Salzburg Mozartwoche (1) – D'Angelo/Danish CO/Fischer: Mozart, Monteverdi, and Handel, 22 January 2026

Grosser Saal, Mozarteum

Mozart: Lucio Silla, KV 135: Overture
Monteverdi: L’incoronazione di Poppea, SV 308: ‘Disprezzata Regina’
Mozart: Mitridate, re di Ponto, KV 87: Overture
Handel: Ariodante, HWV 33: ‘Scherza infida’, ‘Dopo notte, atra e funesta’
Mozart: La clemenza di Tito, KV 621: Overture and ‘Parto, ma tu ben mio’
Mozart: Symphony no.40 in G minor, KV 550

Emily D’Angelo (mezzo-soprano)

Danish Chamber Orchestra

Ádám Fischer (conductor)

Images: Wolfgang Lienbacher

It is as ever a joy to return, however briefly, to Salzburg for its Mozartwoche. Temperatures at considerably sub-zero throughout the day, let alone the evening, do not dim the spirit, though they may have one grateful to enter the concert hall, in this case the old Mozarteum. Where many arts organisations, even beyond Brexit-Insel, seem through no fault of their own to be in periods of retrenchment, the Stiftung Mozarteum and Intendant Rolando Villazón are having none of that. The programme seems to become, if anything, ever fuller and the varying themes are interesting if necessarily broad. In this, the festival’s seventieth year, the decision has been made to focus on Mozart’s last year, 1791, though it is simply a focus, nothing all-encompassing. 

In his enthusiastic spoken introduction, Villazón explained that he also wished to draw connections with earlier years of his intendancy, such as last year’s presentation of ‘destination Mozart’, with Bach, Handel, and the dawn of opera (more or less) with Monteverdi, hence the presence here of two of those three composers. Ottavia’s aria ‘Disprezzata regina’ from L’incoronazione di Poppea was barely conducted, if at all, Emily d’Angelo and a small continuo group (harpsichord, archlute (I think!) and cello) giving an involving performance to which Ádám Fischer offered occasional, perhaps involuntary encouragement, remaining onstage, as did the rest of the Danish Chamber Orchestra. D’Angelo and her companions communicated in vivid fashion so as not only to create character in a single aria, but to imply dramatic context too. Although so much lies in the libretto, one almost felt her performance was so communicative one barely needed words at all: a paradox that exaggerates no doubt, but no less an impression for that. The same might be said of two arias from Ariodante, in which the DCO and Fischer were equal partners, bassoonist Ignas Mazila offering gorgeous playing on the extraordinary obbligato part in ‘Scherza, infida’. Strings, rightly or wrongly, were low on vibrato, but at least did not eliminate it entirely, such flourishes all the more welcome. The very different context of ‘Dopo notte’ registered immediately, d’Angelo’s stage experience readily transferring to the concert platform in a regal account, coloratura not only brilliant but deeply expressive. Here was a richer, more ‘mezzo-like’ mezzo: quite irresistible.

On either side of Monteverdi lay overtures to two of Mozart’s three operas for Milan. Both likewise fizzed with a sense of theatre, lacking little in tenderness in response. That to Lucio Silla offered not only fitting contrasts but also sensitive gradations, the relationship between the two rightly at the heart of Mozart in performance. Both incorporated (relatively) brief switches to solo string playing, a practice that will be familiar to those acquainted with Fischer’s Haydn recordings. There was none of that – a good decision, I think – in the Clemenza di Tito Overture, though some string articulation struck me as a little exaggerated: all very well despatched, but to my ears not quite right for Mozart. Its grand scale was welcome, though: this was not a Mozart to be condescended to, as far foo often one hears nowadays. A relatively broad approach was adopted for the same opera’s ‘Parto, parto…’. So relished was its reality as duet between voice and clarinet that the outstanding second soloist Jonas Lyskjær Frølund made his way, whilst playing, towards the front of the stage to address Sesto directly. In a trouser (strictly castrato) role, d’Angelo sounded and indeed looked notably more masculine—which certainly did not preclude, but rather offered dramatic foundation for, passages of great tenderness and near-stillness. 

To close, we heard Mozart’s great G minor Symphony. There was much to admire in Fischer’s reading, though ultimately, at least until the fourth movement, I felt a distinct lack of harmonic underpinning. It was not so much lightness in the bass line, though that was certainly, oddly the case to my ears, as that crucial sense for any Classical symphony worth its salt of harmonic grounding. It was not disjointed or arbitrary, after the like of Nikolaus Harnoncourt, far from it; rather, line seemed conceived of more melodically than anything else. The first movement was taken as a proper Molto allegro, urgent, even driven, but not unduly so. It was welcome to re-encounter friends from earlier works, not least in further outstanding bassoon playing (often missed here). Fiery and tender, there was unquestionably a tragic line to the performance. The Andante was taken briskly by historical if not contemporary standards. It was especially welcome for turning tragedy in another direction, rather than merely letting it abate; this was no time for repose. The Minuet was possessed of an almost Beethovenian brusqueness and would surely have sounded still closer to Beethoven had it been more harmonically grounded. There was much to glean, though, in the working through of melody and counterpoint. Its trio relaxed considerably, with an oddly tentative opening that must have been by design, since it sounded much the same the second time around. Horn playing was nothing less than delectable. The finale attained duly tragic proportions, not only through balancing harmony with other elements, but by also bringing such relationships into conflict where necessary. The development’s harmonic shocks registered with great force, heralding implacable wind and string counterpoint. The close burned with all the fire of minor-mode Mozart. All fell into place. As two generous encores, we stayed with the Viennese Mozart, to hear lively, colourful, and directed accounts of the overtures to Der Schauspieldirektor and The Marriage of Figaro.

