Götterdämmerung

Date: June 21 – 26, 2011 (second of three Cycles)
Conductor: Donald Runnicles
Production: Francesca Zambello
Location: War Memorial, San Francisco.

In the final day of drama, the Norns labored in a high-tech company unwinding cables and seemingly connecting them to other circuitries. As they touched the cables, information seemed to be dictated through this wired connection to the world. Projecting against the stage-front scrim was a heat map of a printed circuit board, which lit up in melting fashion after the Norns reached history’s end point. Ronnita Miller, Daveda Karanas and Heidi Melton, in green drapes and black leather gear, were the information facilitator of this system. Their curt movements on stage were compensated by contemplative eye contacts made to each other, speaking volumes as they analyzed the course of history depicted in the previous three evenings. Vocally, they all sang with conviction and robustness.

The Gibichung Hall was a chrome-wrapped penthouse overlooking an expanding empire of industries, and adorned with curvaceous Ethan Ellen furniture. Melissa Citro sang the role of Gutrune with continued shrill, though her acting compensated brilliantly: her character seemed to be this spoiled, Lindsay Lohan-type who partied too much and yearned for something that neither money nor power could easily buy her (drugs apparently will, though Gutrune had more luck drugging Siegfried, not herself). The character of Gutrune also introduced two side plots that on the surface seemed unnecessary: her frolicking in bed with Hagen at the beginning of Act II, and her reconciliation with Brünnhilde in the Immolation scene. While the role of Gutrune was sometimes portrayed to exhibit incestuous tendencies, the direct linkage of Gutrune with Hagen with such physical obviousness was genuinely a progressive interpretation by Zambello. Gutrune’s presence as a sidekick to Brünnhilde seemed to introduce a minor concept associated with this American Ring: that of renewal, women shall rule.

Ian Storey’s Siegfried looked a lot like Morris’ – in fact, the two actors were physically built very much alike. The split duties of Siegfried also worked perfectly in this Cycle as Morris’ vibrant and youthful voice was chronologically followed by Storey’s slightly darker and more mature voice. The big Hoihe was sung off stage, muffling what seemed to be a tight, passionate, and strong delivery by Storey.

At first glance, as Nina Stemme’s Brünnhilde was escorted into the Gibichung Hall, looking horribly mismatched in silver-blue gown and Valkyrie military boots, costume designer Catherine Zuber seemed to have committed a serious faux pas. But clearly Zuber had other ideas: the mismatch perfectly encapsulated Wagner’s vision and the psyche of Brünnhilde as she was unwillingly and forcibly embroiled in the fixed marriage.

Andrea Silvestrelli played an outstanding Hagen, with a menacing and authoritatively-sung bass. The chorus had pockets of brilliance but sounded small whenever they sang deep in the stage work and away from the audience. The orchestra was in top form, and showed why despite my brief moments of disagreement with their playing in the past few days I still find the group to be one of the finest in the world. In the Funeral March, the strings soared with an earnest determination, while the brass set ablaze the War Memorial with brilliance and decadence. Runnicles led a well-balanced orchestra, and took care to modulate pace to great emotive effect.

In the final moments, a child came on stage to plant a tree, as if to realize Wagner’s vision of redemption and rebirth. In Zambello’s version, the rebirth of America despite all the excesses seemed certain; the details, other than the tree planting, were less described and up to the audience to ponder.

Some of the direction was unfortunate: the unceremonious “dumping” of Siegfried into a garbage pile, to be drenched in kerosene and lit alive, seemed to be a disrespectful treatment of a Wagnerian hero. After all, Siegfried was the crucial free hero in this epic Cycle. The Immolation fire was tepid, and comparatively much weaker than the circle of flame surrounding Brünnhilde in Die Walküre. As a rhetorical question, did it take much more to protect and imprison a status quo than to reset the status quo?

