Violetta, you often hear, is a role that requires a soprano with a range of abilities. (I am speaking of the title character in La traviata, the opera by Verdi.) Violetta has to be a coquette, a coloratura, a powerhouse, a tragedienne. Few are the sopranos who can pull off everything.
The same might be said of Cio-Cio-San, a.k.a. Madama Butterfly, in the Puccini opera. Who are the sopranos who have pulled off everything? I will name three, off the top of my head: Callas (of course), de los Ángeles, Price. Throw in a fourth: Scotto.
Last night at the Met, Aleksandra Kurzak, the Polish soprano, sang Butterfly. She is a very smart singer, and a skillful one. In the first act, she was almost believable as a fifteen-year-old mogliettina. She was pure and bridal. The phrase “Vogliatemi bene” was ineffable. All night long, Kurzak sang in tune (no small gift). And she is a subtle actress. She brought out things in the text I had never noticed before, or had not appreciated fully.
Eventually, Butterfly is called on to be a powerhouse. She at least should have bite—considerable bite. This is important for “Che tua madre.” It is important for the suicide aria. It is important elsewhere. Ms. Kurzak could not bring the power. But she brought everything else she had, including those smarts.
Is Kurzak a bel canto Butterfly? Maybe. Is a bel canto Butterfly legitimate? Allow me to answer this way: I have heard many bigger-voiced sopranos in this role who have not done as much justice to it as Kurzak did.
Our Pinkerton was a famous lyric tenor, Matthew Polenzani. For many years, I have referred to him as “Wunderlichian.” That is a very good thing to be. Wunderlich sang Pinkerton, you know. He at least recorded some of Pinkerton’s music.
That Polenzani sang beautifully need hardly be said. You should have heard, “Bimba, bimba non piangere.” I’m not sure that opening “Bimba” has ever been sung more tenderly. You could have melted. But also, Polenzani has a touch of the heroic. He gave Pinkerton what he needs, without straining.
Kurzak and Polenzani sang a beautiful, beautiful love duet. Was it Price and Tucker? No, it was smaller than that. It was chamber-like, you could say. But it was excellent. (The orchestra, incidentally, sounded like a chamber orchestra in this music, rather than a grand-opera orchestra.)
Lieutenant Pinkerton is a heel (though a penitent one, in the end). Matthew Polenzani, I think his colleagues will tell you, is a great guy. When he took his bow at the completion of the opera, the audience booed. Were they booing his singing? I doubt it. I think they were booing Pinkerton.
What a rotten, immature thing to do. Shameful.
In baseball, a “utility player” is someone who can fill in at virtually any position. Someone who is not a star but can be depended on for solid performance. I want to call Eve Gigliotti, the American mezzo, a utility player, but I don’t mean to insult her. She is a highly commendable singer, and singing actress, and I have commended her on many occasions. She has performed a diversity of roles at the Met in recent seasons.
Last night, she was Suzuki, satisfying on all counts: vocal, musical, and theatrical. She felt Butterfly’s pain, and you, in the audience, felt her feeling it.
Sharpless was Davide Luciano, the Italian baritone with two first names. He has appeared twice before at the Met, five seasons apart, in The Elixir of Love (Donizetti). Let me quote from one of my reviews:
The part of Sergeant Belcore was taken by Davide Luciano . . .: beautiful voice, from top to bottom. A regal voice, with a touch of “wetness” to it. Loud as well (which is not to be confused with “loud as hell”). This does no harm at the Met, or elsewhere.
True, true. Luciano was the loudest voice on the stage last night. And he sang with glowing, effortless beauty. Lyric and loud—what a combination.
Tony Stevenson, the tenor from Greenville, South Carolina, was Goro. He has been almost everything over the years. Because he is consistent—consistently good—an audience can take him for granted, though one should not.
Jeongcheol Cha, a bass-baritone from Seoul, was Prince Yamadori. He sang imposingly. And he looked imposing: as big as a house. He loomed over Cio-Cio-San, threateningly. Aleksandra Kurzak looked piccina indeed (just as the text says). (“Piccina” means “tiny.”) But, you know? Such was her spirit, Yamadori was no match for her.
Conducting in the pit was Xian Zhang, the music director of the New Jersey Symphony. We first knew her in New York when she was an assistant at the Philharmonic, under Lorin Maazel. She held the Arturo Toscanini Chair. I reviewed her in the 2007–8 season, writing, among other things, this:
About 20 years ago, I heard a musician say about a youngish conductor, “He’s got some Lenny moves” (referring to Maestro Bernstein). Well, Ms. Zhang has some Lorin moves.
Those are good moves to have.
Last night, she showed a fine grasp on Puccini’s score. She was nimble and she was sweeping, as needed. The music never lacked for vitality. When Puccini wants an undercurrent, Zhang made sure it was there.
I had never heard the Humming Chorus so soft. It was as if in a dream—as if in Butterfly’s imagination, perhaps. And the crucial dénouement was very well judged.
Maazel once told me that, when he conducted the opera, he could not look at the stage during the last five minutes. “I can’t bear it.” The story is so terrible, the inhumanity so great. What’s more, “the music is so powerful.” Puccini ends on that screaming, nonsensical G-major chord—out of nowhere, seemingly.
Last night, I had a thought that has recurred to me: Puccini is at one and the same time famous—very famous—and underrated. You know who tends to know his worth? Other composers. They’ll tell you, if they’re in a candid mood. Flat-out genius, Giacomo Puccini.
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Source: newcriterion.com