The concert will be broadcast on 27 January 2026 at 19.30 (CET) on Austrian Radio Ö1.

Salzburg Mozartwoche (6) - Peretyatko/Danish CO/Fischer: Mozart and Salieri, 30 January 2024

Grosser Saal, Mozarteum

Mozart: Lucio Silla, KV 135: Overture; Don Giovanni, KV 527: ‘Crudele! Ah no, mio bene!’ – ‘Non mi dir, bell’idol mio’
Salieri: Sinfonia, ‘La Veneziana’
Mozart: Concert aria, ‘Ch’io mi scordi di te?’ – ‘Non temer, amato bene’, KV 505; Idomeneo, KV 366: ‘Oh smanie! Oh furie!’ – ‘D’Oreste, d’Alace’; Symphony no.36 in C major, KV 425, ‘Linz’

Olga Peretyatko (soprano)
Danish Chamber Orchestra,
Ádám Fischer (conductor)

Images: Wolfang Lienbacher

Ádám Fischer is a fine if sometimes eccentric Mozartian. His concert performance of Il re pastore with the Mozarteum Orchestra at last year’s Salzburg Festival was for me a highlight, and his work with the Danish Chamber Orchestra has gained many plaudits. Understandably, if this concert, my final engagement at this year’s Mozartwoche, is anything to go by. Moreover, it confirmed the sensational qualities of soprano Olga Peretyatko, whom I had admired in Idomeneo at the Staatsoper Unter den Linden last year. 

The concert opened with the Overture to Lucio Silla, a new production of which has just opened next door at the Landestheater, for which I hope to return to Salzburg later this season and report. In the meantime, this proved quite a taster, as bright, theatrical, and vigorous as one might expect of the young Mozart in D major, here palpably excited to get his hands on the Milanese orchestra. (Paris was not the only fruit.) Woodwind in the first section foreshadowed those of the warm, central Andante in A, with just a hint of the shadows to come. In the final section, Fischer employed a favoured device of his, also to be heard in the Linz Symphony, of restricting certain passages to solo instruments only. 

Peretyatko joined Fischer and the orchestra for three numbers. First was ‘Crudele! Ah no, mio bene!’ – ‘Non mi dir, bell’idol mio’ from Don Giovanni. Opening very much in medias res, giving the accompagnato permitted the performers to prepare us for Donna Anna’s aria, rather than experience it as a pretty, even generically ‘dramatic’ thing-in-itself. It certainly emerged as consequent, treated not only to pinpoint, expressive coloratura and a luxuriant voice, but equal excellence from the orchestra as a whole, gorgeous horns included. ‘Ch’io mi scordi di te?’ – ‘Non temer, amato bene’ was written by Mozart for Nancy Storace, creator of roles for both Mozart (Susanna) and Salieri. Here again, we experience the most vivid of communication through words and music. Fischer’s decision to play Mozart’s piano part too was unfortunate. I have little doubt that he could play or conduct the piece perfectly well; doing both proved, alas, a mistake, and renewed one’s admiration for those pianist-conductors able to do so. Strongly connected to Idomeneo, the aria’s words (though not its recitative’s) coming from Giambattista Varesco’s libretto, it paved the way for the appearance of Elettra after the interval, in which Peretyatko’s star shone, if anything, still brighter. Immediately in character, she had us feel the vipers in Elettra’s bosom, as did the Danish strings, bows fairly bouncing off the strings. Voice and oboe entwined in a veritable dance of death. A whole opera with Fischer, perhaps indeed Idomeneo, would be just the ticket.

 

In between Donna Anna and Mme Storace’s aria, we had heard Salieri’s Sinfonia, latterly called La Veneziana by its 1961 editor Renzo Sabatini. It is not an ‘original’ work, but rather the encounter of two opera overtures, its first movement from La scuola de’ gelosi (indeed written for Venice) and the second and third from La partenza inaspettata. Fischer and the Danish players were again in their theatrical element; anyone could and surely would have guessed this to be the world of opera buffa. Conviction and skill in performance placed this on a different level from any of the Salieri performances I had heard earlier in the week. Counterpoint, gesture, and harmony in the first movement had the composer seem fully worthy of standing in this musical company. The charms of the second could likewise well have been thought the equal of an ‘early’ Mozart symphony or overture. Fischer made it sound easy: as important here as in Mozart. A rollocking hunting finale echoed Haydn, if without his single-mindedness, which might in any case have been less the thing for an opera overture. 

