Vitaliy Bilyy / Anmeldelser

There are many contenders for the title of “most implausible opera plot”, but Il trovatore has to be one of the best candidates. Azucena’s accidental murder of her own baby, Manrico’s coincidentally becoming his brother’s romantic rival, Leonora’s inability to tell the difference between her lover and the scheming Count – these are just a few of the opera’s absurdities. But Il trovatore remains a centerpiece of the repertoire in spite of these plot weaknesses, thanks to Verdi’s ravishing music. The Bayerische Staatsoper’s current production also owes its success to the music. It’s not that the staging is bad. On the contrary, director Oliver Py wisely recognizes the opera’s flaws and runs with them, making surprising decisions that are ultimately justified by the text. Leonora’s blindness startles at first, but it actually makes sense of her difficulty distinguishing between the Count and Manrico in Act I. Similarly, Manrico’s odd childishness and complicated relationship with Azucena (they kiss on the lips, but she also tries to tie him up, and he nearly strangles her in Act IV) is probably reflective of her own mixed feelings towards him, as both her foster-son and the son of her mother’s murderer. Pierre-Andre Weitz’s sets and costumes are stylish, with a steampunk feel. Azucena sports a top hat and petticoats, and Manrico initially wears a bizarre sparkly diamond-patterned waistcoat. Gears whirl at the sides of the stage, and a train engine makes an appearance for the famous anvil chorus. Priests in white robes with pointed hoods remind the audience of the opera’s Spanish setting (though American viewers will likely think of the KKK). Nudity is used, but sparingly – mostly as an indication of Azucena’s mother’s vulnerability. The doomed mother appears on-stage both to re-enact her death as it is recounted and to join Azucena and Manrico as they await their own deaths. Her presence is an effective way to be sure the audience understands and remembers the important backstory that drives the plot, but it’s also unnecessary: every member of this cast sings and acts expressively enough to tell the story clearly. Anja Harteros led the cast as Leonora, and she was more wonderful than I can possibly say. She tackled the challenge of playing a blind Leonora believably without letting blindness become Leonora’s driving character trait (that would be determination). And her voice! Effortless legato, occasional fireworks, expressive phrasing – Harteros has them all. On top of that, her beauty and grace lent extra credibility to her portrayal of a young, universally beloved heroine. Luckily for us, she was well-matched by Yonghoon Lee’s Manrico. His resonant, slightly nasal tenor took a little getting used to, but he definitely knows how to use it. His sound was always smooth, and he made his top notes seem easy (even in “Di quella pira”). Lee’s skilled – if occasionally overdrawn – acting also made Manrico unusually complicated, torn between brash courage and paralyzing uncertainty. As Azucena, Anna Smirnova showed off an intense, dark mezzo. She carried a lot of vocal weight even into higher passages, which added to the richness of her sound. “Stride la vampa” was especially beautiful, and also allowed her to display her understated but effective acting style. The object of her revenge, the Conte di Luna, was sung strongly by Vitaliy Bilyy. His Conte had a delightful spark of scheming villainy without venturing into panto territory. In a less stellar cast, he’d probably have been the highlight of the opera, but here, he didn’t stand out. Maestro Paolo Carignani set tempi that fitted the story and kept the orchestra precisely in time. The Staatsorchester produced a fabulous, full sound without ever overwhelming the singers. The strings in Act II were a particular highlight. Nothing will make the plot of Il trovatore less ridiculous. But a director who embraces that ridiculousness, plus stellar playing and singing, make for a great show.

