This new TDK release brings
yet another
Salome to the marketplace. While it’s
worthy in many ways, it sounds a lot better than it looks
and it’s let down by a rather dull staging.
The production is the one that
Luc Bondy created for the Salzburg Festival in 1992, clearly
still doing the rounds at La Scala as recently as last
year. It’s difficult to see why, though: the staging is
static and the direction rather dull. The set is an open
living area, difficult to tell whether it’s indoors or
out. There is a recessed area in the middle that leads
down to Jochanaan’s cistern and the singers have to manoeuvre
their way over and around a strange monolithic block that
looks like a leftover from
2001: A Space Odyssey. There
are slatted windows off to the right which are darkened
at the end when Herod calls for the lights to be put out,
but that doesn’t stop the camera director attempting some
very arty but singularly unsuccessful shots from behind
the slats. When the camera angle is from this point you
can barely see a thing, and just as you think the director
has seen the error of his ways he throws in another darkly
obscure shot. Ridiculous! There are signs of decay in
this living space, however: the walls have begun to crumble
at their base, and the cistern appears to have been gouged
out of what was once the floor: the aftermath of a devastating
conflict, perhaps? Very little is made of the set, though,
so whatever implications Bondy is going for must be left
hanging. The costumes are mainly of an indeterminate period:
Herod dresses in the psychedelic colours of a hippy - with
a very odd ginger wig to match - while most of the other
characters, most notably Herodias, wear full evening dress
to fit the occasion of the party. Only Jochanaan wears
a rough robe that suggests Biblical times, perhaps an attempt
to show how out of touch he is with this culture. Salome
wears a very tight fitting dress to accentuate her sensuality,
while she is given a sarong which she floats out behind
herself like a child playing in the wind. This reinforces
her innocence, something Nadja Michael also brings out
during Jochanaan’s first monologue when she jokingly hides
from him, treating it like some devilish game of hide-and-seek.
The direction of the singers
is steady enough. Bondy focuses on this as the tragedy
of a family disintegrating. The key scene takes place
after Salome has asked for John’s head as a reward, and
Herod, his wife and step-daughter all sit down around a
table to discuss it. The discussion, of course, goes horribly
wrong, in spite of all the bribes that Herod produces,
and it ends with Salome overturning the table petulantly
but decisively. Meanwhile, Herodias looks on and gloats,
goading her daughter to stick to her demands. Iris Vermillion’s
body language is marvellous here: she is the most dominant
member of the family, and we can see how her relationship
with Herod has turned sour. The actual production of the
head is rather tame, however: it merely appears wrapped
in cloth while the executioner strolls off casually, and
at first Salome doesn’t really seem too bothered by it. It
has nothing like the impact of David
McVicker’s stunning final scene from
Covent Garden
earlier this year but more of comparisons later.
As Salome, Nadja Michael rightly
commands the stage from first appearance to last. She
flits onto the stage like a child playing a game of tig,
and she larks around for the whole of the first half, including
her scene with Jochanaan. Then her body language transforms
during the final third, to that of an implacable menace
who will not be put off from her grim request: here she
stands stock tall and commanding, whereas before she was
light and playful. Her singing is simultaneously light
and commanding: she has the girlish timbre, but there is
impeccable strength in her high notes which are utterly
secure. Her voice has strength and body, as well as that
light tingle at the top. Her Dance of the Seven Veils
is interesting enough to look at, but is also jerky and
quite staccato, lacking in any real sensuality. I can’t
really believe that Herod would have been driven wild by
it.
English tenor Peter Bronder
is a magnificent Herod. His voice is utterly secure in
all the notes, yet his voice has all the wiry tone at the
top to make Herod sound unpleasant and slimy. He made
me think of Gerhard Stolze, and I can think of no higher
compliment in this role. He sounded sleazy and almost
alluring during the scene where he asks Salome to drink
his wine and eat his fruit, while his hysterical desire
after the dance was utterly believable. Likewise his wild
pleading with his stepdaughter after she asks for the head
is convincing, and almost makes him seem sympathetic. He
hides his head under a shawl for the whole of the final,
twisted song to the head, and when he removes it he is
so struck by the horror that his command to his guards
seems the only appropriate response. I wonder if his bizarre
appearance is meant to suggest that he is too immature
for the responsibilities of power, or that he is trying
to take his kingdom in a direction his people are not ready
to go? Either way, this performance is worth hearing for
him alone. Every bit his equal is Iris Vermillion’s Herodias. She
appears and acts like a malevolent marchioness, trying
to control her husband while exuding hatred for him. Her
rather odd wig in fact adds to her impression of imperiousness,
and at the end she is almost like a banshee as she wills
her daughter on in her grisly request. Thankfully, her
voice is fantastic too, a rich, resonant mezzo which conveys
a power and majesty that we don’t tend to associate with
Herodias. She is another wonderful asset to this set.
Matthias Klink is a characterful,
ardent Narraboth, whose sense of horror at his idol’s perversion
is quite believable, and all the more disturbing in consequence. Natela
Nicoli brings a rich, dark voice to the role of the page:
she is on the stage for much of the action, and provides
some of Salome’s veils for the dance. Struckmann is a
good actor as Jochanaan, summoning apocalyptic anger when
he emerges from the cistern, yet converting this to warm
transcendence when he describes the coming of the Son of
Man. I’ve never been keen on his gravely voice, though,
and it doesn’t record well here. He sounds a little raspy
where he should sound authoritative and commanding. Ironically,
his off-stage utterances are better, though I wonder how
much that has to do with artificial amplification. He
is nowhere near as convincing as baritones like Bryn Terfel
or Michael Volle. Harding controls the direction of the
score with expertise: the sensuality of the opening is
warm and compelling, while he works the frenzy well in
the dance. The chill of the final scene, however, not
least the trill as all the lights are put out, is palpably
icy. He is given a warm and thoroughly deserved ovation
at the end.
The singing here is very good
indeed, then, though the production is disappointingly
banal. However, due to its nature this DVD invites comparisons
with two other sets in particular. This same production
is available on Decca from Covent Garden (recorded in 1997). The
singing on the TDK DVD is on the whole much better: Catherine
Malfitano sounds rather too mature to be a convincing Salome,
while Kenneth Riegel is a mediocre Herod. A young Robert
Gambill makes a good mark as Narraboth, but even the great
Anja Silja must give way to Iris Vermillion as Herodias. The
only exception is Bryn Terfel, one of the best Jochanaans
on disc, whose ardent power easily surpasses Falk Struckmann. The
other comparison is Nadja Michael’s other
Salome on
an Opus Arte DVD from Covent Garden earlier this year. The
singing is better in almost every role on this TDK version,
not least from Michaels herself who packs far more power
and tunefulness here; but the undeniable power of David
McVicker’s controversial production makes up for a lot
of the vocal problems, and his stage pictures will stay
in the mind long after Bondy’s murky dullness has been
forgotten. For the singing, then, this TDK version wins
the prize, but if it’s an overall experience of
Salome that
you want then, among recent versions at least, McVicker
will prove hard to beat.
Simon
Thompson
Nadja Michael (soprano) – Salome 
[108:00] 
