It’s Puccini Week over at the Met’s Nightly Streams, beginning with an opera I haven’t seen any version of yet: La Rondine. And this version stars Roberto Alagna and Samuel Ramey! I’m not sure what I’ll make of the opera, but I’m intrigued to give it a try.
Also difficult to resist will be a rewatch of any La Fanciulla del West, my favorite Puccini opera. I am also intrigued by this casting of La Boheme, which is one I’ve not yet seen.
Have a happy week, everyone…and happy opera listening and watching!
My friend Gabriela and I have long thought that he deserved one, so why not create it ourselves? The incomparable Canadian bass-baritone John Relyea has been a favorite of ours for years. I recall first hearing his voice on the radio, and wondering: “Who is that?” Along with our dear friend and group admin extraordinaire S. Blake Duncan, we now have the beginnings of a fan group, which I will link to here.
I will write an entire separate post (well, probably several, eventually!) about the work of Mr. Relyea, but for now…please feel free to come check out the group, and share or learn about this extraordinary bass-baritone.
It’s a week of bel canto streaming free from the Metropolitan Opera, and each stream will be available for approximately 24 hours.
Due to work this week, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make most of them, but I definitely want to rewatch I Puritani with the great bass John Relyea this Friday ~ which I’ll probably start around 7:30pm Oregon time! It’s one of my favorite operas just for the sheer beauty of listening ~ it’s one of the rare ones where following the plot is not as crucial to me, I just love to listen to it so much. I never did get around to seeing this week’s version of L’Elisir and Norma (Sat/Sun), so perhaps I’ll be able to dip into those as well.
I don’t have words right now, and must go to work ~ somehow, eyes red from crying ~ but I just heard the news from a dear friend about the passing of our beloved Dmitri Hvorostovsky. With a broken heart, I add my quiet condolences to those of all of his many, many fans throughout the world. Rest in peace, beloved Maestro. Thank you for all the beauty you have given us. Our lives are richer for your presence. You will always be our Beloved Baritone.
I’ve been home a week now, not yet recovered, reflecting on “mon jour suprême,” as Rodrigue would say, seeing and hearing Jonas live in the French version of my favorite opera. To have heard, in real time and in relatively close space, the one whose voice made me fall in love with opera and who brought music back into my life altogether, lifting my soul out of sadness, was a miraculous gift. A dream.
And speaking of gifts, what a gift it was to have spent time with kindred spirits ~ friends made through this mad passion that is opera-love. So many of us said that Jonas ~ and/or opera in general ~ have brought us together. A supreme gift. And that is only the beginning…we are already planning more adventures to come.
I suppose that, for many who first encounter the world of opera, we cling to a particular “opera guide,” to borrow the phrase of my friend Laura. The guide is that singer who gives us access to new works and help us to latch onto them, because we have first latched onto him or her. We feel comfortable with our guide; he or she helps us to make sense of what is new. We feel with his feelings, and see with his eyes. For one of my friends, this guide is Ruggero Raimondi; for another, James Morris and Ferruccio Furlanetto; for another, Domingo. I am sure that many have taken Jonas for their opera guide, and certainly he has been mine. From Massenet’s Werther (the first Jonas opera I saw on video, from the 2010
Paris production) to Tosca ~ especially the unforgettable live-stream of April, 2016 ~ to An Evening with Puccini to La Fanciulla del West to Don Carlo to Otello to Wagner ~ and I was afraid of Wagner! ~ the
list goes on. Jonas has lifted ~ and broken ~ my heart countless times. His voice has become a light and inspiration, a consolation, and a reminder of why we are alive.
As he stumbles barefoot onto the stage of Don Carlos, we can hear his sobs. (I start blubbering myself by the time he has given Elisabeth the portrait of the Infante to surprise her, and sings, “Je suis Carlos…Je t’aime!” / “I am Carlos and I
love you!”) The projected images of his near-breakdown across the stage send a terror up the spine. His pianissimo is wrenching. Our breathing stops at his voice at such moments, and we are adrift at sea…a sea that is ominous, dark, exquisite, and sometimes terrifying.
In the recent documentary, Jonas Kaufmann, Tenor for the Ages, “our tenor” comments on the interesting phenomenon of the effect he has on so many; how we (his fans) seem to feel as though we are in a kind of relationship with him…and yet, we can know him to a degree, though he cannot possibly know each and every one of us.
He can’t possibly know that so-and-so came all the way from Oregon to hear him, and that she’d been working very hard to make it happen; or that this other fan came from Australia, or England, or Ireland; nor that he changed this or that person’s life forever. We might forget that he can’t possibly know all of this. It is an odd dynamic. Even our tendency to call him, or refer to him as, “Jonas” ~ rather than “Herr Kaufmann” or “Maestro Kaufmann” ~ is, I think, indicative of his approachability, and the affection and intimacy we feel for this beloved tenor. He is “our Jonas,” “our tenor.” His infectious laugh, his kindness, his intelligence, his disarming smile, his enthusiasm…all are clear in every interview, and his presence on stage and screen compels us to feel every emotion with him. But really, when I stop to reflect on this as relates to the tenor himself, how unique ~ and beautifully strange ~ a relationship this is.
