News -- New Maestro for Philharmonia Baroque

British conductor Richard Egarr has been named to succeed Nicholas McGegan as conductor of the Berkeley orchestra Philharmonic Baroque.  Read here about McGegan's retirement, and read here for more information about Egarr.  I hope everyone will be happy with this change.

News

Nicholas McGegan's retirement as director of Philharmonia Baroque after the 2019-2020 season was announced in a headline in the New York Times:

Maestro of the Influential Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra to Step Down

I cannot imagine how they will find someone to replace him.

Rameau’s Le Temple de la Gloire

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Le temple de la Gloire (The Temple of Glory) is an opéra-ballet by Jean-Philippe Rameau with a libretto by Voltaire.  This is all rather well explained in the Mercury News.  This performance by Philharmonia Baroque and the New York Baroque Dance Company was of the 1746 version in a prelude and 3 acts.

Nicholas McGegan, conductor
New York Baroque Dance Company, Catherine Turocy, director
Philharmonia Chorale, Bruce Lamott, director
Catherine Turocy, stage director and choreographer

Gabrielle Philiponet, soprano:  Arsine, Une prêtresse, Plautine
Chantal Santon-Jeffery, soprano:  Lydie, Une bacchante
Camille Ortiz-Lafont, soprano:  Une bergère, Érigone, Junie
Artavazd Sargsyan, haute-contre:  Un Berger, Bacchus
Aaron Sheehan, haute-contre:  Apollon, Trajan
Philippe-Nicolas Martin, baritone:  Bélus, Un guerrier
Marc Labonnette, baritone:  L'Envie, Grand prêtre
Caroline Copeland, principal dancer.

This is a large and complex undertaking.  There is at least as much dancing as singing.  There are three supplicants to enter the temple of glory:   Bélus, a conqueror who forces the kings he has defeated to carry him in on a sedan chair; Bacchus who celebrates love and wine; and the emperor Trajan, who forgives and releases those he has conquered.  Only Trajan is deemed worthy.  We are viewing Voltaire's outlook on virtue.  I understand it to have been a failure because it did not enjoy the king's approval.

This is something that modern commercial opera productions simply don't do--an attempt at an authentic reproduction of a Rameau theatrical work as it would have been presented at the time.  A modern company like the Santa Fe Opera will make the frog Queen look as much like a real frog as possible, such as in Platée here.  Or Glyndebourne will stage his characters inside a refrigerator, such as in Hippolyte et Aricie here.  Or the Bayerische Staatsoper will choreograph break dancing, such as in Les Indes Galantes here.  So an attempt to show something as it might possibly have been in the eighteenth century is a rare treat. The period style dancing was pleasant to see.  A peak part of the dance experience was when someone danced an ostrich in the Bacchus act.

The music still sounded very sweet and nothing like Handel.

The stage is well populated and the stories complex and a bit hard to follow.  There is an intended political message.  Our kings should be seeking more than their own glorification.
 

Dioclesian

I'm weirdly inadequate as a critic.  A real critic forms his opinions, throws around a few adjectives and goes on the the next thing with no backward looks.  I always want to know why I liked it, or why I didn't like it.  If I can't figure out why, I'm uncomfortable.  It's the systems analyst in me.

So today I am mentally comparing last night's performance of Purcell's Dioclesian by the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra in Berkeley, conducted by Nicholas McGegan, with Cecilia's Mission.  Purcell (b. 1659) and Steffani (b. 1654) are very close in age.  With Steffani we get mostly arias and duets with bits of orchestra and chorus, while with Purcell we get arias, duets, choruses, trios and all manner of instrumental numbers.

What we don't get in either context is the formal structure of a late Baroque aria, such as those by Handel, Bach or Vivaldi, where an instrumental soloist shares the aria with the singer.  In the late Baroque the da capo aria with its A section of instrumental solo followed by vocal solo, B section, followed by repeat of the entire A section, including the instrumental solo, dominates everything.  It is these long instrumental solos that make Baroque operas so hard to stage in a way that is acceptable to a modern opera audience.

Purcell and Steffani often separate out the instrumental and vocal parts into separate numbers with completely different music.  It is quite common for an aria to have only continuo accompaniment, which nowadays means a realized figured bass played on harpsichord, cello, and theorbo.  And that's it.  No winds or violins, a very thin sound, like recitative.  Which we mostly don't get in either environment.  Purcell is writing for a play, so instead of recitative there would be talking, omitted in our performance but summarized in the program.

The ornaments come in unpredictable places to illustrate the words, and not in the da capo repeat.  Because there isn't one.

I find this all fascinating, but you are probably nodding off.  I am surprised to see so much structural similarity between the two composers.  Purcell shows a lot of French influence with lots of dotted rhythms.  I am surprised that they sound so similar to each other.  Except one has Cecilia and the other doesn't.

