“Le Tourbillon des Sentiments” – 24 June 2012, Baden-Baden Festspielhaus

– by Lankin –

The pieces from the programme “Le Tourbillon des Sentiments” may have been written in the 17th century; however, Marie-Nicole Lemieux & Philippe Jaroussky, supported by the ‘Ensemble Artaserse’, made them seem brand new. After all, love as a topic has never become out-dated.

“Amanti, io vi so dire” – “Lovers, I can tell you … “ could as well have been the title of the programme. In depth, we have been lectured that night on the topic of love by the utter experts, as we came to realize. From the first flame of lovesickness to Hekuba mourning her husband’s death, almost every flavour and shade of love was present. (No shades of grey though, as we are happy to report.)

A dream cast, a great orchestra, an ideal location, and a live-stream — there can never be too much of a good thing, or so they say, but the latest production of Julius Caesar of the Salzburger Pfingstfestspiele, got close to prove otherwise.

– by Lankin –

The evening was a succession of highlights; at times it was hard not to lose track of the whole. Bartoli, Scholl and Dumaux pulled off their parts with enormous skill, and tremendous routine; they had appeared countless times in their respective roles before this production. Anne Sofie von Otter and Philippe Jaroussky were outstanding; I am always impressed how much Jaroussky adapts to the vocal style of his partners, and in the case of von Otter, with a splendid result; this is especially important, as the duet is a vital part of both their roles, as it shows the emotional connection between the characters, their similarities and differences. Where Cornelia has only utter hopelessness to offer, Sesto adds the poignant edge of futile hope to it that only youth can have.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_profilepage&v=M4RSlu2nuDg

CORNELIA & SESTO
Son nata a lagrimar
Son nato a sospirar,
e il dolce mio conforto,
ah, sempre piangerò.
Se il fato ci tradì,
sereno e lieto dì
mai più sperar potrò.
Son nata…
*
I was born to weep
I was born to sigh,
And I shall mourn forever
My sweet consolation.
If fate has betrayed us,
I shall never again hope for
A serene or happy day.
I was born…

The cast

The cast was almost too great to be true. For easy reference, I will just add a listing here:

Giulio Cesare (Julius Caesar) – Andreas Scholl
Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt – Cecilia Bartoli
Tolomeo, her brother and husband (!), King of Egypt – Christophe Dumaux
Cornelia, widow of Pompey – Anne Sofie von Otter
Sesto, her stepson – Philippe Jaroussky
Achilla, Tolomeo’s General – Ruben Drole
Curio, a praetor, Caesar’s General – Peter Kálmán
Nireno, Cleopatra’s and Tolomeo’s servant – Jochen Kowalski

Il Giardino Armonico
Giovanni Antonini, Conductor

The main characters don’t really need an introduction, but I think I would mention the rest of the cast:

Ruben Drole in the role of Achilla was given a chance to introduce himself to the Salzburg audience by this production — his voice is almost too beautiful for an Achilla, who is mainly a brute. Jochen Kowalski’s achievements I won’t put in doubt: that night, however, he didn’t really render a good impression after all. I wished they would have left out his aria, because his acting skills were acceptable. The direct comparison with the other singers is bound to bring out the flaws rather than the strong points of his singing. However, I approve of him being cast there; it had the taste of a cameo appearance though — a glimpse of former lead roles of his, some good years past.

The opera

When the opera starts, Julius Caesar has just conquered Egypt. Cleopatra is supposed to be about 16 years old. Nevertheless, she is a queen, and she knows when her power is in danger. The Romans do not care much about Egyptian tradition, by which the succession via the female line is all that counts. Her brother (and husband!), Tolomeo, sees his chance: With Caesar as an ally, he might even keep some position, and power is what he craves. He thinks sending Caesar the head of a beheaded enemy, Pompey, will endear him. Caesar is not amused. Trouble ensues.

Pompey leaves behind his wife, Cornelia, and his son, Sesto. Tolomeo wants to degrade them, imprisoning Sesto and letting Cornelia work in the palace garden, and one doesn’t need to be particularly dirty minded to sense that he doesn’t have only flowers in mind.

Achilla, Tolomy’s vassal is fond of Cornelia, in a way. She also would be a good match, and thus, a good career move. He is wooing her in not exactly the most charming of ways, and Cornelia is not interested, even if it would maybe offer at least some protection from the assaults of Tolomeo’s.

Cornelia as an unmarried woman is threatened from all sides, she confirms Sesto in his plan for vengeance, and even Cleopatra approves, plotting against her own brother.

Jealousy, hate, a battle, and other hardships have to be overcome, until this initial mess evolves into a happy ending, at least on the surface.The plot isn’t only about power though; what no one could have foreseen is that Cleopatra falls in love with Caesar; and it is mutual.

The production

The production has been called “Jungle Camp in Egypt,” by a newspaper — “Das Dschungel-Camp” is a German reality TV show — but I refuse to be so quick in my judgement. For me, it had upsides and downsides. A quick round-up to start with:

Whenever someone states that something is exactly like something else, it is most probably wrong. At some point, all comparisons fail. The directors, Moshe Leiser, and Patrice Caurier are intelligent, so they know that. Yet, together with Christian Fenouillat, who was responsible for the stage design, they picked a cliché setting to start with, one that makes “Dynasty” seem complex in comparison.