If the relentless pursuit of absolute power shall eventually meet its Wagnerian due, the fate of America in Zambello’s vision seemed effectively foretold: nothing less than a total redemption would result in a rebirth. As environmentalism became a side plot borne out of this quest for power, the responsibility to clean up the environment and return what’s “owed” to mother earth, by deduction through Zambello’s storytelling choices, rests squarely with America itself. The feminism line with which this American Ring was associated seemed less clear. While it seemed abundantly clear that several men screwed up (Wotan, Hunding, Alberich), it wasn’t clear why only women (and not just Brünnhilde) were allowed to and responsible for kick-starting rebirth. In the critical moments of the Immolation scene, by way of example, Brünnhilde was assisted by the Rheinmaidens, the misplaced Gutrune, and none of the men. Men only showed up towards the end, when the child planted the tree, as if suggesting that this sexual category of mankind would wind up being merely a spectator/benefactor of any redemption.

Zambello’s nod to California: the gold rush, the Presidio, and Silicon Valley, was appropriate, fitting, and smart. Some elements were lazy: a simple and stale ramp to depict the rainbow bridge to Valhalla; and a giant version of a WALL-E-like machinery, as Fafner’s dragon, with no particular design relevance to the Americanized world of Siegfried. Other elements seemed clichéd but in retrospect cerebrally deft: a decaying of Brünnhilde’s rock and its surroundings suggested a passing of time and highlighted an important plot point; the use of hung portraits as a symbol of fallen heroes; and the planting of a tree to express renewal. There were moments when the plot seemed unnecessary (e.g. Gutrune’s incestuous behavior with Hagen), but they neither infringed upon nor inhibited the singing or the locomotion of the storyline. Zambello’s vision, despite some small flaws, was a laudable achievement. But it was the strong cast, especially Stemme, Jovanovich, and Margita, which ensured a Ring to be immortalized for the ages.

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Siegfried

Date: June 21 – 26, 2011 (second of three Cycles)
Conductor: Donald Runnicles
Production: Francesca Zambello
Location: War Memorial, San Francisco.

Jay Hunter Morris was not expected to sing in this production. As the cover for Ian Storey, the original two-evening Siegfried, Morris was supposed to stand by and be ready if Ian Storey became indisposed. But such a call up came a few months early, at a rehearsal in March of this year, when Storey decided he was not ready for the first evening’s duties. Morris, debuting the role, came through and, more importantly, showed nary a sign of exhaustion at the end.

Morris seemed to have skimmed through some of the high notes at his entrance, and noticeably saved firepower for the long evening. As the evening progressed, he opened up poco a poco, culminating with his duet with Nina Stemme’s well-rested and full-powered Brünnhilde in his final scene. While his voice sounded somewhat pinched, he made up with pitch and rhythmic precision. By the third Act, his voice opened up ably and, without sounding fatigued, produced a suave, sweet sound with the sort of vivacity not commonly found at the fourth (or fifth!) hour of most Siegfrieds. His golden blond hair looked like Neil Robertson’s on an explosive hair day. After five hours of him, he simply looked like the boyish-looking snooker star’s twin brother! Under a radiating charm and plenty of youthful energy hid a boyish tenderness that compelled the audience to dish out parental forgiveness, even as his character was this disrespectful, ungrateful brat.

Stacey Tappan delivered one fine forest bird: her voice was tender and playful but without so much trill as to kill the role. Her portrayal of the feathered animal in human costumes was slightly more problematic. Costume designer Catherine Zuber dressed Tappan in a radiant burgundy orange dress, into this Eva Marie Saint lookalike. However, her humanized presence, even if merely figurative as she led Siegfried to Brünnhilde, somewhat negated the logic of Siegfried’s interjection as he first discovered Brünnhilde. Ronnita Miller’s Erda provided dramatic heft with her arresting stage presence and her secure vocal athleticism. David Cangelosi’s Mime was more vocally penetrating than Morris’ Siegfried, but dramatically didn’t inhabit the role as much as Morris did. While Cangelosi worked some of the mandatory squealing and wheeling into the role, his portrayal was rather bland and unremarkable as compared with other contemporary Mimes such as Wolfgang Schmidt at Bayreuth and Herwig Pecoraro in Vienna. If anything, his singing felt like a butcher working on a carcass with professional speed and adequacy, albeit with neither dramatic fanfare nor excitement.