Purcell writes all kinds of duets--duets for countertenors, baritones, soprano and tenor, and most interesting for me--two tenors.  Why do we never hear this?  Of the soloists, I most enjoyed the two tenors Brian Thorsett and Jonathan Smucker.

And now I am all Baroqued out and listening to Beethoven.  Whose arias are structured like Rossini.

Mark Morris' Dido

I would like to get all complaining out of the way quickly. There were no supertitles and the room was too dark to read the text to Henry Purcell's Dido and Aeneas at Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall this afternoon.

Don't get the wrong idea. I remember precisely every single word of this wonderful text. Who could resist...

"Oft she visits this lone mountain.
Oft she bathes her in this fountain."

or

"No repentance shall reclaim
The injured Dido's slighted flame;
For 'tis enough what e'er you now decree
That you had once the thought of leaving me."

or

"Harm's our delight and mischief all our skill."

And the music shapes these words in a way that approaches divine perfection

Stephanie Blythe was an amazing Dido:  strong, thoughtful, emotional, sensitive.  Perhaps, like Christa, she searches for the perfect performance.  She was also a very nice sorceress.

Philip Cutlip's Aeneas was also excellent.  His voice has a wonderful quality.

But this is Mark Morris's Dido.  He would want nothing to distract us from watching the dancers.  Morris also conducted.  The Philharmonia Baroque, the chorus, and all the soloists were crowded into the small pit below the virtually empty stage.

The troop of dancers, male and female, all dress the same in unisex skirts or briefly in unisex shorts.  They dance barefoot, and their feet slap against the smooth floor.  The angularity of their movements suggests pre-classical Greece.

There are several numbers where no one sings, and I have always thought they needed dancing in these spots.  I was right.

The great works of music can be created again and again, each time with the insight of the individual artists bringing us to see it anew.  It helps to know every word, every note.  You see and hear every gesture in stark relief.  I wouldn't have imagined this dance, but it expanded my idea of the work.  It was very beautiful.

[See Kinderkuchen History 1670-95]

The Creation

I like more and more Nicholas McGegan and his Philharmonia Baroque orchestra. This picture is pretty old, but I wanted one of him conducting, in case I wanted to enter him in the sexiest conductors contest. He is associated with the Philharmonia Chorale, headed by Bruce Lamott, and together they have produced Haydn's The Creation.

Remember when I said I wished I was listening to McGegan? No, I suppose I'm the only one who remembers everything I say. I was right. This was terrific--lively and fun.

With three excellent soloists: Dominique Labelle as the soprano Gabriel, and later as Eve, tenor Thomas Cooley as Uriel, and baritone Philip Cutlip, previously seen at Glimmerglass, as Raphael and Adam. These are high quality professional singers, people that the SF Symphony could also afford to hire. [Sorry. I'm still in shock over the pathetic B minor mass.]

At this point in his life, in his sixties and retired from Esterhazy, Haydn spent time in London, absorbed the English taste for oratorio and apparently also the English feeling for singers. Or is that McGegan's taste I'm hearing?

And the chorus, a mere three not very long rows of singers, managed a full and beautiful sound.

Thumbs up.

Dido

My friend J, who is 88, and I were thinking this was the first time we had ever been to a concert devoted entirely to Henry Purcell (1659-1695). Coming into the Mondavi Center to hear Philharmonia Baroque last night, the usher asked, “What’s his first name?” I said Henry, and another usher said, “That’s spelled ‘H-E-N-R-I.'” Oh heavens no. He’s English, not French.

How can this great composer be so little known? I have always been especially fond of the middle Baroque, that most neglected of all style periods. But thinking about it now, perhaps it is only the great Purcell I am especially fond of.

Nicholas McGegan, the conductor of Philharmonia Baroque, talked before the concert and spoke about the French influence on Purcell – King Charles II was raised in France – and the roughness of English harmony compared to the French. I think it is this roughness that I love, the way the lines bounce against one another, the liveliness of the rhythms, the astounding beauty of the English text setting, never heard before or since.

Purcell is my man. Let’s have an All-Purcell-All-The-Time festival. We would probably be criticized for performing inferior repertoire. [Sorry. This is currently a sore point for me.]

There were questions after the talk, and I wanted to ask, “Why aren’t you famous?” This would have been unfortunate because McGegan probably already regards himself as famous.

I asked about Elizabeth Blumenstock, the concertmistress of the Philharmonia Baroque and was told she was in Italy this month. She has a life that is larger than her orchestra. Philharmonia Baroque is an early instruments orchestra, but the orchestra listing was missing from the program.

The first half of the program was devoted to an instrumental piece called Chacony, a couple of anthems and a fascinating Suite from Abdelazer, or The Moor’s Revenge. These are isolated movements to be played between scenes of a play. In the center is the text:

Lucinda is bewitching fair.
All o’er engaging is her Air.

In ev’ry Song Lucinda’s Fam’d.
She is the Queen of Love proclaimed.
To all she does a Flame impart
Expiring Victims feel her Dart.