The Linz Symphony, in its usual key of C major rather than the D intriguingly if alarmingly promised by the programme, showed in its first-movement introduction that certain ‘period’ characteristics can readily be employed, should one wish, in this music without loss to a sense of mystery. The exposition proper responded in kind, offering as did the performance as a whole a judicious balance between, well, balance and symmetry on one hand and symphonic development on the other. (Those who complain Mozart unduly emphasises the former could not be more wrong.) The second movement was both more intimate and starker, Fischer excelling once more in reconciling apparent opposites and also displaying a keen ear for colour, to which the orchestra eagerly responded. Just occasionally, his handling could be a little fussy, but there was nothing too grievous. The night-air of Mozart’s Salzburg serenades was to be felt, albeit framed a little more darkly. A minuet hewn from fine marble framed a trio (her for soloists) with effortlessly idiomatic lilt and especially delightful bassoon. The finale went as it ‘should’, apparently competing demands again reframed in collaborative fashion. A noisy audience proved an increasing trial for listening, so observation of the final repeat was a definite advantage in this case. The music sounded all the more urgent until a final blaze in which Fischer gave modern brass its glorious head. It was a little showy, but why not? Clarinets returned to the stage for a remarkably keen encore performance of the Figaro Overture, bringing my Salzburg visit almost full circle.

Salzburg Festival (2) - Il re pastore (concert performance), 19 August 2023

Grosser Saal, Mozarteum

Alessandro – Daniel Behle
Aminta - Emőke Baráth
Elisa – Nikola Hillebrand
Tamiri – Julie Roset
Agenore – David Fischer

Salzburg Mozarteum Orchestra
Ádám Fischer (conductor)

Images: SF/Marco Borrelli

It is not every day I get to hear a Mozart opera live for the first time. That in itself would be enough to welcome the Salzburg Festival’s concert performances of Il re pastore, part of its venerable Mozart-Matinee series. But this proved an outstanding performance, which would still greatly have impressed, were Mozart’s Salzburg serenata the repertoire work it should be. Quite why Mozart’s ‘early’ operas, with the arguable exception of La finta giardiniera, are so neglected is beyond me, but then so is an operatic world in which Donizetti is wildly more popular than Dallapiccola. The important thing is how many ears will have been opened by this performance, conducted with theatrical flair and palpable belief in every bar by Ádám Fischer. 

Leading a small yet, in the acoustic, warm and expansive Mozarteum Orchestra (strings 6.6.5.4.3), Fischer unsurprisingly drove harder at times, for instance during the Overture, than Leopold Hager in his classic Philips recording with the same band from what is now half a century ago, but there was always good and discernible reason for his choices, with none of the arbitrary distortion so favoured by a good number of post-Harnoncourt conductors. Such was the sense of a greater whole, style and ideas as one, I could even for once enjoy the rasping of natural brass. The Overture’s twin characters, presaging those of the drama – regal and pastoral – were presented with beguiling brilliance. Trumpets, drums, and key associations rang as true for Alessandro (Alexander the Great) as for the House of Habsburg, the occasion of Mozart’s Metastasio setting being the visit of Archduke Maximilian Francis to Salzburg. Truth, integrity, love, and other qualities and emotions resonated and moved one similarly. Tempi were nicely varied, seemingly suited to the needs of character and singer, and yet always making made sense in terms of the work as a whole.

A cast as fresh as it was faultless, its movement directed by recitative-pruner Birgit Kajtna, was of course central to this success. Emőke Baráth took on the (original) castrato role of Aminta, the shepherd called to be king. Baráth’s chalumeau-like voice was just the ticket, as was her splendidly natural way with sung words. As early as the first two arias, fine complement and contrast were set up with Aminta’s lover, the nymph Elisa. Nikola Hillebrand’s coloratura in that second aria, ‘Alla selva, al prato, al fonte’, was as great and dramatically meaningful a delight as the Mozarteum woodwind’s interjections. As the two grew in stature, even at the end of the first act encompassing grander orchestral recitative, they never forgot their origins, again key to the dramatic trajectory as well as to the Mozartian enchantment. Aminta’s reluctance to accede to the throne, thanking the gods yet admitting the price (loss of his beloved) was too high, proved moving indeed.