It really hit home when, after the emotional impact of my second Don Carlos of October 22nd, the “three little maids” and our friends were not allowed to remain beyond the security barrier to wait for the cast. (Mio Carlo, Viv, was truly heroic in her efforts to “sweet talk” the security guard to allow us to remain! But it was not to be.) All of us were pressed just on the other side of the barrier. It was impossible, in those fleeting moments ~ he is walking into a virtual wave of fans pouring out and around him ~ to say something personal and meaningful as he graciously tries to accommodate everyone’s desire to have a moment, a signature, or a photo.
After he signed my program ~ which I didn’t really need, as I already have a treasured signature of his which was obtained for me in January by mio Carlo, Viv ~ I asked if I might shake his hand. Instead, I kissed it. In the moment, it was the only means of communication that occurred to me, as I didn’t have the words.
Later, as he walked through the crowd (the parting of the Red Sea) Viv and I followed without thought or aim, in a kind of daze ~ at least, that was my own state of mind ~ half-conscious that we were very time-crunched, needing to catch the last Eurostar that night so that I could make my plane from London in the morning. Jonas stopped at one point to allow some photos to be taken, and in a brief moment after one of his fans stepped away, this shy Oregonian stepped in and asked on impulse, “Jonas, may I have a photo?” (I followed this up with a “My hero!” which I’m not sure that he heard…) Still in a daze, I unthinkingly rested my head against his scarf and jacket as Viv snapped the photos. (And I didn’t even say “Il core vi dono!” Such restraint! 😉 ) He is so gracious. After that, I suppose I could have flown back to Oregon without the plane. (Viv and I did literally run across the street and back to collect our luggage, hardly conscious of the traffic, or of anything else!)
I will treasure that memory as long as I live. For him, I suppose, it was only another fan, and another moment; for me, the whole experience was the “jour suprême.”
How can one say, in a moment ~ even if one could remain clear-headed enough to express it ~ how truly appreciative we are of his great gift that he shares with us? To remark what a wonderful performance it was, or how “beautiful” it was, seems so terribly insufficient that we might resign ourselves to silence.
One would need the words that Charles Dickens gives to the broken Sydney Carton, who was “recalled to life” by the presence of Lucie. That Sydney knows he can never mean anything to Lucie personally, does not alter the fact that she has had a great impact on his life; she has made him a better man simply by her existence in the world. “You have stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me.” Perhaps we wish we could be a Rodrigue, or a Don Quichotte ~ tilting at windmills ~ or a Sydney, for our tenor. “It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything…”
His investment in each and every role, his intelligence and thoughtful interpretation of character, his quality as an actor…all are, of course, part of what goes into this alchemy. His unique voice, so dark and haunting. But there is something still indefinable and ineffable. A depth of humanity ~ an empathy ~ is communicated in every note. Too, perhaps one has the feeling ~ the imagining ~ that he is singing to you yourself, directly. I have heard masterful audiobook readers that, one would swear, are speaking directly to you, whispering in your ear and telling you the story, as though no one else was present. They are reading for you. And, they have the ability to communicate the heart of the story, as if from within. This almost ineffable poignancy and intimacy does come through, in the voice itself, when one has the gift of mastery. It is that special something that perhaps separates a talented voice from a masterful and life-changing one. It is this something that makes an audience applaud for an unheard-of number of minutes, interrupting the flow of an opera, to hear again the devastating “E lucevan le stelle” with unearthly pianissimo. Whatever “it” is, this something breaks our hearts and makes us wish to be better than we are, simply in gratitude that such beauty is possible in this world, like a glimpse of paradise.
“Mon âme, à votre voix, rêve du paradis!” / “My soul, at your voice, dreams of paradise!”
~ Don Carlos, Act II
Jonas’ unique voice, veiled and shadowy, communicates a mystery, a longing. If longing for the inexpressible had a voice, it would be his.
And, perhaps, in a better world than this, where time itself is irrelevant and there is no press of the crowd, no jostling for that impossible “moment” to communicate our thanks, our Jonas just might understand something of the impact that his hard work ~ and his great gift ~ have had upon each one of us. But I hope he glimpses it now, and that it makes him smile. Certainly, there is one little seamstress out West who will carry this gratitude in her heart always.
“Je cherche en vain la paix et l’oubli du passé: De celle qui me fut ravie l’image erre avec moi dans ce cloître glacé!” / “I seek in vain the peace and oblivion of the past! The image of her whom they have stolen from me remains with me in this dread cloister!”
~Don Carlos, Act II
As “Part Two” of my “Don Carlos Adventure,” I wanted to reflect on the production of the opera that brought my friends and I to make the trip in the first place. (The link to “Part One,” an overall summary of our trip, can be found here.)