Strephon for her has Love expressed,
Philander sighs too with the rest;
Wracked with Despair each one complains,
Unmov’d, untouch’t She all disdains.

This small aria was performed sweetly by Celine Ricci--all with the wonderful Purcellian expressive ornamentation.

The second half of the program was devoted to the most perfect piece of music ever composed, the small opera Dido and Aeneas.

As is the case with all music from the Baroque, these modern performers ornamented beyond the written score, especially in the repeats. My old-fashioned ears enjoyed it very much.

There is simply too much to write. The excellent chorus transformed into a group of hags for the witches choruses. Cynthia Sieden transformed magically from Belinda to first witch and back again. Celine Ricci sang both the second woman with her amazing aria “Oft she visits this lone mountain,” taken at a very fast clip, and the second witch. “She” in this aria refers to the goddess Diana. Jill Grove was an excellent, evil sorceress. William Berger was the most intense Aeneas I’ve ever heard.

This performance was semi-staged. A throne was provided for Dido, and people moved about, good guys stage right, bad guys stage left.

Susan Graham brought us Dido. I found her voice to be just right for the role, enough weight for the deep sadness of the character, enough lightness for the ornaments. The entire performance was a joy--lively, dramatic and fun.

[My protestations that I did not wish to be famous may be in vain. McGegan kept looking at me and smiling. He does seem to smile all the time, so maybe I imagined this. Or maybe he was just happy we stopped coughing.]

Isabel and McGegan

The rich cultural life of greater San Francisco includes a group called the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra led by Nicholas McGegan. The concert mistress of this group is the eminent Baroque violinist, Elizabeth Blumenstock. The program lists the pedigree of each player's instrument. Ms Blumenstock plays a Guarneri.

I did not need to go to New York to hear Isabel Bayrakdarian, a soprano in whom I am currently interested, because she came to Berkeley. She popped into my inbox because the Chronicle review of her concert here compared her to Cecilia Bartoli, triggering a Google alert. I can't really be considered a Baroqophile, but it's a lot cheaper to go to Berkeley than New York.

The program of this concert was very musicological, worthy of a Bartoli concert. The theme of the concert was German music in the Baroque that wasn't by Bach. There was an awful lot of it.

Isabel sang opera arias written for the character of Cleopatra, both with Caesar and with Anthony.

Carl Heinrich Graun (1703-1759) Cleopatra e Cesare (1742) [Listed as Cleopatra e Cesare in the program and as Cesare e Cleopatra in the notes. Which is it?] Written for Berlin, text in Italian. This was accompanied by its overture.

Johann Adolf Hasse (1699-1783) Marc'Antonio e Cleopatra (1725) Written for Naples, text in Italian.

George Frederic Handel (1685-1759) Giulio Cesare (1724) Written for London, text in Italian. This is the great da capo aria "Piangero," the only thing on the program I had heard before. It was preceded by its overture.

Johann Matthewson (1681-1764) Cleopatra (1704) Written for the Hamburg Opera, text in German. The Hamburg Opera was the first commercial opera outside Venice, and Matthewson was one of its main composers.

Isabel closed with the death of Cleopatra. The works varied widely from the intensely ornamental of Graun, through the very lyrical Handel "Piangero," to the dramatic Mattheson. She was best at the ends, best in the intensity of her fioratura, best in her dramatic expression, but insufficiently legato for the intensity of "Piangero."

We should note here that Matthewson in 1704 is still in the middle Baroque, and this may explain the interesting variety of his pieces. I swear she sang something in this section that wasn't in the program. It had the text "Gute Nacht." It was very sweet.

To complete the program there were two concertos:

Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773) Concerto No. 161 for Flute, G major [Can't find a date. This may have been written for Frederick the Great and is Quantz's most famous piece.] The flutist is Janet See, who played on a Baroque transverse flute. The orchestral flutists played recorders.

Johann David Heinichen (1683-1729) Concerto in F major, S 234 Dresden. The outer movements were for two natural horns, played pointing up into the air. The slow movement was a concerto for flute, again with Janet See.

I found the entire concert interesting. There is a recording of the arias.

She doesn't remind me of Bartoli at all. For one thing she's a soprano. Unfortunately, I am every day reminded of the vast differences between the cultural life of San Francisco and Sacramento and am spending a lot of money and time traveling back and forth.

Hunt and McGegan

Undoubtedly I was living in the San Francisco Bay Area when Lorraine Hunt Lieberson began her career there and knew nothing about it.

The extensive discography for Nicholas McGegan and the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra includes several recordings by Lorraine, including a lovely version of Purcell's Dido and Aeneas. It's charming and very theatrical. Lorraine ornaments a lot more than Janet Baker.

The other people on the recording don't quite achieve Lorraine's heaven. The sailor and even the following chorus are done with heavy lower class English accents. Cute. Silly. I like the witches. The incredible theatrical viability of this work are everywhere apparent in this recording.
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