Bolshoi Opera, 15/03/2017
Tchaikovsky : The Maid of Orleans
Chorus and Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre, Moscow
Tugan Sokhiev
This is what can happen when your resident orchestra's Music Director is also the MD of one of the world's biggest opera companies; he occasionally gets his other team to come play at home. A concert performance of one of Tchaikovsky's rarest operas, given by the forces of the Bolshoi at the Halle aux Grains in Toulouse was not an occasion to be missed, and the hall was duly packed to the rafters.
Composed hard on the heels of the far better-known Eugene Onegin, The Maid of Orleans is cast in a completely different mould, that of French grand opéra, with all that implies of epic subject, large choral scenes, second-act ballet and multiple (and costly) settings. As a genre, by 1879 its popularity was waning; Meyerbeer, the foremost exponent, had died fifteen years earlier, and although the grand opéra was not completely out of fashion yet, it must have been clear in Paris, at least, that it was on the way out. However, it was not a style that had particularly flourished amongst Russian composers - probably the closest example would be Borodin's Prince Igor, yet it's almost impossible to think of Prince Igor in that context, any more than Mussorgsky's historical frescoes, they're simply too Russian.
With Tchaikovsky, however, always one of the most Western-looking of Russian musicians, the style is a better fit, and only once in The Maid of Orleans do you really get a Russian flavour of music, in the Act 1 Hymn, where the a capella chorus suddenly resonates with the unique sound of an Orthodox choir, the basso profundo line setting the air vibrating in distinctive, and thrilling fashion. On the other hand, it is vintage Tchaikovsky, quite typical in its orchestral handling, with rich detailing in the strings, and much expressive wind writing. The melodic inspiration is, however, not nearly as powerful as that of Eugene Onegin. Vocal lines often take odd turns that distract from, rather than enhance the moment, and the best of the thematic material is almost systematically confided to the orchestra. The Act 4 love duet between Joan and Lionel is possibly the most flagrant example; they clearly fall into each other's arms, as expressed by a magnificent outburst in the violins, but the actual duet that follows seems almost timid by comparison. Musically, therefore, the opera is uneven, and the structure is top-heavy, with the first two acts taking up almost two hours, while the last two are expedited in one, but one where the drama is far more clearly focused. Without the benefit of a staging, even the most sympathetic of performances - and that is what this was - cannot overcome all the longueurs.
Yet are there any other forces (save, perhaps, the Mariinsky) who could do it such justice? The soloists were relatively young, graduated from their studies in the 'noughties for the most part, all of them good, though to my mind only the baritone Igor Golovatenko (Lionel) infused that extra degree of engagement with his role that brought it fully to life. This was the second version of the opera, for Tchaikovsky originally wrote the title role for soprano, but was asked by the Court Theatres to transpose it for mezzo a couple of years after its creation. The difficulty with Eastern European mezzos is that they tend, broadly speaking, to come across either as sex-bombs, or matronly, neither of which is particularly appropriate for Joan of Arc. Anna Smirnova managed rather well in that context, avoiding both pitfalls with a timbre that was luxuriously warm in the lower register and shiningly bright in the upper. However, she did not have that sense of illumination you want from Joan. Whether you see her as a holy warrior, or as a delusional victim, the character must seem to be utterly convinced of her own destiny, inspired and transported by her visions, and that, Smirnova never quite managed. In the second half, however, when Joan is beset by more human emotions, Smirnova conveyed her confusion and vulnerability much more successfully. Oleg Dolgov was the vacillating Charles VII, Petr Migunov a soundly resonant and confrontational Thibaut d'Arc, while baritone Andrii Kymach stood out from the comprimario roles.
However, the weight of the opera, and the true strength of the performance, rested on the superlative singing and playing of the chorus and orchestra. 80-strong, the chorus inhabited every minute of their part, singing with exemplary diction - if I knew more than three words of Russian, I'm certain I could have understood every word they sang. From the pastoral opening to the sombre, searing (pun intended, thank you) finale, the chorus was a character in its own right, providing the real backbone of the opera.
Similarly, the orchestra was a vibrant, vivid presence, wonderfully expressive, responsive to the least gesture from Sokhiev (and some of the gestures were startlingly minimal, for such large forces). The acoustics of the concert hall really came into their own, every section distinctly audible, yet still a cohesive ensemble. Both brass and winds had a distinctive quality of sound, the brass sharper (in colour, that is) than we're used to, with the horns playing seemingly almost without vibrato, while the winds were, on the contrary, particularly vocal in quality. The string sections were also distinctly delineated, yet completely cohesive, playing with the sort of glorious sweep that is one of Tchaikovsky's hallmarks, thrilling to hear. If The Maid of Orleans is an uneven work, it is certainly best served by a performance of this calibre.
