DUBLIN AIRPORT (both traveller and airport in modest turmoil) - There
is simply no excuse for my multiple errors last night, although I could
mention the anticipation of flying to London on Aer Lingus during the
airline's one-day strike, but I won't.

Due to circumstances well under my control, I made a grotesque mess of
the final paragraphs of reviewing the Wexford Festival production of
"Die drei Pintos." Writing about the cast, I mixed up Don This with Don
That, and - worse -the names of tenors and basses.

My apologies. Herewith the right copy, one hopes:

   With all the Don Pintos around, three ladies were the belles
   of the ball in the cast: Barbara Zechmeister's Clarissa, with
   vocal fireworks and more passion and drama than the opera's
   creators managed to provide; Sophie Marilley's commanding and
   comic maid; and - unfortunately restricted to Act 1 - Sinead
   Campbell's lusty Inez.

   The real Don Pinto was Alessandro Svab, getting every ounce
   of value out of the role.  In the strange structure of the
   work, Don Pinto No. 2, Don Gaston, pretty much has all of
   Act 1 to himself.  Gunnar Gudbjoernsson is one of those rare
   tenors, who can sing so effortlessly as if having a casual
   conversation.  Looking and sounding a bit like Ben Heppner a
   few years ago, Gudbjoernsson was impressively, spectacularly
   natural and effortless, even if he fell victim to what had
   plagued Heppner before, the voice breaking unexpectedly, and
   not necessarily on demanding high notes.

   Peter Furlong sang Don Gomez with youthful vigor, determined
   acting, and quite oblivious to the fact that his fly was open
   - unintentionally, one may presume - through most of his time
   on stage.  Considering that the director introduces him as
   half of the loving couple in a hilarious scene choreographed
   under a wildly gyrating sheet, and the duo then spend half
   the prelude to Act 2 getting dressed, the oversight may be
   charitably overlooked.

   Robert Holzer was the sonorous Don Pantaleone, willing father
   of the reluctant bride.  Ales Jenis sang the role of Ambrosio,
   properly dressed, a blessing because the character's main
   task is a travesty act, which - through no fault of the singer
   - falls far short even of the low standards of German humor.
   An open fly just would not have been proper with those fake
   breasts.

   The festival chorus' excellent work, although mentioned before,
   deserves the place of honor in conclusion.

There is another, even stranger addition that needs to be made to the
review of yesterday's recital by the splendid Mexican baritone, Jesus
Suaste.  When the St. Iberius Church concert ended, the audience filed
out, even as Suaste appeared to be in conversation with his accompanist,
perhaps about another encore.  Caught in the line heading for the single
exit, I reluctantly left, even against the possibility of more singing
by an artist, who appeared at the top of his form.

This morning, on the way to the *&$^#% airport, I heard that the animated
discussion between the singer, the pianist, and the festival's music
director had nothing to do with encores.  Apparently, Suaste had a sudden
and complete attack of amnesia, didn't know where he was or what he was
doing there.  He was taken to hospital, and I haven't heard anything
further about his condition.

The really strange aspect of this incident is that Suesta just completed
an hour-long, complicated program, performing lengthy song cycles in
Spanish and Italian without a single musical or textual slip.  In last
night's review, I made special mention of Suaste putting away the scores
after the program-opening Bach aria, and singing de Falla, Liszt, and
Argentine songs gloriously...  with his eyes closed.

After an hour of such complete mastery of the material - no awareness
of his environment and, in a poignant-dramatic turn, no memory of what
has just transpired!  Along with everything else, he completely blocked
out the immediate memory of what must have been one of the most successful
concerts of his career.  The hope, of course, is that just as suddenly
this memory loss hit him, everything should be recovered instantly.  It
would be a truly cruel twist of fate if only the audience treasured the
event, not the artist responsible for it.

Janos Gereben/SF
www.sfcv.org
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