The Metropolitan Opera might well have taken on Handel's Rodelinda in December 2004 as a star vehicle for Renée Fleming, one of a handful of singers who seems to enjoy that kind of pull here. But to its credit, it didn't stint on the production, mounting an elaborate, imaginative staging by director Stephen Wadsworth that serves the opera well and will surely stand the test of time. Eventually, we'll see other heroines in this production. (Note to Met: Simone Kermes, please.) But for now, this is still Fleming's show, and she opened its revival in top form on Tuesday night.
Premiered by Handel's legendary British company in 1725, Rodelinda is often cited as the launching pad for the current Handel revival; staged by Oskar Hagen at Göttingen in 1920, it was quickly taken up by 25 other companies, which paved the way for the even-more successful revival of Giulio Cesare two years later. The U.S. premiere came in 1931 at Smith College. It's not hard to understand why this particular work should have proved so successful: The title character is a noble queen who struggles to fend off the advances of a usurper with designs on the Milanese throne. Her equally noble husband -- the deposed king Bertarido, who is presumed dead -- lurks on the sidelines, hoping to rescue his wife and child. Bertarido has to overcome feelings of betrayal toward a wife who was willing to comply with Grimoaldo, the pretender to the throne, only in order to save her son. Complicating matters, Grimoaldo had been the betrothed of Eduige, Bertarido's sister. Unulfo, one of Grimoaldo's aides, is secretly loyal to Bertarido; another advisor, Garibaldo, is the real villain of the piece, barely concealing his own eyes for the throne. In other words, there's romance, intrigue and conflict galore in this tableau of clearly delineated characters, each of whom is supplied with some of Handel's loveliest music. Rodelinda isn't as dramatically or musically complex as some of this composer's true masterpieces, but that probably works to its credit in this house, where Handel is still something of a rank outsider.
The biggest draw tonight was the Metropolitan Opera debut of countertenor Andreas Scholl as Bertarido, a role assumed during the original run by David Daniels, who frequently seems to be cast as something of a macho id to Scholl's cool, intellectual ego. Daniels had given an entirely admirable account, helped in no small part by his virile stage presence. But from his very first appearance midway through the first act, Scholl provided a thoughtful conception brilliantly executed. The breathless disbelief in his opening line, as he looks upon the funeral plaque on which his own name is carved, set the stage for a reading of extraordinary intelligence, nuance and color. Scholl sang the first aria, "Dove sei, amato bene," in tones of melting sweetness, spinning notes of heartbreaking fragility at the close. Yet his manliness was never in question -- and certainly not after he took up a mallet to wreck the scaffolding around his own memorial obelisk, ending by shattering the stone plaque. Scholl's fluctuation between doubt, despair and determination in the second act captured every complexity latent in his character, and he handled the final act's fight scenes with genuine panache.
Scholl wasn't the evening's only debutant. Fellow countertenor Christophe Dumaux, as Unulfo, sang with a light, clear voice that could have been that of a female contralto. He acted with real geniality and sang densely ornamented lines with ease. Still, if anything, Dumaux faced even greater competition from his own predecessor in the role, Bejun Mehta, and didn't quite command that singer's laserlike precision, liquid voice and scene-stealing stage presence. Even so, it was a performance to be admired.
The same could be said for all of the returning performers. Stephanie Blythe brought power and pathos to her portrayal of Eduige, who vacillates between outrage over Grimoaldo's betrayal and continuing affection for him. The brazenly nasty Garibaldo was a good fit for John Relyea's powerful bass-baritone voice; the singer's height makes him still more intimidating. Tenor Kobie van Rensburg demonstrated full command of Grimoaldo's music, which grows increasingly difficult in sync with the character's position in the drama; moreover, the conflicted nature he brings to his rendition throughout the evening makes his concluding conversion all the more believable.
As for Fleming, she gave as fine a performance as I've ever heard from her. "Spietati, io vi giurai," in the second act, was perfectly pitched between desperation and furious abandon; later in the same act, she delivered a "Ritorna, o caro e dolce mio tesoro" that quavered with a complex mix of radiant love, anticipation and a slight edge of hopelessness. "Io t'abbraccio," the Fleming/Scholl duet that closed the act, was a stretch of almost unbearable beauty. Throughout the evening, Patrick Summers led the Met orchestra in a taut, alert performance, which brought out the most in Handel's always ingenious score.
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One face missing from the crowd tonight was that of longtime New York City music chronicler Leighton Kerner, who passed away on April 29 at the age of 79. I didn't know Kerner personally; in fact, I'm a bit embarassed to admit that my occasional public timidity prevented me from ever introducing myself, even though I saw him countless times at countless performances. And that makes me more than a little bit sad, since I'd always admired his coverage of classical music at the Village Voice, where he was a contributor from the very earliest days. An enthusiast from start to finish, Kerner was the type of music writer I most admire: one without an agenda or ax to grind. One obituary I read stated that Kerner worked long hours and did fine work for piddling pay simply in order to feed his live-music jones, a stance with which I can relate wholeheartedly. He was more than merely a booster; he was a lively, insightful observer and an incisive commentator. And his contributions -- meager as they had become at the sad, increasingly (and lately disgustingly) exsanguinated Voice -- will be missed.
Even though I didn't know Kerner, I do cling to one fond memory. Last October, I flew to San Francisco to catch Doctor Atomic. Over dinner with a number of mostly-NYC friends, all music professionals (including NewMusicBox's Frank J. Oteri), somehow Kerner came up in conversation. We all noted that we hadn't seen him anywhere lately, and worried for his health. After dinner, we made our way to the opera house, where we killed time in the press lounge prior to the curtain. We'd barely been there for 15 minutes when in shuffled Kerner, looking rumpled as ever... but no more so than if we'd happened to spot him at Carnegie Hall or the Met, as on so many occasions past. Somehow, for me anyway, Kerner made for a truly inspiring sight that night, one that has often replayed in my mind ever since. [EDIT: Kyle Gann's lovely little essay, discovered via Alex Ross's update this morning, sheds a bit more light on the incident I mentioned.]
Farewell, Mr. Kerner. Wish I'd had the nerve to say hello, even just once.
Playlist:
Deidre Rodman/Steve Swallow - Twin Falls (Sunnyside)
Osvaldo Golijov - Ainadamar - Dawn Upshaw, Jessica Rivera, Kelley O'Connor, Jesús Montoya, Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chorus / Robert Spano (Deutsche Grammophon)
Pearl Jam - Pearl Jam (J)
Tool - 10,000 Days (Volcano)
Marion Brown - Afternoon of a Georgia Faun (ECM)
Paul Motian Trio - Dance (ECM)
George Frideric Handel - Rodelinda - Simone Kermes, Marijana Mijanovic, Sonia Prina, Marie-Nicole Lemieux, Steve Davislim, Vito Priante, Il Complesso Barocco / Alan Curtis (Archiv)
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