Showing posts with label Bryan Hymel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bryan Hymel. Show all posts

Saturday, November 02, 2013

Sizzling Vespers at ROH


A last-minute invitation to the Royal Opera House's Great Big Verdi Bicentenary Production yesterday was more than welcome. Yet it conspired with blocked local train lines and slow rush-hour tubes to ensure that I arrived a hair's breadth before curtain up for an opera I didn't know, without having had time to read the story.

What a marvellous way to listen. You wouldn't look up the plot before attending a film, would you? If someone gave you a programme containing a synopsis, indeed, you might be cross. You'd call it a 'spoiler'. OK, some operas are so convoluted that we might need a little help. After our 20th Marriage of Figaro, we might have unravelled the plot enough to have some idea of what's going on. But in the era of surtitles, and of certain directors who actually know how to tell a good story when they get the chance, do we still need advance briefing? The only giveaway, in this state of blissful ignorance at a grand-scale, nearly-four-hour romantic roller-roaster, was knowing that the finish time would be 9.50pm. If hero and heroine start singing happy wedding songs at 9.20pm, you can bet your bottom dollar it's all going to go horribly wrong.

Robert McKee, Hollywood screenwriting story guru par excellence, might be impressed with certain part of this plot. Who could imagine a greater conflict for our young hero, Henri? He is a rebel; he discovers his father is the local dictator; and he has to choose between his newly discovered instinctive feel for his dad, aka Guy de Montfort, and the rebel duchess whom he loves, Helene. Montfort wants to kill Helene, having already killed her brother, but after Henri cracks and obediently calls him "mon pere", he changes his mind and insists that she and Henri marry. Yet the leader of the rebels, Procida - vengeful after the psychologically muddled Henri has betrayed him - declares that their wedding bells will be the signal to unleash a massacre. All of this takes place against background conflict of occupation, wanton cruelty and simmering revolt.

Stefan Herheim's production contains a few absolute masterstrokes. In the prologue, a ballet class is in progress. Soldiers burst in, taunt the girls, abduct them. Montfort chooses one and commits violent rape. The act is witnessed by the ballet master, powerless to help his dancer. He is Procida and becomes the rebel leader after years in exile - and you know exactly where he found his motivation. The rape victim demonstrates to her attacker what is about to happen: evoked in ballet, we see the pregnancy, the baby, the mother and child. The little boy will become Henri. Ballet is a vital part of the storytelling throughout, representing Henri's mother and her appalling history as a vital presence while the action progresses. The details are superb: for instance it's clear that the ballet girls in the crowd recognise, love and respect Procida for his original incarnation in their own world. And we see, on Procida's return to his studio, exactly how the rape of his dancer has become equated in his mind with the rape of his country.

The designs by Philipp Fürhofer are big, bold, convincing. Michael Volle as Montfort virtually stole the show; Bryan Hymel - the current high-register, French-conversant tenor du jour - was often beautiful in tone, but a little underpowered and, as actor, slightly wooden within a drama where so much was detailed and realistic. Lianna Haroutounian (replacing Marina "Popsy" Poplavskaya), matched him well; again, a voice that is basically gorgeous and has much character and distinction, yet perhaps not quite large enough in such a vast-scale opera. Erwin Schrott as Procida seethed, fumed and loomed - though personally I wouldn't have chosen to bring him on in a dress at that particular moment in the last act (and another touch that proved uncomfortable was Helene's cradling - and others' footballing - of her brother's severed head). Throughout, Pappano's conducting existed in technicolour, full of razor-blade edginess and Mediterranean warmth.

As for Verdi in French - it sounds even weirder, if that's possible, than Verdi in English. But it is authentic, so... what was needed was better diction from most of the cast other than Hymel. And despite all the ballet - no actual ballet. There's around half an hour of designated ballet music in this opera and there was to have been a major collaboration on this between Royal Opera, Royal Ballet and Royal Danish Ballet. But thanks to some operatic goings-on behind the scenes some months ago, the whole thing went ballet-up. It's fine dramatically as it is, of course - probably better - but still a pity to lose that.

There are reasons, one suspects, why the opera is not presented more often: it is vintage Verdi in many ways, but the music is more generic and less distinguished than such works as Otello, Rigoletto or Falstaff, while tenors who can pull off the role of Henri are few and far between. Hymel is a godsend, in that respect. This production, despite a few inevitable flaws, seems set to become a classic that will be remembered for many years to come.





