after a few sabre thrusts, drew a pistol to dispatch his adversary. This is the "Indiana Jones" solution, again played for comedy, but nullifying the (musically) palpable parting of the crowd when the wounded figure falls. If the pistol shot had been loud, the Sant’Angelo canons were even louder. Anyone expecting the distant rumble from the Davis recording was lifted from his seat by the close-up roar of Gelsenkirchen’s ordnance.

To begin the second act, the stage presented a sunken interior with a Roman couch for Teresa. An opening to the viewer’s right was wide enough to show the passing procession of monks on the street outside and, later, the arrival of the Pope’s entourage. In their duet, Ascanio allowed himself a display of great tenderness, which Teresa reciprocated. Their close harmonies were matched by rather intense embraces, so much so that both jumped up on Cellini’s entrance like two teenagers (which they are) caught going too far. (Let no one say it isn’t in the music!) As for the Pope, his arrival was of limited grandeur owing to the fact that he descended two steps to Cellini’s level and left most of his retinue outside at the door.

For the final tableau, the Pope was seated regally on the left, with the rear of the stage now taken up by a high doorway marking the foundry entrance. Cellini’s prior achievement (statuettes and candlesticks) was arrayed high along the left wall, tumbling on cue and with a great clatter in response to Cellini’s prayer. Steam and lurid flashes issued from the shrouded portal throughout the casting, arousing expectations of seeing the finished work, but, sad to say, this was mostly left to the imagination. For the detonation, the designers produced an orange fireball of great intensity. Even in the ninth row, I felt singed, but no statue appeared except in silhouette. All on the stage were clearly convinced that Cellini had brought it off, however, and an oversize figure emerged from the furnace with actual flames licking at his shoulders (Was this a workman? Was this Perseus? Was this an alter-ego of the artist? All three?). Cellini now sank to the floor, and the score proceeded to its joyous conclusion. One reviewer saw this as Cellini’s mad-scene; I found the ending visually confusing, though again, the truth is in the music.

This was a production employing additional lines of spoken dialogue intended by the composer for a staging at the Théâtre-Lyrique in 1856 which never took place. The existence of this material is mentioned by Hugh Macdonald in the introduction to NBE la, with a promise to publish it in volume 1d. The dialogue was rendered in German, but the score was sung in French. With its attention to the comedic, however oddly conveyed (Teresa clutched a teddy bear at troubled moments), the Gelsenkirchen "Cellini" must have moved closer than previous stagings to the sprightly entertainment the composer had in mind.

John Ahouse
January 2005

Benvenuto Cellini at the Metropolitan Opera, New York

By Harry Saltzman

Performances on: 
4 December 2003,conducted by James Levine
1 January 2004, conducted by Derrick Inouye

I attended both the première and the last performance of the run. At the première I was one of those who vociferously booed the director Andrei Serban. Unfortunately, as he wasn’t there to take bows at the last performance, there was no further opportunity to vent my anger. And as I was so annoyed by both performances, I just couldn’t get up the enthusiasm to write a review. But after reading a positive review on this web site by Mr. Thomas T. Field, I felt I had to respond. When discussing the negative reviews of this production he had read, Mr. Field remarked: "But the criticisms, it seemed to me, came mainly from people who either did not care for Berlioz or did not know Benvenuto Cellini, and in the end I found it hard to believe that anyone who loved the composer’s music would not enjoy this production immensely."

Upon what information does he base such a statement? Is he clairvoyant? He may find it hard to believe, but there were very many of us at the performances I attended who care for Berlioz, love his music, but did not enjoy the performance at all! I do plead guilty, however, to not knowing Benvenuto Cellini very well. I am acquainted with most of the Berlioz canon, both as a conductor and a listener, and bring to most performances I attend very strong preconceived notions as to how I would like the work to be done. But as I had only a passing acquaintance with Benvenuto Cellini, this new Met production gave me the opportunity to experience a major work by one of my favorite composers with unprejudiced ears, "unsullied" by having studied the score or by my memories of past performances.

Some aspects of a performance can be judged objectively – a singer is either in tune or not, the orchestra and chorus are in synch or not, one can hear a singer over the orchestra from an acoustically advantaged seat in the front row of the balcony or not. Tempo is slightly more difficult. There are speeds that go beyond "a bit faster or a bit slower than I like", speeds which destroy the musical structure. But one can argue about the point at which that occurs. Matters of staging can be even more subjective. Some of us want the director to follow the composer/librettist’s instructions (an old fashioned idea, I know), while others allow the director more leeway. But just as with tempo, beyond a certain point leeway becomes self-indulgent license.

And speaking of self-indulgent license, Andrei Serban’s cluttered, confusing, unfunny, overbusy, unrevelatory production is an archetypal example of this deplorable directorial trend. The stage action was ‘full of sound and fury, signifying nothing". One kept asking, "Why is he doing this?" And who were those two buttock-bared men in fig leafs at the beginning of Act II? I guess one of them was supposed to be Perseus, whose statue Cellini was to cast later in the act. But then shouldn’t the other have been Medusa, whose bare buttocks would have appealed to a different segment of the audience?

Instead of recounting all of Serban’s sillinesses, let me discuss the production’s great directorial blunder. Four of my reviews of the Met’s production of Les Troyens appear on this web site [Les Troyens at the Met and addendum1, addendum 2, addendum 3], and this is how I ended the first: "When the Met does Benvenuto Cellini next year, will the director solve the problem of the casting of the statue of Perseus or will they just clutter the stage with extraneous business? I’m not optimistic."

My pessimism was well founded. Clutter we had, but the casting of the Perseus fizzled. The statue to be cast was in a large plastic cylinder which had a few tubes connected to it; tubes through which I assumed the molten metal would flow. Good idea, I thought. Well-executed lighting in the tubes will signify the flowing metal; this should work. The casting began. But how could we tell, as there was no glowing lighting to represent the flowing metal? Then the climax of the drama – Cellini has run out of metal! But how could we tell, as there was no change in lighting, the tubes have always been dark? He tells his workers to pour all his gold and bronze statues into the furnace. Just as we see the workers appearing on stage with the statues to be melted down, the lights in the tubes finally go on. But there is no metal flowing yet. As they head for the furnace, the tubes disconnect from the cylinder. But the workers haven’t had time to get the metal to the furnace. The cylinder is slowly inverted, opens, and the stature appears. But the time it took the cylinder to needlessly invert should have been used to get the workers off stage so that they could put the metal in the furnace. The timing was all off, the lighting made no sense, the scene’s drama was destroyed. The stage machinery was there, but Mr. Serban had no idea how to use it. Silliness and clutter may have subjective aspects to them, but the lighting and timing for such an important scene should have been learned in Elementary Stage Direction 1.1. Mr. Serban gets an F!

Mr. Field and I both saw the same production but we heard it on different nights. On the nights I attended, the Balducci of John Del Carlo was too often inaudible. I loved both the music and the singing of the two Popes I heard (Robert Lloyd on December 4^th and Eric Halvarson on January 1^st), and only wish that Mr. Serban didn’t demean them both by having their final exit marred by the kind of "arms in the air" victory gesture we expect from athletes or rock stars, not from Popes. Marcello Giordano was a convincing Cellini. My only objection has to do with his high notes. No, he didn’t crack once and he took them all full voice, as if he were singing "Di quella pira". The only problem was that they were all quite sharp. Why is it that most listeners don’t hear when a singer is sharp, even listeners who react viscerally when a singer is flat? The two women were wonderful. Isabel Bayakdarian was a fetching Teresa, and her first act aria, with its combination of the dramatic and coloratura, was a showstopper. She also looked great. Katharine Goeldner was a perky Ascanio. I can, however, do without her Offenbachian second act aria "Mais qu’ai-je donc?". The audience ate it up, but I find it a grating change of style, out of place, unnecessary.

