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OPERA REVIEW
Jovial Romp for Xerxes April 7, 2002
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By Kip Cranna
Nobody does Handel opera quite like Donald Pippin, and his latest effort, Xerxes, is a case in point. The presentation is a little more formal now than it was 25 years ago, when his fledgling Pocket Opera began operations in that cramped and stuffy back room at the Old Spaghetti Factory in North Beach. It was a funky Bohemian environment where you perched on a rickety bench clutching a glass of red wine and heard Baroque music that wasn't getting done much anywhere else.
Handel's operas are done everywhere now, often fully staged, but Pippin's concert-style offerings remain unique. Pocket Opera performed Xerxes (or more properly, Serse) under his direction at its current home at the intimate and ideally-sized Meyer Auditorium at Temple Emmanuel on Sunday. The results were a familiar blend of great music — hastily prepared but lovingly performed and often attractively sung — witty narration, and a charming and somehow-forgivably slap-dash manner of presentation.
Among Handel's 40-some operas, Xerxes is a special case. (His contemporary Dr. Burney considered it the product of "a mind disturbed, if not diseased.") Written near the end of Handel's Italian-opera career (1738), it incorporates rare comic elements in the form of a genuine "buffo" character (the servant Elviro) and strays from the standard opera-seria format by frequently omitting the da-capo repeats in the arias along with their long orchestral introductions. Often the "songs" just begin abruptly out of nowhere. The effect was compounded by the omission of the connecting recitatives, so that the shorter numbers came and went in a twinkling, detached from their musical context. Several of the da-capo arias were shorn of their middle sections and repeats, and others were dropped completely, to get the show down to a three-hour span.
In his usual approach to Handel, Pippin presided from the harpsichord over his "Pocket Philharmonic" (a string quartet, capably and stylishly led by George Thomson, plus a pair of oboes). Pippin leapt up between numbers to supplant the recitatives with his own inimitable style of wry narration. With a diffident, almost-elfin deadpan, he navigated his audience around the labyrinthine plot, slyly mastering the well-timed pause and the ironic understatement. (An ill-advised attempt to amplify his remarks caused annoying distortion that was never fully eliminated in the course of the three acts.) After a snappy overture Pippin — never one to pass up a topical reference— summarized the entangled plot by calling it "simplicity itself, considering it is set in the Middle East." The opera involves, as he put it, "something more than a love triangle and more like a double parallelogram." King Xerxes and his brother Arsamene are both in love with the sweet Romilda. But she and her scheming sister Atalanta both love Arsamene. Meanwhile, Xerxes' long-neglected fiancée Amastre stalks the scene inexplicably disguised as a man to learn what her betrothed is up to. None of this is based on history, but the libretto (Silvio Stampiglia's revision of a 17th-century text by Nicolo Minato) does touch on two historical facts: Xerxes' famous invasion of Greece over a bridge of boats across the Hellespont, and his supposed infatuation with a plane tree. This adored vegetation is the subject of the "celebrated Largo" that begins the opera, "Ombra mai fu" ("There never was a shade").
As Xerxes (originally a castrato role), Margaret Lisi got off to an indifferent start, with a slightly fluttering delivery, but gained more control in later arias. An outsized cadenza overwhelmed "Più che penso," but "Se bramate d'amar" ("If you dare to love him") was effective, with its constant changes of pace reflecting the quirky monarch's alternating feelings of scorn, helplessness, and indecision. In Xerxes' fiery rage aria "Crude furie," Lisi managed the coloratura with agility marred only by cloudy bottom notes in a part that seemed a bit low for her voice. As Xerxes' brother Arsamene (a "travesty" role, originally written for a female mezzo), Karen Carle managed tasteful ornamentation and depth of feeling, with a tone occasionally in need of more warmth. "Sì, la voglio" was sung with fire and verve, and "Amor tiranno" had a good sense of sustained line, though not always focused tone. The most appealing singing came from the two sisters, with top honors going to Julia Hunt Nielsen as Romilda. Her opening arioso "O voi che penate" and her Act II aria "È gelosia quella tiranna" were both finely spun and delicately floated, while the long florid lines of "Chi cede al furore" were brightly and brilliantly tossed off. Her lilting final happy-ending aria "Caro voi siete" found her lovingly caressing the notes.
As Romilda's sneaky sister Atalanta, Rebekah Nye displayed an attractive voice used to good effect in "Sì, sì, mio ben," but she sometimes needed to bring her instrument more completely under stylistic control. In the coquettish "Un cenno leggiadretto" she picked off secure and enticing high notes in her da-capo ornaments, creating an effect that was more in-your-face than flirtatious. "Dirà che amore per me" had her warbling cheerfully with high notes secure and vibrant. Mezzo Lisa van der Ploeg was in good vocal form as Amastre despite some awkward cadenzas (seemingly unrehearsed with the continuo players) and mushy Italian diction. Her voice was full and imposing, particularly in "Anima infida," where she let loose with boisterous sound. Baritone Andrew Brumana did double duty as both the comic servant Elviro and the general Ariodate. As the former he missed the buffo charm of the engaging flower-selling song but had better luck with the drinking song "Del mio caro baco amabile." Ariodate's aria "Del ciel d'amore" gave him more chance to display an imposing voice that strained somewhat on the high notes. The physical arrangement of performers in the bright acoustics of this small but booming space seemed less than ideal. Arias began shakily as if it was uncertain who was setting the tempo. Coordination throughout was a little rough, with the singers too far downstage to have any eye contact with the players. A more-polished performance of Xerxes might be heard nowadays, but it would be hard to duplicate this special mix of quirkiness, wit, and musical satisfaction. (Clifford (Kip) Cranna is Musical Administrator of the San Francisco Opera, Program Advisor for the Carmel Bach Festival, and a frequent lecturer on music appreciation.) ©2002 Kip Cranna, all rights reserved |
