It began, before the music, with the Boy sitting slightly slumped,
knock-kneed.
It ended, with his call for his mother -- "Maman!" -- floating through
the hall, touching the heart.
The "magic spell" in Ravel's "L'Enfant et les sortileges" was Frederica
von Stade, the 54-year-old mezzo becoming a 10-year-old boy *for a concert
performance*, one of the most remarkable interpreters of the French
repertoire in our time adding to her towering Melisande, this glorious
miniature. The unique sound of her voice -- as magical and instantly
recognizable as Schwarzkopf or Fischer-Dieskau -- is in full flower,
untouched by time.
Michael Tilson Thomas has assembled a superb cast for this San Francisco
Symphony concert tonight in Davies Hall, providing -- among other
sensations -- the pairing of Flicka with Joyce di Donato (White Cat in
heat, a pathetic Squirrel, enchanting Shepherd), our little Cinderella all
grown up, a possible future Flicka singing with the one who reigns now.
Add to those two mezzos, the formidable Stephanie Blythe (Mother,
Chinese Cup, Dragonfly), the wonderful soprano Dominique Labelle (Bergere,
Princess, Bat, Owl, Shepherdess), Jane Giering-De Hann's Fire and
Nightingale, Francois Le Roux's Clock and Black Cat, and Raymond Aceto's
Armchair and Tree.
Then there was Richard Clement (fresh from that grand Santa Rosa Britten
War Requiem with Thomas Quasthoff), breaking through the restraints of the
concert performance as Teapot, Frog, and -- especially -- the Little Old
Man.
Writing about this last role, Michael Steinberg's program notes once again
amused and educated:
"An orchestral shriek interrupts the dream and a little old man
enters, spouting nightmare exercises in arithmetic. Most of the
voices are indicated in the score in the familiar way as soprano,
tenor, baritone, etc., but for this role Ravel prescribes `Trial.'
"The French identify some voice types by the names of singers who
exemplified those types, thus, for example, Falcon (after Cornelie
Falcon) for a kind of dramatic soprano or Martin (after Jean-Blaise
Martin) for a baritone who is almost a tenor.
"The Trial voice takes it name from an 18th century tenor and actor,
Antoine Trial, possessed of a thin, nasal voice, but immensely
effective on stage. (Trial became a trusted agent of Robespierre
in the Revolution, and after the execution of that dreadful man, he
himself had to retire from the stage and soon after committed suicide.)"
MTT, who in a couple weeks will have a go at Bruckner (the Ninth Symphony
and the Te Deum, no less) is not particularly known for his Ravel, and yet
he gave a broad, confident -- perhaps a bit too Russian-German -- reading.
He certainly put together a daring, fascinating program.
Before the Ravel, San Francisco got its first performance of Stravinsky's
"Canticum Sacrum," the 1955 choral piece for the Venice Biennale, dedicated
to and performed in St. Mark's Cathedral. Stravinsky loved Venice well
enough to arrange for his burial there, but his tribute to Serenissima is
somewhat underwhelming. In fact, this major practicioner of Igormania of
many years thought of the "Choral Fantasy" -- even Beethoven had an off
day, so why not Stravinsky.
In fact, the next premiere, of William Kraft's 1984 Concerto for Timpani
and Orchestra (with the amazing David Herbert) sounded like a better
Stravinsky than the "Canticum Sacrum ad Honorem Sancti Marci Nominis."
There is a whole lot of good music in the concerto and the violin-less
orchestra did its best to keep up with Herbert's virtuoso performance.
Still, what I remember the best are Flicka's voice and Steinberg's
reference to Robespierre as "that dreadful man," as if taking that
long-ago reign of terror rather personally.
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