FIGARO'S Friends, Lovers, and Spouses: Susanna

When you add up all her recitatives, Susanna has more to sing then perhaps any character in opera except maybe Siegfried. She barely leaves the stage in the first two acts of Le nozze di Figaro, and then still has to sing two duets in Act 3 plus her big aria and the finale in Act 4. (Plus lots more recit!) It's a huge role, demanding immense vocal stamina and enormous range as an actor.

One of the tricks to acting Susanna is that she herself is an actor, and a far more subtle one than her goofball fiancé Figaro. Susanna actually charges her personality based on who's in the room with her. In Act 1, she's a spiteful, vicious vixen around Marcellina; a flirtatious older sister to Cherubino; submissive and feminine with the Count but aggressive, self-righteous, and indignant with Basilio.

One of Susanna's greatest moments comes when she joins the Act 2 finale and transforms duet into trio. She really shines in these scenes of topsy-turvy transformation, where everything becomes its opposite and expectations are foiled. Here, the Count and Countess have been having a very serious fight, flinging accusation and name-calling across an up-tempo 4/4, building to the moment when the Count, weapon in hand, flings open the door to the Countess’s closet. He (and she) expect Cherubino to emerge, but Susanna does so instead, bringing into the room with her a calm, unperturbed minuet. With delicious irony she tosses the Count’s passionate words about Cherubino back in his face:

IL CONTE
Mora, mora, e più non sia ria cagion del mio penar.

LA CONTESSA
Ah, la cieca gelosia qualche eccesso gli fa far.

IL CONTE E LA CONTESSA
Susanna!

SUSANNA
Signore, cos'è quel stupore?
Il brando prendete, il paggio uccidete,
quel paggio malnato, vedetelo qua.

IL CONTE
(Che scola! La testa girando mi va.)

LA CONTESSA
(Che storia è mai questa, Susanna v'è là.)

SUSANNA
(Confusa han la testa, non san come va.)

THE COUNT
Let the boy die! Then he’ll torture me no more.

THE COUNTESS
Such blind jealousy! This jealous man will do something rash.

THE COUNT AND THE COUNTESS
Susanna!

SUSANNA
My lord! You seem surprised.
Take your weapon. Kill the boy.
The cherub of hell—he stands before you.

THE COUNT
My head is spinning. How can this be?

THE COUNTESS
(How can this be? Susanna wasn’t in there.)

SUSANNA
(Both of them are baffled!)

It’s a great moment because her complete control of the situation, her improvisatory genius, leave both Count and Countess dumbfounded. Now, Susanna has a complication relationship with the Count: the two of them wage a fierce battle for control of this castle and everyone in it, and (as with the Countess and Cherubino) the opera is far more interesting if there’s a possibility that Susanna might really be attracted by the Count. I think she knows deep down she’ll never be able to have him on her terms, however, so she consoles herself instead with her great intimacy with his wife -- really, one of the most loving and beautiful relationships between two women in all of opera -- and by commanding Figaro, the Count’s right-hand man.

From the very first scene, Susanna and Figaro have this strongly dominant-submissive thing going on. “Sei tu il mio servo, o no?” she asks him, in their first recitative: “Are you my servant, or aren’t you?” The climax of their love-story, on their wedding-night, is when Susanna beats Figaro, to his great delight. And, perversely, the only time Susanna really expresses the depth of her feelings for Figaro is in her 4th Act aria “Deh, vieni”, which is all another scam—she knows that he’s eavesdropping and that he thinks she’s singing this love song to the Count. For some reason, that little psychological-torture-clause is necessary for Susanna to allow herself to feel the dangerously powerful flood-tide of love she bears for Figaro, an emotion conveyed with genius of simplicity in this ravishing marriage of text and music:

Qui ridono i fioretti e l'erba è fresca,
ai piaceri d'amor qui tutto adesca.
Vieni, ben mio, tra queste piante ascose,
ti vo' la fronte incoronar di rose.

The flowers laugh in the fresh grass....
Come and taste the pleasure of love.
Come, my love...hide with me beneath the stars.
I want to crown your brow with roses.

