I'm busy this week: four consecutive nights out on the town in New York, with three shows at the Metropolitan Opera and one musical on the "off" night from the Met. Hitting some live performances at the Metropolitan has been on my bucket list for years, and now the time has come.
The first show on my list is Wagner's Der Fliegende Hollander ("The Flying Dutchman"). Depending on which Great Expert you consult, it's either a very advanced "early" Wagner drama or the first great drama of his artistic maturity. I tend to lean towards the second view.
Wagner published the score as a three-act opera. But he had originally written it as a single continuous act. To create the three-act version, he simply cut the piece into three chunks at the scene changes, with several bars of music before each break repeated after the break to restart the work. It still gets performed this way (and was the last time I saw it staged live way back in the 1970s), but this Met production performed the work as a single continuous act, 2 hours and 20 minutes long. The dramatic power of the story, and the momentum of events, is considerably enhanced by doing away with the two intermissions, even if it does murder the sales figures at the bar (and, for some reason, The Flying Dutchman has long been reputed as one of the best operas for generating drink sales).
The really forward-looking feature of the score, apart from the musical continuity throughout, is found in the music written for the title character, the deathless sea captain. His lengthy monologue in Act 1 looks forward to the Ring operas not only in musical style, but also in dramatic intensity during what is basically an extended aside to the audience. His main theme, heard in the overture and again throughout the opera in various guises, is not much more than a simple arpeggio figure accompanied by wind-blown scales in the upper strings -- a true leitmotiv in every way. His lengthy monologue, Die Frist ist um, weaves the variant forms of the arpeggio throughout as well as including a lengthy section making use of the leitmotiv as vocal line.
And for sheer drama, Wagner rarely equalled and never surpassed the ferocious double chorus in the third act where the brash Norwegian sailors are finally terrified into silence by the ghostly singing of the Dutchman's crew -- a truly hair-raising scene.
This opera, then, stands at a crossroads in Wagner's career, and in the history of opera.
Wagner's score makes no mention of a date, so this production (first staged in 1989) is set in the period in which the opera was first performed -- a period when iron steamships were gradually (and then more rapidly) supplanting sailing ships. The appearance of the Dutchman's ship as a huge, iron-plated bow with a blood-red anchor chain looming over the Norwegian vessel fulfils the general intent, although at the same time it makes nonsense of the many lines in the libretto which refer to the Dutchman's sails. It also includes a very long metal gangway reaching down out of the flies from the ship's invisible main deck overhead -- a gangway which the Dutchman uses to great effect.
So to the singing cast of six, taken in ascending order of the role's scope in the drama.
Ben Bliss as the Steersman made great play with the comic possibilities of his character, the man who manages to sing himself to sleep while on watch. His voice, a youthful tenor of great clarity, fitted the part as well. Definitely an up-and-coming singer to watch.
Dolora Zajick as Mary, the older nurse or companion or housekeeper or duenna -- the score never really makes clear what her part in the household may be -- was in trouble right from the get-go, constantly vanishing under the orchestra, or the chorus. That's the way the part is written, and it needs a strong dramatic mezzo soprano to pull it off. I wonder if Zajick may have been struggling with some throat ailment which reduced her ability to really project the sound? The staging didn't help either, keeping her confined for her entire appearance to a slumped-over position in a wheelchair. What we could hear of her sounded fine, but there was much that vanished.
AJ Glueckert as Erik sang with clarity to spare, and with an edge on the voice that suited the portrayal of the hunter slighted. Glueckert presented Erik as a man who's counted his chickens before they're hatched. Having counted on marrying Senta, he now finds himself in the unpleasant position of being told off time and time again. Perhaps understandably, this Erik turned into a whiny spoiled brat under the provocation, which then made nonsense of his final attempt to persuade Senta that she really had sworn to be faithful to him. In some ways, an unfortunate dramatic choice.
Franz-Josef Selig made a bluff and hearty Daland, never overplaying the lust for gold that leads him to consign his daughter to a man he's only just met. If anything, this Daland's face lit up the instant the Dutchman mentioned marriage, creating a momentary impression that he'd been trying for a long time to get her off his hands! A good, solid bass voice with plenty of power to spare even in the deep reaches.
