Apr. 3rd, 2011 01:31 pm
A glorious finale
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckLast night we closed out our season with the Lyric with possibly the best Rising Young Stars concert ever. It's hard to say for sure because our memories of the leading contender--the first with a full orchestra--are many years old and somewhat hazy. At least future comparisons will be made easier by the fact that this one was recorded for live broadcast on WFMT.
Certainly the programme was one of the most interesting they've ever done; the contrast with last year's parade of lamitude was intense. That one was all bel canto and milksop French arias that left us asking, "Where's the German?" This year, that question was answered with Strauss (three times!), Wagner, Mozart, and even Weber! (Please, Lyric, does this mean you actually might have some intention of staging Die Freischütz sometime before I die?) Moreover, the French was got was Bizet and Berlioz instead of Massenet, and the Verdi outnumbered the Bellini and Rosini (although not the Donizetti). Nuphy commented he'd've found it difficult to do better himself.
It was particularly impressive that they ended the first half of the concert with the finale of Strauss' Capriccio. Nuphy was expecting muted puzzlement from the audience, but if they didn't comprehend it, that didn't prevent them from applauding madly all the same. (Perhaps credit goes to Majeski's skilled turn as the Countess?) That half opened strongly with a challenging aria from Handel's Serse that had me on the edge of my seat wondering if the young singer could make it through the runs without crashing. She did indeed--and again the audience loved her for it. A little later, Barbera's performance of the Act 3 cavatina from Lucia brought forth bellows of "Bravo!" from the crowd.
We were welcomed back from the intermission with a mediocre trio from Don Giovanni (I blame Boyer, who fortunately had no more solos after that), but things improved immediately with the Presentation of the Rose from Rosenkavalier, kicking off a German set that embraced "O du mein holder Abendstern" from Tannhäuser and "Schweig, schweig!" from Freischütz. A few pleasant French and Italian numbers later, Jakob as Sophie and Lerner as the page reprised their roles for the Act Three trio with Majeski as the Marschallin, and then everyone came on stage for a rendition of the finale of Falstaff that even Davis' complete ineptitude as an interpreter of Verdi couldn't ruin.
I wouldn've enjoyed it all more if I'd been a bit less profligate in my fluid intake at dinner at Ruby of Siam and hadn't spent the entire selection from Capriccio with my legs pressed together anticipating the first seemly moment to dash out. By contrast, the second part flew by, with the only real fly in the ointment being an old biddy who had moved down to the second row and was incapable of sitting still. Her frequent bouts of leaning forward particularly annoyed me, since I know from experience that blocks the view of everyone behind; had she been in front of me, I would've strangled her. As it was, I just bitched to the oblivious Nuphy afterwards, which prompted a young woman within earshot to volunteer, "I wondered if she had Parkinson's". Perhaps there were medical factors, but I don't recall, for example, a compulsion to check one's programme every five minutes being part of any symptomology, so I'm still putting it down mostly to simple bad behaviour.
Despite that, I left pumped and had the good luck to just catch an express bus northward, which only thrilled me more. At Bear Night, I burbled about the concert to all and sundry. Such a shame the funny little prof who often rides back with me after a performance wasn't there for me to scandalise with my observations. (A sweetheart and I'm sure very knowledgeable, but his taste could simply not be more conventional if you programmed it with a computer.)
Certainly the programme was one of the most interesting they've ever done; the contrast with last year's parade of lamitude was intense. That one was all bel canto and milksop French arias that left us asking, "Where's the German?" This year, that question was answered with Strauss (three times!), Wagner, Mozart, and even Weber! (Please, Lyric, does this mean you actually might have some intention of staging Die Freischütz sometime before I die?) Moreover, the French was got was Bizet and Berlioz instead of Massenet, and the Verdi outnumbered the Bellini and Rosini (although not the Donizetti). Nuphy commented he'd've found it difficult to do better himself.
It was particularly impressive that they ended the first half of the concert with the finale of Strauss' Capriccio. Nuphy was expecting muted puzzlement from the audience, but if they didn't comprehend it, that didn't prevent them from applauding madly all the same. (Perhaps credit goes to Majeski's skilled turn as the Countess?) That half opened strongly with a challenging aria from Handel's Serse that had me on the edge of my seat wondering if the young singer could make it through the runs without crashing. She did indeed--and again the audience loved her for it. A little later, Barbera's performance of the Act 3 cavatina from Lucia brought forth bellows of "Bravo!" from the crowd.
We were welcomed back from the intermission with a mediocre trio from Don Giovanni (I blame Boyer, who fortunately had no more solos after that), but things improved immediately with the Presentation of the Rose from Rosenkavalier, kicking off a German set that embraced "O du mein holder Abendstern" from Tannhäuser and "Schweig, schweig!" from Freischütz. A few pleasant French and Italian numbers later, Jakob as Sophie and Lerner as the page reprised their roles for the Act Three trio with Majeski as the Marschallin, and then everyone came on stage for a rendition of the finale of Falstaff that even Davis' complete ineptitude as an interpreter of Verdi couldn't ruin.
I wouldn've enjoyed it all more if I'd been a bit less profligate in my fluid intake at dinner at Ruby of Siam and hadn't spent the entire selection from Capriccio with my legs pressed together anticipating the first seemly moment to dash out. By contrast, the second part flew by, with the only real fly in the ointment being an old biddy who had moved down to the second row and was incapable of sitting still. Her frequent bouts of leaning forward particularly annoyed me, since I know from experience that blocks the view of everyone behind; had she been in front of me, I would've strangled her. As it was, I just bitched to the oblivious Nuphy afterwards, which prompted a young woman within earshot to volunteer, "I wondered if she had Parkinson's". Perhaps there were medical factors, but I don't recall, for example, a compulsion to check one's programme every five minutes being part of any symptomology, so I'm still putting it down mostly to simple bad behaviour.
Despite that, I left pumped and had the good luck to just catch an express bus northward, which only thrilled me more. At Bear Night, I burbled about the concert to all and sundry. Such a shame the funny little prof who often rides back with me after a performance wasn't there for me to scandalise with my observations. (A sweetheart and I'm sure very knowledgeable, but his taste could simply not be more conventional if you programmed it with a computer.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Can't speak for the rest of the audience, but I was applauding madly because she finally stopped singing. Not my favorite part of the program. :p