Clad in properly imperial coat, Alessandro joined us with the nobleman Agenore first from the balcony above. In the former role, Daniel Behle exhibited similarly impressive control and dramatic command of the often extremely demanding coloratura. (Mozart took no prisoners at this stage of his career.) David Fischer searingly conveyed the sincerity of his love for the dispossessed princess Tamiri, now destined for Aminta as king rather than him, and, in his second-act aria ‘Sol può dir come si trova,’ the utter desperation of his plight. Julie Roset’s silvery soprano deepened throughout the performance: another well-judged and well-executed trajectory. The final ‘chorus’ of resolution brought home the closeness, especially for Mozart, of symphonic and operatic finale, in form, function, and character. House lights came on as stars shone in the firmament and love smiled more sweetly than ever. Here were all the glories of one of the Mozart’s Salzburg’s liturgical music and not a little of its implicit theology too.

Lezhneva/BPO/Fischer - Mozart and Haydn, 4 October 2019

Philharmonie

 

Mozart: Symphony no.36 in C major, KV 425, ‘Linz’

Haydn: Berenice, che fai? Hob. XXVIa:10
Mozart: Concert aria: ‘Ch’io mi scordi di te’ – ‘Non temer amato bene’, KV 505
Haydn: Symphony no.104 in D major, ‘London’

Julia Lezhneva (soprano)

Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra

Ádám Fischer (conductor, piano)

 

When Sir Colin Davis returned to the LSO in the mid-1990s, he gave an interview in which he said that, as for most British orchestras, what was really required, in order to tackle their Achilles heel of depth of string tone, was to play more Mozart and Haydn. One is tempted to repeat the prescription, for orchestras and conductors alike, not just for depth of tone, but for basic formal understanding and communication, until one hears the results, after which one tends to conclude that many conductors should actually leave them well alone. Such was fortunately not the case here: whether for the Berlin Philharmonic, on excellent form, or for Ádám Fischer, at least in the first half. If, in the second, Fischer showed himself far too prone to mannerism, the minuet and trio of Haydn’s ‘London’ Symphony the most grotesque offender, he also demonstrated beyond question that, when not indulging himself, he was able to lead intelligent and largely convincing performances of music by these two most indispensable, yet elusive, of composers.

 

Mozart’s Linz Symphony is too often overlooked, bewilderingly so for a work of its stature. First performed by the BPO in 1936, under Victor de Sabata, the orchestra had not played the symphony since 2006, when Daniel Barenboim had conducted it. Its first movement introduction hear opened with due C major pomp, Fischer navigating and communicating its darker side with audible appreciation of the role played by oscillation between major and minor modes in what Charles Rosen characterised as the ‘Classical style’, Mozart’s chromaticism crucial in this particular case. Indeed, the secret of so much Mozartian sonata form was well treated in the first movement as a whole: how to balance and/or project the twin demands of balance itself and formal dynamism. A questing – and surprising – development contributed to that success, likewise a commendably fresh and vigorous recapitulation, even if it lacked the last few degrees of seemingly effortless tension in great accounts of the past (Davis, of course, Böhm, Walter, et al.). Antiphonally placed violins proved telling, as soon as it was possible for them to do so, which is to say long before the introduction concluded.

A fine, generative balance and/or dialectic also characterised the slow movement: in this case, between courtly, Salzburg serenade – strings, almost operatically eloquent, just as much as heavenly Berlin winds – and the Romantic angel of death, which already haunts Mozart’s work here. (In truth, it always did.) Might it have been loved a little more? Perhaps, but relative sternness reaped its own rewards, Beethoven but a stone’s throw away, for all the talk – not entirely unjust – we hear of his symphonism owing more to Haydn than to Mozart. The minuet was not free of mannerism, or at least of manner, but the mitteleuropäisch swing Fischer imparted to it was fine with me. What a relief, moreover, it was not to have it rushed. Was it an affectation to allot its trio to solo instruments? Doubtless, but it worked, in its way, and there was no doubting the excellence of the playing. A fleet finale fizzed as it must, counterpoint commendably clear. It could at times have been a touch more directed, more inevitable, though only by the standards of those elusive great performances of the past. In the here and now, there was much to enjoy. If the Mozartian smile finally revealed were hard-won, a little effort is no bad thing.
 

Soprano Julia Lezhneva joined the orchestra for two vocal works, either side of the interval. First up was Haydn’s Metastasio setting, Berenice, che fai? Trumpets and drums left; flutes and clarinets arrived, Haydn’s woodwind writing – and the Berliners’ performance of it – reminding us just how close we stand here to The Creation. This was perhaps the highpoint of the concert for me, a vigorous, polished orchestral introduction very much setting the scene for the scena. Lezhneva, by turn imploring, vehement, and dignified, seemed to give everything. Ideally, one might have had a bigger voice, but only rarely did she sound parted. And that dignity, very much Haydn’s own, although perhaps owing a little to Handel, to the vocal line, was truly the thing. If Haydn cannot match the luxuriance, or indeed the characterisation, of the Idomeneo Mozart, there was a vehemence here almost to match.