I didn’t hear much of a difference between the performances conducted by James Levine and Derrick Inouye. Both had difficulty keeping the chorus and orchestra together during the Act I, Scene 2 chorus which was the basis of the fast section of Berlioz’s "Roman Carnival Overture". Berlioz marks this chorus Presto scherzando (dotted quarter note=152). Wow, that’s fast – much too fast for the cavernous Met. And the chorus just couldn’t keep up with the orchestra. Aside from this, the coordination between orchestra and the stage in both performances was fine.

Every time I hear a piece by Berlioz I’m surprised, even if it’s a work I’ve heard many times, even if it’s one I’ve conducted. Benvenuto Cellini, a work I do not know well, offered surprises in spades. I marveled at the intricate ensembles, the unique melodies, the rhythmic complexities, perhaps too complex for a theater as large as the Met. The wonderful music, however, is not always matched by a great dramatic sense. Act II has its problems. Next time I’d love to hear it in a smaller hall, with a real French tenor and an orchestra as good as the Met’s. Do I dare hope for a stage director who will be true to the composer/librettist’s intentions?

Harry Saltzman

Benvenuto Cellini at the Metropolitan Opera, New York

By Thomas T. Field

Metropolitan Opera Chorus and Orchestra, conducted by James Levine/Derrick Inouye – performance on 24 December 2003 

The Metropolitan Opera in New York celebrated Berlioz’s bicentennial in style in 2003, with a new production of Les Troyens early in the year and with its very first staging of Benvenuto Cellini in December. While my wife and I had been pleased with Les Troyens last February, especially in terms of the musical performance, the staging left us unsatisfied in many ways. Cellini, however, was successful on all levels. Certainly anything as complex as this piece is unlikely ever to be perfect in the theatre, but the performance that we attended on December 24, 2003, was thrilling in nearly every way.

I had read a number of reviews of the Met’s production, and I was uncertain about what to expect, since some of them were not very positive. But the criticisms, it seemed to me, came mainly from people who either did not care for Berlioz or did not know Benvenuto Cellini, and in the end I found it hard to believe that anyone who loved the composer’s music would not enjoy this production immensely.

Musically, the Met put on a very strong show. James Levine conducted with passion and accuracy. I have never heard the goldsmith’s chorus sound so stimulating in its quirky angularity, and the end of the opera was paced stupendously: Levine raised the pressure and the tension very gradually and then held back just enough before the reprise of the great chorus. Oddly enough, the night we were there Levine did not conduct the Roman Carnival scene. In the middle of the first act, I suddenly noticed that he had disappeared and that in his place was a much younger man. My guess is that this was Derrick Inouye, who was scheduled to conduct on January 1. In any case, he was at least as good as Levine, and the performance of act I was seamless, though I wonder how the switch actually happened. With a work as complex as Benvenuto Cellini, it is impossible to believe that Levine just left his position empty, even for a couple of minutes.

The singing was extremely fine, and I have rarely seen an opera in a large and famous house where the acting was as good as it was that night. Marcello Giordani was eloquent, stylish, and illuminating as Cellini. I had always felt that Gedda (in the Davis recording) – as great as he was – seemed uncomfortable with the high tessitura of the role, but Giordani’s singing was nothing short of spectacular. There were points, for example in "La gloire était mon seule idole," where he just made music so eloquently that one held one’s breath. Giordani was also extremely believable as an actor. Isabel Bayrakdarian’s Teresa was also very successful. In a role that demands quite a bit of coloratura, plus a lot of running around, she was extremely impressive. And she looked great in the part. My wife and daughter were particularly pleased with her second dress! Kristine Jepson as Ascanio also captured the audience’s affection with her very effective acting and her impassioned singing.

Balducci and Fiermosca (John Del Carlo and Peter Coleman-Wright) were both more than satisfactory. Their singing was fine, and their acting was very convincing. Cellini’s two colleagues (Bernardino and Francesco) were stupendous. I did feel that the Pope of Robert Lloyd, whom I have admired in the past, was a bit ragged vocally, but not to the point where he dragged the level of the performance down. In any case, even the strongest proponent of Berlioz would have to admit that his music is a bit repetitive.

Much of the criticism of the Met’s production focused on Andrei Serban’s staging, and it’s true that it was very, very busy. There were commedia dell’arte characters running all over the place, as well as some very effective, brightly colored characters who, it seemed to me, represented artistic inspiration. In a very effective moment during Cellini’s first big aria, where he sings of artistic glory, he reaches up over his head and touches the outstretched hand of one of these spirits. All of the activity on stage did, in my opinion, confuse things in the first scene, where it was difficult to tell who was inside and who was outside of the house, but it made the rest of the opera very lively and humorous. I read somewhere that Serban had brought a lot of his students from Columbia in as extras, and that would explain the fact that all of these characters were far more agile and funny than the average spear-holder in Aida or servant in Traviata. In short, Serban made sure that Benvenuto Cellini was an effective comedy.

We were anxious to see how the Roman Carnival scene would be handled. I have always imagined it as somewhat chaotic, but how is the chorus to sing all of that extraordinarily difficult music, if it’s running every which way? Well here is where Serban’s masses of actors paid off, because the chorus could pretty much stay still and concentrate on the music, while all of the others created the chaos. The scene was perhaps not perfect, but it was very good. I must say, however, that from my seat I caught a glimpse of Cellini sneaking off stage to change into his bloodstained robe, while everyone else was running around.

I was worried that the veering back and forth between comic and serious parts in this opera might be a weakness on the stage, but the production we saw made things come together in a very satisfying way. I should probably admit that I have always found the second half of the work quite a bit weaker than the first (the opera was performed in two acts at the Met), and one of the questions I had before this performance was how that second act would hold up. Serban’s production did a great job of pulling it all together. The duel between Cellini and Fieramosca was not allowed to become too lurid a possibility, and the moment when Fieramosca gets put to work for his competitor was handled with comic grace.

The one detail that did seem overdone in the staging was the recurring presence of an actor representing Berlioz himself. He rambled across the goldsmith’s table, walked through the Roman Carnival, and so on, taking notes, sometimes with a pen and sometimes with a rose. Once the point was made that Berlioz saw much of himself in Cellini, it wasn’t necessary to repeat the stunt. However, I have to say that Serban found a wonderful way to wrap this all up. At the very end of the opera, after the statue has been revealed in a very dramatic way and as the goldsmiths’ chorus is coming to an end, this Berlioz figure flies down from above and crosses the whole scene. It was so unexpected and hilarious that one had to love it.

We went away that evening feeling that we had had a very special experience. There is nothing quite so satisfying as the combination of successful musical performance with creative stagecraft that serves the spirit of the work.

Thomas T. Field

Béatrice et Bénédict at Guildhall School Theatre, London

By Riq Willitts

10-14 November 2003, Guildhall School Theatre, Barbican, London, conducted by Clive Timms

It is always a pleasure to attend performances at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama theatre at the Barbican in London as it is a small theatre, letting the audience see and hear the detail of the action, as well as being appropriate to young voices. It is also an opportunity to judge the quality of voices without preconceptions. I certainly enjoyed this production much more than the one done some years ago by the ENO at the Coliseum.

Béatrice et Bénédict is shortish, so is often coupled with some more or less appropriate one-acter. In this case we started with Martinu’s Comedy on the Bridge, a slight amusing piece with the common link that in marital relations the inevitable conclusion is often only reached via a tortuous route.

B & B was a good choice for the GSMD as it provides several decent parts as well as action for the chorus. Stephen Medcalf handled the prenuptial party particularly well, letting the entire cast act just the right degree of drunkeness. Manolis Papadakis as Somarone, a real extrovert as well as a good voice, really made us laugh.

Young-Hoon Heo has a good voice, and made Bénédict a convincing mixture of insecurity and bravado. Joana Thomé da Silva as Béatrice has an ungrateful part, but managed to convince us that she had a heart as well.

The duet between Héro (Katie van Kooten) and Ursule (Julie Pasturaud) was beautifully sung, though perhaps a little more pianissimo from the orchestra would have made for a more magical atmosphere.