Amber Wagner makes a terrific dramatic soprano. Her voice is, in a word, huge -- and she used it hugely throughout, trumpeting forcefully in all parts of her range. For Senta, in my opinion, it would be nice to have a singer who can sound a little less mature at certain key moments -- such as the point where she asks Mary to sing the ballad of the Dutchman. Indeed, Wagner gave the impression that she was singing in a different opera from her colleagues, so much did her voice overtop all others on the stage in sheer weight. Not that it was an unpleasant sound, although the vibrato became a bit much in one or two passages. She certainly nailed the numerous high notes and subsequent drops in the ballad without any sliding, and that's more than many sopranos could say!
Michael Volle as the Dutchman ruled the stage. He has great musical and personal presence, abetted by an uncommonly expressive face which registers clearly even in the Met's immense auditorium. In an early example of the huge demands that Wagner was often to make of his characters, the part calls for the Dutchman to appear on stage and immediately sing that huge monologue cold without so much as a how-d'you-do to warm up or sense the feel of the house. In this production he actually makes his entrance standing on that long gangway like a fireman's ladder as it slowly swings down out of the flies. (I'd get the shakes right there!) And he has to sing the entire monologue while still remaining on the ladder which has, as yet, not touched ground at the bottom.
It takes a member of the modern aristocracy of singing actors to pull off the scene in this manner, and Volle clearly is of that rank. Throughout the opera, he summoned a wide variety of tone colours for different situations, always singing with spot-on intonation and crystal-clear diction -- certainly no German speakers in the audience would need the title screens for his part. As a character, too, his Dutchman was uncompromisingly clear and dominated the stage -- especially when he stood still. In sum, very accomplished acting and singing of a high order. I certainly hope to hear and see him perform again soon.
Yannick Nezet-Seguin, the Met's Music Director Designate, conducted the score with great precision and managed to snare almost all the difficulties (there are one or two passages that I doubt even Wagner ever managed to get completely under control). Tempi were almost always well-nigh ideal, allowing the drama to cross the footlights clearly.
The one exception which made both musical and dramatic nonsense, came during Act 3 when the long span of the chorus and dance of the Norwegian sailors and girls remains firmly locked onto one speed until a brief two-bar fragment of the Dutchman's music appears when his name is mentioned -- after which the dance resumes. When Nezet-Seguin speeded up to his Dutchman tempo at that point, it forced the chorus to go through the final verse and dance at a higher, more breathless speed -- and forfeited the possibility of a further acceleration at the beginning of the Dutch sailor's chorus, which is the place where ever recording I've ever heard places it.
Apart from that misjudgement, his mastery of the score as a whole certainly bodes well for the Met's future progress. That Flying Dutchman definitely got my Metropolitan week off to a flying start.
The really forward-looking feature of the score, apart from the musical continuity throughout, is found in the music written for the title character, the deathless sea captain. His lengthy monologue in Act 1 looks forward to the Ring operas not only in musical style, but also in dramatic intensity during what is basically an extended aside to the audience. His main theme, heard in the overture and again throughout the opera in various guises, is not much more than a simple arpeggio figure accompanied by wind-blown scales in the upper strings -- a true leitmotiv in every way. His lengthy monologue, Die Frist ist um, weaves the variant forms of the arpeggio throughout as well as including a lengthy section making use of the leitmotiv as vocal line.
And for sheer drama, Wagner rarely equalled and never surpassed the ferocious double chorus in the third act where the brash Norwegian sailors are finally terrified into silence by the ghostly singing of the Dutchman's crew -- a truly hair-raising scene.
This opera, then, stands at a crossroads in Wagner's career, and in the history of opera.
Wagner's score makes no mention of a date, so this production (first staged in 1989) is set in the period in which the opera was first performed -- a period when iron steamships were gradually (and then more rapidly) supplanting sailing ships. The appearance of the Dutchman's ship as a huge, iron-plated bow with a blood-red anchor chain looming over the Norwegian vessel fulfils the general intent, although at the same time it makes nonsense of the many lines in the libretto which refer to the Dutchman's sails. It also includes a very long metal gangway reaching down out of the flies from the ship's invisible main deck overhead -- a gangway which the Dutchman uses to great effect.
So to the singing cast of six, taken in ascending order of the role's scope in the drama.