In a small corner of every serious opera-goer's heart sits the secret hope that one day, he will walk into a performance with a singer he's never heard of and come out blown away, feeling that he's just seen the next Kaufmann or Harteros. Singing the part of Rodolfo in Verdi's Luisa Miller, that's just what tenor Luciano Ganci did for me with the radiance and generosity of his voice. The occasion was the closing event of the Budapest Spring Festival, with the opera performed in concert in the pin-sharp acoustics of the Béla Bartók National Concert Hall by the Teatro di San Carlo, the opera company for whom Verdi wrote Luisa Miller in Naples in 1849. It's a work that's considered to be the transition point between Verdi's early style and that of his middle period (Rigoletto, La traviata etc): the Bellinian set pieces are very much in evidence, but the writing becomes more fluid as the opera progresses, and Verdi's trademark flair for dramatic climaxes pervades the work. The story, a considerable simplification of a Schiller play, shows Verdi's anti-authoritarianism beginning to burgeon: here is a tale in which love tries to conquer all but is crushed under the boot of authority. Seeing a somewhat rarely performed opera played in concert is always going to be something of a specialist interest, and the fact that the surtitles were only in Hungarian made it essential to do one's research in advance. But given those two constraints, this was about as a wonderful an evening's opera as I've ever attended, with virtually every aspect of the performance excellent and the two main roles utterly outstanding. Daniele Rustioni is a flamboyant presence on the podium, performing a one man choreography of the whole work, and his orchestra didn't put a foot wrong all evening. They played with energy, with plenty of flair for Verdi's phrasing and, above all, with balance. The San Carlo Chorus in full flight is an impressive thing, and the orchestra matched it for volume in the highs while bringing the level down to just the right level for the soloists. In the big ensemble pieces, there was a glorious blend of solo voices soaring above chorus underlaid by orchestra, each element clearly audible. And there was plenty of individual instrumental virtuosity, most notably from the trombone section (which included, to my delight, a real cimbasso). Luisa Miller has some great roles for the low voices. Father-daughter relationships were one of Verdi's specialities, and in his opening aria as Luisa's father "Ah! Fu giusto il mio sospetto", Vitaly Bilyy gave us a demonstration of what Verdi baritone singing is all about: smooth, ardent, lyrical and lilting. The villain in the piece is the not too subtly named Wurm: Marco Spotti played the snarling, cynical plotter to perfection. These two stood out in a strong supporting cast, together with Nino Surguladze, who showed lovely timbre in her role as Federica, the Other Woman. The splendid orchestral performance and the strong all round cast did a fine job of displaying what a great and underperformed work Luisa Miller is. But what blew us away were the two lead voices. The title role is highly demanding, especially in the exhausting duet of Act III, and Elena Moşuc gave it everything, showing truly exceptional vocal control: however quick the staccato coloratura, however dizzying the height of a run, however loud she had to sing to soar above the ensemble, Moşuc was up to it, all the time retaining sweetness of tone and focus on her demeanor as the innocent victim Luisa. On its own, Moşuc's performance would have made this a memorable evening. But it was trumped by the extraordinary singing of Luciano Ganci. Here is a tenor whose phrasing flows in a wonderful arc and who is so confident across the whole range that he spares nothing in making the transition to his high notes. The smoothness, warmth and abandoned phrasing put me in mind of listening to a young Pavarotti. His aria "Quando le sere al placido", Rodolfo's lament when he has been duped into thinking that Luisa has betrayed him, is one of Verdi's great tenor showpieces, and I will remember the desperate sadness of the "Mi tradia" which closes each verse for a very long time. Memo to Kasper Holten at the Royal Opera: please, please engage this man for a few long runs while you can still afford him. You don't have long.

Director Francesca Zambello received the San Francisco Opera’s prestigious medal last night, but the star of the evening was Michael Fabiano. The tenor’s energy brought life and excitement to a static production. Luisa Miller is a tough sell – less musically and dramatically exciting than Verdi’s more popular works, with a plot that strips the nuance out of the Schiller play it’s based on. But Zambello’s production does nothing to increase the opera’s interest. While beautiful historical costumes abound, the chorus tends to stand still or process slowly in lines, and the set of moving panels and a giant horse often dwarfs the singers. The exposition-filled first half plodded along as we learned of the love of the noble Rodolfo and the peasant Luisa, and the jealousy of the scheming Wurm. Even the climactic scene when Rodolfo’s father Count Walter bursts into the Miller household to insult Luisa and arrest her father failed to captivate. Ekaterina Semenchuk stood out during the act as the flighty Duchess Frederica (in love with Rodolfo), thanks to her rich, smooth contralto and alluring mix of tenderness and haughtiness. The production picked up speed for the final two acts. Andrea Silvestrelli’s honeyed bass gained an especially menacing edge as he (Wurm) blackmailed Luisa into writing him a love letter. Count Walter and Wurm scheme to get the letter to the hands of Rodolfo, who reacts with the breathtaking aria “Quando le sere al placido.” Fabiano’s warmth and power of tone were complemented by the air of genuine despair he exuded. Never has an operatic murder-suicide seemed more plausible. The emotionally cold show suddenly became profoundly affecting. The conclusion is foregone but heart-breaking: Rodolfo poisons both himself and Luisa, learning of her innocence after he has already killed her. The two lovers’ parents and Wurm arrive as they lie dying. In his final moments, Rodolfo shoots Wurm and tells his father, “Let my death be your punishment!” Luisa’s father Miller looks on in mute despair. As Miller, Vitaliy Bilyy sang with uncommon steel in his baritone voice and painted a touching portrait of paternal affection. Daniel Sumegi’s Count Walter had a drier and wobblier tone, though he croaked out some truly impressive low notes and acted suitably conflicted about the crimes he had committed for the sake of his unappreciative son. Jacqueline Piccolino showed off a sweet, full instrument in the bit part of Luisa’s peasant friend Laura. In the title role, Leah Crocetto filled the house with sound while retaining the lightness of tone suitable to her character’s youth and innocence. Her acting was no match for Fabiano’s, but their voices blended beautifully, especially in the final act. Conductor Nicola Luisotti kept the orchestra balanced and together with the singers. His tempo choices initially felt slow, but that may have been more a fault of the dull staging. The San Francisco Opera Orchestra played well, with the violins and woodwinds sounded particularly excellent in the overture. A special commendation is due to the clarinet soloist (Jose Gonzalez Granero) for precise, soulful playing. The San Francisco Opera Chorus also produced a consistently strong and well-blended sound. Luisa Miller seemed like a boldly unusual choice for San Francisco Opera’s opening night, but the static period production felt both safe and dull, but the great cast and playing made for a very enjoyable evening.

