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Tonight I saw the Arizona Opera production of Semele, the first baroque opera produced by the Company. AD and conductor from the harpsichord Joel Revzen explained in the program and in the post-performance Operatalk that Semele was chosen because it contains four arias that many people in the audience would recognize. Revzen explained that the choruses were dropped, because given the very short time the company had for the production -- this first performance in Phoenix after two in Tuscon was performed without a stage rehearsal in Symphony Hall -- director Chas Rader-Shieber decided he couldn't do it justice with the chorus.

What this did was to create a chamber opera, and one of a reasonable length for a new genre for the audience. By scaling it to the 10 characters sung by six singers, it had an intimacy that with a few adjustments for blocking and camera angles could have worked as well on film as it did on stage. Symphony Hall is a wide space, with continental seating 60+ seats across in the Balcony, and yet I as an audience member felt completely invested in the drama.

The production was updated to be contempory, which worked brilliantly as the themes of vanity and the wish for fame/immortality leading to self-destruction are timeless. Revzen cited Marilyn Monroe and Liza Minelli in the context of the sets, which were deliberately Warhol-like -- ex: scrims with giant eyes, a couch made of red lips, pop-art sofas -- as contemporary examples. (Sets and costumes were designed by David Zinn, with lighting by Lenore Doxsee.) The seriousness of the theme was musically evident especially in the Act III scenes where Jupiter promises to grant Semele anything, and she chooses to see him in his immortal form, which will lead to her immolation. (The scene leading up to this one was remarkably erotic, but without groping or the ick factor.) Despite all of these happenings, the opera is a comedy.

It's difficult enough to act and sing at the same time, but to pull off comedy takes extraordinary skill. Under Rader-Shieber's direction, this cast did it, and the entire production was a delight. One of the key elements was that nothing was sacred, and this was particularly evident during many of the major arias, where there was stage business that commented on the characters. For example, "Where'ever you walk," is, in my opinion, one of the loveliest pieces of music Handel wrote, and alone, it sounds very sincere, but in the context of the opera, it is Jupiter giving Semele the biggest line imaginable. In this staging, in the scene before this aria, Jupiter has rejected the normal-sized bouquet brought out by one of his agents. During the aria, several of the agents wheel in flats representing enormous flowers. It wasn't just the flowers that were funny; it was the commentary on the character, the type of over-the-top gesture that The Donald would make to flatter whoever he was trying to woo at the time, carried out by a staff. It would have been enough just to see an unhappy and anxious Semele drown her sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry's, the only item in the freezer. (Yes, there was a fridge onstage.) Countertenor David Walker said during the Operatalk that the cast all agreed to be upstaged during their biggest arias, and what an ensemble of acting and singing and physical production it was.

I think Stephanie Blythe is an extraordinary singer, who can sing in any operatic genre in a wide range of colors, styles, and vocal characterizations. Tonight was no exception, as she tackled the very different roles of Ino, Semele's sister who is in love with Athamas, originally Semele's unwanted fiance, and Juno, who plots her revenge on Semele, and later dressed as Ino, convinces Semele to ask for the one this that will seal her doom.

Besides Blythe, the reason I decided to stop through Phoenix to see this production was that Lisa Saffer was cast as one of two Semeles. Originally, the brochure and website listed Saffer for tonight's performance -- I double- and triple-checked the website before I bought the ticket -- but program listed Nathalie Paulin, whom I had heard as Constance in Vancouver in Dialogue of the Carmelites. Revzen said something about a cancellation, which may have switched the schedule, but I was not a happy person (grrrrrr-eyesbeading-hrumph-nostrilsflaring--frrrr). It took all of 10 seconds for Paulin to have me completely convinced. Nothing in her performance in Vancouver in a very different role prepared me for the combination of acting and comedic talent, the richness of her voice, or her mind-blowing technique breath control, and pitch. Through straight passages and the most ornate ornamentation, there was not a single swoop to be heard.

I have to wonder under what rock I've been living to never have heard countertenor David Walker; he's sung at the Met and probably would have appeared in the Saturday broadcasts. His voice is like cream, without a break, and his ornamentation, too, seemed effortless. He had a couple of swoops, but given the characterization, I would not be surprised if these were deliberate. If I had heard him on radio, I would not have known he was a countertenor. There's no dead giveaway in his voice, just beautiful, convincing singing.

Scott Ramsay has a very impressive tenor voice, but it was the way he used it to portray a the full spectrum of Jupiter's character -- charmer, Top Dog, hound dog, serious person -- that was so impressive. No other character had the same dramatic demands. Iris was sung by Heather Beck, the only singer who had previously sung with Arizona Opera. (Blythe sang Juno with Revzen in the Berkshires a decade ago.) She has an agile, spot on coloratura, is an exceptional actress and comedienne -- who else could apply lipstick during her hardest ornamented aria? -- and she has the best legs I've ever seen on a stage. John Creek sounded rumbly as Cadmus, Semele's and Ino's father, in Act I, but he was a terrific Somnus in Act III.

What a terrific night at the opera. Some other opera company needs to rent this production and hire this cast and director.

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A bump in the road. Saturday matinee time in Dallas.

