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RECITAL REVIEW
Temirzhan Yerzhanov
September 30, 2006
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Baritone Balance By Heuwell Tircuit
A finely balanced program of intelligent repertory highlighted baritone Daniel Cilli’s recital on Saturday evening at Old First Church. Cilli pretty well covered the basics by using a major Schumann lieder cycle, as well as American, French, Italian, and British groups of songs, with excellent support from pianist Temirzhan Yerzhanov.
The 16 songs of Schumann’s Dichterliebe, Op. 48 (“Poet’s Life”), opened the program, followed by songs from Samuel Barber’s Hermit Songs, Op. 29 ("The Praises of God" and "The Desire for Hermitage"), separated by Monks and Raisins, Op. 18, No. 2, and the setting of James Joyce’s I Hear an Army to round it off. Those were followed by Ravel’s little Don Quichotte à Dulcinèe set and three Respighi songs on the subject of weather: Nevicata (“Snowfall”), Pióggia (“Rain”), and Nebbie (“Fogs”). To conclude, Cilli offered three songs from Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Songs of Travel before John Ireland’s swaggering When Lights Go Rolling Round the Sky. The Vaughan Williams selection included "Bright Is the Ring of Words," "Let Beauty Awake," and "The Vagabond."
Cilli, a Floridian who is resident baritone with Opera San Jose this season, earned his performance degrees at Stetson University and the New England Conservatory, with a year (2001) in between spent working on lieder singing at Austria’s Franz Schubert Institute. Yerzhanov, who now lives in the area, has won a number of competition gold medals — not the least of which was at the International Schumann Competition in the composer’s home city of Zwickau. Together, their training and experience added up to a sterling performance of Schumann’s great semi-autobiographical cycle. Tempos were all right on the button and Cilli’s phrasing was impeccable. Every syllable ran cleanly to the back of the church.
But beyond mere technical considerations, Cilli's sense of style — free of extravagant or exaggerated mime gestures — lent a sense of security to the performance that glued your attention to the richness of Schumann’s remarkable score. For a tall, lanky, young man, Cilli possesses an exceptionally burnished, umber depth of timbre. His is the kind of baritone sound you usually associate with Russian baritones or basses — indeed, Cilli’s is a voice at full power. The one flaw I heard during long, sustained notes was a tendency toward a wide, none-too-fast vibrato. But that was not a constant. He stood and sang without the usual hand on the piano top. And that top, mercifully, was kept shut, greatly enhancing balances. Of course, Cilli also had the advantage of Yerzhanov’s virtuosity. The pianist coped with the occasionally demonic technical feats Schumann demands, not to mention the large solo epilogue. If the pianist either sentimentalizes or rushes that poetic stretch — as the singer just stands there — the entire cycle’s impact deflates. Barber was a baritone himself, and he sang some of his vocal music for a recording way back in his early days. Although he is most famous for his instrumental music, his largest body of works is vocal and includes 97 songs. In that sense, Barber’s situation in the music world is similar to that of Brahms. And just like Brahms, the quality level in his vocal works varies greatly. For me, the ten Hermit Songs from 1953, settings from medieval Irish monasteries, represent his best. On the other hand, I Hear an Army, never quite comes off. Like Hamlet, the basic text is too strong to either need or withstand an adequate vocal setting. The performance was as good as can be expected, but the song comes across as a tad silly, somewhat along the lines of Victorian pomp.
Things lightened up considerably with Ravel's suave but sassy songs: one romantic, one religious, and for a finale a praise of pleasure and wine. Interestingly, Cilli’s stage deportment had been restrained until then — no hand gestures at all. But for the Ravel he gestured a bit, and for that final swaggering song he stood a bit askew with his hand on his hip to emphasize the impudence of the songs. His French, by the way, was if anything a tad better than his German. Respighi, who also wrote many songs — and 10 operas — has never been a great hit with singers. The three songs on Saturday were nicely served and nicely received, but a little lacking in individuality. Curiously, the piano accompaniments all sounded like vague parodies of fairly famous Debussy piano pieces. For instance, in the case of Pióggia, Debussy’s Prelude Feux d’artifice (“Fireworks”) was too obviously an influence. I was glad to have heard them even if I found them less than invigorating. As a major Vaughan Williams fan, I have never been able to muster enthusiasm for his vocal writing. Born in 1872, a time when society ranked composers alongside domestic staff, Vaughan Williams' choice of poetry leaned toward Victorian prim-and-proper texts. That was acute during his early days, as in the 1904 Songs of Travel, titled after Stevenson’s collection of the same name. Both should only be heard from a high-backed comfy chair. Ireland’s little romp proved a great deal more fun in its casually folksy scherzo. There was a bit of unexpected humor to end the recital. Once the recital was done the audience issued a salvo of applause, bows were taken, and flowers presented before the performers left the stage. The continued applause went unheeded; no more bows were taken. When everyone realized that there would be no encore they stood and began to leave. But at that very moment, the exit door next to the stage opened. There was a glimpse of a man stepping through, and the eager applause lit up again. But it wasn’t Cilli or Yerzhanov, only a member of the concert’s staff heading into a side room. Some of us smiled and others chuckled softly.
(Heuwell Tircuit is a composer, performer, and writer who was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years a music reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle. He wrote previously for Chicago's American and the Asahi Evening News.)
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Daniel Cilli