Delavan improved further as Wotan. Vocally, his voice was penetrating and fearsome. Theatrically, he seemed more comfortable portraying a God in decline than as the ruler of all Gods in the previous evenings.

Fafner’s cave was set in an abandoned factory. The dragon appeared as a huge, tank-like machinery with flat claws that were imposing in size but looked practically harmless. Gordon Hawkins’ Alberich wore a pair of infrared goggles as he waited for his opportunity. Jan Hartley’s projections continued to daze and awe, and gave much context to the impending decline of the status quo. Deforestation, trains loaded with timber, overstretched electricity grid were some of the projected images that served to bolster two of the central themes – environmentalism and the cost of greed – of this American Ring. The Act III stage in Die Walküre  was transformed into a ruinous rock pile, suggesting that Zambello was ready to highlight the passing of time and more importantly, the degeneration of the world outside it. While that seemed to be a deviation of Wagner’s intent (the circle of flame in my opinion was supposed to surround and protect Brünnhilde in perpetuity, impenetrable to the effects of the passing of time), the dramatic outcome of such deviation seemed to tuck neatly into Zambello’s vision of gradual decay and impending downfall.

Die Walküre

Date: June 21 – 26, 2011 (second of three Cycles)
Conductor: Donald Runnicles
Production: Francesca Zambello
Location: War Memorial, San Francisco.

Day One of the Ring saga began with a Blair Witch-like scene whereby Jan Hartley’s projection onto a stage-front scrim suggested a romp through uncharted woods. The scrim then rose to reveal Hunding’s abode which, with manicured shingles and perfectly aligned window screens, looked slightly more pristine than one would imagine to be a real estate of Hunding’s soon-to-be-revealed, thug-like character. Anja Kampe’s Sieglinde was imprisoned in such thug life, slightly bewildered but more agitated by a Siegmund stumbling onto her porch and into her life, as if foretelling the imminent collapse of the status quo. Inside Hunding’s lodge were aged hunting gear, winnings from hunting trips, sporting trophies and decorative china wares that gave clues as to Zambello’s targeted place and time for this Act: a mountain lodge, perhaps in the Mountain West, in the Depression Era.

In Zambello’s vision, Sieglinde was an abused wife, trapped in a loveless marriage and suffering from Stockholm syndrome as she willingly submitted to Hunding at his presence. A slightly more realistic reading would entail her knowing that any seeming rebellion, in the face of Hunding’s thuggish recklessness, might jeopardize her life and, when his twin brother arrived in this one fine evening, Siegmund’s. Kampe’s vocal chops were refined and conscientious. She navigated the more lyrical passages in Acts I and III with clarity and ease. Daniel Sumegi’s Hunding seemed to be the kind of person who physically and mentally overwhelmed his wife in regularity, and in so doing probably took plenty of pleasure too. While Sumegi’s voice was stentorian, the carefulness of his delivery revealed the character of a physically big yet mentally calculating man.

Brandon Jovanovich’s Siegmund was a revelation: his voice was bright and persuasive, with an electrifying top and a juicy mid-range timbre. His “Wälse!” cries not only seemed to last forever, but easily penetrated past the rousing orchestra. In Winterstürme, Jovanovich built a strong case of why he would soon become the next superstar, whether helden or lirico spinto: crisp delivery of individual notes was nonetheless smothered into fine melodic arches of lyrical beauty. The roundedness of his voice was akin to grated cheese oozing on top of a baking pizza, or butter slowing melting away on top of warm bread. But I digress. The slight blemish in Jovanovich’s fine squillo appeared to be an occasional overshooting of top notes. As an actor, Jovanovich was intense: the serious eye contact made to Sieglinde was fiery and genuine, while his body language in Winterstürme imparted a lover boiling with desire. In his dying moments, Jovanovich gazed tenderly and innocently at his father, dispensing a poignant moment of human kindness. After raving about his Jose earlier this year, I feel that, with some additional refinement of vocal delivery, especially a more regulated access to his squillo, Jovanovich has potential to carry the baton left by the likes of Lauritz Melchior and James King.