Hundreds of years later, we are grateful to Mozart and Da Ponte for giving us this incredible character. As an old professor of mine used to say, “There’s a lot of woman there!”

The Marriage of Figaro Preview Video

This new Marriage of Figaro preview video compiles some of the exciting highlights from last night's dress rehearsal.

FIGARO'S Friends, Lovers, and Spouses: Figaro

Yesterday I accused all the characters of Le nozze di Figaro (save the Countess) of narcissism, and I hasten to add that this is particularly true of Figaro himself. It was more extreme when Figaro was a little younger, in The Barber of Seville, back in the days of “ ‘Figaro!’ ‘Figaro!’ ‘Figaro!’ Everybody wants me, everybody loves me!” And, most of all, myself.



Above, Oren Gradus, who debuts at Seattle Opera Saturday night, sang Beaumarchais' roguish alter-ego in Houston in 2005.

Generally, a narcissist is anyone better-looking than you. But with Figaro it’s also manifest in his constant need to be the center of attention. Everytime he comes onstage he manages to make the drama all about him -- how smart he is, with his schemes and intrigues, how funny he is, with his incessant need to act out (and sing out!) everything under discussion, from the tinkling of the Countess’s bell -- “din! din!”-- to the glories of Cherubino’s future military career, to the imaginary pain in his twisted ankle. It’s entertaining to watch the antics of such a fellow; but in real life people like that are hard to live with. I can’t say I envy Susanna.

The flip side of that ‘life-of-the-party’ kind of narcissism is often extreme anxiety and easy despair, particularly when it’s a question of being excluded, or feeling left out or left behind. Figaro gives in way too easily to suspicion and jealousy when, in Act 4, he suspects that his bride might really be hooking up with his boss and best friend. In fact, Susanna starts the opera insisting that he TRUST her, in their second opening duettino, as if the two of them have been through this before. In Act 4, a simple-minded confession on the part of blabbermouth Barbarina sets Figaro off. His third and final aria, "Aprite un po' quegli occhi" is a clownish patter song about the faithlessness of women, with music and text which are hardly worthy of the clever Figaro of the first three acts. In fact, the very music of this aria seems to tease Figaro with creating the nightmare he so fears, when the French horns mock him (at the aria's conclusion) with the musical image of the cuckold’s horns he's just told us all men wear:


(Alfred Poell; Erich Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic; Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)


Figaro's previous aria, in contrast, is ingeniously witty, both text and music. This is “Non più andrai," one of Mozart's most infectiously delightful melodies. Back on April 13th (below) I posted both its foppish, prancing opening and the jolly march that it becomes. Of course this aria is about Cherubino, about Figaro and the Count recruiting this odd boy/man-woman to join their team in the game of women vs. men; but in this aria Figaro is also declaring war on the Count: "No more fluttering about all day and night bothering the ladies, you great big lovesick butterfly, you little Narcissus, you little Adonis of love." (Da Ponte's diminutives are even more adorable in Italian.) The Count has committed the first overt act by banishing Cherubino, who is threatening his status as alpha male around the castle. Figaro sings this aria by oblique way of saying to the Count, à la Daffy Duck, "of course you realize...THIS MEANS WAR!!!"

Figaro is far too crafty and cunning an eighteenth-century intriguer ever to confront his master head-on. (The closest he comes are the cheeky lines, "My face might lie, but I don't” in the Act 2 quartet, and "I never dispute what I know nothing about," opening the Act 3 finale.) He explains his policy in his Act 1 aria, "Se vuol ballare": If his little Lordship wishes to dance, I'll teach him the steps. I love this aria, particularly the part where Figaro almost loses control and starts whacking the Count with forte repetitions of "Saprò!" (which basically means "Yes, I can!") before catching himself and reining in his anger with repetition of the word "Piano" (quietly, i.e. through subterfuge). He then launches into a little patter-song of feints, parries, dodges, and attacks before repeating his ominous -- and thrilling -- minuet.


(Samuel Ramey; Georg Solti, London Philharmonic; Decca 410 150-2)

Figaro has a lot to sing and a lot to do in this opera; he should be charming, infuriating, adorable, obnoxious, and in the end pushed to the limit of his own conceit and beyond.

