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The Guardian, 9 February 2017 |
Tim Ashley |
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Wagner-Konzert, London, Barbican, 8. Februar 2017 |
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Kaufmann/LSO/Pappano – magnificent, lyrical Wagner
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Jonas Kaufmann and Karita Mattila often mesmerised in this recital of songs and excerpts, in which Eric Halfvarson made a tremendous Hunding |
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Given the centrality of Wagner to his repertory, it’s surprising that Jonas
Kaufmann has sung so little of his music in the UK. Fragments and scenes
have formed part of his recital programmes over the years, but the only role
he has as yet given us complete is Walther in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg
at a single concert performance in Edinburgh in 2006. The second instalment
of his Barbican residency, a Wagner evening with the London Symphony
Orchestra and Antonio Pappano, went some way to restoring the balance.
Prefaced by the Prelude from Tristan und Isolde, he sang the Wesendonck
Lieder before playing Siegmund in Act I of Die Walküre, for which he was
joined by Karita Mattila as Sieglinde and Eric Halfvarson as Hunding. Some
might question his decision to tackle the Wesendonck Lieder in the first
place, given that Wagner specified a female voice, and his performance,
though beautiful, had a studied quality that made it less than ideal.
Kaufmann’s voice is in fine shape, remarkably so given that last year he
was forced to cancel engagements after suffering a burst blood vessel on his
vocal chords, which might have caused irreparable damage. With the LSO
sounding languidly opulent for Pappano, he gave us a carefully modulated
display of soft singing, the words finely pointed, the dynamics immaculately
shaded. Only at the climax of Stehe Still and in Schmerzen did he let the
voice out fully and we heard that remarkable bronze ring in the tone. The
effect was striking, but it all felt self-consciously calculated, lacking
the immediacy we associate with his singing at its best.
In Walküre,
however, he was magnificent, though he and Mattila embody very different
approaches to Wagner, and there were stylistic tensions in their portrait of
the tragic couple who discover their desire for one another before realising
they are brother and sister. Kaufmann’s expansive, lyrical way with Wagner
is reminiscent of interwar tenors such as Lauritz Melchior or René Maison.
Power blends with refinement: lines unfurl with an almost bel canto grace.
He was at his most beautiful in Winterstürme. The great cries of “Wälse!
Wälse!”, gloriously projected, seemed to go on for ever.
Mattila, in
contrast, is closer to the immersive, expressionist style of postwar singers
such as Leonie Rysanek. Her identification with the character is almost
frighteningly complete. She sings with a rapture that borders on
recklessness. Both approaches are perfectly valid, and together she and
Kaufmann were often mesmerising. But we were also occasionally aware of
disparities: in the section of the love duet in which each recognises their
own voice in that of the other, the emotional closeness between them was
momentarily fractured. Halfvarson, meanwhile, made a tremendous impression
as the most brutal Hunding imaginable. Pappano’s Wagner, sometimes lingering
in the moment rather than steadily pressing on, can divide opinion. But the
first scenes here glowed with a rich sensuality, and the climax of the love
duet was thrilling in the extreme.
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