The opera was sung in generally adequate French by the cast of many nationalities, though it was a joy to hear the genuine French speakers. After a slightly shaky start, the orchestra, conducted by Clive Timms, played very well. Overall the production looked good, and was very precisely executed, with no signs of inexperience or first night nerves.

Riq Willitts

Les Troyens in Paris

By Sue Vernon

26 October 2003, Théâtre du Châtelet, conducted by John Eliot Gardiner

It was quite a story on its own even getting into the Théâtre du Châtelet; we were greeted by Monir and Michel at the doors when we finally made it through the security barriers, and we all eventually settled in the lovely auditorium, though sadly we were scattered around and weren’t together as we had hoped. However that lovely buzz of anticipation surrounded us and looking around it was good to see such a mix of people – and mostly French I am glad to say. I was talking to more English people around me, so many Berlioz aficionados I have met this year! It really was a high profile event and I know now that Berlioz and his music will safe forever be with his French descendants. I am so happy and emotional that France really does embrace him now as a favourite and honoured son.

As for me, I was still pinching myself, I had up to only a few days before been expecting to see a concert performance of the opera. I was so overwhelmed that I was going to see a staged performance at last.

From the very beginning of the opera when the first few bars began it was evident that this was going to be very special. I won’t even try to compare it with Sir Colin Davis’ concert performance I heard in Birmingham in August. They were two different approaches, both excellent, both worked equally well.

The orchestra was in the pit so it wasn’t possible for me to see what was going on this time, but the authentic wind and brass instruments were brought onto the stage for a time to play and they added some lovely textural sounds and a sense of drama as they trooped onto the stage, very dramatic in their way. Also we spotted an array of harps in a side balcony just out of view – Berlioz, I thought, would have been well pleased with that. Sir John Eliot Gardiner held the whole proceedings tightly in his hand; I wasn’t aware of hearing fewer instruments than at Sir Colin Davis’ Les Troyens; it seemed just right for this venue. The set was simplistic and most effective using a mirrored wall to great effect. The stage had the usual sliding panels that we often see in modern productions and in the middle a staircase, used to great effect for entrances and exits. I found the mirror also worked so well for me in particular, being somewhat short, I could watch the reflection, instead of keep trying to see around the people in front, and missed nothing. Also a very nice approach with the Trojan Horse – we saw just the head of a beautiful white stallion projected onto an opening or panel. The lighting and costumes were also quite simplistic and elegant, they were classic or classical and almost timeless – that is apart from the Greek soldiers who came in dressed in camouflage gear complete with rifles – mmmmmmmm – the one jarring note in the production, I thought.

The singers were all excellent, Anna Caterina Antonacci was a superb Cassandre though not quite as dramatic perhaps as she might have been. I was sorry to see Chorèbe exit too, sung by Ludovic Tezler. I thought he had a lovely voice. Later in the second part of the opera I was worried that Susan Graham didn’t look regal enough but as she went on she seemed to grow into the role. Enée, although his voice wasn’t too strong to start with (Gregory Kunde), also redeemed himself magnificently at the end when so many "Enées" might have faltered, and some indeed do falter.

It was a heart stopping moment in the opera when the ghost of Hector was projected on a screen, first as the face of Fernand Bernardi who was singing the role, and then subtly blended into an image of ‘our’ Hector. Oh my goodness, I should have been expecting that, but when I realised what I was seeing it sent me into attacks of shivers….

The ballets were performed very gracefully, complete with acrobats, jugglers and dancers with beautiful white paper doves. Everything was just very stylishly done, nothing sumptuous or extravagant, just true to Hector’s vision. Hylas (Topi Lehtipuu) was superb singing from the top of his ship’s mast. The chorus, well, they looked good, they sounded brilliant, there were so many exquisite performers and I am sure I will never hear the music so beautifully done as I have this year, both in Birmingham and here in Paris. I think Hector Berlioz himself would definitely have approved of all this.

Sue Vernon

Berlioz’s music in Europe – a pilgrim’s diary

By Phillip Rutherford

I am now finalising my plans for my big Berlioz pilgrimage around the world from late May to early July. I plan to take in at least 5 Berlioz concerts during this time, and maybe more if I’m lucky!

London, 29th May: The Trojans at Carthage – English National Opera, London Coliseum
St Petersburg, 2nd June : Romeo and Juliet – Mariinski Theatre
St Petersburg, 7th June: Requiem – Smolny Cloister
Geneva, 18th June: The Damnation of Faust – Geneva Opera
Paris, 20th June: Harold in Italy – Opéra Bastille

Got to see the ENO’s production of The Trojans at Carthage the other night.

The production was far better than that of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, which I saw two nights previously. It was still a little unusual, but very effective – on a much grander scale. The lighting especially was very effective and evocative. There was one scene in act two where Dido and Aeneas were singing their love duet on top of a house and the sky behind slowly darkened bit by bit, so it was hardly noticeable, the stars came out gently, it was all so cool! Then a scrim came down in front of them, which made it look like the two lovers were sailing through the heavens together!

The famous Royal Hunt and Storm scene started badly I thought with three dancers jumping around strangely, but the music took over and all was fine, again with unusual but effective lighting and staging. Lots of strange dancing throughout the opera...

The chorus was fantastic as were all the main leads. I am ashamed to say I really struggled to stay awake during Dido’s final lament before she dies. So many people have written about this being some of Berlioz’s most beautiful and touching bit of music, but maybe the day was catching up with me! Otherwise I was thrilled with the opera. I went in with much lower expectations that with the Wagner, as the previous production of The Capture of Troy was rubbished by reviews. Why companies are still splitting this opera in two I will not know. I wish I could see the whole thing.

I will enjoy the Requiem in St Petersburg on the 7th of June.

I went to the St Petersburg’s Rimsky-Korsakov Museum today, and found all sorts of interesting things there, including a photograph of Berlioz, which Rimsky-Korsakov had in his study when he was composing. There were also quite a few other famous composers of the day, but it was good to see Berlioz there. The attendant couldn’t tell me whether the two had met on Berlioz’s second trip to St Petersburg – it is possible, as Rimsky-Korsakov would have been in his early 20s...

I also got to play on his piano, which was also played by Stravinsky, Scriabin, and Tchaikovsky!

Got to hear Valery Gergiev conduct the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra, the Mariinksy Chorus and St Petersburg Chorus perform Berlioz’s Requiem in the Mariinsky Theatre (The Kirov) in St Petersburg last Saturday night.

It was great to see one of today’s foremost conductors performing in one of the top halls in the world – it promised so much, depending on whether the visiting Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra could live up to the task, and the chorus could mix in with obviously little rehearsal with the orchestra. It was close to a full house, with TV cameras and visiting dignitaries (St Petersburg just celebrated its 300th birthday);so expectations were high.

The opening movement was a major disappointment. I felt like crying for the wrong reasons. It didn’t sound like Berlioz, like my favourite piece of music! There was no flow of ideas, no intensity in the playing or in the singing. I was mystified, and dreading how badly the rest of the work would be botched up if this continued. I don’t know if it was nerves from the orchestra, or the lack of rehearsal of the two groups together, or Gergiev’s interpretation (I liked most of his tempos, though one of two slow sections I felt he rushed). Anyway, he went straight into the movement I almost know by heart, the Dies Irae. The celli and double basses played the opening phrase with an air of grace, not with the tension that I believe the opening deserves, and lost the whole effect of the opening IMHO. The chorus started to pick things up by the second key change, the second ‘tightening of the screws’, and the first tenors did a good job on their high obligato... When the brass and percussion came in for the Tuba Mirum, things had started to pick up. They did an admirable job, but the whole work was far from saved.

The whole work suddenly came to life at the opening chord of the Rex Tremendae – the chorus sounded as if they had finally come to a section they felt comfortable with, and they enjoyed and understood what they were singing; everything was basically wonderful for the rest of the performance. Maybe it took close to 20 minutes before the two groups felt comfortable with the hall and each other.