Monday, December 03, 2012

A Diable of a tenor: meet Bryan Hymel

You have to hear Bryan Hymel, the American French-style "heroic tenor" who's about to sing the title role of Robert le Diable at the Royal Opera House. He has already become the darling of Covent Garden, stepping in to replace an indisposed Jonas Kaufmann for Les Troyens earlier this year and earning out-and-out raves. I've had a good chat with him about Robert - especially about the particular quality of voice that is required for it, and that he has, and that is a rare marvel today: in a way, the white tiger of the tenor jungle. Just listen to this, from Rossini's Guillaume Tell.




JD: So, Bryan, how’s it going? 
BH: Really well! Each act has its own feeling and mood - it’s good to get into each one. I’ve done the opera before, but only in concert. With this production it’s exciting to see the possibilities, and the stylised way that Laurent [Pelly] envisions the piece is great. It’s a lot of fun.

JD: What are the special challenges that you face in this role? 

BH: First, it’s really high. The range and the majority of the notes lie in a very high part of the voice. This range and the length of the opera are the biggest challenges: my approach is to take it in little chunks, digest them and make sure I’m singing as efficiently as possible. Fortunately I had the chance to do it in concert, just concentrating on the singing and the music, so I was ahead of the game, knowing what to expect of that. What’s going to make it exciting for the audience is also what’s exciting and challenging for us, because all the four main characters’ roles are written that way. They use the whole range, well over two octaves - and the soprano has almost two and a half octaves. You don’t hear that very often, even in things like Lucia. It's extremely virtuosic singing, but the interaction between the characters, especially Robert and Isabelle, is also very dramatic. He thinks she’s left him for another knight and he’s the scorned lover; and in Act 4 he has to fight away the crazy nuns in the ballet. I think the spectacle and the drama will be very exciting in the house. 

JD: Do you think the melodramatic quality and the virtuosity is what made it such an incredible success in its time? 
BH: I do, and I think you have to have the singers and actors that can pull it off. And there are some wonderful moments – that’s an integral factor for any piece to stand the test of time. Maybe it’s 30 seconds or one aria that the audience is waiting for - and there's at least one such bit in every act. There are some really beautiful stand-alone pieces. I hope it will be a reawakening of this repertoire. But it’s hard, especially when times are tough and there’s not a lot of money; a lot of forces are involved in this opera, a big orchestra, the chorus and the ballet. 

JD: How would you account for its neglect?
BH: I think it’s really hard to cast! It’s difficult to get four singers together at the same time who can sing these parts. They contacted me about this over three years ago - it was planned that far in advance. At the time everyone was the same [as the concert performance] except Diana Damrau who’s just had a baby – she’s the only one not here from the original team. It’s not standard repertoire and none of us knew the roles before that. The last time it was done on stage was in Paris in the late 1990s. You need the time to learn the role and get it into your body because it’s not just about singing the notes. You have to be able to do it in an artistic way while still giving the illusion it’s easy. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to sing, by a good bit! 

[UPDATE, 3 December 12 noon: the ROH has just announced that the role of Isabelle will not now be sung by Jennifer Rowley, but instead by Patricia Ciofi and Sofia Fomina.]

JD: Wagner was hugely influenced by Meyerbeer...
BH: I’ve never sung any Wagner – it's a different voice type – but I can certainly see how Meyerbeer’s writing would have influenced Wagner's, especially in the ballet. The music uses very progressive tonalities for the time and it’s great writing. It’s what probably gave Wagner the idea to make the orchestra an equal part of the opera, as opposed to just accompanying the singers - I think Meyerbeer’s already started to do that here. The ballet is almost the most famous thing in the opera, not just because it’s great, but also because it’s shocking to the audience – and not just because it’s nuns behaving badly. I don't think the audience was used to hearing music that was so much part of telling the story. It’s doing much more than setting the mood. There are lots of little solos between instruments that I haven’t heard in operas written before that time. I can see how Meyerbeer influenced Wagner in that way.

JD: Some people suggest that Meyerbeer is too "kitsch" to be convincing today...
BH: If you want to be that way about it, you can – because there are some silly moments. But if you're a Wagner person I think it’s hard to look down your nose too much at anyone else, because the way the drama moves - slow and laboured - that’s part of the style you see in Wagner. And in general, you have to suspend disbelief in opera to enjoy it. I mean, look at L'Elisir! If you buy into Wagner being six hour long, then when you walk into the theatre you approach it from a different place - and I think if an audience doesn’t do that, then they’re not going to enjoy it. 