Mark Delavan had a better outing as Wotan compared with his lackluster performance in Das Rheingold. His voice was audibly stronger and sturdier, especially in the mid-range, but markedly tapered off at the higher registers and towards the end of the evening. The unleashing of reserve firepower in Leb’ wohl was therefore and nonetheless a pleasant and welcoming surprise.

When Nina Stemme appeared on stage with her Valkyrie cries, she sounded a little forced: the four sets of Hoyotohos were rendered as “Hoyotooo-ah” with an extremely short fourth syllable and a raucous glide between the third and the fourth. Her Brünnhilde’s comedic interaction with Wotan garnered some of the best laughs of the evening. Later in the Act and in Act III, her warmed-up voice displayed a full range of dynamics and coloration. By the end of the evening it seemed clear why Stemme has a natural gift to excel in the role: she owns a confident top that easily rings over the orchestra. She also seems so comfortable with and confident of her vocal delivery that she could actually spend time acting the role as well.

Elizabeth Bishop’s Fricka transformed from a subservient mother deferring to her husband in Das Rheingold to a serious woman confident of her moral superiority and suasion over her husband’s questionable antics. Her singing, surprisingly first rate, especially at Ich vernahm Hundings Not, gathered a rabidly enthusiastic reception at her curtain call.

The Valkyrie sisters were fine, though Melissa Citro, as Ortlinde, continued to sound shrill, just like her Freia in Das Rheingold.

There seemed to be better balance in the orchestra, perhaps due to more focused conducting in the Cycle’s first night of serious music (but more possibly, due to the fact that as the night wore on, I was finally accustomed to my seat’s and the War Memorial’s quirky acoustics). But whatever cured balance was then ruined by Runnicles’ wild tempi: his conducting felt like a drive down San Francisco’s own Market Street: occasionally smooth under synchronized traffic lights, but at times jerky and achingly slow due to horrible traffic. At Ein Schwertder Vater, Runnicles’ pacing was a snail’s drag compared with Böhm’s much faster and upbeat pace, and sounded more pedestrian and flat compared with Solti’s more cerebral reading. There were small mistakes from the brass section, most notably during Brünnhilde’s first entrance in Act II and then at Walkürenritt, but they were not so glaring as to spoil the evening of the average listener.

Michael Yeargan’s set continued to convey that American look, with Hunding’s Depression Era mountain lodge, and a highway underpass in Act II (as an afterthought, if the entire Die Walküre was meant to be set in the Depression Era, the idea of having convenient highway overpasses, before the dawn of the Interstate era, seemed slightly premature). Brünnhilde’s rock was depicted as a round, dial-like rock surrounded by an awkwardly shaped fortress. Zambello’s historical reference appeared to be the Presidio, which would fit nicely into her notion of a world where men and women were sacrificed as megalomaniacs fought to consolidate power.

Das Rheingold

Date: June 21 – 26, 2011 (second of three Cycles)
Conductor: Donald Runnicles
Production: Francesca Zambello
Location: War Memorial, San Francisco.

The idea of an American Ring, whereby Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle is retold in the context of snippets of American history, is quite an alluring concept. The immediate questions, then, are serious and find no easy answers: what happens after Immolation? Is Francesca Zambello, the production director, prepared to foretell the end of American history? Who, then, is Wotan?

To be sure, some of these questions will remain unanswered by the end of Götterdämmerung. In what seems to be the most unfortunate moment of Schadenfreude, the real life saga of the Washington National Opera, a co-producing partner with San Francisco until the east coast partner bailed due to insufficient funds, even seemed to fit the description of a once-mighty empire falling into disarray. But any further deductions would be unfair and premature.

The first scene of Das Rheingold was set in the Gold Rush era, where Alberich’s power-hungry character reigned supreme. The second to fourth scenes were set at the dawn of the 20th century, in the Gatsby era as America learnt how to build skyscrapers and rushed to erect them all over the country. The Wagnerian parallel would be an enterprising Wotan eager to finish hisValhalla. The English surtitles in the early going revealed further “American-ness” of the production, whereupon Alberich referred to the Rheinmaidens as “sluts” while the three sisters joked about Alberich being a “blob”.

