Simon Rattle has been principal conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic
Orchestra since 2002, and this recording is their 10th
anniversary present to one another. It is also timed to coincide
with performances of the opera in Salzburg with Rattle and exactly
the same cast of singers. At the Easter festival the Berliners
joined them in the pit for their final hurrah before they controversially
relocate their Easter operatic business to Baden-Baden. For
performances of the Salzburg production this summer the Vienna
Philharmonic take over.
Carmen isn’t a piece you might initially link Rattle
with, but his much-praised work with Debussy and Ravel has shown
that he is comfortable with French music and, while this recording
might not bring many revelations, it is thrilling in many ways
and is well worth exploring. Rattle has assembled a good cast
of singers crowned by an outstanding principal pair. Magdalena
Kožená, Rattle’s wife in real life, doesn’t have a voice one
naturally associates with Carmen – her mezzo is lower than many
famous sopranos who have taken the role for a start, and she
sometimes sings at one remove from the character’s raw passion
– but she brings something compelling and exciting to her portrayal
of the amoral gypsy. She injects an unusual element of sexiness
into her traversal of the part, and she uses the natural depth
of her range – her middle and lower notes are extraordinary
– to point up the element of danger in the character, thereby
sounding sultry and alluring without ever sounding quite Mediterranean.
She showcases all of this in the Habañera: you might
struggle to visualise her dancing but the raw sexual power of
the character is undeniably there. There is a wonderful strain
of insolence, even mockery, to her voice as she defies Zuniga
after the riot in Act 1 and her ensuing Seguidilla
is more alluring and more beautiful than the preceding Habañera,
and rightly so as this is explicitly a song of seduction rather
than a summary of her character’s views on life. The gypsy dance
that opens Act 2 builds to a thrilling climax: again, it’s hard
to visualise Kožená dancing to her own song, but the authority
with which she sings makes it very easy to imagine her compelling
others to dance to her tune. The colour of the orchestra is
exceptional here too, each aspect of the gathering frenzy captured
to perfection. She is no one-trick pony, however, becoming something
of a visionary as she describes the smugglers’ retreat in the
mountains, and a unique haunted quality enters her voice once
she sees her own death during the Card Trio of Act 3, compellingly
dramatic, especially in contrast to the carefree nature of what
has gone before.
She is partnered by a thrilling Don José in Jonas Kaufmann.
His interpretation of the role at Covent Garden is already available
on DVD.
His Berlin version doesn’t differ dramatically but is still
treasurable for enshrining a great performance, reinforcing
his reputation as a great interpreter of this role. In many
ways his dark, sexy tenor evokes the Mediterranean colour that
Kožená avoids: his top notes, as in the Seguidilla
duet, resonate with real, hot-blooded passion with never a tinge
of affectation and he is never less than exhilarating to listen
to. There is beauty aplenty – just listen to his remarkable
Flower Song – but also a scarcely concealed element
of danger and, primarily, psychological instability which becomes
more pronounced as the opera progresses. He clearly means business
in the duel with Escamillo and the moment at the end of Act
3 when he sings of how fate has bound him to Carmen for ever
is electrifying, a man on the very edge of sanity. The final
duet is a very satisfying ending, built up like a slowly tightening
screw, but it is Kaufmann who dominates. A savagery, just short
of a snarl, enters his voice as he realises that he cannot have
her and his ultimatum, Pour le dernier fois, bubbles
with barely restrained passion. He then utterly changes the
colour of his voice for his final confession, Vous pouvez
m’arrêter, sounding totally deflated and having lost his
reason for living.
As Micaëla, Genia Kühmeier’s voice is perfectly contrasted with
Kožená’s. Hers is a bright, clear soprano which crests the top
notes with ease. The contrast is almost startling when hearing
her first duet with Don José straight after the Habañera. The
phrases where she invokes José’s mother are beautiful in their
purity, and the angelic nature of her Act 3 aria is a striking
contrast in the surrounding context of the smugglers’ lair.
Kostas Smoriginas doesn’t have quite the necessary macho power
to impress at his first entry: in fact, he is shown up badly
in contrast to a fantastically swaggering orchestral introduction
to the Toreador’s Song, after which he sounds effortful
and insecure, loud and blustery, and lacking in genuine character
portrayal. He grows into the part, the second verse more convincing
than the first, but it’s difficult to shake that first impression
and he isn’t compelling in the last two acts. Still, the rest
of the supporting cast are very capable, with a lovely quintet
of smugglers in Act 2 and some suitably rakish soldiers in Act
1.
