Robert Dean Smith in Tannhauser at the Staatsoper
Originally Published on Operanews.com
The American tenor was in fine voice, yet while his performance as Tannhäuser was pleasant enough, it was rarely overwhelming. He sang his entrance aria, "Dir töne Lob" in a gently lilting style: careful phrasing carried him through the evening. In his scenes with Venus, he chose not to adopt the usual devil-may-care attitude of arrogance and feistiness that most Tannhäusers sport, but his out-of-synch duet with the love goddess left much to be desired, as did his melodramatic acting, which greatly detracted from the dramatic impact of this production.
One thought at first that the heldentenor might be holding himself in reserve — Tannhäuser is a challenging assignment for any tenor — but when Smith failed to distinguish himself in the Act II singing contest, one was left with serious doubts. It seemed more than likely that Smith was simply exhausted. His exhaustion was nowhere more evident than alongside the domineering Christof Fischesser, the powerhouse bass who sang Hermann and commanded more attention than anyone else in the contest scene.
German baritone Roman Trekel gave a curiously understated performance as Wolfram, full of soft quivers and half-whispered words. He seemed to be "feeling" the music a little too much and drawing it out unnecessarily: for all its artful soulfulness, his performance seemed contrived.
Finnish soprano Camilla Nylund made a thrilling entrance as Elisabeth, with an accurate, energetic "Dich, teure Halle." She changed dramatically for her grief-filled Act III appearance, when she sang with controlled hysteria and darker, tremulous hues: she made her character's anguish totally convincing.
Michaela Schuster was a sultry, menacing Venus whose habit of launching her high notes with too much force worked against her seductive air, making her sound shrill. The Staatsoper's recent discovery, Anna Prohaska, was dazzling in her small role as the young pilgrim, singing in a remarkably even, boyish voice.
In Harry Kupfer's striking yet baffling production, the Venusberg looks like something out of Fellini Satyricon, with copious naked bodies posed statuesquely in a variety of lewd acts. The Act II singing contest was held in a recital hall with stadium seating for the spectators (one of the best-dressed choruses in recent memory). During Tannhäuser's ode on the profane love of the Venusberg, Smith climbed onto a grand piano that was rooted in the middle of the stage, and which he later used as a shelter from the crowd's wrath. The stage was curiously bare for Act III, save for a votive Madonna at which a scruffy band of pilgrims, suitcases in tow, stopped to sing their chorus.
In the pit, Philippe Jordan, the Staatsoper's principal guest conductor, was a sensitive guide during the lengthy overture, which he scaled down to chamber-like dimensions before letting loose with full force the massive crescendos and luxuriant, achingly-slow glissando horn passages, the expressive strings and strong, march-like percussion. Throughout the evening, alas, the orchestra was often not entirely together with the singers. The Act II finale was particularly badly coordinated.
A. J. GOLDMANN
Robert Dean Smith, who filled in for an ailing Ben Heppner in the Met's HD transmission of Tristan und Isolde on March 22, appeared at Berlin's Staatoper unter den Linden the following week in the German company's revival of Harry Kupfer's 1999 staging of Tannhäuser (seen March 30).
The American tenor was in fine voice, yet while his performance as Tannhäuser was pleasant enough, it was rarely overwhelming. He sang his entrance aria, "Dir töne Lob" in a gently lilting style: careful phrasing carried him through the evening. In his scenes with Venus, he chose not to adopt the usual devil-may-care attitude of arrogance and feistiness that most Tannhäusers sport, but his out-of-synch duet with the love goddess left much to be desired, as did his melodramatic acting, which greatly detracted from the dramatic impact of this production.
One thought at first that the heldentenor might be holding himself in reserve — Tannhäuser is a challenging assignment for any tenor — but when Smith failed to distinguish himself in the Act II singing contest, one was left with serious doubts. It seemed more than likely that Smith was simply exhausted. His exhaustion was nowhere more evident than alongside the domineering Christof Fischesser, the powerhouse bass who sang Hermann and commanded more attention than anyone else in the contest scene.
German baritone Roman Trekel gave a curiously understated performance as Wolfram, full of soft quivers and half-whispered words. He seemed to be "feeling" the music a little too much and drawing it out unnecessarily: for all its artful soulfulness, his performance seemed contrived.
Finnish soprano Camilla Nylund made a thrilling entrance as Elisabeth, with an accurate, energetic "Dich, teure Halle." She changed dramatically for her grief-filled Act III appearance, when she sang with controlled hysteria and darker, tremulous hues: she made her character's anguish totally convincing.
Michaela Schuster was a sultry, menacing Venus whose habit of launching her high notes with too much force worked against her seductive air, making her sound shrill. The Staatsoper's recent discovery, Anna Prohaska, was dazzling in her small role as the young pilgrim, singing in a remarkably even, boyish voice.
In Harry Kupfer's striking yet baffling production, the Venusberg looks like something out of Fellini Satyricon, with copious naked bodies posed statuesquely in a variety of lewd acts. The Act II singing contest was held in a recital hall with stadium seating for the spectators (one of the best-dressed choruses in recent memory). During Tannhäuser's ode on the profane love of the Venusberg, Smith climbed onto a grand piano that was rooted in the middle of the stage, and which he later used as a shelter from the crowd's wrath. The stage was curiously bare for Act III, save for a votive Madonna at which a scruffy band of pilgrims, suitcases in tow, stopped to sing their chorus.
In the pit, Philippe Jordan, the Staatsoper's principal guest conductor, was a sensitive guide during the lengthy overture, which he scaled down to chamber-like dimensions before letting loose with full force the massive crescendos and luxuriant, achingly-slow glissando horn passages, the expressive strings and strong, march-like percussion. Throughout the evening, alas, the orchestra was often not entirely together with the singers. The Act II finale was particularly badly coordinated.
A. J. GOLDMANN