Confessions of a First-time Operagoer

Lately on this blog we’ve been talking at length about The Marriage of Figaro, but today we want to tell you about an exciting new project we are undertaking as a result of receiving a Wallace Foundation Excellence Award. The four-year grant focuses on building relationships with the community through technology, and many of our new initiatives revolve around this summer’s Ring cycle.

Do you remember what it was like attending your first Ring? We want to capture that moment in a reality-style video series titled Confessions of a First-time Operagoer, in which we’ll be chronicling a young adult’s adventures attending the Ring. The host, selected via YOU, our blog readers (more on that below), will explore Seattle Opera from the inside out, taking a behind-the-scenes peek into the creation of the Ring, meeting some of the Ring artists, and receiving advice from Ring veterans, all of which culminates in attending their very first Ring cycle. What is it like to see Fafner the dragon come to life, from the technical crew hand-making each one of his scales, all the way to his fire-breathing glory on stage? What about seeing the Rhinedaughters “swim”? How do they go from their first aerial rehearsals to so gracefully navigating the Rhine river and losing their precious gold to the Nibelung dwarf Alberich? Or, imagine hearing the orchestra rehearsing the electrifying “Ride of the Valkyries,” a piece of music that permeates our culture from Bugs Bunny outwitting Elmer Fudd to the graphic novel and film adaptation of Watchmen. How does a young opera novice respond to Wagner’s monumental, Mount-Everest-of-all-operas, epic cycle? We’re going to find out, and we’re going to document every minute along the way!

We are now calling all Ring rookies to apply to be our host! And if you’re reading this and you’re not a Ring rookie, that’s ok; we have several other projects that we are working on that are specifically designed to enhance the depth and breadth of your Ring experience (more on those initiatives in the coming weeks!). In the meantime, if you know someone who might be the perfect Confessions host, please direct them to this blog post or to our webpage and encourage them to apply. The application process is simple, and the ultimate selection of our host will come down to a vote right here on the blog! Interested candidates need to complete the short application as well as submit a 1-2 minute video explaining why they should be selected as our Confessions star. Videos can be snail mailed to us (see more details on our FAQ page), or uploaded to our Facebook page. Finally, we will be hosting a live casting call at the May 15th performance of The Marriage of Figaro! Any interested candidates may stop by our Confessions booth in the main lobby starting at 5:00 p.m., and we’ll film the video on the spot. The deadline to apply is none other than Wagner’s birthday, May 22, and starting June 1, we’ll have our finalists’ videos uploaded to the blog for a week of voting on who you want to see as the Confessions host.

Are you the perfect host?

FIGARO’S Friends, Lovers, and Spouses: Countess Rosina Almaviva

The Countess is the only character in Le nozze di Figaro (well, maybe Marcellina is a runner-up) whose love-life isn’t complicated by her own narcissism. As a result, she’s the one character in the opera who sometimes seems a little too good to be true; if the Count’s honor is compromised by his self-confessed “human frailty,” then how does the Countess get off being so perfect all the time?

Speaking from the point of view of actor or director, the easiest way to humanize the Countess is to have her seriously tempted by the youthful ardor of Cherubino. After all, that’s what Beaumarchais was thinking. He even wrote a third Figaro play, The Guilty Mother, about the child Cherubino will father upon the Countess. You can hear her supremely loving, sexual yet maternal, feminine warmth in the incredible music Mozart created for the Countess, particularly her entrance aria, “Porgi, amor“:


(Lisa Della Casa; Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic; Decca "Legends" 466 369-2)

We hear that aria immediately following Figaro’s "Non più andrai," and Mozart’s juxtaposition of that cheerful, extroverted bass aria with this slow, delicate soprano aria couldn’t be more brilliant. It does introduce the Countess as a character who’s prone to be passive, sad, and introverted; the perfect wife gazing out the window at a world to which she's denied access. And she continues to be mostly reactive, rather than proactive, for the balance of the scene in her bedroom--which makes Act 3 really her time to shine.


In Seattle Opera's 2005 YAP Figaro, Robyn Driedger-Klassen's Countess stood up to Andrew Garland's Count.