Caesar’s conquest of Egypt is just like some war against a Muslim state? Let’s accept it, for a moment, as a working hypothesis, because this was one of the basic ideas of the Salzburg production. To detatch it a little, maybe, from actual events, it was set back, somewhere around the 70s or 80s, at some date where trousers with their waistbands pulled over the bellybutton seemed to be a great idea.

A comparison as daring as this is bound to break at some point — and the production played with this idea, as far as I gathered. By and by only tropes and quotes were taken out of history, just as Händel and the Librettists, Haym and Bussani did when they wrote Julius Caesar, so, it seems legitimate, after all. Of course, Tolomeo and Ceasar’s relation is somewhat historically verified, but the Parnassus scene at the latest breaks with any historic foundation. Also it is hard to picture the same Cleopatra singing “Caro!” and meaning it with Marc Anthony, and comitting suicide, after she has tested out various venoms of offended snakes on her slaves, calmly observing how they died.

Caesar in this production is a conqueror from the West, supposedly the EU, as a clue in the end is hinting. Actually, during the last 67 years, Europe was quite well-behaved, so this suggests the somehow decent approach that Caesar in the opera in fact shows. He despises people who only know cruelty. He prefers to ask first, he is just the type of guy.

Sesto is staged as an assassin with a background. He is equipped by his mother with a explosives belt even, but all references that could hint religion were left out. I liked it, because after all Religion in this context is never more than just used to gloss over personal motives of hate and disappointment.

The rest of the staging is set in the vague 80s, which means leopard print and high heels in abundance. (Agostino Cavalca as the costume designer is the expert here.)

No hope for humanity

There are two character triangles in the opera worth mentioning. One is Caesar and Cleopatra, with Tolomeo getting in their way, and one is Sesto and Cornelia, again, with Achilla and Curio at times, but again mainly Tolomeo in their way.

The intensity of von Otter’s and Jaroussky’s acting made Caesar and Cleopatra seem like a buffo couple at times. Even more, Caesar and Cleopatra having a good time in the sight of grief is not exactly a sign of empathy, so this enhanced the impression that this was a two-classed society.

The utter hilarity in the Parnassus scene — Cleopatra riding a torpedo while wearing a blonde wig — as well as other scenes made especially Caesar appear somewhat heartless. He only has one aria to show weakness and strength at the same time — his “Dall’ondoso periglio… ” (From the perils of the ocean.) Normally, this and the following “Aure, deh, per pietà,” (Zephyrs, come to mine aid) are some of the most moving moments of the opera. In this production, it didn’t suffice for me, however Scholl’s rendition was a valiant effort.

It wasn’t helped by half-dead soldiers crouching in pain at Caesar’s feet in that scene, and where a normal reflex would be to offer fist aid or last rites at least, he just stands there and sings, beautifully though. At the end he is hiding amidst the suddenly very dead soldiers, his face a grimace of disgust when he lies amidst the corpses of the men who died for him.

So, Caesar seems relatively heartless, and it rubs off on Cleopatra’s part; her sudden mood-swings seem staged as well. What in a teenager would just-so pass as charming seems vulgar and shallow; it doesn’t necessarily have the same effect when sung by a queen with a preference for black leather.

– by Lankin –

The Concert Hall

The Reitstadel in Neumarkt is famous for its acoustics and is frequently used for recording. It is a box-shaped room with a balcony at the back, with seating space for a total of around 500 people, but a good many were standing that night, so there were more.

The audience in Neumarkt is very disciplined and cultivated. Ansbach — where the famous Bachwoche takes place — is not far from there, and the concert at the Reitstadel that night had most of the same clientèle — a mixed audience in every respect, and they knew what to expect — even if, of course, not all of them had heard Jaroussky or Lezhneva perform live before.

No one clapped their hands or made a noise between the movements, no coughs, no ticking watches – heaven, basically.

The Musicians

Philippe Jaroussky doesn’t need any introduction here; maybe Julia Lezhneva does: She is very young indeed, and Wikipedia seems unsure how to classify her voice — maybe because it is truly one of a kind — round, warm, very flexible, and first of all, huge. She studied with Elena Obraztsova, and this influence is clearly apparent. If she would set her mind to it, she could surely sing Elsa or Senta. Her voice is beautiful throughout, perfectly blending through the registers, and of course, she is a great musician.

Considering her huge voice it was rather surprising for me that Jaroussky’s easily matched hers. This is especially notable, as the Stabat Mater is quite low for him.

The two voices blended and mixed perfectly almost the entire time. In my estimate, Jaroussky more tried to match her phrasing and tone of voice than vice versa though, so, I saw this mainly as his achievement. Of course, he is a very routined and great duet partner.

