Sleepwalking Again: La Sonnambula

The Metropolitan’s new La Sonnambula happily erases the opera’s previous production that twisted the libretto with smirking irony, thus sabotaging Bellini’s sublime score and the excellent singing of the principals, Natalie Dessay, then Diana Damrau as Amina, Juan Diego Florez, then Javier Camarena as Elvino. The present director, Rolando Villazon, rereads the work without betraying its essence. Amina, heretofore portrayed as a passive victim of her fiancé and her rustic village, is here liberated from the restrictions of her hidebound mountain community. Through Villazon’s perspective, the libretto, often characterized as weak, becomes a compelling narrative.

La Sonnambula was one of the first operas treated in this blog: https://www.blogger.com/u/3/blog/post/edit/7211323416075256950/6485706952834799789

I return to it now with a new set of excerpts.

Nadine Sierra adds Adina to her superb Met Gilda, Juliette, and Lucia; she is clearly at the top of her game and among the excellent contemporary exponents of these key roles. In a clip from a 2022 Madrid performance, she deploys exemplary musicianship, a luminous, rich voice, and breathtaking agility in Adina’s joyous entrance aria. Adina thanks the villagers for their good wishes on her forthcoming marriage to Elvino: “Come per me sereno (How peaceful for dawns the new day).”

Bellini composed one of his most plangent melodies for the bass role. Count Rodolfo sings of his happiness at revisiting the site of his youth: “Vi ravviso o luoghi ameni (I again see these lovely places.)” The Italian bass-baritone, Sesto Bruscantini, conveys the wonder of return to a beloved landscape with particular sensitivity.

The finale of Act I is a remarkable ensemble of soloists and chorus: “D’un pensiero e d’un accento rea son son [(I have never sinned in thought or word).” Compromised when found in the Count’s bedroom, sleepwalking Amina is unable to persuade the scandalized and accusatory Elvino and the villagers that she has no idea how she got there. The clip is from a 1957 commercial recording that captures Maria Callas in one of her greatest La Scala successes. Nicola Monti is Elvino; future star Fiorenza Cossotto, still cast in secondary roles, is Teresa. Antonino Votto conducts the La Scala orchestra and chorus.

 

 

The opera concludes with a double aria for Amina. In the first, the lyric “Ah! non credea mirarti, (I never believed I would see you.") Amina, in her sleepwalker’s trance, believes that she is reunited with Elvino. Montserrat Caballé, who never performed the role of Amina in the theatre, gives the full measure of the character’s sadness as she shapes Bellini’s characteristically long phrases.

 When Elvino again gives her the ring with which he declared his love in Act I, Amina expresses her joy in the extremely altitudinous range and the virtuosic embellishments: “Ah! non giunge uman pensiero, al contento ond'io son piena (Human thought cannot conceive of the happiness that fills me.”)  In this clip from a 2024 Venice performance, Jessica Pratt astonishes with her technical facility and her ease on high. One of the leading coloratura sopranos on Europe’s opera stages, British born and raised in Australia, she has sung only rarely in the United States.

P.S.  My first post on La Sonnambula, published in 2014, featured the young Cesare Siepi’s recording of “Vi ravviso.” Its beauty is still unequalled. I repeat it here.

Verdi's Luisa Miller: Masterwork on the Cusp

 

William Shakespeare and Friedrich von Schiller were among Verdi’s favorite authors. The Bard of Avon inspired three of the composer’s librettos (Macbeth, Otello, Falstaff); the giant of German Classicism and Romanticism provided subjects for no less than four of his operas: Giovanna d’Arco (Die Jungfrau von Orleans), I Masnadieri (Die Räuber [The Robbers]), Don Carlos, and Luisa Miller (Kabale und Liebe [Intrigue and Love]). Only Don Carlos (known familiarly with its Italian title Don Carlo) has secured a place in the core repertoire of the world’s major lyric theatres.

Luisa Miller premiered just two years before the beloved Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, and La Traviata, vintage 1851-53. Yet with its strong narrative and rewarding roles for five soloists, the opera deserves greater popularity. Its thrilling score culminates in a final act among Verdi's greatest creations.

The Metroplitan Opera did not stage Luisa Miller until 1929; its stellar cast—Rosa Ponselle, Giovanni Lauri-Volpi, Giuseppe De Luca—was able to earn but a paltry six performances in two seasons. The opera waited until 1968 to enter the company’s repertoire with some regularity.