The Rheinmaidens, Lauen McNeese, Renee Tatum and Stacey Tappan, dressed and danced as if they were in Minnie’s polka saloon which, in the context of Zambello’s American experiment, was not inappropriate. Their succulent and warm trio foretold the rest of the Cycle’s excellent singing, though Tappan seemed willing to save her voice by skimming through some of the passage’s high notes (she would later sing a  sumptuously satisfying forest bird). Gordon Hawkins’ Alberich was as menacing and mean as any gold rush entrepreneur who wanted it all.

Elizabeth Bishop’s Fricka, humanized as a dependent, portrayed a homely wife in an era before the feminist and women rights movements. Vocally, Bishop delivered her lines with ease, and seemed to reserve vocal power for her more demanding role in Die Walküre. Melissa Citro was shrill as Freia, but had enormous stage presence with her good looks and giddy acting. Mark Delavan’s voice was fine if not slightly too light and lacking penetration as Wotan. He would probably excel in cleaner, lighter roles like Hans Sachs. More troubling, though, concerned Delavan’s portrayal of the ruler of God, which in the face of Loge and Fricka looked all too human. Ronnita Miller, as Erda, sang gorgeously with a supple and well-supported voice.

Since Froh is not typically well casted in any production, it was a pleasant surprise to hear Brandon Jovanovich in the role. Jovanovich, who came to San Francisco mainly to sing Siegmund, delivered the short but difficult lines of Froh. More importantly, he paraded his acting skills by providing the evening’s comedic relief.

Stefan Margita as Loge gave perhaps the most commanding delivery of the role I have heard in years. His crisp, trumpet-like execution projected easily across the pit, and at his curtain call he earned the loudest round of applause of the evening.

A swirling golden fabric held by the sisters to represent the Rhine precious metal was visually stunning. The design proved dramatically effective when Alberich conveniently snatched it away from the sisters and escaped to Nibelheim. The transformation of Alberich into the giant serpent and the toad, effectuated by puffs of smokes and sparks, looked like cheap tricks from a Penn-and-Teller show. The toad was a stuffed toy that Loge playfully juggled before securing it and leaving Nibelheim, drawing plenty of laughs from the audience. Otherwise, Michael Yeargan’s stage provided very few excitements and/or novelty.

Jan Hartley’s visual projections provided a rich counterpoint to Wagner’s orchestrations and a story-telling complement to Michael Yeargan’s set. Soft focused imagery of America’s natural heartland provided a dream-scape depicting the distance and geology separating Nibelheim and earth. At times, however, the projections seemed too literal (the depiction of liquefied gold to suggest Alberich’s gold mine), or flawed (the depiction of Rhine with swerving, ocean-like waves).

At the conductor podium was Donald Runnicles, who was San Francisco Opera’s music director from 1992 to 2009. Runnicles was no stranger to Wagner music in San Francisco, having previously led two series of Ring Cycles at the War Memorial in the 90s. Runnicles’ time keeping was not strictly speaking, tight, and provided plenty of breathing room to the singers. Balance tilted in favor of the upper brass (at least where I sat – orchestra center), and the strings, underpowered — there were only 8 cellos to do the work of twelve scored by Wagner — were often drowned out. If there remained one other thing to complain about, it was the tentativeness of the horns at the beginning’s E-flat chord. The output sounded slightly timid and unrehearsed, but otherwise nothing to be scoffed at.

Carmen

Date: April 10, 2011
Conductor: Chen Zuohuang
Director: Francesca Zambello
Location: The National Centre for the Performing Arts (The Egg), Beijing.

Repeating the success of last year’s Opera Festival, the National Centre for the Performing Arts brought back last year’s critical darling, Carmen, to the current Opera Festival, its third year running. The production by Francesca Zambello remained basically unchanged. There seemed to be, however, an evolutionary refinement of the entire production, especially in the gypsy dance number inside Lillas Pastia’s inn, which seemed more organic and natural than last year’s perceptibly under-rehearsed and somewhat disorienting rendition.