I Barocchisti under the baton of Diego Fasolis were great, even if everyone might have their favourites among the ensembles. Fasoli’s tempi weren’t so daring as Jérémie Rhorer’s were, and he is not someone who loves effect as much as Spinosi does. His conducting had some splendid moments though. Memorable for me were especially the Cuius animam gementem and the Pro peccatis suae gentis where he really managed to add an edge to the piercing sword and the lashes of the scourge, and what may have been even more notable is his wise choice of tempi, always putting the singers at ease. That might be less evident, but the greater achievement overall.

The Music

The programme started with one of Händel’s most famous Violin concertos, HWV 399 op. 5 Nr. 4. Especially the last movement, a Minuetto, is quite popular. It was a nice and secular start, abducting the audience from their everyday life, and making them truly arrive there — body, heart, soul and ears — thus serving as an overture. The concerto matched smoothly Händel’s Salve Regina (g-minor, HWV 241) that followed.

Lezhneva made quite an impression, despite her youth singing with admirable routine and expressiveness. As I said before, her voice is round and warm, darker than that of a typical lyric soprano. The only thing I found a pity is that while in the Salve Regina she could flaunt her coloratura skills, her lyric lines, and her wonderful pianissimi, the piece gave her little opportunity to use all of her voice — the Cuius animam gementem later on made me crave to hear her voice in something not Baroque. We will, though — I am confident she has a great career ahead of her.

After Lezhneva’s entrance, it finally was Philippe Jaroussky’s turn, with the Vivaldi Cantata Longe mala umbrae terrores.

It was a contrast in every way. Jaroussky’s voice so unlike Lezhneva’s, Vivaldi’s expressiveness so unlike Händel’s Salve Regina. Where the Salve Regina is moderate, the Longe male is almost violent in its description of the vale of tears that is life. I long to have this piece on CD, but then, I have a good memory for music — I will never forget his performance of that night.

Jaroussky and Fasolis, regarding each other with mutual respect.

Whereas the start of the programme comprised of not so popular works, the Stabat Mater is of course one of the most famous compositions by Pergolesi, and one of the church pieces performed most often even, I would guess.

Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater

Be it Pergolesi, or Mozart; their early death somehow makes their works even more precious. Mozart’s last work was the Requiem, of course, which stayed unfinished — he stopped composing right in the middle of the ascending line “solvet saeclum in favilla.” Pergolesi’s last work was the Stabat Mater; he did finish it. The end of the Stabat Mater, the Quando corpus morietur, followed by the obligatory Amen were the last things on his mind as a musician. He didn’t just write it out of a sense of duty, fulfilling a contract — it is personal. He was dying when he wrote it — slowly, and probably painfully, as dying of tuberculosis isn’t a quick and clean death.

“When my body will die, make that my soul is given the glory of paradise,” the text ot the Quando corpus morietur states. There is no true hope of salvation, though, but instead an endless strife, disheartened by many attempts set into music by the deceptive cadences.

When I listen to the very last bars of the Quando Corpus, I notice a similarity to Mozart’s Lacrymosa. Both have a similar motif in the strings, a rest on the first beat of the bar, with the plaintive motif afterwards. I wonder if Mozart thought of Pergolesi’s piece, or if he by chance picked a very similar phrasing. Both stay in minor, and both pieces have a more than humble approach; it doesn’t need much imagination to picture soldiers returning from battles, defeated, or delinquents heading for their execution.

There is no host of angels like in Bach’s final chorus of the St. John’s passion, lifting the dying — and thus, the listener — up with them, soaring and triumphant — there is only little comfort, but much pain, no true final salvation. The little motif of the violins might be heard as plaintive like a sob, or like a soft and futile caress, like a mother would caress her child that is dying in her arms nonetheless. Both pieces — Mozart’s and Pergolesi’s — are almost painful in their intensity.

So this is the Quando Corpus Morietur for me. That night, though, there was more to it. To explain, I would have to mention an interview that Mr. Jaroussky gave once.

Comment aimeriez-vous mourir ?
— Sans m’en rendre compte.
Si vous êtes croyant, qu’aimeriez-vous que Dieu vous dise en arrivant au ciel ?
— Je ne crois pas, du moins pas en Dieu.

I had to think of those words incessantly, during the whole concert. They moved me, since I first heard them. To imagine a world without Philippe Jaroussky in it hurts me more than to think of my own death, by far. That art and recordings live on is only a feeble comfort; it is not even remotely the same as a living, breathing person.

But maybe I am wrong; Pergolesi lives on as well — his anguish when he was dying, but also his wit and charm in La Serva Padrona.

The combination of Philippe Jaroussky and the most heartbreaking piece of Pergolesi’s was a hard combination to bear for me that night. I tried to listen more analytically, to look more at Ms. Lezhneva than at him, or close my eyes when he was singing to be able to handle my emotions in dignity.

There were standing ovations and cheers for Lezhneva, Jaroussky, and I Barocchisti with Mr. Fasolis.

As an encore they chose — the Quando corpus morietur! So, we all died twice that night.

We had the honour to meet Mr. PJ afterwards, and there would have been so much more I would have wanted to tell him than the chitter-chatter I molested him with.

But then, it would be of no avail, just like the Quando corpus moriertur. What is there to add? Mortality is a dire thing.

Just, don’t die — live forever!