Deborah
Voigt, fresh from a brouhaha in London over
whether a soprano's inability to fit into
a little black cocktail dress should disqualify
her from singing her signature Strauss role
at Covent Garden, may have had a little extra
incentive to make the best possible impression
in New York. Singing her greatest Wagner role,
she lit up the stage in what was nothing short
of a thrilling performance in Wagner's Die
Walküre, musically and dramatically,
not just for her but up and down a star-studded
cast. Maybe it was that, maybe it was performing
opposite a seemingly ageless Placido Domingo,
or perhaps it was the electric jolt coming
out of the orchestra pit where James Levine
whipped up fleet, energetic and powerful music,
but whatever it was, it worked.
Covent
Garden audiences won't hear her Prima Donna
and Ariadne in Strauss' Ariadne auf Naxos
this summer because the director there insisted
upon a slimmer singer and got his way. But
as Sieglinde in New York, Voigt demonstrated
just what great vocal acting is all about,
and it has little to do with girth. With sensitive
support from Levine, she managed to convey
everything you need to know about the character
-- the sense of an outsider trapped in a marriage,
who knows she has a different destiny and
finds it in the impetuous Siegmund. Of course,
he turns out to be her long-lost brother,
but she's in love and who cares when Wagner's
increasingly erotic music takes over the last
part of Act I?
Without
losing an ounce of vocal power, Voigt invested
Sieglinde with an undercurrent of nobility
despite her wretched circumstances, panic
when she realizes she is losing Siegmund,
and glory when Brünnhilde informs her
in Act 3 that she is carrying Siegmund's son,
who will be a great hero. In one of the many
brilliant moments in this, the most emotional
score in Wagner's Ring of the Nibelungen,
Brünnhilde sings us the leitimotif that
will always be associated with Siegfried,
the hero, and Sieglinde responds with the
ecstatic leitmotif that won't be heard again
until the final pages of Götterdämmerung,
associated with redemption through love. It's
doubtful anyone could sing it with such suppleness
and power as did Voigt.
In
advance, I wondered if the Siegmund of Domingo,
at 63 the graybeard of the cast, or the Wotan
of James Morris, now 57, might be showing
some wear. Not only were these veterans in
splendid voice, they roamed the stage like
men half their age. And then there was Jane
Eaglen as the title character. She's been
sensational in some Wagner roles recently,
off the mark in others, but here she nailed
every phrase, seeming to spin them off effortlessly
in a huge voice way too creamy to be typically
Wagnerian. She is also a large woman, larger
than Voigt, and while she has lost some considerable
weight recently and moves with less effort
than she once did, she is not exactly an athletic
valkyrie. Good thing this is the Met, where
general director Joseph Volpe recently said
he would fire the director before losing a
singer of Voigt's caliber if it came to that.
The music was definitely worth it.
Domingo
is a marvel, still sounding as fresh and vital
as he did 20 years ago. His is not the classic
heldentenor sound, and maybe it's not quite
as plush as it once was, but it sliced through
the full orchestra with ease. He can shape
a phrase like the veteran of so many Verdi
and Puccini roles he is, and his work as a
conductor in recent years gives him a depth
of musical understanding that few other tenors
possess. But the wonder is the youthfulness
he conveys on stage, bounding around Hunding's
hut and the craggy rocks of the Met's naturalistic
sets.
Much
credit must go to Levine, whose rapport with
this orchestra and with these singers paid
dividends again and again. Levine stayed right
with Morris, for example, when the baritone
took the extraordinary risk of singing true
pianissimo in the touching central portion
of the final scene. Wotan is about to punish
his daughter Brünnhilde by (among other
things) taking away her godhood. Holding her
close, his voice got quieter and quieter.
At one point, he seemed to be trying to overcome
a catch in his throat, which only added to
the drama of the moment. With Levine's hushed
support, he not only made it through that
portion of the scene, but the final pages,
sung over the orchestra in full roar, found
Morris cutting through it like the virile
god Wotan is supposed to be.
Sergei
Koptchak's dark, craggy bass and rangy physiology
was fine for Hunding. Yvonne Naef, making
her Met debut, revealed a rich, seamless mezzo-soprano
as Fricka, even if her acting struck pretty
much the one note of high dudgeon over Wotan's
behavior. The whole crowd of valkyries was
terrific, and the whole gaggle in full cry
at the beginning of Act III made a thrilling
sound.
In
the big orchestral moments, Levine created
a seamless sweep of gorgeous sound. Fast sections
galloped as they should, such as the opening
measures depicting a storm and Siegmund's
flight, or the famous Ride of the Valkyries.
Quiet sections had exquisite delicacy. The
best compliment I can throw at a conductor
is this: It didn't sound like Levine's Die
Walküre, it sounded like Wagner's.
This
is the Met's first full set of Ring operas
in four years, and it would be hard to assemble
a better cast. Audible evidence should be
available in the worldwide live broadcast
coming up Saturday.
Harvey
Steiman
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