As an avid theatre-goer, I am entirely accustomed to modern updates, however seemingly “time-bound” the play–Shakespeare’s history plays, for example. But as an opera, Don Carlo(s)--my favorite opera–has always struck me as one that doesn’t lend itself as easily to any time and setting outside its own. So, when I’d heard that the Carlos I was so looking to was to have an updated setting and a modern ambiance, I was somewhat disappointed. I consoled myself with the thought that I would be hearing the cast of a lifetime in Jonas Kaufmann, Ildar Abdrazakov, Ludovic Tezier, Sonya Yoncheva and Elīna Garanča—conducted by the masterful Philippe Jordan. At worst, I thought, I could close my eyes at times and just revel in the sound, if need be.
I have never been happier to be wrong in my life.
I was haunted and compelled from my first viewing on the night of October 19th during my trip-of-a-lifetime to see this Carlos in person, in Paris. The whole production had a strange, haunting elegance. Leaving the best night of my life, emotionally shipwrecked, I tried to reason with myself: surely, this blissful reaction is just because I am so emotionally overwhelmed at the sheer beauty of Verdi’s music, Jordan’s conducting, and the experience of seeing and hearing so many opera heroes for the first time in person. I must have put on rose-tinted glasses about the production itself…
But it continued to haunt me. By the time I watched some of the live-stream (later that same night after we saw it in person) and then went to see it for the second time on the 22nd, I was deeply in love with the production itself, directed by cinema-lover Krzysztof Warlikowski. It is a combination of an impressionistic silent film, whose imagery is neither overwhelming, nor on-the-nose. Nothing is showy and abstract for its own sake, but leaves one with the tragic sadness of this particular vision of Don Carlos. It is a perfect vehicle for this more melancholy, French-language version of Verdi’s great opera, which is so much more widely known in the Italian. On the contrast between the French and Italian, Zachary Woolfe of the New York Times brings up some fantastic points in his review, linked here.
At the opening, a melancholy prince emerges from the shadows before the music begins, wrists bandaged after a recent suicide attempt, leaning over a washbasin. His is a tragic, purposeless existence. Repelled by a father who gives him no credit, he is even wearing what resembles a King’s College cricket jumper, as though he has nothing better to do than play sports and fritter away his time. He is underused, undervalued, disregarded. The bare but elegant stage, the intense focus on the internal state of our hero and the relationships between the characters, is consummately Shakespearean: we’re reminded of the estrangement between the little-regarded Prince Hal and his father the king, or of the tragic Hamlet, “passion’s slave.”
At first, I was mildly puzzled by how the desk and chaise-longue fit into this opening scene in the forest of Fontainebleau, but the impression I was left with is that it is his own retreat—or a kind of exile.
Élisabeth enters in a wedding gown—which, as Viv noted, appears to be a direct hommage to Grace Kelly’s wedding gown—in ghostly white, though looking more as though she is going to a funeral. Or, perhaps, as though she has died already. At this point, neither Élisabeth nor Carlos know one another; they only know that their fates are controlled by their fathers, and the cruelty of destiny.
Projected images of the various leads fill the set background at key emotional transitions: Carlos, the ultimate tragic lead, is shown at various times looking as though he is on the brink of a nervous breakdown, sometimes lifting a gun to his head. The shadow passing across the face of Élisabeth’s projected image as she accepts the “offer she cannot refuse” ~ marriage to Philippe ~ is rending.
A central image is that of the cage—illustrative of the interior cage that each of the characters carries around with them at all times—and this image appears in various guises throughout the production. The set itself is a kind of elegant cage: we see, alternately, Carlos, Élisabeth, or Eboli behind the red cage that appears at various intervals on either side of the stage. Élisabeth uses sunglasses to cage her eyes from view and hide her tormented emotions. Bars across the fencing studio (the Act II, Scene 2 garden setting with Eboli and the ladies-in-waiting) give the impression of a cage. The cage-like shadows across Philippe and Rodrigue during the “Restez!” scene have an understated power. The room where we see Philippe and Eboli lounging in Act IV is a stifling box of a room. We might go on and on. Ultimately, each character is a solitary prisoner, tormented and alone.
Like Hamlet, Carlos could say: “O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams” (II.ii). And indeed, there is a strongly dream-like quality to the production whose atmosphere and motifs echo the world of silent cinema. Flickering shadows fill the stage at various intervals, as though we are seeing images cast by an old film projector ~ a film, perhaps, that hasn’t been yet restored by Criterion ~ of something whose beauty and grandeur has been lost to a dreamlike yesteryear. Did this grandeur ever truly exist as we imagine? It is all the more poignant for its ephemeral quality. To quote Hamlet again, “a dream itself is but a shadow.”
Again, going back to the cage theme: shadows of the cloistral “cage” fall across Carlos in the cloister of Saint Yuste monastery, only dissipated, for the moment, by the entrance of opera hero, Rodrigue, the consummate honorable and faithful friend, sung so exquisitely by the understated baritone Ludovic Tézier.