In Act II, in order to save her father, Luisa, a commoner, is forced to write a letter renouncing her love for Rodolfo, the son of the ruling nobleman. She prays that God not abandon her. Adriana Maliponte conveys the pathos with fervor, musical precision, and rich tone, capping the aria with a breathtaking cadenza.

Carlo Bergnzi sings the opera’s most famous aria, “Quando le sere al placido (When in the evening, beneath a starry sky),” recalling the happiness of Rodolfo's love for Luisa. The tenor’s affinity for Verdi and command of the requisite style are fully evident in this commercial recording.

 

Act III contains one of Verdi’s most touching soprano-baritone duets. Severely put upon by the local aristocracy, Luisa and Miller, her father, contemplate a life exiled from their homeland (“Andrem raminghi e poveri, ove il destin ci porta [We’ll wander, poor, wherever destiny leads us].” Here, from a recording of the complete opera, are Anna Moffo as Luisa and Cornell MacNeil as Miller, both in peak form and sensitive to the pathos of the scene.

Rodolfo, mistakenly believing that Luisa has betrayed him, poisons himself and his beloved. In this extract from a complete recording, Luciano Pavarotti and Sherrill Milnes voice the anguish of Rodolfo and Miller, Montserrat Caballé invests the dying Luisa with ethereal pianissimi. Luisa’s phrases, lofted heavenward, prefigure the demises of Verdi’s Leonoras in Il Trovatore and La Forza del destino.

 

 A number of commercial recordings and excellent live performances are available on YouTube.

 

 

 

Recovering the Forgotten Singer: Margarete Klose (1899-1968)

From the 1930s through the mid-20^th century, Ebe Stignani, the acknowledged queen of dramatic mezzo-sopranos, reigned at La Scala, guested widely in Europe, appeared in North and South America (but never at the Met) and committed authoritative renditions of the classic Verdi roles to disc. (insert) Margarete Klose, would have given Stignani a run for the money if she had sung Amneris, Eboli, and Azucena in Italian rather than German. It was the practice in the major European opera houses to use the vernacular—La Forza del destino was Die Macht des Schicksals in Vienna; Götterdämmerung became Il Crepuscolo degli dei in Milan. Klose appeared in London, Brussels, Buenos Aires, and briefly in San Francisco and Los Angeles, but primarily in the German repertoire. A Bayreuth regular, she was a peerless Ortrud, Brangäne, Fricka; Germany and Austria heard her Verdi and Gluck roles auf Deutsch.

Her voice was exceptionally equalized, at home at the extremes of her range, her timbre rich and instantly recognizable. Klose was notable in the Classical utterances of Orfeo and Alceste and in the Romantic outbursts of Eboli and Azucena. In this clip, from a 1938 recording, the finely sculped phrases of Alceste demonstrate her gorgeous tone and scrupulous musicality. The Queen of Thessaly despairs of her husband’s death and beseeches pity from the nether gods in “Divinités du Styx ("Ihr Götter ew'ger nacht").

 

Klose was justly famous for her Orfeo, in both Italian and German. Here is the aria, “Che faro senza Euridice," sung in Italian on a post-War complete recording of Orfeo ed Euridice. 

 

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Klose conquers the extended range, the declamations and lyric phrases, and the dynamic contrast demanded by “O Don fatale (“Verhängnisvoll war das Geschenk)” from Don Carlo. The German-language text in no way inhibits Eboli’s Italianate passion. 

Klose’s seamless legato and luscious timbre combine for an irresistibly seductive Dalila. She sings “Mon Coeur s’ouvre à ta voix (Sieh, mein Herz erschließet sich).” In this mid-1940s clip, the Berlin Philharmonic is conducted by the legendary but allergic-to-recordings Sergiu Celibidache.

 

 

P.S. Highly recommended, from YouTube, are the arias from Un Ballo in Maschera and Il Trovatore, in German.

 

 

The Beautiful Voice, 2: Cesare Siepi

It took no time for Ezio Pinza to be acknowledged as the Met’s leading bass. He sang important roles in 1926, his debut season, and by 1929, when he was awarded the title role in Don Giovanni, he attained the star status he would enjoy until he left the company in 1947. A successor would need to be a basso cantante with a gorgeous timbre, acting skill, and photogenic good looks. Cesare Siepi fit the bill.

Siepi made his Met debut on Rudolf Bing’s 1950 opening night as general manager. King Philip II, a key role in the new production of Verdi’s Don Carlo, was announced for the charismatic Boris Christoff. But the U.S. government, entrenched in Cold War fear of Communists, denied a visa to the Bulgarian Christoff. The handsome young Siepi (not yet thirty years old) stunned the public and continued to do so for more than twenty seasons. He endowed roles in Verdi, Mozart, Gounod, and eventually even Wagner with impeccable musicianship, compelling dramatic presence, and a voice immediately identifiable for its plush velvet.

