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RECITAL REVIEW
November 14, 2004
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By Stephanie Friedman
At first sampling, Michael Schade's tenor voice poured out like full-bodied wine in his program, accompanied by Malcolm Martineau, on Sunday afternoon at Hertz Hall. A beautifully molded “Adelaide” of Beethoven opened the concert, showing Schade's control of forte and piano dynamics, his vocal strength and agility, and the sheer beauty and virility of his voice. The second Beethoven song, “Wonne der Wehmut” (The Joy of Sadness) was heartfelt, but then, before the end of the song and persisting for the duration of the concert, Schade began to emit blasts of overpowering sound — too big for the excellent acoustics of the hall, but more importantly, indiscriminately used and unmixed with any of the softening and beautifying effects of the lighter head quality. In very short order this dynamic — a strident, rigid forte — and its partner-opposite, an unsupported sotto voce, wearied the listener's ears.
It isn't that the ingredients for a top-class singer aren't all there: Schade already has a reputation as an excellent Mozart singer, and his repertory is wide and varied. It's just that, as in a chef's concoction that hasn't quite blended, Schade's voice still lacks that subtle, well-integrated seasoning that makes for artistry. He relies too much on overly-generous dollops of salt — a fine spice when used sparingly, but even so, no substitute for the more delicate spices. When intermediate dynamics — mezzo-piano and mezzo-forte — would make for greater variety and flexibility, Schade seems not to trust them, preferring an almost inaudible sotto voce to a meaty, solid piano, and favoring a dauntless forte that assaults and eventually wears on the ears. A pity, because on the one or two occasions when Schade chose his colors from the moderate range of his voice, it worked beautifully, revealing a deep sweetness, and even a satisfying “ping.” As for the louder dynamic, there was one excellently judged forte, on the final “Dank” (Thanks) in Strauss' “Zueignung” (Dedication). One could feel the tone smacking into just the right spot on the soft palate, rounding, spinning, blooming into the right admixture of strength, depth, and sweetness.
Otherwise in the program, Liszt's Tre sonetti di Petrarca (Three Petrarcan sonnets), operatically conceived to begin with, offered Schade too many opportunities for bellowing. With his barrel-shaped chest, he looked the part of the operatic tenor, but none of the variegated beauties of the songs came through. A Schubert set, which included the composer's own setting of “Adelaide” and an undistinguished “Ganymed,” was lackluster; and “Gesang” (To Sylvia) had too many rapid shifts between the aforementioned dynamic extremes to maintain any sort of “dynamic legato.”
Three songs by Fauré found the tenor pulling back in an attempt to be soft and ingratiating (and French?) but succeeding only in losing tonal energy — except for the perfectly judged phrases in “Adieu,” from Poème d'un jour (Poem of a day), which produced the sweet, deep sound that brought such satisfaction to the listener. “Fleur jetée,” listed on the program and sung, but for which the text and translation were missing, was a rant from start to finish, instead of an anguished outpouring. Except for the first line of Strauss' “Morgen” (Tomorrow), a line that is almost impossible to get wrong, and the aforementioned “Dank,” a set of Strauss songs lacked the over-arching sense of long line necessary to that composer's songs. Far from driving the songs forward, Schade seemed to be in neutral, and there were too many odd pauses between words. A final set of Viennese folk songs, preceded by a charming little speech by Schade — in which he revealed, by his perfectly inflected English, that his Canadian-German background is more Canadian than German (he was born in Geneva) — did little for the singer except round off the program in amiable fashion. There were three encores: The first was Schubert's “Nacht und Träume” (Night and Dreams), in which Schade and Martineau seemed to be performing two different conceptions of the song simultaneously; Schade's unsupported pianissimos were all but inaudible next to the grumbling piano accompaniment. The last was Franz Lehar's “Dein is mein ganzes Herz” (Thine is my heart alone), from Das Land des Lächelns (The Land of Smiles), written for the great tenor, Richard Tauber. But the revelation — and most welcome surprise — was the second encore. All the ingredients came together for Schubert's “Der Neugierige” (The Curious One), from Die schöne Müllerin (The Miller's Fair Daughter). Time seemed to stop. Schade took all the time he needed, not a moment more, to spin out this inexpressibly poignant address of the young miller's apprentice to his beloved brook, striking exactly the right mix of fully integrated mezzo-piano to mold and manage the gentle shifts of mood and emotion. Only an inappropriately vehement “Nein” shattered the conception. Schade's recording of the entire Schubert cycle is in the works. If he sustains his sure grasp on the character of the protagonist, it should be a winner.
(Stephanie Friedman, mezzo-soprano, is retired from more than three decades of singing in opera and concert, here and abroad.)
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Michael Schade