The lead-up to the beautiful friendship duet is so entirely different in French than in Italian, that previous to this production, it took me some time to grow accustomed to it; since this version, however, it has become for me an immense treasure. The haunting and understated pre-duet is a testament to friendship amidst tragedy. Even the different tone of “Demande à Dieu la force d’un héros!” in the French version, is less a triumphant call to heroism than a plea for suffering resignation. (And really, the very idea that Carlos could be ready for a life of leadership in suffering Flanders, when he is so broken, is another part of the tragedy and poignancy not only of the French Carlos, but very particularly of this production.)
“Thou speakest of times that long have passed away. I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos, whose cheek would fire at freedom’s glorious name, but he, alas! has long been in his grave…those dreams are past!”
~Friedrich Schiller, Don Carlos
A white horse stands not quite center stage, for a long period; it is an image that is never entirely clear, and yet, the more I lived with it, the more it felt strangely appropriate, like an image that is part of a “paradise lost”; a future that might have been; childhood; of the moment of happiness at Fontainebleau at the opening; or of nature, and natural emotions, suppressed, cast aside…frozen in time. As to the latter, the production is filled with such indications of natural emotions suppressed or frozen, from the guarded meeting between Élisabeth and Carlos at the opening, to the entrance of Rodrigue, whose affection for Carlos is checked by his sense that they are being watched; and ultimately, to the heartbreaking Act IV arias of Rodrigue, who begs for Carlos to take his hand, and who tries to crawl to his friend as Carlos desperately reaches for him from behind his cage.
The notion of a “lost paradise” haunts our characters: Élisabeth longs for her dear France, and her mother, and then, for the love that might have been with Carlos; Carlos mourns this stolen love, and the peace that eludes him, as well as the shadow of his grandfather who spent his final days in the cloister in reparation for a life of power-seeking, as Hamlet is haunted by the ghost of his father. Philippe, in this production especially, has a coherent reason for distancing himself from his son: jealousy. Carlos may be “passion’s slave,” but there is something in him that Philippe lacks: warmth, the capacity for friendship, and the ability to inspire loyalty in such a heart as that of Rodrigue. This is certainly in line, in many ways, with the Schiller original.
I will just give a brief mention, as well, on the father-son note, to the haunting image that is projected at the end of the auto-da-fe, reminiscent of the famous Goya painting, “Saturn Devouring His Son.”
Philippe longs for the particular friendship of Rodrigue, and for the authentic love of Élisabeth ~ yet, “elle ne m’aime pas.” Ildar Abdrazakov’s Philippe, a younger, dashing monarch, is also here a tormented alcoholic. Somehow, it works beautifully. Woolfe writes in his New York times review on the contrast between the French and Italian versions of this aria: “In Italian, it’s a public moment, even as a soliloquy. In French, it’s the murmur of a tortured soul.”
Ildar’s commanding tone and slick, intelligent presence make him a powerful adversary. His great Act IV aria, “Elle ne m’aime pas,” left me in tatters.
Eboli, such a crucial character, is often underemphasized, or is overshadowed by the other leads. Not so here. Elīna Garanča is a force to be reckoned with ~ the ultimate femme fatale as she fences her way into the lives of all the tormented leads, herself as solitary and broken as any.
“Je said votre pouvoir…vous ignorez le mien.” / “Your power is known to me…you do not yet know mine.”
~Eboli, Don Carlos III.i
Sonya Yoncheva’s Elisabeth is glamorous, self-possessed, and heartbroken. She sings the role with power, dignity, and restraint.
Tézier’s voice was the one that surprised me the most, as carrying with supreme beauty and power up into the opera house. His Act IV arias were devastatingly beautiful, and the lack of fulfillment of his wish to hold Carlos’ hand to the last, was a surprise. I had to stifle audible sobs at this point…
“Yes, sire, we two were brothers! Bound by nobler bands than nature ties. His whole life’s bright career was love…”
~Friedrich Schiller, Don Carlos
Of course, it is needless to say that I was in tears from the first glorious sound from Jonas Kaufmann. But more than that, his baritonal tenor, his shadowy and emotionally-rich tone are perfect for this haunting version of Verdi’s opera. From the moment he sets foot on stage, he is entirely invested in the role. Of course, Don Carlos must be the emotional center in order for the rest to have its full impact; he fulfills this perfectly.
As a teenager, I was obsessed with Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It is no wonder, then, that Don Carlo(s) is my favorite opera, for it is certainly the Hamlet of opera. What has surprised me, after the impact of this production, is my reaction to the French-language version. One becomes so accustomed to the “sound” of the Italian, that its less-familiar predecessor sounds off-putting at the outset. I recall my struggles even to find a recording of the 5-act French version. There is the marvelous 1996 recording with Roberto Alagna and Thomas Hampson; there is the Domingo/Raimondi CD, conducted by Claudio Abbado, from the mid-’80s. And that is nearly all one can find. Now, having seen the live production, it will not leave my sleep-deprived and jet-lagged brain. It has given an entirely new dimension to the Don Carlos obsession.