The Lacrymosa movement was very precise except for the timpanists getting fractionally out of time with each other (it’s hard for five or six players to hit a loud note precisely together, or so it seemed), and was really on the ball as to the style and feeling. Now Berlioz the dramatist was coming to the fore! The Offertorium was very nicely played by the orchestra, for most of it anyway, a little untidy in the winds towards the end, but otherwise nicely done.

The Hostias was very beautiful – the men in the chorus were splendid, and the trombones and flutes were spot on in intonation and balance. Gergiev was weaving his magic now!

The Sanctus was very nice also, but Gergiev rushed the Hosanna in excelsis a bit, and it sounded like the women thought so too. The tenor soloist was very nice without moving me to tears.

The biggest surprise of the night for me personally was how the opening simple chords of the final movement, the Agnus Dei moved me almost to tears. The simplicity but beauty of orchestral colour was just superb, and the orchestra were spot on the money – bravo violas and winds! The rest of the movement was wonderful, which showed to me that the music was not the problem in the first movement, but it was just a rather shaky start.

The ovation lasted for nearly 10 minutes! Gergieve came out around 10 times. The clapping only stopped when the orchestra walked off stage. So, by the sound of it, Berlioz won some more admirers last Saturday.

A satisfying performance if you omit the first 20 minutes or so, but I was a little disappointed that I was put off so much. Still, I hadn’t heard the Requiem live since a magnificent performance under John Nelson in 1996, so I was glad to hear it again

(Am in Barcelona today – quite a bit warmer than St Petersburg, which had a cold snap while I was there!)

I finally made it to La Côte! I was so thrilled, I didn’t even mind the 41 degree heat (over 100 in old scale). But I was to be sorely disappointed. The Musée Berlioz was still closed for renovation!!!!! I could have cried. I saw on their website a while back "opening June 2003", so I assumed it meant the month of June – it doesn’t open til the 28th of June. So I tired to not curl up in a corner and went out to explore the town. We saw the Place de Berlioz, the Avenue Hector Berlioz, the Lycée Berlioz (high school), the Halles where they perform the Berlioz festival, the graves of Berlioz’s parents and there was even a Berlioz stamp exhibition! But it was small consolation to the Musée Berlioz being closed.

We were in Monte Carlo the day before and we happened to walk across a statue of Berlioz near the casino, celebrating the centenary of his birth... cool!

I’ll being seeing a staged Damnation in 3 days time in Geneva, (I am in the shadows of Mont Blanc in Chamonix now!)

I have seen so much Berlioz in the last week I don’t know where to start! So much good and a few average moments. I’ll start by telling you of the Damnation of Faust production at the Geneva Opera last week.

I went into this ‘opera’ with mixed feelings – I had seen a concert performance before, which was wonderful, and with all the talk of the San Francisco production, I didn’t know what these guys would get up to.

Well, firstly they used a symphony orchestra in the pit – the Suisse Romand Symphony Orchestra, and they were impeccable – just the right sense of shape and flow – a shame they were in the pit, but it was a great sound.

As for the singers, Faust (Jonas Kaufmann) was fantastic – he looked the part and sang wonderfully well. Méphistophélès was very good – rather comic, which was interesting, but that could be the production. Marguerite was not my favourite – strong, but not sweet,. again the production could be the problem here

Now, to the production – there was quite a lot of male nudity in this production, but it was artistically treated, not pornographically. I think much of it was silly, but at least they were trying to be artistic. In Faust’s first aria and the first chorus they tried to show his disappointment with religion, so they did an Adam and Eve (naked of course) and during the Hungarian March a mock crucifixion of a naked Jesus. This annoyed me somewhat as it had nothing to do with the music, and really took away from the fine playing.

Méphistophélès came in as a nineteenth century photographer, very suave and very comic – it was good. When it came to Brander and the song of the rat with all his friends, things got just a little strange again – Brander wore a ballet dress. Then when all the students got up to sing their mock Amen fugue, they all got these silly dresses on – trying to do a sarcastic ballet. It was funny, but strange. So, Méphistophélès has to outdo them by dressing up in a lovely evening gown and wig, and Faust does so later. Again, rather funny with a bit of slapstick, but strange.

There were one or two dances where the use of lighting effect and dancers behind screens were simply wonderful. Then there was the will o’ the wisps, with 7 naked men dancing around with fire lamps on their heads, trying to play havoc with Marguerite etc... This was starting to get out of hand, but it settled down again.

Marguerite’s treatment was the most disappointing to me, as she was more like an Ophelia – crazy, wondering, insane. She started with a white dress, and when Faust starts in with their duet she rubs against the wall and suddenly her dress is all strained... symbolic yes, but not following the music’s intentions... She even came out with a baby in a pram, then drowned her own child (I assume hers and Faust’s child)!!!!

The Ride to the abyss was well handled without following the true plot. Faust is on a raised platform with Méphistophélès with shadows of horses on a carousel going around, whilst on the ground Marguerite is being hanged. The scream by the nuns now came at the moment when they hanged Marguerite. It actually worked, but....

The singing of the demons was fantastic! The final action of blood being spurted on a white sheet and a carcass being attacked was a bit gruesome, but in some ways worked.

Suddenly all the stairs flipped a piece of gold over them and the lovely chorus of women, children and some men sang beautifully in the shining brilliance. All of a sudden a naked woman started to ascend the stairs behind them – Marguerite. Beautifully done, but no need for a naked Marguerite.

Musically this production was brilliant. I loved it. The production had many fine moments, most of which I didn’t mention, but the strange decisions they made all took away from the production somewhat. Symbolism is good, but how to bring about this symbolism, is another matter.

The singers and orchestra were given a huge ovation, until the director came out to take a bow, and there was a mixture of cheering and booing and hissing – most interesting. I feel that Berlioz won out on the night, which is the most important thing.

Since I have just spend six days in Paris at the end of my Berlioz pilgrimage (I’m in the States for 3 weeks now), I thought I’d share with you a few stories.

Missing Monir and Michel was a blow, as Anna and I had so looked forward to it! (they were in Paris at the time to hear Harold in Italy at the Bastille.) Still, I, and truly enjoyed listening to Harold.

There was also a Berlioz Festival going on in Paris, which for some reason I thought was going to be more discussions (in French) than concerts, so I didn’t fuss too much. By the time I got round to checking the details, I had missed the first day of the festival, which had, amongst other things, a round table with David Cairns, Peter Bloom and D Kern Holoman. What a combination! To see those 3 Berlioz masters would have been something, whether I got five words of their discussion or not! Also D Kern Holoman was conducting his UCDavis Orchestra on tour that night, which again was a shame to have missed.

On the next day I was ready for action now that I had the information. We went to the Sorbonne for a series of short concerts that afternoon. These were very poorly attended in many ways, which was a shame. Firstly we heard the sermon from Benvenuto Cellini played on piano (four hands) from a transcription by Liszt, the Roman Carnival also for piano and four hands, which was a little better, and various other piano duos – the Sorcerer’s Apprentice was probably the highlight. There was some Moscheles, which was ghastly boring! (I forgot to mention this festival was ‘Berlioz and his contemporaries’, so only partly Berlioz.)

Next we rushed around the corner to another amphitheatre to hear a young wind orchestra play a march by Lesueur (I hadn’t heard any of his music before), a wind orchestra piece by Mendelssohn, which was cool, and the Funeral and Triumphal Symphony of Berlioz. This wind orchestra was composed of many youngish people, and a few times the intonation struggled, but actually by the time they got stuck into the Berlioz they really got going.

This was the first time I had heard this piece live, and it really made an impression. The 1st movement, I think, dragged a little in the middle, but the climax gave me goose bumps! The 2nd movement, with great solo for trombone was also great (though not quite as moving as I thought, being a part-time trombonist). The 3rd movement was simply stunning. By now we had warmed to the sound of the wind orchestra (not my favourite medium) and the climax of the apotheosis was absolutely brilliant. We were swept away by such a wonderful huge sound – major goose bump time!