It was fitting, then, that the second vocal work would be Mozart’s concert aria for Nancy Storace’s Vienna farewell, ‘Ch’io mi scordi di te? – Non temer, amato bene’, KV 505, its words taken (more or less) from the Abbé Varesco’s libretto for Idomeneo. One noted immediately the more personal tone, from Berlin violins even before Lezhneva’s entry. The string tone Fischer favoured here was lighter: perhaps too much on the light side, at least for me, but anyway. His decision to play the piano part himself, however attractive the idea – Mozart probably did so, both in Vienna, and for a Leipzig Gewandhaus performance in 1789 – proved a decidedly mixed blessing, some passages a little skated over, and phrase endings oddly abrupt. Nevertheless, the music was beautifully sung and (orchestrally) played, phrasing otherwise exemplary. If there were occasions when the tessitura seemed to sit somewhat awkwardly for Lezhneva, she certainly made the best of it. I should certainly rather hear her in this music than the mannered, aspirated Cecilia Bartoli, who had given the two most recent Berlin Philharmonic performances of both vocal works (Haydn: 2003, with Simon Rattle; Mozart; 2006, with Barenboim).

Given Rattle’s love for Haydn, I was surprised to see that the orchestra had not performed Haydn’s final symphony since 1991, under Jeffrey Tate. (Its Berlin Philharmonic premiere had been sixty years earlier, the conductor no less than Wilhelm Furtwängler.) I wish, then, that my enthusiasm for Fischer’s performance could have matched that of the audience. It had its moments, yes, but they were far from all positive. The first two movements came off best, the first’s introduction more single-minded than that to the Linz, as befits Haydn’s method here. The exposition proper was relished for precisely what it should be: as great a summation of eighteenth-century symphonic writing as Mozart’s Jupiter. Fischer did not pull around the music, as is fashionable today; it emerged all the stronger for it. If he could not match the grandeur and magnificence of great performances of the past, such as Jochum, Boulez, Davis, and of course Furtwangler, that was not necessarily his aim. There was true purpose to the development, and the recapitulation sounded both known and surprising. What concision and rigour there is here: worthy of Webern (or rather Webern’s is worthy of Haydn).

Fischer took the Andante swiftly, though not necessarily unduly so. There was space, just about, for detail to register without fussiness. Again, one could note the many differences between Mozart and Haydn – and why Wagner, for instance, tended to prefer Haydn’s sonata and symphonic forms to Mozart’s. I had heard grander accounts, but on its own terms, it worked well. Alas, it was with the minuet that things fell apart. Agogic accents, prolonged rests, interpolated grace notes: why, o why? It ended up stumbling rather than swaggering, or whatever it may have been Fischer was seeking to accomplish. The trio seemed to fare better at first, yet soon lost its pulse entirely. Haydn’s finale was taken very fast: not in itself a problem, but must it have been so mercilessly hard-driven? Ultimately, even paradoxically, it ended up sounding more effortful than its counterpart in the Linz. There was no doubting the excellence of the playing, notwithstanding Fischer’s repeated interpolation of grace notes that seemed to have strayed from a ‘Hungarian’-themed café. Bizarre – and a great pity.

 

Munich Opera Festival (2) - La clemenza di Tito, 19 July 2014

Images: © Wilfried Hösl
Sesto (Tara Erraught) and
Vitellia (Kristine Opolais)

Nationaltheater, Munich

Tito – Toby Spence

Vitellia – Kristïne Opolais
Sesto – Tara Erraught
Servilia – Hanna-Elisabeth Müller
Annio – Anna Stéphany
Publio – Tareq Nazmi

Jan Bosse (director)

Victoria Behr (costumes)
Ingo Bracke (lighting)
Bibi Abel (video)
Miron Hakenbeck (dramaturgy)

Chorus of the Bavarian State Opera (chorus master: Sören Eckhoff)

Bavarian State Orchestra
Ádám Fischer (conductor)

 

 

 

It had been a while since I had seen La clemenza di Tito in the theatre, though I spend a good deal of time on it when teaching. Alas, there was little to cheer about here, save for some of the singing. Ádám Fischer’s listless conducting only had me long for Sir Colin Davis, in the pit for the sole convincing musical performance I have heard ‘live’; Jan Bosse’s stage direction had me longing for just about anything else.

Fischer, first: his role was puzzling. If anything, I’d have expected someone from at least the quasi-authenticist wing to harry the score. And that is what the Overture sounded like: grand neo-Classicism reduced to something impatiently knocking on the door of small-scale Rossini (without the gloss or the bubbles). Thereafter, however, Fischer tended to maul the score, rarely letting it settle at one tempo or another. Not that there is anything wrong with tempo variations; far from it. But Fischer seemed unable to find a general pulse for an aria, let alone for any greater structural unit. The great public scenes were scaled down: surely this calls for a reasonable-size chorus.  Perhaps worst of all was the lugubrious pacing of many of the secco recitatives: in this of all Mozart’s works, we really do not need to dwell on them, since they are many, they are not his work, and they are sometimes frankly unsatisfactory in terms of where they tonally lead us. For some reason I could never establish, they were mostly given with harpsichord, but a few with fortepiano. The Bavarian State Orchestra played well enough, considering, but as with Dan Ettinger’s dreadful Figaro two nights earlier, it was difficult to shy away from the conclusion that the orchestra would have been better off without a conductor. Certainly in this case, it would have been better off without the more interventionist aspects of Fischer’s decidedly peculiar interpretation.