With the Krzysztof Warlikowski Don Carlos, I believe we have one of the additions to the canon of all-time great opera productions–of any opera. The stars have aligned. How marvelous that it has, in a way, “recalled to life” Verdi’s poignant 1867 masterpiece.
The night before last, I returned to Oregon a sleepier, more jet-lagged, but completely blissful, girl.
The long-planned “Don Carlos Adventure” consisted of one night in London–including a visit to the Royal Opera House–followed by four nights in Paris. The Paris days/nights included four operas: Così fan tutte, The Merry Widow (with opera Hero and my first “Rodrigo,” Thomas Hampson), and two performances of the French version of Verdi’s Don Carlos, with the cast of a lifetime, on the 19th and 22nd.
The Don Carlos is the one that my dear friend (and “mio Carlo”) Viv Hannides and I had been remotely planning for over a year—ever since we heard rumors that Jonas Kaufmann would be singing his first French Carlos in Paris this season. I started saving, and by the time tickets went on sale, we were ready. My own struggles—financially and otherwise—with a major work transition this year, and needing to close my 13.5 year old business, made the projected trip an uncertainty for a long time. Even when I finally landed the job I was hoping for (in July of this year), I didn’t know whether I’d be allowed a whole week off when I’d only have been working for them for three months. Thankfully, everything got sorted out, my amazing boss approved the time off, and we all managed what had seemed a nearly impossible dream…
I will write a separate post about Don Carlos as a production. Here, I will just share a few photo highlights of the trip that speak louder than words of the joy we experienced together. The “Three Little Maids” (which had originated as a joke, as the three of us get so Gilbert-and-Sullivan goofy about our opera Heroes, and “everything is a source of fun”!) include myself (“Rodrigo”), Viv Hannides (“Carlo”), and Maura Devine, our dear friend from Ireland who joined us in London. In Paris, Maura, Viv, and I shared a beautiful fifth floor apartment on the Boulevard Beaumarchais, about a 5-7 minute walk from the Opera Bastille.
During the trip, we met up with other amazing opera fanatics…Ursula from Ireland, Ilse from Vienna, Rosemary from Australia, Christine and Paul from France, and another dear Christine from England, dear Pam from England… What a joy.
Here is a brief photo tour of the days ~ most of the photos were taken by mio Carlo, Viv:
Day 1, Oct 17th: London. Viv came to meet me at the airport at 7am, with a “Mio Rodrigo” sign waiting! (I nearly had brought one in my carry-on, saying “Looking for Mio Carlo!”) We drove around that day, listening to Jonas, and talking. Later, Maura met us ~ as did, unexpectedly, our very dear friend Andrew Pycock!!! This was entirely a surprise, and I will never forget the shock of seeing him sitting by the ballerina statue near Covent Garden. The four of us shared a meal together before the three ladies went to see Les Vêpres Siciliennes at ROH with Erwin Schrott, Michael Volle, and Bryan Hymel. An excellent production! I wept at the beauty of the sound–particularly of the chorus and orchestra, and also Erwin’s massively powerful and beautiful voice–which hit us so strongly up in the amphitheater. Everyone was fantastic. One of Viv’s friends, who had a Grand Tier box, invited Viv and I to occupy the two empty seats in his box after the interval! What a treat. 🙂 The “three little maids” spent the night in two sweet rooms above a pub, before catching the Eurostar to Paris the following morning. A note: meeting Erwin Schrott after the opera was a real honor ~ which I nearly missed, as I was so shy about it that Viv had to drag me over to meet him. After which I managed to clumsily drop the program (which he had just signed) right at his feet.
Day 2, Oct 18th: To Paris. The Merry Widow (Bastille). It is a truth universally acknowledged that Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But previous to being there, I think I had imagined in my own mind that the mystique of it was likely overstated…but no. It truly is an overwhelmingly beautiful city…I might easily have taken a gorgeous photo at every street corner…
That night, we saw the delightful operetta The Merry Widow at the same opera house–the Bastille–where we would see Don Carlos the following night. Thomas Hampson led the cast, and the costumes and set were an absolute delight. We managed to get into the lobby beyond the security checkpoint to be the first to welcome one of our great Opera Heroes, Thomas Hampson, when he came out the stage door. He was so incredibly kind and gracious, and was even delighted to hear that I was from his neck of the woods, and asked about my town. The other “little maids” teased me about the progress in one day, as I managed to ask Thomas for a hug at the end! He kindly gave it to me 🙂
Day 3, Oct 19th: Paris. Don Carlos – #1 (Bastille). I have simply been processing the nights spent seeing Don Carlos. Even after the first night, I immediately knew that it was the best night of my life. More on this anon…
Afterwards, the three leading men, Jonas, Ildar, and Ludovic, didn’t come out to the stage door exit, alas, as they went out another way to go to an after-party. (This was the night of filming Carlos, so it was a well-deserved celebration!) However, we had the honor of meeting the two leading ladies, who are even more beautiful in person, Sonya Yoncheva and Elīna Garanča!!!