Here is the aria, “Ella giammai m’amò,” that won that 1950 opening night audience. Siepi’s limpid diction and silken timbre, equalized from the lowest to the highest register, capture King Philip’s realization that his wife never loved him. Siepi uncannily echoes the mournful cello solo of the long introduction. He repeats, with touching sadness “amor per me no ha” (she has no love for me). The clip is from a recital recording.

Siepi has sung Don Giovanni more often at the Met than any other Met artist. No Zerlina could resist his seductive “Là, ci darem la mano” (Give me your hand). Hilde Güden is the compliant soprano; Josef Krips conducts the Vienna Philharmonic.

Alas, Met audiences never heard Siepi in La Sonnambula. This early recording documents his affinity for Bellini’s bel canto phrases. Count Rodolfo recalls the beauty and serenity of the rural landscape he knew in his youth.

When Pinza left the Met he found tremendous success in the Rogers and Hammerstein musical South Pacific. Siepi tried Broadway twice (Bravo Giovanni in 1962 and Carmelina in 1979). Although he received excellent notices, the shows did not. He commands the appropriate style for the Great American Songbook in his ravishing rendition of Cole Porter’s “Night and Day.”

The Met’s All-Star La Bohème

 

 

La Bohème has racked up more performances at the Met than any other opera. Given nearly every season since 1900, it surpassed the previous champion, Aïda, long ago. Its current production, designed and staged by Franco Zeffirelli in 1981, is closing in on its six hundredth iteration. Zeffirelli’s aerial garret, two-level Parisian street scene, and snowy Act III win more applause than casts often headed by second tier singers. This post features highlights from the opera performed by Met stars of the past.

Claudia Muzio sang Mimì infrequently, and only at the beginning of her Met career. This recording of “Mi chiamano Mimì” was made in 1935, shortly before her premature death. Her attention to detail conjures up the presence of the man to whom she is describing herself. Like Bergonzi, she never exceeds the expressive dimensions set by Puccini.

The love duet that closes Act I, “O soave fanciulla,” catches Renata Tebaldi and Jussi Björling in peak form. The clip is from a 1956 telecast. Although Tebaldi and Björling co-starred at the Met but once (Tosca), they performed together live in concert and on several recordings. Rodolfo was the role of Björling’s Met debut in 1938; the second performance of Tebaldi’s first Met season (1954-1955) was as Mimì. Constrained by the TV camera, they win no acting awards, but, singing live, their gorgeous voices brilliantly portray the young lovers.

 

Rudolf Bing cast Ljuba Welitsch, his Salome and Aïda, in the secondary role of Musetta in order to discourage Patrice Munsel, his reigning soubrette, from taking on Mimì. He succeeded. Munsel wisely begged off, fearing the competition of the flamboyant Welitsch, although seven years later she ventured Mimì on the Met stage. Welitsch’s single Met Musetta (January 30, 1952) is remembered for her farcical overplaying—she rode Marcello piggy-back--and the beauty of her singing. Her 1949 recording of the famous waltz, conducted by none other than Josef Krips, is a lesson in how the aria should be delivered.

 Mimì was one of the roles Victoria de los Angeles sang most often at the Met. Her ineffably sweet timbre conveys, with utter simplicity, the sadness of Mimì’s Act III “addio” (a farewell albeit deferred) to Rodolfo. The clip is from the marvelous complete recording conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham.

 Rodolfo and Marcello lament their lost sweethearts at the start of Act IV. The duet of Beniamino Gigli and Giuseppe De Luca was a highlight of Bohème performances in the 1920s and 1930s. De Luca’s credentials include the creation of two Puccini roles, Sharpless in Madama Butterfly at La Scala in 1904 and the title role in Gianni Schicchi at the Met in 1918. Gigli sang Rodolfo often at the Met; his late-1930s complete recording of La Bohème was a best-seller.

P.S. Enrico Caruso and Nellie Melba were early exponents of La Bohème. In a tour performance in Los Angeles, Melba was the company’s first Mimì. Mary Garden commented that Melba’s high C at the end of the first act love duet was one of the most beautiful notes she had ever heard. Caruso still leads the list of Met tenors who have sung Rodolfo. This clip is from a recording made in 1907, less than a decade after the opera premiered in Turin.