The next concert straight afterwards was by a violinist and a pianist, playing the Reverie and Caprice, which was very pretty – nice sound from the violinist too. We left the concert after this to catch our breath.

The next concert was a choir singing La Mort d’Ophélie, which was OK – not the best performance. A Baritone solo of The Origin of the Harp was very well sung, but the rest of the concert struggled to make much of an impression. The singing at times was good, but the conductor looked rather apologetic and hardly smiled. Again, maybe 100 people in the audience.

Through the 6 days of playing tourist, I was visiting various Berlioz sites. On the 21st, the original day when Berlioz was to be moved to the Panthéon, we went to the Panthéon in his honour, which was an interesting building. No one there seemed to know much about it though. They just kept saying, "rumour has it the next person to enter the Panthéon may be a musician"! We next went to Montmartre to check out Berlioz’s current grave. Very pleased to do so, and to see someone had left a rose there (we actually thought it might have been Monir!) I thought more would be made of his wives. Their names were engraved on the edge of the tomb down the bottom. If you didn’t look hard you may have missed it.

Enjoyed seeing Berlioz’s last residence with a little plaque on the wall, and up the street the ‘Square Berlioz’, which is a small oval shape with a slippery dip with young kids, a bunch of mothers looking after toddlers and a few pigeons making a mess of Berlioz’s statue there.

Found many of the churches/cathedrals Berlioz works were performed in – Les Invalides, St Roch, St Eustache. But the weirdest things of all was the old Conservatoire. After much confusion, and eventually helped by Monir’s great site, I found the old Conservatoire building and asked to go in the hall there. There was a drama performance going on in there, but there were at intermission, so I could take a quick peak inside. So I did, and the hall was very small! I was told it seats 1000 people, but this hall would have seated maybe 200 maximum. Did I have the wrong hall? No, this was the only hall in the building. Did I have the wrong building? No, right building. So I guess the hall has been renovated for the Drama School now located there. A shame really, unless I was missing something.

Anyway, went to one more Berlioz concert – a good quality youth orchestra plus some older helpers made the last night gala something huge – this time the Grand Amphitheatre of the Sorbonne was packed full, so we were sitting very high away from the stage. Among the pieces we heard were the Roman Carnival Overture (definitely a favourite of people these days), the Eight Scenes from Faust, which was very interesting to hear a week after hearing the Damnation in Geneva, Sara la Baigneuse and the Tempest Fantasy – another work I was hearing live for the first time. It was so much fun to hear these works fresh, and the orchestra and choir overcame some weaknesses technically and rhythmically in their enthusiasm for what they were doing.

I was especially surprised with the Eight Scenes from Faust. I had recently read in David Cairns’ biography of Berlioz that much was kept for the Damnation, but I certainly didn’t recognise at all large chunks and even whole movements, not even in changed form. t I wonder why he didn’t keep a few lovely melodies. I could go into more detail, but this is a very text already, and I apologise for taking so much of your time, but I was excited to share with you some of my experiences of my Berlioz Pilgrimage! Now it’s playing tourist and visit old friends for me, then back to Australia to spend a year paying this trip off!

Cheers,
Phillip Rutherford

Paul Daniel – English National Opera Orchestra & Chorus

London Coliseum – Thursday 8 May 2003

This was the most dismal experience I can recall: a travesty of Berlioz’s masterpiece, and an almost unbearable ordeal for a lover of Berlioz. Far from being a worthy tribute to the composer in his bicentenary year, it does him the great disservice of reinforcing old prejudices about The Trojans: that it is too long, that its inspiration is intermittent, that it is boring.

Even more than in Part I (The Capture of Troy) in January – where the production was equally disastrous, but the music was decently done – the entire raison d’être of the piece was cast aside, with nothing put in its place. Dido sounded (and looked) nothing like a Queen; Aeneas nothing like the heroic leader of a proud and warlike people; never for a moment could we believe they were passionately in love; never did we care a jot what happened to them. Far from being "Virgil Shakespeareanised", it was neither Virgilian nor Shakespearean, and certainly not Berliozian.

The set for Act 1 consisted only of a wall with a bit of overhanging ceiling on which was a half-finished fresco of a woman’s face. In the ensuing "Royal Hunt and Storm", quite clever use was made of a series of drop-curtains which progressively isolated Aeneas and Dido from their companions; apart from that it was undistinguished. For Act 2 the stage was empty, but garishly coloured with an orange floor and bright blue walls; a large open box on wheels (almost everything seemed to be on wheels) served as Dido’s room, complete with giant green-gold lizards on the wall and roof. The first scene of Act 3 was dominated by the huge steel hull of a Trojan ship, with a small door at the bottom which must have seriously jeopardised its seaworthiness. Dido’s room returned for the next scene, without the lizards. At the end, inevitably, we were treated to a backdrop of a ruined city: New York’s "Ground Zero" after 11 September 2001, although it might just as well have been Baghdad.

Costumes were uniformly contemporary and uninteresting. But contrasting with this minimalist approach to sets and costumes was an enormous amount of distracting "business": constant running to-and-fro across the stage, portentous arm gestures, run-of-the-mill "balletics", and a whole series of irrelevant props. These included four orange tables (two large and two small) which were regularly rearranged in different configurations, an elaborate "build your own model city" kit, complete with flowing water feature, numerous bombs (left over from Part I) brought on in chests (wheeled, of course) by the Trojans, and even a portable electric fan to blow about the floaty scarves of the dancers (with nipples and pubic hair painted on their shifts) in the Act 2 ballets. At least the third ballet provided relief from the meaningless posturing of the first two, with some relaxing film of dolphins taking the place of Berlioz’s Nubian slave girls.

Other critics seem to have found some compensations in the music. Alas, even with my eyes closed I found it impossible to feel anything of its power or passion. The orchestra played efficiently enough: the notes were all there, but the meaning within them, that ‘expressiveness’ which was so all-important to Berlioz, seemed absent. A deep sense of pointlessness hung like a pall over everything.

In such a production, the singers stood little chance. Susan Parry and John Daszak, as Dido and Aeneas, made suitably heroic efforts, and might have been fine interpreters of their roles in other circumstances. None of the other singers rose far above the stifling constraints of the production – not the Anna of Anne Marie Gibbons (standing in for Anna Burford, who was lucky enough to be indisposed), not Clive Bayley’s ludicrously eye-patched Narbal, not Colin Lee as a mincing Iopas, not Iain Paterson as Pantheus or Victoria Simmonds as Ascanius, not the Trojan Sentries, not even the Hylas of Christopher Saunders.

The chorus ran around a lot, and sang with a will, but could not disguise the production’s lack of coherence. I can say nothing about the quality of Hugh Macdonald’s new English version of the text, since hardly any of the words were audible from my seat in the Upper Circle.

Unbelievably, I sat through the entire evening without once feeling the kind of thrill that hearing The Trojans usually produces again and again. I can think of no redeeming features of this production, and it is a deeply depressing prospect that it is due to return in 2004 as the second half of a series of complete performances of the opera. Could it improve with time? Only marginally, I fear, since nothing could fill the conceptual and expressive void at its heart.

If this was the work Berlioz had written, it would have deserved its reputation as a ‘problem piece’, to be dredged out of a bottom drawer and set apologetically before the public, with as many visual and other distractions as possible, every twenty years or so to mark a landmark such as a bicentenary. But what we saw was emphatically not Berlioz’s opera, and no-one who loves the work – or who hears Sir Colin Davis conduct it at the Proms in August – would recognise it as such.

In the composer’s bicentenary year, and in the country which has done so much to promote better understanding of his music, this was an utterly dispiriting occasion. In June 1853 Queen Victoria described Benvenuto Cellini, which she had seen at Covent Garden, as "one of the most unattractive and absurd operas I suppose anyone could ever have composed". If she had been referring to this production of The Trojans in Carthage, I could only have agreed with her.