Day 4, Oct 20th: Paris. Recovery day. It is a good thing that we didn’t schedule an opera on the Friday after the emotionally-wrought Thursday night. We had been up until the wee hours of the morning, watching the recorded version of the opera that we had just seen in person–I know, we are hopeless!!–and drinking tea, and something stronger, and just talking about the whole experience and processing it. Another “healthy lunch” at a patisserie! (Viv downed the rum straight…which was intended for her cake! 😀 )
This day ended up being a walking day ~ and we walked by the Palais de Justice, the Conciergerie, the Louvre, the Seine, the Eiffel Tower…it was magic. (However, as I mentioned on facebook, none of the glorious sights were half as beautiful as my first glimpse of Jonas the night before, from the distant back stall seats!) We had drinks and “crisps” (another inside joke which Maura and Viv will well understand…) at a local restaurant. As we didn’t start walking until around 2pm that day, we didn’t catch a taxi home until about 9pm, followed by some purchases for our late dinner, and more opera listening and chatting until the wee hours of the morning…
Day 5, Oct 21st: Paris. Così fan tutte (Palais Garnier). What an experience it was simply to be at the glorious Palais Garnier opera house. Previous to this, we’d done a self-guided tour. To then have the honor of being able to see a production here as well was pure magic. The was an abstract and modern-dress production which incorporated a lot of modern dance. Though not my ultimate Così experience in terms of production, it was beautiful nonetheless, and we thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Our own little “after party” consisted of drinks at “Les Associés,” a bistro across the street from Bastille’s stage door where we’d hung out previously to discuss the productions. I think the “Operaettes”–plus our new friend Howard–were there until at least 1:30 in the morning. This was followed, of course, by a “three little maids” session of more tea and talking by the time we arrived back to our apartment! The only down-side of today was that I realized later that I’d lost my opera glasses (a.k.a. “Jonas goggles”) in the taxi coming from Palais Garnier…hèlas!
Day 6, Oct 22nd: Paris. Don Carlos #2 (Bastille). After a large brunch with 17–yes, 17!–opera and Jonas fanatics at the “Cafe des Anges” near the Bastille, we walked together to our final performance.
There are no words for the beauty of this production…yet, I will try to write about it. (More anon.)
Previous to the performance, however, Viv and Maura gave me a very beautiful gift: a new pair of “Jonas goggles”! After the performance, all of our makeup cried away, we dashed to the stage door, and were soon crushed in the adoring crowd. (Alas, the security guard kept kicking us out from our spot inside the barrier and made us get behind the security barrier like everyone else! 🙂 ) Nonetheless, in spite of the crush, it was such an honor to meet the three Opera Heroes who made us weep and sent us into ecstasies during the performance. Ildar even posted a video of the crush of the crowd at this performance. You can barely see the top of my head as the camera passes by, but there are clear shots of Viv, Maura, and Ilse!!
We had one final beautiful surprise before Viv and I had to dash back to grab our luggage from our friend’s hotel room before catching the last Eurostar back to London that night. My flight was to be the next morning from Gatwick, so the poignant Act IV arias of Rodrigue–where he sings that his “supreme day has come,” and that he and Carlos must say “farewell”–had Viv and I in a tidal wave of tears.
The opera obsession is getting a little out of hand.
As life circumstances have been a hindrance to regular writing/blogging, I fear it may have appeared as though I’d fallen off Planet Opera. In reality, I’ve been listening to and watching a fair deal of recorded opera over the past months, but in a cobbled-together fashion, somewhat like a patchwork quilt—or perhaps like Frankenstein’s monster—rather than my usual method of falling down the rabbit hole with one particular opera or composer for a time. A little Baroque here, a little Puccini there; half an opera here, interrupted by half of a different opera the next night—oh, and there’s that Saturday radio broadcast I nearly forgot about—to finally return to finish the first on the next available night. YouTube operas here, a library CD there. A week off of opera here; only a day off of opera there.
Partly, this chaotic approach (“approach” making it sound more intentional a method than it is) has been due to an unpredictable work routine. This is soon to change, thankfully, for a steadier situation. This seamstress has–ahem–altered her 13.5 year old sewing business, and all the irregularly-scheduled side-jobs to fund it, in order to hereafter do volunteer sewing work only, taking on a more regular “day job” to make ends meet.
During this whole work/life transition, and in the midst of opera joys, my heart–and that of so many others–bleeds for Dmitri Hvorostovsky’s needful cancellations, due to his chemotherapy and imbalance issues resulting from his brain tumor. But he still continues to surprise us with his dedicated love of his art, as he did at the Met Gala in May.