Tito (Toby Spence) and chorus members

Bosse’s staging? Ultimately, as a friend wearily remarked to me during the interval, it reflects the seeming inability of a large number of opera directors to take opera seria seriously, as it were, let alone to take this extraordinary late example of the form for what it is. Caterina Mazzolà’s often drastic revision of Metastasio was acknowledged neither for what it had become, nor for what it had been, and certainly not for what Mozart transformed it into. It is difficult to discern any understanding of the classical conception of opera seria as spoken theatre with additional music having come into conflict, whether in work and reception, with later-eighteenth-century æsthetics, which had ascribed greater importance to music – unless, that is, it be nodded to by having the excellent solo clarinettist sit on the edge of the pit to be looked at by Sesto and then later by Vitellia. It is equally difficult to discern any sense of the political, of this coronation opera as, in words I have used for an article elsewhere, ‘a compulsory class in a school for ruler and ruled’.  It is just all a bit silly, with various people wandering around in ludicrously exaggerated visions of eighteenth-century dress, the size of Vitellia’s dress especially ridiculous. Wigs look as though I have been taken from an LSD-user’s vision of Amadeus. The trouser roles offer a bit of gender confusion, in that the characters’ dress seems as much female as male. And that is it: none of those ‘ideas’ is really developed, let alone related to the work. The only other feature I can recall worthy of comment is the general change from black to white between acts and the banal apparent conclusion that the characters find themselves through the burning of the Capitol. Of revolution, of counter-revolution, of Enlightened absolutism, of aristocratic revanchism: there is nothing. What on earth the dramaturge was offering for his fee I cannot imagine. And of Mozart: well, there is, if anything, still less.

Toby Spence had his good moments, more in the second act than the first, but had some strikingly unsteady moments too. He certainly was not helped by the direction, which seemed limited to having him wander around uncertainly in a sheet. I felt rather conflicted about Kristïne Opolais. There was no doubting the committed nature of her performance as Vitellia, but the nature of the application was not always necessarily appropriate. In the first act, she sometimes sounded as though she would have been happier singing Puccini, forsaking Mozart’s line for generalised ‘operatic’ sounds and gestures that have little or no place in his world. The second act was much better, though, ‘Non più di fiori’ an undoubted highlight, in which even Fischer got his act together to lead a strikingly successful transition into the finale. (It was a rare, much appreciated example of an ill-behaved audience not being permitted indiscriminately to applaud.) Tara Erraught and Anna Stéphany were more or less beyond reproach as Sesto and Annio, clean of line and clear of dramatic purpose – at least insofar as the production permitted. Both would grace the Mozart ensembles of any house. Hanna-Elisabeth Müller, the Susanna in that earlier Figaro, impressed once again as Servilia; if anything, the role – and form – seemed to suit her better still. Tareq Nazmi’s Publio, again not helped by a production which seemed to have the character down as simply a bit of a weirdo, could have been more cleanly sung. And there we have it: an opera seria performance as if from the bad old days, when the drama was seen as secondary to the singers, when the music was barely understood for what it is. Not for the first time, I longed for Gérard Mortier and the Herrmanns.

Salzburg Festival (2): Così fan tutte - VPO/Fischer, 7 August 2009

Images © Monika Rittershaus

Haus für Mozart

Fiordiligi – Miah Persson
Isabel Leonard – Dorabella
Topi Lehttipuu – Ferrando
Florian Boesch – Guglielmo
Patricia Petibon – Despina
Bo Skovhus – Don Alfonso

Claus Guth (director)
Christian Schmidt (scenery)
Anna Sofie Tuma (costumes)
Andri Hardmeier (dramaturge)
Olaf Winter (lighting)
Alex Buresch, Kai Ehlers (video)
Ramses Sigl (choreography

Concert Association of the Vienna State Opera (chorus master: Thomas Lang)
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Ádám Fischer (conductor)

My expectations were extremely high, following Claus Guth’s extraordinary transformation of Le nozze di Figaro, which I saw at Salzburg in 2007. At the time (click here for the full review), I enthused:

Had anyone described it to me, I should have recoiled in horror. Somehow, this anti-Figaro provided a truly compelling dramatic experience. ... Claus Guth presented one of the best examples of Regietheater I have ever seen. What sounds perverse, to say the least, was thought through to the end. ... the most fizzingly champagne-like of operas was transformed into a harrowing, even sadistic drama, which came closer to the devastating hyper-realism of Così fan tutte.