Alastair Bruce

(see also Mr Bruce’s review of acts 1 and 2) 

"Fantastic Voyages: The Genius of Hector Berlioz"

By Harry Saltzman

London Symphony Orchestra
Sir Colin Davis, conductor
Avery Fisher Hall, Lincoln Center, New York

Harold en Italie and Symphonie Fantastique
with Paul Silverthorne, viola
Tuesday, March 4, 2003 at 8 PM

Roméo et Juliette
with London Symphony Chorus; Sara Mingardo, contralto; Stuart Neill, tenor; Alastair Miles, bass
Friday, March 7, 2003 at 8 PM

La Damnation de Faust
with London Symphony Chorus; Petra Lang, mezzo-soprano; Stuart Neill, tenor; Alastair Miles, bass; Jonathan Lemalu, bass
Sunday, March 9, 2003 at 3 PM

What a week this has been for New York Berliophiles – three magnificent concerts, three informative lectures, and a spirited symposium bringing together five prominent Berlioz scholars and the conductor of the London Symphony, Sir Colin Davis.

Before I get into the music, some words about the audience, the hall, and the printed program. I was surprised to see empty seats at the first concert. No, more disappointed than surprised. Berlioz is still not an easy sell in New York, and I doubt if subsequent performances of Les Troyens would have sold out without the New York Times’ misguided rave review of the not sold out premier. But I’m pleased to say that there were only a few empty seats for Roméo et Juliette and a packed house for La Damnation de Faust. And appreciative they were, each concert ending with cheers and a standing ovation. But why must the applause so often begin as soon as the music ends? During the Damnation one bravoer seemed to begin even before the sound of the final brass chord of the Hungarian March dissipated. (Was he the same person one hears at same spot on John Eliot Gardiner’s live recording?) Even worse were those enthusiasts who would not allow even a moment of silence to follow the pianissimo ending of Marguerite’s Apotheosis. (Conductors can solve this problem by keeping their arms raised in conducting position for as long as they wish to maintain the silence following the end of the music. Then, by slowly lowering them – the increase in the intensity of the silence is palpable when this happens – the conductor signals to the audience that the applause may begin only after his arms are down.)

About Avery Fisher Hall: it is an acoustical disaster. The sound has no warmth, there is no reverberation, and balances are hard to achieve (especially in the loud passages, where the brass always drown out the strings). One could imagine the impact these great performances would have made in a warmer, more reverberant space such as Carnegie Hall.

Along with the program, the audience was given a complete libretto (in French and English) for both Romeo and Juliet and The Damnation of Faust. The house lights, however, were not bright enough to enable one to read without strain, something that occurs at many of New York’s vocal recitals. But before the house lights were lowered for Romeo and Juliet, one could easily read the libretto’s cover. Too bad! Inexplicably, the tenor who sings the Queen Mab Scherzetto was listed as Romeo, and the mezzo-soprano who sets the scene in the opening Strophes was listed as Juliet. Utter nonsense, in light of the words they sing, and certainly not the composer’s intentions as he calls them tenor and mezzo-soprano in the score. The New York Times critic, who obviously doesn’t know the score, repeated this misinformation for all who read his review.

Now on to the performances! Let me state at the outset that this was music making on the highest level and my comments, especially the critical ones, are highly personal. I loved these performances, even if I might spend a sentence on a compliment and a paragraph on a complaint.

The chorus was alert and responsive. I would have liked a more robust sound from the women who, as in all English choirs, sounded like boys. The men sounded like men, but there weren’t enough of them to balance the full brass of the orchestra. (There never are enough devils in Berlioz’s Pandemonium.) And speaking of Pandemonium, if the women, after singing "Sancta Marguerita" during the Ride to the Abyss could give out a blood curdling scream, why couldn’t the men give us convincingly snake-like sibilant sounds on the word Has? But my main objection to the choral singing has to do with articulation. Final consonants were often not sharply articulated and short notes, as in dotted rhythms and dactylic figures, were hard to hear. Much of this was because of the hall’s awful acoustics, but these problems should have been picked up at the first rehearsal and corrected.

The soloists were uniformly wonderful. Even though she sang for but a short time, my favorite was contralto Sara Mingardo, who sang the Strophes at the beginning of Romeo and Juliet. What a voluptuous sound! Stuart Neill negotiated the difficult role of Faust with ease and Petra Lang was a moving Marguerite. Alastair Miles’ transformation from the stolid Friar Lawrence to the demonic Mephistopheles was astounding; you would have thought you were hearing two different singers.

What can one say about the viola soloist in Harold in Italy? I guess that the reticent sound of the viola is as good as any to portray a moody romantic wandering through the Italian countryside. But for me, the whole thing just isn’t very convincing no matter how "well" the soloist plays. And the orchestra’s principal violist, Paul Silverthone, did play well, even after a popped string caused the performance to stop just after his first entrance.

That brings me to the stars of these concerts, the magnificent London Symphony Orchestra and their conductor, Sir Colin Davis. These performances were a showcase for this virtuoso orchestra – brilliant brass, fleet-of-foot winds, thrilling percussion, and what is so rare, entire string sections fully involved in every note they played – all under the total control of Sir Colin Davis. This was exceptional conducting, both on the micro and macro levels. In particular, I was impressed by Sir Colin’s choice of tempi.

These concerts were quite a fantastic voyage, and we New Yorkers are fortunate that Sir Colin Davis will be taking us to one more port of call next month – a concert version of Béatrice et Bénédict with the New York Philharmonic.

Harry Saltzman

Berlioz Requiem

By Harry Saltzman

New York Philharmonic, Westminster Choir
Paul Groves, tenor
Charles Dutoit, conductor
Friday evening, February 14, 2003 at 8 PM
Avery Fisher Hall, Lincoln Center, New York

One of life’s greatest pleasures is attending a superb performance of a work one knows and loves. Such a performance took place at Lincoln Center’s Avery Fisher Hall on Friday evening, February 14, 2003. Great orchestral playing, powerful and expressive choral singing, a mellifluous tenor, a conductor in total control; all combining in the service of one of the 19^th century’s most extraordinary scores.

And what a score it is! But the conductor must be able to bring out the many magic moments without distorting the work’s overall shape. And here Maestro Dutoit succeeded brilliantly. Detail after detail was lovingly shaped, the structure of each movement made clear. Equally as striking was the pacing. The hour and a half seemed to fly by, and not because of too fast tempi. One important reason was the way Dutoit treated the pauses between movements. He played the silences like a virtuoso, never letting the forward motion lag. Berlioz divides the liturgical Dies irae text into five separate movements, but by slightly shortening the pauses between them, Dutoit created a mighty structure which hightened the contrast between loud and soft, between large and small performing forces.

And for once in my experience, the supplementary performing forces were placed near where Berlioz intended. In the score he states: "The four small orchestras of brass instruments must be placed one at each of the four corners of the main choral and instrumental group." As the stage at Avery Fisher Hall is too small for this, they were placed in the first and second tiers, as close to the stage as possible. (The music critic for the NY Times complained, however, that the "supplementary brass groups…were unfortunately placed near the rest of the orchestra.") Many conductors now place the brass orchestras as far away from the stage as possible in a misguided attempt to surround the audience with "stereophonic sound". Not only does this go against the composer’s explicit instructions, it also causes great ensemble and acoustical problems. No such problems on February 14^th. And having the brass orchestras near the stage places all the performing forces in front of the audience, making each tutti very, very loud.

I can’t end a review of the Berlioz Requiem on the word loud, because loud is only a small part of this magnificent work. What about the plaintive Quid sum miser, the flute b natural marking the change from minor to major in the Offertory, the growl of the low trombone below the high flutes in the Hostias, the soft cymbals in the Sanctus, the harmonic progressions on the final amen?