One of the more beautiful aspects of the past month is the fulfillment–almost–of Jonas’ much-anticipated Otello debut at Covent Garden, which was live-streamed to some lucky cinemas on June 28th, but which won’t make it to any here out West (only two cinemas in Oregon are showing it) for another couple of weeks. The reviews have been, generally, jaw-dropping.
So, in the following couple of blog posts over the coming days, I’ll write—with as much brevity as possible, and not in any particular order at all—about a few of my opera viewings and listenings over the past months, with more in-depth commentary about only a couple of them.
Lovely Luca Pisaroni
In finding more operas with Luca Pisaroni–La Cenerentola, Don Giovanni, etc–I want to highlight the 2016 Salzburg Le Nozze di Figaro. If you can see it somehow, please do. You can see my little write-up at this link.
Eugene Onegin miscellany…
First of all, I finished the Met cinema season a little early, but with a bang. As I didn’t make it to Der Rosenkavalier, I ended on Eugene Onegin, with Peter Mattei, Anna Netrebko, and the glorious bass Štefan Kocán. I loved Mattei’s intelligent, jaded Eugene—one who clearly overthinks everything, to his own disadvantage—and his shimmery gold voice. Anna was marvelously dusky in the role of Tatiana. But it was, interestingly enough, Prince Gremin—who is often played as much older than Tatiana, but here in younger and virile form with Štefan Kocán’s portrayal—who stole the show, and won every heart with his Act III aria. (It was that aria which made the tears flow, I assure you. That love, folks, is the real deal. Oh, how he looks at Tatiana! I say: forget Eugene. Hands down.)
Side note to Eugene Onegin: I will also add as a side note that I not only fell in love with Prince Gremin in the Met 2017 cinema broadcast, but also with the conductor Robin Ticciati. I could have watched a complete second HD, just to see his every expression while conducting.
For a blog with “Don Carlo” in the title, I’ve written surprisingly little as yet on this, my favorite, opera. (Truthfully, I haven’t written as often as I’d like to in general.) Perhaps it is that trepidation that one has approaching a beloved subject…how to express thoughts in words that do it any justice? In time, I hope to explore this opera here in more depth, as I continue to learn.
Today, however, it has been a year since the opera obsession started; it feels like a good time to take a pause. This blog has been about the “opera journey”–more the opera than the “journey”– from a beginner’s perspective…not because my journey has any significance, but just because it is too joyful not to share. But this post, more personal, relates to what will be a huge milestone and joy for me in the coming year…thanks in great part to “mio Carlo,” Viv.
Why Carlo? (How shall I count the ways?) Phenomenal characters, complex relationships (talk about dysfunctional family!), glorious music, chilling and captivating political and religious themes…it has it all. It’s the Hamlet of opera, in combination with some of the intrigue of the history plays. But more than that, Don Carlo has, to me, the most moving relationship in any opera: the brotherly, self-sacrificial love between Don Carlo and his friend Rodrigo, the Marquis di Posa, who is caught between his affection for Carlo and his concern for the suffering of the people of Flanders under the heavy hand of Carlo’s father, King Philip II of Spain, and the Inquisition. To stretch the Hamlet connection, the Carlo/Rodrigo friendship has a bit of a Hamlet/Horatio dynamic–albeit with a stronger, more proactive “Horatio.” One, Carlo, is “passion’s slave,” haunted by a disastrous personal crisis in the midst of political ones–the other, Rodrigo, a staunchly loyal friend who sees the potential in him.
I’ve always had a soft spot for stories about male friendship. (I hesitated before seeing a version of the opera, after hearing the friendship duet on youtube–love at first listen–because I feared that Rodrigo would turn against his Carlo in the end, or that it’d end up being more rivalry than friendship.) But, not to spoil it, Verdi not only pays off the incomparably beautiful duet, a glorious tribute to friendship, but does so in a big way. I hope you will experience a version of this opera if you haven’t already…I eventually get around to writing a bit on those I’ve seen and heard.
My friend Viv (below) has often tried to guess which opera-relationships would likely be a success, if not hampered by the death and villainy that goes with the opera territory. (Would Mimi and Rodolfo honestly make it “in real life”? Tosca and Mario? Calaf and Turandot? It does make one pause…) I can only say, without a doubt, that Carlo and Rodrigo would make it. 😉 That’s the difference in this opera, an opera where the love serves the ideal, and the ideal the love; where friendship is deeper than the (sometimes) shallow ebb and flow of opera romance, where love is truly stronger than death and disappointment. It’s the bond of brothers.
Not unlike this friendship, the community of those who love opera is also close-knit. Opera friends are immensely enthusiastic and warm in sharing their joy, recommendations, practical help and advice…even sending/exchanging CDs or DVDs that they love or want to pass along. (One of mine just went out in the post to a friend the other day, and hers to me before that.) Listening to opera together, sharing knowledge and thought and insight. Opera buddies make life more and more beautiful all the time. My parents are hooked, and have not only tolerated but supported their daughter’s mad hobby, and will even listen to Wagner with me…a beau geste indeed. 😉 We’re all Carlos and Rodrigos to one another.