Be in no doubt, however, that if there is a star in this recording
then it is the man on the podium. Rattle’s reading of the score
bristles with vitality and his vision brings the Berlin Philharmonic
to life in a way that few other orchestras could manage for
this opera, especially on disc. Hearing this orchestra in an
opera is akin to having a ride in a Rolls Royce, and from the
very first bars you know you are experiencing something special:
every semiquaver of the prelude is articulated with razor-sharp
precision, captured in spectacular EMI sound which brings the
strings forward but balances them naturally against the brass
and percussion. The acoustic of the Philharmonie is also captured
triumphantly, with lovely depth and perspective and just the
right amount of bloom to the sound without losing precision.
Rattle’s direction of the music is inspired. The first appearance
of the Toreador’s Song in the prelude flows with such
a persuasive swing that I can imagine Rattle conducting with
a smile and a wink, but the Fate theme then bursts onto the
scene in a way that is truly haggard, the cellos and winds shuddering
with the intensity of a torture scene. Throughout the action
Rattle conducts with a mixture of red-blooded excitement and
French élan. For a good example listen to the introduction to
the chorus of the cigarette girls as they come out for their
break in Act 1 (CD 1, track 5): in the orchestral build-up Rattle
whips up the orchestra into a veritable frenzy of anticipation,
before relaxing with almost a Gallic shrug as soon as the main
theme enters, swooning and flirting its way onwards. It’s a
lovely juxtaposition and it’s merely typical of many such touches
that Rattle finds throughout the work. Even some cases which
sound a little misjudged on first hearing tend to deliver the
goods in the end: the Aragonaise is a little heavy,
for example, but it carries tremendous power and acts as a great
curtain-raiser for the fourth act.
I loved listening to this recording, and I will do so again
and again, as much for Rattle and his orchestra as for the vocal
riches of his principals. It won’t replace classics such as
those from Abbado, Karajan (twice) or, more recently, Plasson,
but any lover of the opera should find a space for it on their
shelves. This is made easier by the fact that it’s available
at close to bargain price in slimline packaging, consisting
of a very handsome hardback booklet that contains an excellent
contextual essay from Stephen Jay-Taylor and lots of colour
photographs of the Salzburg production. No texts or translations
are provided, but these are all made available on line. Get
it while it’s hot!
Simon Thompson
Robert Farr has also listened to this recording
Bizet died at the early age of thirty-six, shortly after the
premiere of Carmen at the Paris Opéra-Comique Theatre.
The work was at first coolly received with the audience finding
the story of the eponymous role somewhat immoral and her ending
brutal. That moral Puritanism, considering the goings-on in
Paris society during the recently demised Second Empire could
be seen to be somewhat hypocritical.
The Opéra-Comique presented works with spoken dialogue and it
was in this form that the opera was premiered on 3 March 1875.
However, Bizet cut and altered his original intentions before
the premiere and many of these amendments exist, although I
believe not all. Fritz Oeser included the material that Bizet
left behind in his performing edition. However, it must be recognised
that this is not the form in which the opera first saw the light
of day. Various opera houses follow different practices in respect
of the version they use with many using that by Choudens. His
edition is based on the sung recitatives with music composed
by Ernest Guiraud, after Bizet’s untimely death, in place of
the spoken dialogue. This was perhaps to make the opera more
widely acceptable internationally whilst also recognising that
spoken French dialogue can present difficulties to a multinational
cast. Since the days of Solti’s 1973 production with Domingo
and Shirley Verrett, which I was privileged to see at a Royal
Performance, Covent Garden has followed Oeser whilst the Metropolitan
Opera uses a combination of dialogue and sung recitative. The
2002 EMI Classics recording of Carmen conducted by
Michael Plasson with Angela Gheorghiu, a soprano, in the name
part, uses Choudens (see review).
The present recording is taken from performances in the Philharmonie
after the staging at Salzburg the previous week. The Salzburg
Easter Festival was founded by Herbert von Karajan in 1967 to
give the Berlin Philharmonic operatic performance exposure.
In recent years the Festival has hit administrative and financial
difficulties and Peter Alward, sometime EMI link with Karajan
and his recordings, was appointed as Intendant, to sort it out.