It's not always the most gratifying thing to see a traditional performance of an opera by the same composer after a brilliant, original take on another two days earlier. But one of the main reasons I timed my trip to Dallas was to hear Ewa Podles in the Dallas Opera's production of Rodelinda. I suppose it's not really fair to compare one clever comedy with much lilting, uplifting music, to a drama where the laments outnumber the poppy passages at least 2 to 1. And where the tenor realizes that what he really wants to be is a celebrity king, like Gunther in Gotterdammerung: getting lots of recognition, but not wanting to do any of the real, ruthless dirty work and power consolidation of a usurper, and sings and sings about it. (He even has his own private Hagen in Garibaldo.) But while the direction tended to be understated, there were still stock operatic reactions, like Rodelinda turning suddenly and quickly walking three steps away whenever she heard bad news (which was early and often). There wasn't a single instance of this in all of Semele. And this is the first opera I've seen where the singers had exits or a scene-ending curtain after all but two arias. This was the type of production that recalls the criticism of Handel operas being static. The eavesdropping survey I took while on the ladies room line was about 3:1 of the older patrons leaving after Act II vs. staying. The ranks of the older patrons in my section seemed to thin after each act, but it was gratifying to see that none of the younger people left, including several groups of teenagers.

The setting was contemporary to Handel's day; the gorgeous costumes, by Peter J. Hall, were turn-of-the-18th century and the sets by John Dexter, which adoitly supported the various scenes, were a mostly stylized version of the same. The performance took place, unfortunately, at the Music Hall in Fair Park, which is located in the Art Deco complex of the Texas State Fair exhibition buildings and just across from the Cotton Bowl. While the sight lines from the first six rows of the Balcony were superb, the acoustics in the hall were dreadful, like a spring lake, running warm and icy in pockets. A singer without a trumpet of a voice was at a distinct disadvantage.

This production made me appreciate what a balancing act it is to create a cast. Rodelinda has six roles -- although it looked like Rodelinda's son's nurse, who is uncredited, joined in the final ensemble. Not only must the voices blend and make dramatic sense -- for example, an innocent-sounding Norma advising a motherly Adalgisa isn't convincing, in my opinion -- but the strength of the voices need to complement each other.

Ruth Ann Swenson sang the title role. Her voice is golden, and whether she powers her upper register or floats a mezzo piannissimo, the affect is heart-melting. Her unornamented laments were stunning, as was the duet of despair between Swenson and Podles to end Act II. When the recitative called for anger and feistiness, she had presence and backbone; however, when the music called for the same -- ex: "I'll kill you and use your head as a stepping stone to the throne" (paraphrase) or "ruthless worm" (not an exact quote) -- she sounded girlish, especially in the ornamentation, which was technically sound, but not convincingly a strong-headed women who said she'd marry the traitor Grimaoldo only if he would kill her young son with his own hand, because she couldn't be the wife to the usurper and the mother of the rightful heir.

Grimaoldo was sung by tenor Paul Nilon, who from his resume sings a lot of Handel. He had the recitative down pat, and he had a lot of it, reflecting more moods than anyone else in the opera: happiness, anger, regret, longing, jealousy, pettiness, vanity, cowardice, false bravado, etc. He has a clarion upper register. In the highly ornamented passages in his mid-to-lower register, though, he sounded a bit gravelly. He, like Mary Phillips, who sang Eduige, seemed to be a little behind the accompaniment when singing these passages. In Phillips' case, it sounded more like the momentum of her burnished dramatic soprano was a little too hard to control at that speed; she hit the notes, but seemed to slow down a little to achieve this. From her program bio, she is more likely to be seen in Wagner than Handel, but she has the vocal goods and was an affecting Eduige, the once traitorous but later remorseful sister of the true king, Bertarido, who conspires to save him in the end.

Unulfo, who is a counselor to the traitor Grimaoldi, but who remains secretly loyal to Bertarido, was sung by countertenor Christophe Dumaux. Dumaux has a wonderful, flexible voice without a discernable break, but he fell victim to the acoustics. (That he was chosen by William Christie for Les Arts Florissants attests to his talent and musicianship.) He's only in his mid-20's, and I don't think his voice is as big as it will be eventually. He was not helped in his first scene by the staging, where he sang toward the back of the stage or into the wings. I don't mean to imply that it was difficult to hear him, but he suffered a bit in comparison to the very big voices with whom he shared the stage. With his tall lean physique, he looked superb in early 18th century garb.

As did Philip Cutlip, who sang the villain, Garibaldo, replete with boos during the curtain call. He also has the face and profile to wear the dark, ponytailed wig of the period with more than distinction. His ornamented singing was crisp and powerful -- finally some much-needed guts and vocal lightning and animal magnetism! (A contemporary composer is needed to build a Dangerous Liasons opera around his Valmont...) He just didn't have enough to sing. Whoever decided on the version must have decided that Grimaoldi's repeats were the ones to stay, at the expense of Garibaldo's (first aria) and the stellar aria sung superbly by Phillips at the beginning of Act III.

Podles stole the show. Her voice -- tone, pitch, control, technique -- isn't just phenomenal, it's a phenomenon. It was a tribute to Swenson's ability that she was able to match Podles in their one duet together. She sang lament after lament, and each one was at the same extraordinary level. Just when I wondered how anyone could be that good for so long, she launched into her final one, a summary of her character Bertarido -- a tour de force that sent the hall into a frenzy. Podles is scheduled to sing the title role of Giulio Cesare in Seattle in the 2006-7 season. I will be online the minute single tickets go on sale for subscribers. I plan to be at every one of those performances.

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