My favorite moment for the Countess comes in the recitative that opens Act 3, that same scene in which the Count admits (to himself) his own human frailty. The Countess finally takes her destiny into her own hands when she urges Susanna to ask the Count for an assignation, and not to tell Figaro. (Earlier, Figaro had advised the Countess to catch the Count in the act, as it were; but he had suggested Cherubino-in-drag as the false Susanna. When the Countess takes over the plan, she decides to play the false Susanna herself.) The rest of the opera flows naturally from that decision. The Letter duet, the business with Barbarina and the pin, even Figaro’s jealousy of Susanna and the two arias exploring that. Musically, we hear the Countess’s heroic resolve in the up-tempo conclusion of her Act 3 aria, “Dove sono”:


(Della Casa; Decca "Legends" 466 369-2)

Grace and beauty and maternal warmth and sexual allure are all well and good, but it’s her strength of character, her ability to figure out what it is she wants and to go get it, that makes the Countess an inspiring human being and the ultimate victor at the end of the opera.

FIGARO’S Friends, Lovers, and Spouses: Count Almaviva

In our countdown, now, to opening night, I’d like to consider the great characters of Le nozze di Figaro in a little more detail. Because while the complications of the plot alone are enough to intrigue and amuse a first-time Figaro attendee, it’s the incredible human richness of the characters--their psychological complexity--that keeps many of us coming back to this opera, fascinated time and again.

Mariusz Kwiecien as Count Almaviva at Opera Colorado:



Today, let’s focus on the Count. He’s on my mind because we were up late last night, after a long technical rehearsal, rewriting the supertitles (as we generally do after midnight!) and we ended up working for a while on the Count’s great moment of self-awareness, in the recitative opening Act 3. I’d never noticed it before, but this thoughtless, narcissistic, gullible and deluded character does have one great moment of clarity, as he’s thinking about what happened at the end of Act 2 and wondering whether his wife is cheating on him. “Ma la Contessa...ah, che un dubbio l’offende,” he sings. “Ella rispetta troppo sè stessa: e l’onor mio...l’onore...dove diamin l’ha posto umano errore!” We’ll see if we can arrive at a concise supertitle for this wonderfully rich line, which really means:

“But the Countess...ah, how doubting her offends her! She respects herself too much, and my honor...honor? the devil if my honor isn’t riddled with human frailty!”

I love this moment because it’s the only time the Count comes anywhere near acknowledging his own considerable imperfections.

Ordinarily he can’t let on that he has problems (like many an American politician!) because he’s supposed to be the boss, the big cheese, il padrone, the MAN. In terms of eighteenth-century theatrical types, he’s what’s known as “the tyrant”--the bad guy in the plot. The story consist of the protagonists’ attempts to defeat him. But the Count is not a scary, wicked tyrant, like Alberich or Baron Scarpia. Indeed, when he is welcoming everyone to the wedding and toasting the newlyweds with a beautiful accompanied recitative, the Count is all that is handsome, noble, heroic, and glorious about the eighteenth-century aristocracy:


(Cesare Siepi; Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic; Decca "Legends" 466 369-2)

Handsome, noble, heroic and glorious--but not virtuous, and without that the other attributes don’t count for much. The Count’s virtue is compromised by his lechery and his jealousy, his failure to trust the Countess--a graver sin, according to the Catholic theology behind the opera. He gives vent to all his “human frailty”, his narcissistic pride, lust, and envy in his great Act III “rage” aria, “Vedrò, mentr’io sospiro:”


(Siepi; Decca "Legends" 466 369-2)
This is music that vividly -- even sympathetically -— portrays a man writhing in agony he’s created for himself. If the Count were only capable of mastering his passions, perhaps he’d have a chance of mastering his household.

April 25, 2009, Speight Jenkins Day

Last night a beautiful tribute dinner in honor of Speight Jenkins's 25 years at the helm of Seattle Opera was held down at the Four Seasons Hotel near Pike Place Market. It looked to me as though there were some 200 people in attendance, decked out in their finest. Summoned to dinner by the brass of our orchestra playing (as they'll do during intermissions next summer) motifs from the Ring, we enjoyed a terrific meal as well as a program featuring mezzo Joyce Castle, who sang songs by Rodgers & Hart, Bernstein, Jake Heggie, and Donald Swann, plus (special bonus) the Seattle Opera Chorus hailing Speight with "Wach' auf" from Wagner's Meistersinger.