There are Requiems that are easier to listen to – the operatic Verdi, the gentle Fauré, the Mozart. But none is as much of an adventure as the Berlioz. Thanks to Charles Dutoit and his performers for taking us on that adventure.

Harry Saltzman

Les Troyens

By Harry Saltzman

Metropolitan Opera, Premier of New Production, 10 February 2003

The Met’s eagerly awaited new production of Les Troyens had its first performance on Monday evening, February 10, 2003. For many of us in attendance it was a major disappointment. It was, in a word, boring! How can such a word be used to describe this incredible score? Sadly, a large part of the blame must be placed upon the conductor. It is commonly agreed that Maestro James Levine has turned the Met orchestra into one of the world’s great ensembles, whose performances of the "big works" (Wagner, Strauss] have been thrilling high points in the musical life of New York. Nevertheless, Monday’s performance lacked musical shape, energy, and dynamic contrast. The musical line had no forward thrust and the climaxes were weak. This is not to say the playing of the orchestra was poor. They dispatched this difficult score with their usual skill, but they never "dug into the music." The playing was facile but shallow. One exception was the gorgeous clarinet playing of Ricardo Morales during Andromache’s Act I pantomime.

The singing was better, but still disappointing in many respects. Berlioz wrote the role of Cassandra for a mezzo-soprano. Deborah Voigt sang beautifully, but she’s a soprano and much of the music is just too low for her. Not always, but too often, one missed a mezzo’s richness in the lower register. Dwayne Croft’s Coroebus was all you could ask for. How wonderful it’s been watching this American baritone getting better and better each year.

Ben Hepner, almost unrecognizable in his slimmed down form, was a thrilling Aeneas. He looks great and sounds wonderful. Those of us who witnessed his grave vocal difficulties during last year’s Met Meistersinger were so relieved to hear that the voice is healthy again, the upper register thrilling. Yes, he did crack on one or two of the high notes, but none of them were climactic. They were on what one might call "throw away high notes"; easily sung by the special kind of high French tenor for whom Berlioz wrote, but almost impossible for the weightier voices who sing the role today. (Listen to Jon Vickers struggle with them on his magnificent recording under Sir Colin Davis.)

Didon is the most complicated role in the opera and Lorraine Hunt Lieberson’s performance was successful most of the time. She is an intelligent singing actress whose lovely voice is well suited to Didon, the benevolent Queen of Carthage and the woman in love with Aeneas. But the opera ends with Didon, the woman betrayed and abandoned by Aeneas, and here Ms. Hunt Lieberson couldn’t generate the rage and fury implicit in Berlioz’s fantastic music. In a great performance one should be actually frightened by her outburst and this just didn’t happen.

With the exception of mezzo-soprano Elena Zaramba’s wobbly portrayal of Didon’s sister, Anna (it was often hard to tell what pitch she was singing), the minor roles were all well sung. Bass Robert Lloyd (Narbal), and tenors Matthew Polenzani (Iopas) and Gregory Carfizzi (Hylas) each have one moment in the spotlight. I loved Narbal’s growly aria, but the two showstoppers were the songs of Iopas and Hylas. Both were beautifully sung, but with the magic moments ruined by unnecessary and distracting stage action.

This brings me to the worst aspect of the performance – director Francesca Zambello’s cluttered, distracting, often silly, concept of the opera. Where to begin? The major problem is that Ms. Zambello trusts neither the power of Berlioz’s music nor the ability of the audience to listen to this great music without being "entertained" with extraneous and uncalled for stage business.

Out of many examples, I’ll describe but a few. Aeneas makes his thrilling Act I entrance and tells the crowd how two monstrous serpents came out of the sea and killed the priest, Laocoön. What follows is the Trojans’ reaction to this horrific news; a massive ensemble for double chorus and octet, full of the unexpected harmonies and strange melodies that those of us who love Berlioz treasure. Time stops and our entire attention is on the text and the great music. But not great enough for Ms. Zambello, who places a writhing mass of dancers up stage (sea serpents?), giving us what must be meant to be a reenactment of LaocoØn’s death. Unnecessary and distracting.

Writhing people on the ground seem to be a leit motif in this production. We find them there during Iopas’s Hymn to Ceres and during the song of Hylas, the homesick sailor. His writhers are necking couples and a few more adventurous groups of three. Why? I presume it is to show us that some of the Trojans are enjoying Carthage and don’t want to go off to Italy; information which will be given to us by Berlioz in the duet which follows. Oh, I forgot to mention that Hylas is suspended in a basket about twenty feet above the stage which, during the aria, moves from stage left to right.

Bad enough that in these examples Ms. Zambello adds distracting stage business where Berlioz has called for none. Far worse is that she often goes against Berlioz’s explicit instructions. The stage direction that follows Act IV’s ravishing septet states: All except Aeneas and Didon move off gradually. Moonlight. But Zambello abhors a vacuum. The five other members of the septet do leave, but the stage is filled with many couples on the ground (not writhing, this time) who never leave. What are they doing there? Why is the ecstatic love duet Nuit d’ivresse et d’exstase infinie sung to an audience on the stage?

The lovers wander this way and that, assisted by the stage’s turntable ("we have one, let’s use it."). But the final stage direction does ask them to move: Embracing, they walk slowly to the back of the stage, then disappear from view. As they do so, Mercury appears…The lovers have exited and will consummate their "night of ecstasy" unmindful of Mercury’s arrival and the message he brings. The music turns from major to minor. Mercury intones Italie, Italie, Italie! But he is singing to us, the audience, for the happy (for now) lovers are gone. Ms. Zambello chooses, however, to keep the lovers on stage. After hearing Mercury’s cry, Didon unhappily looks at Aeneas. The curtain falls. This willful disobeying the composer/librettist’s instructions destroys the dramatic irony that was obviously his intent. I could go on and on.

A great opportunity was missed here. The vast technical resources of the Met could have been used to give us an awe-inspiring entrance of the Trojan Horse and a Royal Hunt and Storm true to the composer’s vision. When the Met does Benvenuto Cellini next year, will the director solve the problem of the casting of the statue of Perseus or will they just clutter the stage with extraneous business? I’m not optimistic.

Harry Saltzman

Addendum 1:

The Met’s Les Troyens
Addendum to my review of the 10 February premier

Based on the broadcast of 22 February

by Harry Saltzman

I’ve just listened to the radio broadcast of Acts I and II of the Metropolitan Opera’s new production of Les Troyens. Anyone who listens to this broadcast and reads my review of the premier will not believe that we both heard two performances of the same production. This afternoon the orchestra and chorus sound fantastic and James Levine is in great form. The textures are crystal clear, the climaxes thrilling, the forward momentum inexorable. It’s a great performance thus far. Deborah Voigt’s lower register also sounds much better on the air – mike placement?

The intermission will be over soon. Let’s see… No! I mean, let’s hear what the rest of the afternoon brings. It is a pleasure not having to look at the production…

Acts III and IV continue on the same high level. I was especially impressed by the textural clarity of the orchestra during the dances.

I do hope that Ms. Hunt Lieberson shows me that she can portray the abandoned Didon…

Act V has just ended. Ms. Hunt Lieberson’s monologue and prayer was very moving, especially those descending thirds on the syllable Ah! Although her expression of rage in the previous scene still didn’t "frighten me", on balance, she was a fine Didon. The Carthaginian’s angry final chorus, which seemed so pallid on February 10th proved to be a perfect ending to this great performance. And Maestro Levine solved the problem of the rather short orchestral ending with a beautifully wrought retard and brilliant sounding final chord, held a bit longer than usual.

Is this the same conductor and orchestra I heard on the 10th? During that performance I spoke to many friends sitting in different parts of the theater and we all agreed that this was not up to the standard we have grown to expect from James Levine and the Met orchestra. Other friends attending the performance on February 14^th concurred. The difference in sound can be partially explained by the difference between being in the hall and hearing the performance on the radio. But I am at a loss to explain why the premier was so boring musically.