He had just about done so when the BPO orchestral management
unilaterally pulled the plug and gave notice of taking the oligarch
schilling, rouble or mark and decamp to Germany to Baden-Baden
at Easter and cut Salzburg adrift. They did so despite shared
productions and presence in Madrid and the Met. With his connections
Alward has filled the vacuum with Christian Thielemann and the
Dresden Staatskapelle who will present Parsifal in
2013.
The Berlin orchestral members would doubtless have felt more
relaxed on their home turf in Berlin after the inevitable tensions
in Austria. After all it was they, as a self-governing orchestra
who made the decision to quit Salzburg, not the conductor. Whatever
hopes of relaxation they had must have been short-lived if Rattle’s
tempi are anything to go by. He starts the overture at some
lick and at times his tempi verge on the frenetic with singers,
particularly the chorus, in danger of being left behind. Nor
does he let himself or the musicians luxuriate in those musically
wonderful and evocative entr’actes, particularly that at the
conclusion of act three (CD 2. Tr. 32).
In any performance of this opera, whatever the virtues or otherwise
of the conducting and orchestral playing the singing is paramount,
particularly that of the eponymous role. A little like his illustrious
predecessor, Karajan, Rattle has a reputation for some idiosyncratic
casting in his operatic endeavours. None, however, has been
as questionable as casting his present wife, Magdalena Kožená,
as Carmen. In my review of the previous EMI Carmen
with the soprano Angela Gheorghiu in the title role, I suggested
that whilst she sang individual numbers out of their context
to ravish the ear, she just was not Carmen, lacking the earthy,
gritty passion and sensuality that are essential to a performance,
or recorded realisation, of the role. The bad news here is that
Magdalena Kožená does not even ravish the ear, and seems to
lack the ability to portray the persona of the highly sexed
gypsy woman who captivates and entices men as an enjoyable pastime.
The colour pictures in the booklet show her as a raven-haired
Carmen. I was reminded of another cool queen, Anne Sophie Von
Otter, who essayed the role with similar hair at Glyndebourne
(see review),
with a little more success. I have greatly enjoyed Magdalena
Kožená’s lovely mezzo voice in other repertoire, but did not
do so in this character in this performance.
In the role of Don José, the poor soldier who is entrapped by
the sensual allure of Carmen we get the real deal with the singing
and portrayal of the tenor Jonas Kaufmann. He portrays the disintegration
of José from affectionate mother’s boy who will obey his mother’s
wish to marry Micaëla, to brutal murderer, with distinctive
vocal skill and nuance. His Flower Song (CD 2. Tr.
4) is phrased to perfection and soaked in feeling, no mere vocal
display from him and with a controlled ending to die for. I
did worry after his Faust at the Met in December 2011
that his ability to spin a phrase and use his lovely mezza
voce was coarsening since his move into Wagner roles. Not
so; his singing is a tower of strength here with his French
among the best in the cast.
As Micaëla, Genia Kühmeier is full-toned and expressive with
only the need for greater clarity of words to put her alongside
Kaufmann as a significant plus in casting. With Kostas Smoriginas
as Escamillo sorely stretched at both ends of his vocal compass,
and unable to convey the egocentric brio of Escamillo, such
strength is sorely needed in this performance. Among Don José’s
fellow soldiers, vocal strength is not the problem, rather the
somewhat Germanic sounds that spoken dialogue accentuates to
the listener.
The presentation is CD-size book form with several page spreads
of photographs of the stage production. The booklet content
is high on style and less so in essentials. A visit to a website
is suggested for biographies and libretto with translation.
Whilst the track-listing is good the synopsis is barely adequate
and really should be track-related as in the previous EMI issue
under Plasson. An essay encompasses something of the history
of the premiere, and Bizet’s death three months later. It also
gives some details of the complexities of performing editions
and how Bizet’s creation fitted into the Opéra-Comique tradition.
The essay is given in French and German as well as English.
Meanwhile if you want to see and hear a really sexy portrayal
of Carmen I commend the performance conducted by Pappano
from the Royal Opera House in 2008. It also features Jonas Kaufmann
as Don José, and with Anna Caterina Antonacci exuding sexual
allure from every pore and an Escamillo with visual elegance
and vocal brio it takes some beating. It also uses the Oeser
edition.
Robert J Farr
Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra/Sir Simon Rattle