[Next : 8th April]
Chorus and Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre, Moscow
Tugan Sokhiev
This is what can happen when your resident orchestra's Music Director is also the MD of one of the world's biggest opera companies; he occasionally gets his other team to come play at home. A concert performance of one of Tchaikovsky's rarest operas, given by the forces of the Bolshoi at the Halle aux Grains in Toulouse was not an occasion to be missed, and the hall was duly packed to the rafters.
Composed hard on the heels of the far better-known Eugene Onegin, The Maid of Orleans is cast in a completely different mould, that of French grand opéra, with all that implies of epic subject, large choral scenes, second-act ballet and multiple (and costly) settings. As a genre, by 1879 its popularity was waning; Meyerbeer, the foremost exponent, had died fifteen years earlier, and although the grand opéra was not completely out of fashion yet, it must have been clear in Paris, at least, that it was on the way out. However, it was not a style that had particularly flourished amongst Russian composers - probably the closest example would be Borodin's Prince Igor, yet it's almost impossible to think of Prince Igor in that context, any more than Mussorgsky's historical frescoes, they're simply too Russian.
With Tchaikovsky, however, always one of the most Western-looking of Russian musicians, the style is a better fit, and only once in The Maid of Orleans do you really get a Russian flavour of music, in the Act 1 Hymn, where the a capella chorus suddenly resonates with the unique sound of an Orthodox choir, the basso profundo line setting the air vibrating in distinctive, and thrilling fashion. On the other hand, it is vintage Tchaikovsky, quite typical in its orchestral handling, with rich detailing in the strings, and much expressive wind writing. The melodic inspiration is, however, not nearly as powerful as that of Eugene Onegin. Vocal lines often take odd turns that distract from, rather than enhance the moment, and the best of the thematic material is almost systematically confided to the orchestra. The Act 4 love duet between Joan and Lionel is possibly the most flagrant example; they clearly fall into each other's arms, as expressed by a magnificent outburst in the violins, but the actual duet that follows seems almost timid by comparison. Musically, therefore, the opera is uneven, and the structure is top-heavy, with the first two acts taking up almost two hours, while the last two are expedited in one, but one where the drama is far more clearly focused. Without the benefit of a staging, even the most sympathetic of performances - and that is what this was - cannot overcome all the longueurs.
Yet are there any other forces (save, perhaps, the Mariinsky) who could do it such justice? The soloists were relatively young, graduated from their studies in the 'noughties for the most part, all of them good, though to my mind only the baritone Igor Golovatenko (Lionel) infused that extra degree of engagement with his role that brought it fully to life. This was the second version of the opera, for Tchaikovsky originally wrote the title role for soprano, but was asked by the Court Theatres to transpose it for mezzo a couple of years after its creation. The difficulty with Eastern European mezzos is that they tend, broadly speaking, to come across either as sex-bombs, or matronly, neither of which is particularly appropriate for Joan of Arc. Anna Smirnova managed rather well in that context, avoiding both pitfalls with a timbre that was luxuriously warm in the lower register and shiningly bright in the upper. However, she did not have that sense of illumination you want from Joan. Whether you see her as a holy warrior, or as a delusional victim, the character must seem to be utterly convinced of her own destiny, inspired and transported by her visions, and that, Smirnova never quite managed. In the second half, however, when Joan is beset by more human emotions, Smirnova conveyed her confusion and vulnerability much more successfully. Oleg Dolgov was the vacillating Charles VII, Petr Migunov a soundly resonant and confrontational Thibaut d'Arc, while baritone Andrii Kymach stood out from the comprimario roles.
However, the weight of the opera, and the true strength of the performance, rested on the superlative singing and playing of the chorus and orchestra. 80-strong, the chorus inhabited every minute of their part, singing with exemplary diction - if I knew more than three words of Russian, I'm certain I could have understood every word they sang. From the pastoral opening to the sombre, searing (pun intended, thank you) finale, the chorus was a character in its own right, providing the real backbone of the opera.
Similarly, the orchestra was a vibrant, vivid presence, wonderfully expressive, responsive to the least gesture from Sokhiev (and some of the gestures were startlingly minimal, for such large forces). The acoustics of the concert hall really came into their own, every section distinctly audible, yet still a cohesive ensemble. Both brass and winds had a distinctive quality of sound, the brass sharper (in colour, that is) than we're used to, with the horns playing seemingly almost without vibrato, while the winds were, on the contrary, particularly vocal in quality. The string sections were also distinctly delineated, yet completely cohesive, playing with the sort of glorious sweep that is one of Tchaikovsky's hallmarks, thrilling to hear. If The Maid of Orleans is an uneven work, it is certainly best served by a performance of this calibre.
[Next : 8th April]