cyntillating sounds: w

a column on the state of classics

I am woman! Adam, who’s he?

Holland Festival 2009

An opera premiere brings the cultural troops together here in Amsterdam: composers, civil servants who organize subsidy payments & parties, artists, instrumentalists, orchestra directors and of course, the press. Three quarters of the room have free tickets on such an evening, tout is there and as a matter of course these tickets get all jumbled up, so the atmosphere upon arrival is convivial as kisses and frustrations are freely exchanged. And that is yet without a glass of wine!

Joost van den Vondel (1587-1679), let’s keep it simple, is the Dutch ‘Bard’, the local Shakespeare, so when his words are set to music by a contemporary hot shot like Rob Zuidam (1964), people sit up straight and come to listen. Throw in for good measure the creative Belgian director Guy Cassiers (1960) who gives new operatic meaning to multimedia, the Amsterdam familia operata really had something to look forward to : expectations were high last Friday evening.

The curtain opened to a huge human clearly inspired by the Bodies exhibitions of the past few years by weird wizard of plastination Günther von Hagens. A classic choir got us into the Biblical swing of things. Beautifully dressed elegant voices who did turn out having a tough time keeping up with conductor Reinbert de Leeuw.

The video wall, as to be expected from Cassiers and his visually talented right hand Arjen Klerkx , was beautiful, intriguing: in extremely low tempo its colors and shapes morphed to become recognizable forms and faces, to then fade back into abstractions.

Ironically the premiere is when tout shows up but of course being just that, things go wrong. Tv monitors kept all abreast of conductor Reinbert de Leeuw’s attempts to keep things under control, but despite perfect moments of musical cohesion, stuff just went wrong. Wooden shoe dance, something every little Dutch village prides itself on, ironically was all missed cues.

Two beautiful voices were united in paradise: the experienced, rich and dramatic soprano Claron Mcfadden, the less experienced and surprisingly dark and daring Thomas Oliemans. She won out in the notes department however, this was Eve’s moment to shine and Mcfadden was all shine! Adam’s part paled in comparison. As did his stage presence. Someone forgot to direct him: he went quietly, uninspiredly and heavily through the sand box set from stage left to right and back again. And the contrast continued in the costume department: in comparison to Mcfadden’s elegant draperie, Oliemans had a gold coloured p.j. on that looked tightly too small to be comfortable.

Two hours without intermission: either my attention span is shrinking- possible- or the crew just ran out of ideas about an hour into a story whose ending we all know rather well. So the ultimate moment of apple and banishment, and God (yes indeed Mozart did it better with Il Commendatore), a rather human one who had to climb up something obviously precarious, were a let down. Videos stopped. The gorgeous Eve and perplex Adam just stood there, no more wonderful fires in the vertebrae of the monster body center stage, just lots of notes that by this time had long ceased to engage.

Zuidam’s Adam in Ballingschap is a giant step for him. Truly, so bravo for this. It is certainly more inspired, engaging and enjoyable than his earlier works. His sense of musical humor is subtle; he quotes the general musical conscious pointedly, effectively. Singers are expected to be good at many styles which is demanding and we witnessd how dangerous such expectations can be in a Lucifer-snake who was not up to the notes given to him. There was a much treasured local joke as our present Minister of Culture was given a secondary role and devilish role, clad in his signature hat.

All in all, it was Eve’s evening. An iron maid of Biblical stature blew us all away. O Eve, we would all succumb to your beauty, musicality and warm, wonderful human nature!

The after party went on and on in the unseasonably warm Amsterdam evening. Beer flowed like water, at least at the end of a long queue, something the world expects of the Dutch but what too rarely occurs.

Be ye in the neighborhood, may I entice you into this too long yet, at moments, lovely opera? Bite the ripe fruit.

cyntillating sounds: w

I am woman! Adam, who’s he?

Holland Festival 2009

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