As a person who goes to the opera wanting to be thrilled and moved, I can only hope that the first few performances of this new production of Les Troyens were aberrations and that all future ones will be up to the standard set on February 22nd. I’ll be at the Met again on March 20th to hear.

Harry Saltzman

Addendum 2

The Mets Les Troyens

Addendum to my review of the 10 February premier and the 22 February broadcast

Based on the performance of 20 March

by Harry Saltzman

Fascinating! Hearing (and seeing) this production again reinforces my impressions of the first two performances.

1. As on the February 22^nd broadcast, the orchestra and chorus were superb, and Maestro Levine was again in fine form. The poor performance on opening night was an aberration.

2. Deborah Voigt’s first aria was thrilling, but she again sounded somewhat weak in the lower register. This became especially apparent in her final scene where most of the music has a low tessitura (low, for a soprano, that is). That this wasn’t apparent on the broadcast must be ascribed to the wonders of microphone placement.

3. All but one of the minor roles (same singers as before) were sung beautifully. Elena Zaremba, however, had better do something about that awful wobble.

4. The less said about Francesca Zambello’s production the better; it is beneath contempt! In my first review I commented on the excessive and unnecessary stage action, and on Ms Zambello’s disregard for the composer’s explicit stage directions. Here I will just repeat the candid observations of my brother and cousin, who had never seen the work before and came to the performance with no preconceptions. They loved the music, but thought the staging was "sophomoric, distracting, and just plain silly."

And what about the new Didon and Aeneas? Michelle DeYoung was a most compelling Didon. Both Ms. DeYoung and her predecessor, Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, were regal in their opening scenes. Ms. Hunt Lieberson sang a more moving lament, while Ms. DeYoung expressed the fury and rage I missed in the first two performances. I just wish she didn’t so often sing sharp. (One also hears this on her LSO recording under Sir Colin Davis.)

The less said about tenor John Horton Murray the better. He has a most unpleasant voice, is quite unmusical, and is a wooden actor. But if cracked high notes are your concern, the score was Murray 0 – Hepner 2.

New Yorkers have two more opportunities this season to hear this extraordinary opera. (Unfortunately, they will also have to look at it.) Both will feature a new Cassandra, a new Anna, and Ben Hepner will return as Aeneas. I’ll be thereon March 27.

Harry Saltzman

Addendum 3

The Met’s Les Troyens

Final addendum

Based on the performance of 27 March

by Harry Saltzman

First the pluses

1. Ben Hepner was back as Aeneas. Although he seemed to tire during his Act IV duet, he recovered and sang a thrilling Act V.

2. With Wendy White replacing the wobbly Elena Zaremba, we finally could enjoy Anna’s ravishingly beautiful Act III duet with Didon. Ms. White is one of those Met regulars from whom one always gets a fine performance.

Then the minuses

1. Before this performance, I had never heard Sue Patchell sing. Although most in the audience were disappointed that they weren’t going to hear Deborah Voigt singing Cassandra, I, for one, was looking forward to finally hearing a mezzo in the role. Imagine my horror when it became clear that Ms. Patchell was almost inaudible in the lower register, and when she was audible her voice had none of the richness one expects from a mezzo. During the first intermission I looked at the Met roster and found that she is also a soprano! There are 43 mezzo-sopranos on the Met’s roster. Why then do they insist on giving the role of Cassandra to a soprano? Deborah Voigt has a huge rich voice and, although one wanted more from her lower register, she could at least be heard. Poor Ms. Patchell – she didn’t have a chance in the world. And shame on the Met for putting her in this position.

2. Michelle DeYoung still tends to sing sharp on climactic high notes.

To sum up

Even though I abhorred this production and had some reservations about the singing, what a thrill it’s been to experience this truly wonderful opera. If past history is a guide, it looks like we’ll have to wait another ten years to hear it again. (The Met’s first complete performance was in 1973, with revivals in 1983 and 1993.) One can only hope that by 2013 the Met can find a mezzo-soprano to sing the role of Cassandra. As for that far distant new production (2033?), may it be uncluttered with extraneous stage business, respectful of the score, and include a Royal Hunt and Storm true to the composer’s intentions.

All three Berlioz operas will be presented in New York this year. The Met’s first ever performance of Benvenuto Cellini will take place on December 4^th, just a few days before the 200^th anniversary of the composer’s birth. The NY Philharmonic’s concert version of Béatrice et Bénédict, conducted by Colin Davis, took place in early April and later this month the Manhattan School of Music presents a fully staged production. What a feast!

Harry Saltzman

The Capture of Troy

By Alastair Bruce

Paul Daniel – English National Opera Orchestra & Chorus
London Coliseum – Friday 24 and Monday 27 January 2003

Berlioz never heard The Capture of Troy performed. Now these first two acts of his operatic masterpiece, The Trojans, have been mounted separately as the first instalment of English National Opera’s celebration of his bicentenary year. The remaining three acts will be performed by ENO in May as The Trojans at Carthage, with the entire opera finally coming together during 2004. So what would Berlioz himself have made of this first part?

He would surely have been thrilled by his music, and the quality of its performance. It is so utterly different from most of what we are used to hearing in the opera house, with its wonderfully limpid orchestration, its magnificent choral scenes, its striking contrasts between the mood and behaviour of the Trojan people en masse and the dilemmas facing the individual protagonists within it, notably Cassandra, Chorebus and Aeneas. All of this was successfully conveyed: by Paul Daniel, conducting a strong rendering with an orchestra on generally good form; by the chorus, not allowing concerns over their future employment prospects at ENO to detract in any way from their commitment to the work in hand; and by the soloists, led by Susan Bickley as Cassandra, Robert Poulton as Chorebus and John Daszak as Aeneas. Cassandra’s extended scene in Act I, and then her duet with Chorebus, were impressively sung, while Aeneas’s initial entry and aria were suitably heroic.

We must hope that Berlioz would have been sufficiently enthralled by these musical aspects to listen with his eyes firmly shut. Because otherwise I have little doubt that he would soon have been on his feet in the auditorium, shouting with fury and frustration at the utter failure of the Director (Richard Jones) and his team to convey anything of the work’s expressive intention. On the contrary, the production had a powerful tendency, not just to obscure, but to undermine and contradict Berlioz’s aims.

I have nothing at all against updating the time and place of the action, or performing the work in modern dress, so long as it serves to convey a meaning and emotions that are not totally at odds with Berlioz’s own. This was successfully achieved by the joint Opera North, Welsh National Opera and Scottish Opera production of The Trojans in the late 1980s. ENO’s approach, by comparison, was a hectic agglomeration of trendy references – to the assassination of President Kennedy, to the events of 11 September 2001, to fears of international terrorism – imposed without logic on a work with totally different themes.

Ever since seeing it – twice, at a ‘working rehearsal’ on 24 January and again at the first night on 27 January – I have been trying to work out what it was meant to be about. The Financial Times review on 29 January made a brave attempt to explain it in terms of "western society’s fear of the enemy within – the Trojan horse of civil strife, of fanatical terror": surely not what Berlioz had in mind.

How could the composer ever have imagined a Cassandra dressed in a (rather dowdy) powder-blue office suit who appeared to be suffering from some sort of mental affliction requiring the administration of sedative injections to control? Who was she, anyway? She, Priam, the skin-headed Aeneas and other members of the Trojan royal family and court were all in suits, as opposed to the jeans, shorts, T-shirts, track-suits and trainers of the chorus. But they lacked any dignity or authority, and certainly had no royal status. Were they meant to represent the political leadership (if so, it seemed to be somewhere on the level of a President and Mrs Marcos)? Or were they members of a Mafia-like crime syndicate operating within the state?

Totally absent was any sense that their fate and that of the Trojan people were inescapably bound together, and under deadly threat. There was no meaningful relationship between the ‘family’, as one was tempted to see them, and the people – not even that very modern relationship between celebrities and t