The lovely souvenir program book from the evening included the following Proclamation, from the Mayor's Office:

WHEREAS, the City of Seattle is fortunate to be the home of many talented artists and arts advocates whose creations and efforts enhance the lives of everyone in our community; and

WHEREAS, Speight Jenkins has devoted much of his life to the arts, serving as the General Director of Seattle Opera for 25 years and providing bold leadership; and

WHEREAS, under Speight's guidance, Seattle Opera's productions have captured national and international attention and significantly raised the city's profile as an arts destination; and

WHEREAS, an arts advocate, Speight championed a nationally-acclaimed education program that offered the opportunity for thousands of high school students to experience an opera performance and for elementary students to meet young opera artists; and

WHEREAS, Seattle has become internationally recognized as the "Wagner Capital of the United States," with the Seattle Opera's performances of all ten of Wagner's major operas, two productions of Wagner's "Ring" cycle and the International Wagner Competition; and

WHEREAS, on April 25, 2009, opera enthusiasts, friends, and admirers will gather to mark Speight's 25 years with Seattle Opera;

NOW, THEREFORE, I, GREGORY J. NICKELS, Mayor of the City of Seattle, proclaim April 25, 2009 to be SPEIGHT JENKINS DAY and I hereby urge citizens to join me in commending this exceptional individual for his immeasurable contributions to the city's cultural arts and civic life.

As an employee of Speight's for the last fourteen years, I'm here today to say that there's nobody I'd rather call my boss.

Archie Drake grows through FIGARO

One of the unusual things about Le nozze di Figaro is how the opera calls for multiples of the same voice type. Our Marcellina, Joyce Castle, is a mezzo soprano; but the part can be sung by soprano, as can all the other female characters (Susanna, Barbarina, and the Countess). And apart from Basilio/Curzio, a tenor, the other male parts are written for bass-baritone--although nowadays the Count is usually played by a lyric baritone.

Like many of us who return to a great masterpiece such as Le nozze di Figaro again and again throughout our lives, Archie Drake grew along the line of Figaro basses. Archie, who sang thousands of performances at Seattle Opera between his debut (Rocco in Fidelio in 1968) and his final role at the age of 80 (the Doctor in Macbeth in 2006), played Figaro early on in his career:



He then went on to play Figaro's father, the irascible Dr. Bartolo:



And finally, in the 90s and 00s, Figaro's uncle-in-law-to-be, the crochety old gardner Antonio:

Backstage at FIGARO: Making Wigs with Joyce Degenfelder

Today, we spoke with Joyce Degenfelder, who makes wigs for Seattle Opera and Pacific Northwest Ballet.

Jon Dean: Joyce, you've been the principal wigmaker at Seattle Opera since we moved into McCaw Hall with Parsifal in 2003. But your history with the company goes back all the way to The Ballad of Baby Doe in 1984. Tell us about how you got into this business in the first place. How does one become a wigmaker?

Joyce Degenfelder: I stumbled into doing wigs when I was in college, working at a summer theater. The guy they usually had do their wigs was in Europe one summer, so I ran shows for him. It was a long time ago...but I still work with some of those same actors in Seattle nowadays! In terms of getting into the business, though, I've worked with a couple of people repeatedly who are still here in town. There are colleges with training programs in wigs and makeup, and of course we have interns.

Jon Dean: Tell us about the process of making wigs. Where do you get the hair? How long does it take to make a complete wig? Can you reuse wigs, from show to show?

Joyce Degenfelder: The standard used to be European hair, it came straight, wavy and corkscrew textures. Now the majority of hair for wigs comes from Asia and Indonesia.