Ben Bliss as the Steersman made great play with the comic possibilities of his character, the man who manages to sing himself to sleep while on watch. His voice, a youthful tenor of great clarity, fitted the part as well. Definitely an up-and-coming singer to watch.
Dolora Zajick as Mary, the older nurse or companion or housekeeper or duenna -- the score never really makes clear what her part in the household may be -- was in trouble right from the get-go, constantly vanishing under the orchestra, or the chorus. That's the way the part is written, and it needs a strong dramatic mezzo soprano to pull it off. I wonder if Zajick may have been struggling with some throat ailment which reduced her ability to really project the sound? The staging didn't help either, keeping her confined for her entire appearance to a slumped-over position in a wheelchair. What we could hear of her sounded fine, but there was much that vanished.
AJ Glueckert as Erik sang with clarity to spare, and with an edge on the voice that suited the portrayal of the hunter slighted. Glueckert presented Erik as a man who's counted his chickens before they're hatched. Having counted on marrying Senta, he now finds himself in the unpleasant position of being told off time and time again. Perhaps understandably, this Erik turned into a whiny spoiled brat under the provocation, which then made nonsense of his final attempt to persuade Senta that she really had sworn to be faithful to him. In some ways, an unfortunate dramatic choice.
Franz-Josef Selig made a bluff and hearty Daland, never overplaying the lust for gold that leads him to consign his daughter to a man he's only just met. If anything, this Daland's face lit up the instant the Dutchman mentioned marriage, creating a momentary impression that he'd been trying for a long time to get her off his hands! A good, solid bass voice with plenty of power to spare even in the deep reaches.
Amber Wagner makes a terrific dramatic soprano. Her voice is, in a word, huge -- and she used it hugely throughout, trumpeting forcefully in all parts of her range. For Senta, in my opinion, it would be nice to have a singer who can sound a little less mature at certain key moments -- such as the point where she asks Mary to sing the ballad of the Dutchman. Indeed, Wagner gave the impression that she was singing in a different opera from her colleagues, so much did her voice overtop all others on the stage in sheer weight. Not that it was an unpleasant sound, although the vibrato became a bit much in one or two passages. She certainly nailed the numerous high notes and subsequent drops in the ballad without any sliding, and that's more than many sopranos could say!
Michael Volle as the Dutchman ruled the stage. He has great musical and personal presence, abetted by an uncommonly expressive face which registers clearly even in the Met's immense auditorium. In an early example of the huge demands that Wagner was often to make of his characters, the part calls for the Dutchman to appear on stage and immediately sing that huge monologue cold without so much as a how-d'you-do to warm up or sense the feel of the house. In this production he actually makes his entrance standing on that long gangway like a fireman's ladder as it slowly swings down out of the flies. (I'd get the shakes right there!) And he has to sing the entire monologue while still remaining on the ladder which has, as yet, not touched ground at the bottom.
It takes a member of the modern aristocracy of singing actors to pull off the scene in this manner, and Volle clearly is of that rank. Throughout the opera, he summoned a wide variety of tone colours for different situations, always singing with spot-on intonation and crystal-clear diction -- certainly no German speakers in the audience would need the title screens for his part. As a character, too, his Dutchman was uncompromisingly clear and dominated the stage -- especially when he stood still. In sum, very accomplished acting and singing of a high order. I certainly hope to hear and see him perform again soon.
Yannick Nezet-Seguin, the Met's Music Director Designate, conducted the score with great precision and managed to snare almost all the difficulties (there are one or two passages that I doubt even Wagner ever managed to get completely under control). Tempi were almost always well-nigh ideal, allowing the drama to cross the footlights clearly.
The one exception which made both musical and dramatic nonsense, came during Act 3 when the long span of the chorus and dance of the Norwegian sailors and girls remains firmly locked onto one speed until a brief two-bar fragment of the Dutchman's music appears when his name is mentioned -- after which the dance resumes. When Nezet-Seguin speeded up to his Dutchman tempo at that point, it forced the chorus to go through the final verse and dance at a higher, more breathless speed -- and forfeited the possibility of a further acceleration at the beginning of the Dutch sailor's chorus, which is the place where ever recording I've ever heard places it.
Apart from that misjudgement, his mastery of the score as a whole certainly bodes well for the Met's future progress. That Flying Dutchman definitely got my Metropolitan week off to a flying start.
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