Viktoria Vizin’s voice was ripe and seductive, but lacked an exquisite timbre that would elevate her above the large horde of Carmen wannabes. Dramatically, she was less suave than Kirstin Chavez, last year’s Carmen, and her Habanera was comparatively pedestrian and uninviting. Yet, she made up with brisk control of her vocal instrument and was, unlike many egocentric Carmens who would dictate tempi at will, meticulous in placing her notes within the comforting confines of the accompanying music.

Anne-Catherine Gillet, returning to play Micaela, phrased with sensitivity and skill. Her voice was pure and controlled, and her effortless display of lyrical phrasings was disguised under her excellent portrayal of Micaela’s inherent modesty. Michael Todd Simpson interpreted a fine Escamillo, with a dauntless and dependable aura befitting the bull-fighting character. His voice could carry a distance, but was still insufficient to overcome the design shortcoming as described last year. (Francesca, my dear, if you are reading this, would you care to make some small changes to bring Escamillo closer to the apron so that he could surprise the unsuspecting audience with a scorching start to Votre toast?)

Brandon Jovanovich was triumphant as Jose. His vocal prowess was unmistakable: he possessed a wide singing range with robust dynamic control and a crisp, trumphet-like timbre. His voice had an air of immediate authority, and is obviously perfectly placed for Wagnerian roles (I look forward to hearing his Siegmund in San Francisco this coming June) and dramatic roles like Manrico or Alvaro. His searing top had a rare combination of force and textural juiciness, thus making his La Fleur delivery, albeit oddly without a flower as props, resoundingly enjoyable to listen to.

Chen Zuohuang’s conducting was again suspect, after failing to contain a young orchestra and a big chorus, especially in the big Lillas Pastia gypsy dance. At one point, the singing on stage was almost a full measure removed from the orchestra. More importantly, aside from slivers of brilliance from individual playing (for example, the fate theme by the woodwinds before La Fleur), there was very little personality coming from the pit. The romantic or tragic depths as crafted by Bizet were, unfortunately, neither apparent nor sufficiently befitting Zambello’s fine production.

Viktoria Vizin, as Carmen.

Viktoria Vizin, as Carmen.

Carmen

Date: May 13, 2010
Conductor: Zuohuang Chen
Director: Francesca Zambello
Location: The National Centre for the Performing Arts (The Egg), Beijing.

Francesca Zambello takes bow in the premiere of NCPA's new production of Carmen.

Francesca Zambello takes bow in the premiere of NCPA's new production of Carmen.

Francesca Zambello’s new Beijing production of Carmen, commissioned by the National Centre for the Performing Arts, was a resounding triumph. Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy’s libretto, based on the eponymous novella by Prosper Mérimée, was realized by Zambello’s international team in all its gripping drama and theatricality. British set designer Peter Davison built an elephantine set that, at each point of its unveiling, triggered collective gasps by an awed audience. Costume designer Susan Willmington and lighting designer Benjamin Pearcy, both Brits, provided plenty of peppery visual stimulus. An ebullient cast obliged, and delivered an enthusiastic and sumptuously pleasurable stage performance.

Davison’s set was sweeping and broad, covering the proscenium’s entire width. When curtain rose for the first act, a street view was revealed with a slight downward slant to the left, as if to highlight the undulating landscape of Moorish Spain. A rectangular well was placed in the middle of the stage, providing an anchor upon which the first act chorus gathered and an excuse for Carmen to wash her legs and breasts and, most assuredly, to flaunt those plump assets. The second act was a mirror image of the first, whereby the first act’s street stage was flipped to reveal its corresponding interior space. A flight of stairs running from the back to the middle of the stage served as the entrance to Lillas Pastia’s inn and Escamillo’s famed entry point. The set for the third act was a revelation: an imposing rocky scene split into two spaces by a torn wall: a dimly lit, cold space where the smugglers gathered with their contraband, and a warmer volume where Micaela initially hid. While Carmen was never about good versus bad, the contrast was obvious, and the comparison apt. The torn wall spectacularly ran the full height of the proscenium, and upon its unveiling at the beginning of the third act, the audience reacted with a series of approving applauses. The fourth act fully utilized the NCPA’s gigantic stage by prominently showcasing a large bull-fight arena piece, with a nearly five-meter, arched passageway serving as Escamillo’s entrance to the ring and exit from stage.