Reference to the previous production – unfortunately, I have yet to see last year’s Don Giovanni, though I hope for a revival – might help to explain why my impressions were more mixed upon this occasion. Così might, I suppose, be convincingly transformed into its opposite, but I suspect that this would be a task even more difficult than that for Figaro and it does not happen here. What I find it hard to imagine it convincingly shedding is the artificiality lying at its heart, an artificiality that permits the unsparing realism with which Mozart – and it is far more he than Lorenzo da Ponte – lays bare the illusions of romantic love. Here instead we have a production somewhat realistic in the ordinary sense, a path which simply makes for a rather unconvincing plot. I am the last person to insist upon some kind of eighteenth-century fetishism, upon period costumes and a clear view of the Bay of Naples. But equally, it does not seem to me that transferring the action to what appears to be a modern apartment and turning the characters into modern characters who drink more than is good for them in themselves make for convincing drama. The aspects when such up-to-date references were pushed further merely distracted. For instance, it is a rare production that ensures Despina will not irritate. This production merely has her irritate in a different way, irrelevantly emphasising her identity as what would seem to be an Eastern European cleaner. Many of the audience – somewhat dubiously or even chillingly – seemed to find this hilarious. But should anything in Così be hilarious?

There are promising aspects to the production, but another problem, again in contrast to Guth’s Figaro, is that they were not always carried through. For instance, I was intrigued by how what appeared to be an original take upon the matter of the male disguises would develop. Ferrando and Guglielmo first wear masks, which seems full of potential in terms of the connection to Greek tragedy. Is it with masks that one might be able to bear the most horrific drama? They soon lost the masks, however. Then the reason for the girls failing to recognise their lovers is that they are blindfolded. Again, interesting: perhaps there will be a series of such reasons. This seems to be borne out by the subsequent positioning of men and women on different levels of the stage. However, following Despina’s appearance as the doctor – a most odd portrayal, involving (African?) fetishism and incantation of the word Mesmer, which broke up the account of the score – any pretence at disguise or an alternative thereto is discontinued. Either the problem has been forgotten, which seems almost incredible, it is considered irrelevant, which seems highly dubious, implying an ordinary-realistic tale of loose women who simply carry on with each others’ boyfriends, or Despina’s act – itself carried out without visual disguise – has changed everything in a way that remains obscure, or at least remained obscure to this audience member.

Where Guth scores very highly, however, is in the determination to place Così as the final work in a trilogy. He makes connections with Figaro – and, I think, Don Giovanni, certainly on the evidence of production photographs I have seen, the wood there increasingly protruding into the location of Così. The most striking visual connection is that of dress and nervous behaviour between Don Alfonso and the sinister Cupid figure – and if you listen to Da Ponte’s libretto, you will hear Cupid invoked repeatedly – of that anti-Figaro. Both create (necessary?) mischief, which might conceivably help us to confront harsh realities. The falling of feathers connected to both creates a further bond, mystifying yet perhaps also provoking the other characters.

Musically there was much to admire in this performance. I had been a little wary of the prospect of Ádám Fischer, having found much of his previous Salzburg direction of the work (2005) rushed and unyielding. Such was certainly not the case on this occasion, however. There was considerable variation of pace, generally well integrated into a broader tonal and dramatic framework. I could hardly believe that this was the same conductor, not least since recent fashions have tended to propel Mozart interpreters in the opposite direction. Whilst I might have preferred a larger body of strings, there were few instances in which this was much of a problem. The acoustic of the Haus für Mozart, formerly the Kleines Festspielhaus, compensated admirably, as did the renowned sheen of the Vienna Philharmonic strings. It was the woodwind section, however, which truly took the palm. These musicians were truly beyond compare, ravishing as perhaps only they and certainly only Mozart can. That cruelty which, despite the director’s efforts, was so often absent from the production was readily apparent in the savagery of such tonal beauty. As for those Viennese horns of cuckoldry... It was all the more unforgivable, then, that on more than one occasion such Elysian delights were disrupted by the ringing of mobile telephones. That is a form of cruelty adding no more to the drama than the incessant conversation of certain selfish members of the audience, or indeed the applause not only between acts but, more than once, within numbers. There were many people in the house for whom a life prohibition concerning Mozart would be too kind.

The cast was good, if not unforgettable. Perhaps the most consistently strong vocal performance came from Miah Persson as Fiordiligi, handling her coloratura with aplomb and possessed of a winning, attractive tone. Like every member of the case, moreover, she could act. Isabel Leonard’s Dorabella became more differentiated as a character with time, which is, I suppose, how it should be. Topi Lehtipuu at first proved somewhat variable as Ferrando, often impressing more in the recitatives than elsewhere. However, his character too developed in leaps and bounds, and the pain elicited by friction between him and Florian Boesch’s Guglielmo was a credit to both artists. Lehtipuu was allotted both of his second act arias, not the only case of music restored that is almost always cut. I was very happy to hear all of it. Boesch in the second act presented a more complex Guglielmo than is often the case: to be thoroughly disliked in his arrogance but then learning from his bitter experience and seeming the most disillusioned of all. Patricia Petibon was an audience favourite. She certainly acted well and sang well too, but her voice is rather plain. I was frankly perplexed at the mismatch between my reaction and that of most others. Rather to my surprise, Bo Skovhus sometimes sounded a little woolly, and fell short of the Alfonso gold standard presented by my various hearings of Sir Thomas Allen in this role. Nevertheless, Skovhus acted very well and at least as often employed his voice to good advantage.