David McVicar's six-year old production of Il trovatore has returned to the Metropolitan Opera House with a starry cast. It does its job well without adding any insights, but it is a model of clarity and mood compared with the Met’s previous staging. Updating the opera to the Spanish War of Independence does no harm and keeps the divisive bitterness at the forefront while the love-triangle issue remains the same. And Azucena is Azucena. Charles Edwards’ gloomy sets and Brigitte Reiffenstuel’s costumes bring to mind some of Goya’s darkest paintings – there’s no joy to be found in this joyless opera, and it’s very effective. The set rotates to give us a mud-grey castle wall with a staircase that, in itself, looks dangerous, a Gypsy outpost with huge, buff men swinging huge hammers, a dim cloister and finally, a dimmer dungeon. Everyone moves well despite the opera being an ideal example of “park and bark.” Happily, there is no barking going on. Remarkably, without an Italian in the cast, Verdi’s exact “tinta” and mid-career blood-and-thunder are beautifully expressed. At its center is the stunning Anna Netrebko as Leonora, now happily out of the lyric-coloratura roles in which her personality, rather than technique, shone. She no longer relies more on her glamour than on following and reproducing the score as it is written. Yes the trills don’t always work, but when they do they’re beauties, and her overall performance is committed and thrilling. The voice itself remains lush and beautiful. She acts up a storm – yearning, being frightened, peacefully entering a convent, almost taking marriage vows. And the big arias in the last act (she sings the cabaletta, “Tu vedrai,”), as well as the “Miserere” and the duet with the Count all come across with such star power and allure and with long, high, floated phrases that she takes one’s breath away. It is a great joy to watch a soprano living up to her capabilities, let alone her hype. A brilliant portrayal. Korean tenor Yonghoon Lee is Leonora’s handsome troubadour, Manrico. The voice has become something glorious – a dark hue in the middle with shining, secure high notes, including a pair of whopping high Cs in “Di quella pira.” His phrasing and attention to dynamics are unique in this opera – not since the young Pavarotti has the role been so well sung. Of course, Dolora Zajick’s Azucena still makes one tremble – who else dares to push chest voice up to an A flat? To make up for a falling off of some volume in mid voice (she is in her 60s), her sustained pianissimo singing is lovely. Her Azucena is wild, huge, schizoid and riveting; this was the 50th time Zajick has sung the role at the Met. Dmitri Hvorostovsky bowed out of the role of the Count after three performances for health reasons, and the little-known, young, Ukranian baritone Vitaliy Bilyy has taken his place. His only previous Met assignments have been in Russian opera, but he may be a true Verdi baritone. Without either the charisma or hair of his predecessor, his attractive, well-placed baritone handled the role and its long, legato lines handsomely. If he seemed a bit nervous and out of synch with the orchestra at the start of “Il balen,” he made up for it with the rest of the evening’s work. Štefan Kocán’s dark bass voice added a nasty touch to Ferrando’s storytelling and Maria Zifchak’s sympathetic Inez works well. Kudos to Marco Armiliato for holding the whole evening together and certainly helping to keep the Italian tradition at the forefront. He is considerate of the singers but fearless in rousing big playing from the stupendous Met orchestra and chorus.