Kirstin Chavez, as Carmen, was a captivating actor. The eyes of her Carmen were ablaze with lust and mischievousness, while her sexy body movement was suggestive and inviting. The coloration with which she adorned her melodic lines was expressive and, unlike those colorations from many other overconfident Carmens, not so self-important as to appear vain. Her middle voice, while lacking the velvety warmth typical of an engaging Carmen, had plenty of weight and confidence without any audible hint of chest voice. That said, Chavez’s pitch was somewhat suspect: she tended to go sharp whenever there was a high note in forte, and on various occasions she would enter her passage in a slightly misplaced key, especially En vain… amères at the beginning of the third act.

Jean-Luc Chaignaud’s Escamillo was entertaining and dependable. His stage entry in the second act was full of panache, highlighted by his dramatic throwing of his montera across the stage. His vocal entrance, by comparison, was more pedestrian, as he initially had trouble finding a dynamic range that could carry over the orchestra and into the auditorium. That was not his fault alone – the long recession between the top of the staircase, where he entered, and the orchestra was unforgiving and bore some of the blame. As he descended and moved forward, his voice carried through, in a measured display of baritonal confidence. The rest of the supporting cast excelled: Chen Peixin’s Zuniga delivered a bass line that was full and rounded. Niu Shasha and Li Xintong displayed plenty of coloratura skills in the roles of Mercedes and Frasquita: their harmonious duets Mêlons! Coupons! and Quant au douanieraffaire! stood out with plenty of sappy sweetness. Li Hong served up a feisty Lillas Pastia: her acting was charismatic and lively, though her stunning beauty was somewhat a distraction, especially in the scene before Carmen’s initial entrance in the first act, where Li’s Lillas wore the red flower and taunted the soldiers in a prominent, and in my opinion excessive, fashion.

Richard Troxell’s spinto voice was a little on the lighter side but was well polished and ripe. Listed in the programme notes as a lyric tenor, the American’s voice seemed more naturally suited for spinto roles such as Jose. His careful technique allowed him to navigate the more difficult passages with security and ease. His La fleur, in particular, was meticulously crafted and superbly acted. While he momentarily cracked in the bar just before the big aria’s finale, he recovered to deliver a rousing Bb in mezzo-forte, even though he did not manage (or be bothered) to work on the pianissimo. I would love to hear more of him, as Riccardo, perhaps even Manrico and Alvaro if he continues to build more weight to his voice.

Among the singers of the evening, Anne-Catherine Gillet, as Micaela, had the most comfortable command of the vocal instrument. She demonstrated a luxurious yet well-regulated trill, a huge top and an expressive timbre. She was also a capable actor: many of the Micaelas I have seen in the past were so overacted as to border annoying, but Gillet’s Micaela was mellow and lovable, beaming the kind of ravishing affability one typically associates with one’s friendly next door neighbor. Her arias were phrased with passionate individuality, without teetering on self-indulgence. The Belgian, quite naturally, also had the clearest diction amongst the international cast.

The biggest problem of the evening remained in the pit. At times, Zuohuang Chen sounded as if he had tremendous difficulty holding together the NCPA Orchestra, newly-formed just a few months ago. Soloists romped free, creating a horrendously jagged and patchy orchestral output. Even when everything seemed synchronized and balanced, the playing seemed more routine than inspired, and showed none of the sparkle which Bizet infused into the score. The only worthy highlight of the evening was the Toreador song, which was rendered with broad strokes, in a controlled hysteria of festivity and fervor. But a fleeting moment did not an evening make, and the subpar performance was insulting to a largely educated audience whose discontent at the conducting during the curtain calls were scattered but clearly audible, and, in my opinion at least, justified.

Kirstin Chavez, as Carmen.

Kirstin Chavez, as Carmen.

Note: this is the dialogue version. While the NCPA’s sheer size should really call for the Guiraud version, I was pleasantly surprised by how well the dialogues were transmitted to my balcony seat. Some of the audibility problems had nothing to do with version choice: the beginning of Escamillo’s Act 2 aria was due to design limitation; and for part of the evening, due to an orchestra that loomed too much over the voice.