If the musicians could not take my mind off some of the production’s shortcomings, that is not their fault. Even Sir Colin Davis, giving, a couple of years ago, the performance of his life at Covent Garden, could not do that, faced, admittedly, with a far more objectionable production. Disappointment here was relative and there were very considerable musical rewards.

Fidelio, Hungarian State Opera, 10 October 2008

Budapest Opera House

Don Fernando – Gábor Bretz
Don Pizarro – Béla Perencz
Florestan – Thomas Moser
Leonore - Tünde Szabóki
Fidelio – Virgil Horváth
Rocco – Friedemann Kunder
Marzelline – Zita Váradi
Jaquino – Fekete Attila
Two prisoners – Gergely Boncsér and Kázmér Sárkány

Orchestra and Chorus of the Hungarian State Opera (chorus master: Máté Szabó Sipos)
Ádám Fischer (conductor)

Balázs Kovalik (director)
Balázs Kovalik and Angelika Höckner (designs)
Mari Benedek (costumes)

Things aren't what they used to be at the Hungarian State Opera – at least, so I am told, given that this was my first visit. What had remained a bastion of 'traditional' opera production has now felt the sweep of a new broom from its ambitious new leadership, more internationally inclined, headed by Ádám Fischer and Balázs Kovalik. Certainly no one could accuse this Fidelio of hidebound traditionalism.

Sadly, what we had instead was an ill-thought through mishmash, which piled layer of symbolism upon layer of symbolism, with apparently little regard for coherence or even comprehensibility. Yes, the work is concerned with sacrifice, but that does not necessarily mean that it is a good idea to portray the Passion of Christ in confusing tandem with the narrative. (It is also in questionable taste at best to present a Christ with tacky electronic 'bleeding heart' at one point.) Nor is at at all clear how this tallies with presenting what would seem to be Leonore's dream, by having her stand at the bottom level of the stage, in vaguely 'operatic' garb, whilst having a male 'Fidelio' act out her moves on another - until, of course, she reveals her true self, although even then she remains down below. And the garish colour-coding did not seem to mean anything in particular, although it was preferable to the multicoloured 'celebration' of the final scene, in which we seemed for no particular reason to have entered the world of Flower Power. Embarrassed and embarrassing clapping from the chorus disrupted the music then too. And what was the point of the strange Angela Merkel look-alike, who strolled along the stage at the end? Kovalik and his team needed to go back to the drawing board.

Musically, the story was more mixed. The orchestra played superbly throughout, its strings glowing with warmth and the woodwind especially characterful. The horns, bar the very odd cracked note - an almost unavoidable hazard - were beautiful indeed, crucial in this work. I thought the all-important off-stage trumpet a little too distant, but never mind. Ádám Fischer's reading did not quite seem to have settled down. There were some good things in it, although it never really acheived the symphonic stature that characterises great performances of Fidelio. On occasion, there was a distinct Italianate tintá; the music might have been by Rossini. This, however, merely stood out rather than giving the impression of a particular idea. Some might have found such an idea refreshing; I suspect that I should still have thought it quite inappropriate.

There were also some odd decisions regarding the version of the work used. This was not straight 1814, since the 1805 ordering of the opening was employed. I am not sure that anything is really gained by this; tonal development tends rather strongly to suggest that the later ordering is better. Far more questionable was the reversion to the ‘tradition’ of performing the Leonore III overture prior to the final scene. I am quite aware of the distinguished pedigree for such a practice, yet here as ever the music overpowered what came after - not least given the deflating tendencies of the production. What could work under Furtwängler and doubtless under Mahler simply did not here, although the performance considered on its own terms was good, if somewhat removed from the outstanding performance the audience thought it had heard. Could there be a worse point at which to applaud?! The situation was rendered far worse by Fischer having the orchestra stand twice (!) to acknowledge the applause.

Tünde Szabóki was not a great Leonore; nor was she a particular disappointment. She sang for the most part musically but without truly making her mark upon the role as many great artists have done. The competition is terrifyingly fierce, of course, but such is life. Thomas Moser was adequate, though little more than that, as Florestan. (I have heard worse but then one nearly always has in such roles.) Smaller roles were once again generally adequately taken, with three exceptions. Zita Váradi was simply terrible as Marzelline, her tuning all over the place. Friedemann Kunde could act as Rocco but no longer appeared to possess a voice, as was painfully evident in his duet with Béla Perencz's lightweight yet musical Pizarro. It was a relief, then, to hear in Gábor Bretz a Fernando as handsome of voice as of face; nevertheless, a Fernando can hardly a Fidelio make.