Around the time of my first Don Carlo, my long-distance friend Viv Hannides (fellow Kaufmanniac and Opera Enabler Extraordinaire, who allowed me to mention her name and snag a photo of hers–on the left–for this post, without knowing why) told me that there were rumors of a production of the French-language version—Don Carlos, as it is typically called in that version—to be performed at the Opéra National de Paris (Bastille) for the 2017-18 season, with Jonas in the title role. This would be historic on several levels: the stellar cast (more on that below) and the novelty of its being the full, 5-act French version. (They will apparently be doing the 5-act Italian version the following season.) Viv, who has a Paris Opera subscription, offered to help me get tickets, even back when we had just started to connect, if I wished to try for it when the time came.
Well, I knew I would have to try. It would perhaps be my first, or even only, chance to see/hear our tenor in person. (And who knows what can happen in a year’s time?) Sure, Jonas will doubtless be at the Met again soon enough–perhaps even next season, as there are rumors of a Tosca with his Cavaradossi–and what a dream that would be! We’ll soon find out for certain. But…this is Don Carlos! And, so my thinking went, it would be—from the time I first heard the rumors—a year and a half to two years away, depending on what point in the season it was performed. I had a bit of time to save, and plan. (Well, how time does fly…)
And what can I say of dear Viv? If only I could count the number of times generous, beautiful, hilarious Viv has made me laugh, and cheered me up with delightful, outrageously-altered pictures of my opera heroes (mostly Jonas and René Pape). And I don’t know at what point Viv became nicknamed “mio Carlo” by me—someone pointed out that we will have to start saying “mon
Carlos,” in keeping with the French version—and I her “Rodrigo,” but so it is. I believe I did mention a number of times wanting “to be Rodrigo when I grow up,” after encountering Thomas Hampson’s portrayal of the opera hero in the Salzburg production. (Really, though, she has been more the Rodrigo than I, the one to go above and beyond constantly…and has made for this distant “fanciulla del West” feel less distant from the hub of European opera than she really is.)
Most recently, she has redoubled my joy at the return of Jonas–in the Paris Lohengrin–after his months of recovery from the vocal injury. Viv was there the first night, January 18th, and stayed hours after to wait for him to come out after the show, keeping me posted as she waited.
Little did I know that a large part of her intent was to have our hero sign something for his long-distance fan who has not been able to see him in person yet. I won’t try to describe the emotion here. (My poor mom, who happened to be around at the time, had to put up with constant, weepy interruptions…) Not only to see my name in Jonas’ hand, but, even more, touched that “mio Carlo” would have even thought to take the time out of those few, precious moments—really, how often are we in close proximity to Jonas Kaufmann?–to think of her Rodrigo, so far away.
To put the icing on the cake, “our” Rodrigo, Thomas Hampson, is in a production of The Merry Widow at the same venue, only the night before! Tickets bought, and there’s no way we can’t get to Paris now. (I’m afraid, once there, it will not be possible to tear me away…)
Of course, getting the tickets are only step one, but we’ve done it. Paris, October 2017, here we come! (Somehow! Extra shifts at work, a few extra sewing orders, a little less sleep…for Carlos? For Thomas, Jonas, Ildar, Ludovic, Elina? Absolutely. Sleep is overrated anyway! :)) Again, Viv saved the day, spending hours navigating internet delays the moment ticket sales went up for Carlos. Truly, another huge gift…I don’t know how it could have been done otherwise.
Just…please God, keep every one of this beautiful cast in good health, for their sakes mostly…and ours too. Anyway, whatever happens, we’ll be able to say:
It is a dream-made-reality. Thanks, all my dear opera buddies and family…thanks for sharing the joy and knowledge constantly. “Vivremo insiem!”
And thank you so much, mio Carlo!
Dio, che nell’alma infondere Amor volesti e speme Desio nel cor accendere Tu dêi di libertà; Giuriamo insiem di vivere E di morire insieme; In terra, in ciel congiungere Ci può la tua bontà.
God, who has brought us together,
Fire our hearts with flames of glory,
Fire that is noble and pure,
Fire of love that will set men free!
God, grant that this love may fire us,
May freedom call and inspire us!
Accept the vow that we swear!
We shall die united in love!
(Translation by Andrew Porter, for the English National Opera’s guide, Don Carlos/Don Carlo, 1992.)
Hello, dear Reader (for whomever may be reading this…).
Forgive me if I need to slow the post-pace a bit for the coming four to six weeks. This is the busiest time of year for me in regards to sewing deadlines, and I have school deadlines on top of it–through mid-May.
So, please don’t be surprised if my posts are a little sporadic for the coming weeks. I will try to keep a minimum of a post per week, even through the busy times.