Laurent Pelly has shrewedly set the audience up for this. Act 1 is set in a tavern, everyone’s drinking and I think that’s an easy way to open the piece. In Act 2 we have the jousting and the tournament: the horses are red, yellow, green and blue, and the chorus singers supporting each horse are painted the same colour, even their arms and faces. I think he has a way of easing the audience into the opera and saying 'This is not what you might expect, but let us lead you there'... so by the end, people will really appreciate it. We’ve made some cuts that I think help to move things along. The French, for grand opera, wanted a long evening in the theatre – they went along for that! It might be a little far for modern audiences to go there right away, but I think we’re going to give it a good shot.

JD: Yout high tenor role is something particularly characteristic of French opera? 
BH: Yes. I would say that Berlioz, Meyerbeer, Auber, etc, were writing for a specific kind of tenor voice – it’s a very different style from the Italian and it involves another approach to the high notes. Italians often throw in a high note out of the blue and I think it was written in that way so that if a tenor had that note he could put it in, and if he didn’t - and probably most of them didn’t! - you could just go on without it and unless people knew the music well, it wouldn’t strike them as funny. Here, though, there’s no way not to do the high notes and that’s what makes it really tricky. Being a tenor who sings this repertoire, I know that if I’m not feeling 95 per cent, the note’s just not going to come out! Rossini wrote Guillaume Tell in a similar fashion. The term at the time was 'heroic tenor', because though it was high it’s still very visceral. 

Meyerbeer and these guys were writing for a specific kind of singer; those tenors were just starting to sing the high notes in their full chest voice right before this was written. Some of them still would go into the voix mixte. That wouldn’t work today: the theatres are too big and the orchestras are too loud for those sounds to be heard. 

When they first sent [the score] to me I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. Three years down the line you think hopefully your vocal progress will have continued to grow, but even though I could sing it at the time, I wasn’t comfortable enough about saying 'OK let’s do the title role in this opera at Covent Garden'. It’s been three years that this has been looming over my head! Now that I’m here, thank goodness I feel in the best shape I can be in. Coming from Les Troyens I feel I have the confidence and a kind of support and relationship with the audience here in London. I think we’re going to present something they’ll look forward to. I feel strongly about the piece, I’m excited aboutit and through the rehearsals I've felt I’m in a good place. 

JD: Well, if you guys can't pull this off, then nobody can.
BH: I think that’s probably true! 

[Production photos: Bill Cooper/ROH] 


Saturday, December 01, 2012

Whatever happened to ROBERT LE DIABLE? #1

Dear JDCMB fans, you know the scene in Korngold's Die tote Stadt when Marietta rehearses her balletic role and someone whistles a Resurrection Motif and she mimes rising from the tomb and Paul cuts in and says "You, a resurrected woman? Never!" Perhaps he didn't know what was actually going on. It's Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable and she is practising its most famous episode: a ballet in which ghostly nuns rise from the grave - and have an orgy. 

The Royal Opera House is staging Meyerbeer's vast and influential opera for the first time in 122 years on Thursday next. I've been delving into its background and am happy to bring you our own little JDCMB series on it. 

First, here is my article for today's Independent: The man who made Wagner mad. Below, please find the director's cut, which involves more detail and more quotes from the fantastic Professor John Deathridge. And before that, a video from the ROH in which the director Laurent Pelly discusses the opera.





Was Giacomo Meyerbeer the man who turned Richard Wagner anti-Semitic? Thereby hangs a tale almost as convoluted as Meyerbeer’s opera Robert le Diable, which is about to be staged at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, for the first time since 1890. Once, this opera was ubiquitous. Chopin and Liszt produced works based on its melodies; it was painted by Degas, quoted by Korngold, lampooned by Gilbert and Sullivan; the list of cultural references could go on. Yet Meyerbeer’s reputation has been so tangled up with Wagner’s slurs against him that perhaps it has simply never recovered.

Robert le Diable secured Meyerbeer’s dominance in the operatic world of Paris. It was 1831 and the German-Jewish composer was 40 years old and in his prime. He was born Jacob Meyer Beer into a wealthy banking family in Berlin in 1791; in childhood he was a brilliant pianist, making his concert debut aged 11. He cut his compositional teeth on light opera, singspiel; next, he spent nine years studying and composing in Italy. Having achieved considerable repute, in 1825 he set out to conquer Paris and – as Berlioz put it – he had not only “the luck to be talented, but also the talent to be lucky”. And he thought big. The French taste for grand opera fêted the lengthy, the melodramatic, the showy, the hummable, the fantastical. Meyerbeer gave them everything they wanted.

Around five hours long, traversing a story that involves jousting knights and pacts with the devil, Robert le Diable provided spectacle, high notes, show-stopping arias and a ballet of ghostly nuns indulging in an orgy. “If ever magnificence was seen in the theatre, I doubt that it reached the level of splendour shown in Robert...It is a masterpiece...Meyerbeer has made himself immortal,” wrote Chopin after attending the world premiere.

In 1839, Meyerbeer got to know a young German composer who approached him to solicit his help: one Richard Wagner. And at first Wagner scraped and crawled to Meyerbeer in terms that would not have disgraced Dickens’s Uriah Heep: 

“But my head and my heart are no longer mine to give away - they are your property, my master; - the most that is left to me is my two hands - do you wish to make use of them? - I realise that I must become your slave, body and soul, in order to find food and strength for my work, which will one day tell me of my gratitude...”

Professor John Deathridge of Kings College, London, author of Wagner Beyond Good and Evil (California Press, 2008), confirms that Wagner not only sought Meyerbeer’s support, but modelled himself – and some of his works – upon the older composer and his operas. While working at the opera house in Riga, Wagner even conducted Robert le Diable and arranged one of its arias for string ensemble. And he received the assistance he sought: Meyerbeer, a generous spirit with his feet firmly on the ground, intervened to prompt stagings of Wagner’s early operas Rienzi and Der fliegender Höllander (The Flying Dutchman). 

“Wagner was hugely influenced by Meyerbeer,” says Deathridge. “Act II of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg would never have existed without the model of Act III Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots. Meistersinger is a grand opera with all the historical scenes characteristic of that tradition – delivered as if Wagner is trying to outdo Meyerbeer.”

Wagner’s volte face against Meyerbeer looks almost predictable: perhaps an inevitable revolt against someone who has committed the cardinal sin of being too successful, too popular and too wealthy. Besides, Meyerbeer had intervened to have Wagner’s Rienzi staged in Berlin, he was an easy target for Wagner to blame when the opera was a failure. And the fiasco of Tannhäuser’s premiere in Paris –when furious Jockey Club members protested about the ballet being placed right at the beginning – left Wagner with a grudge against the French capital and all it stood for: commercial grand opera with formulaic structure, epitomised, of course, by Meyerbeer. 

His tracts against Meyerbeer are poisonous indeed. “As a Jew, [Meyerbeer] owned no mother-tongue, no speech inextricably entwined among the sinews of his inmost being...” is a typical example. By the time he penned his notorious anti-Semitic tract Das Judenthum in der Musik (first published anonymously in 1850), his antipathy towards Meyerbeer was embedded in its accusations that Jews were only interested in art for the sake of commerce. Later, says Deathridge, Wagner censored his own writings to wipe out any sign that he had ever admired Meyerbeer or owed anything to him artistically.

“Meyerbeer became the bête noir to Wagner – but also to other German composers, including Schumann – as a symbol of what’s wrong with culture, of the capitalist way and the commodification of art,” Deathridge explains. “There was general feeling among them that French music was destroying true art because of its commercialisation, and that Meyerbeer was the principal villain.”

And on that point, Deathridge adds, he thinks Wagner was right. “The basic problem is that some of Meyerbeer’s music is impossibly kitsch. The orgy of nuns in Robert le Diable is virtually porno stuff, accompanied by four bassoons! Wagner was a first-rate critic, but his mistake was to blame what he saw as Meyerbeer’s racial characteristics, not the fact that he just wasn’t a very good composer.” [Degas's painting, right, shows the ballet scene complete with those four bassoons.]

Today Meyerbeer has been out of the picture for a long time. First, his music was overshadowed by both Wagner and Verdi; later it was banned by the Nazis. And the tenor Bryan Hymel, who sings the title role in Robert le Diable at Covent Garden, thinks that the extreme vocal demands of this opera have probably contributed to its neglect: “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to sing,” he declares. 

Has Wagner’s lingering influence banished a gem from our theatres? Or will Robert le Diable prove to be a white elephant? Now, at last, London audiences have a chance to make up their own minds.

Robert le Diable opens at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, on 6 December. Box office: 020 7304 4000