The options for textures has expanded as well as wild colors to buy. In the theatre and opera, you can buy an existing wig and augment or rework it, or build one completely from scratch. That involves making a base, tying the knots, and mixing the hair color (that's the part I really enjoy!). It's generally better to make it from scratch, custom-made for one particular singer in one particular opera. But that takes forty to fifty hours, so I don't do it as often as I'd like! And yes, I reuse wigs all the time, especially when you're working with the same performers. The chorus, you know, sometimes they say "Can I have the wig I had last season in such-and-such an opera?"

Joyce Degenfelder in McCaw Hall's Hair and Make-up Room (with Greer Grimsley getting his wound as Amfortas in Parsifal)

Jon Dean: When the performers show up in town for the first day of rehearsal, they immediately go in for a wig fitting. How does that work?

Joyce Degenfelder: Wigs are extremely personal, and the fitting is really to make sure that the performer and I get their ideas incorporated also. By that point (theoretically!) the costume designer and director and I already have a plan of where we're going, but the performer needs to be part of that discussion. I also measure their head. If I think I need to make a custom wig, I make a lovely Saran Wrap and Scotch Tape mold of their hairline to take with me!

Jon Dean: Does a performer's own hair color and complexion affect the choice of wig you give them?

Joyce Degenfelder: All the time! In Le nozze di Figaro, for instance, we had talked about a blond wig for Barbarina; but Leena Chopra showed up, she's a gorgeous olive-skinned, dark-haired girl with Indian parents and her own hair quality is fabulous, so we decided she'd use her own hair. And for Dr. Bartolo, initially we thought Arthur Woodley would wear a white wig, but it doesn't work with his dark skin color. So we'll give him a softer-looking dark grey period-type wig, made of coarse yak hair, similar to the one he wore as Geronte di Ravoir in Manon Lescaut a few years ago (right).

Jon Dean: How many wigs are you making for Le nozze di Figaro? Which ones will require the most care?

Joyce Degenfelder: Figaro will have 22 or 24 wigs. It's a very physical opera, so the wigs will require daily maintenance and at intermission. The Count probably has the most complicated hair--we're going to move him from being in his dressing-gown with his hair down, in Act One, to getting more and more tidy and better-dressed over the course of the day.

Jon Dean: Who's your favorite character in this opera?

Joyce Degenfelder: Oh, it's hard to say. I like working on Susanna and the Countess, it's fun to try to make them a little bit different but both still very feminine. And Ted Schmitz, who plays both Basilio and Curzio, as Curzio (the judge) he has a yellowey-white yak hair wig, and as Basilio he's got a powdered ash-brown gray wig. I love all the various challenges that come with working in opera, be it a show where there's 160 wigs, or period pieces like this one...it's fun to dive in and try to get it right!

High-Schoolers Prepare for LE NOZZE DI FIGARO

Seattle Opera invites schools participating in our Experience Opera program to attend final dress rehearsals, which are coming up next week for Le nozze di Figaro. It’s a great way to introduce young people, especially teenagers, to opera. But the important part of the introduction is actually happening now, in our many partner schools, where students are learning about opera, about Mozart and Le nozze di Figaro, in preparation before attending the show. (I had a great time the other day heading out to South Kitsap High School, in Port Orchard, to help introduce the opera to a terrific Humanities class.) The key to enjoying anything in life is understanding, and there’s a lot about attending an opera like Figaro that a first-time might not understand. We find that preparation exponentially increases the likelihood that our student audiences will enjoy themselves and have a positive first experience at the opera.


Above, students flow into McCaw Hall for an opera dress rehearsal.

Oddly enough, it turns out that young people often need a little musical preparation to attune their ears to Mozart’s musical language. How can this be, you wonder, his music is considered the most perfect, intuitive, obvious, and accessible ever written? True...but most of our ears have been ruined by the 223 years of music written since Le nozze di Figaro! Composers who followed Mozart (including Beethoven) found they couldn’t say anything Mozart hadn’t already said more beautifully, more perfectly; so they expanded the language and gave themselves new musical tools. I think of a composer like Richard Wagner, intimidated by Mozart’s easy perfection, indulging in dissonance like the rocker from Spinal Tap who’s so proud that his guitar “goes up to eleven!”

At our Teacher Training Workshops, we recommend calibrating students’ ears to Mozart, as it were, with a kind of lesson we’ve often found extremely effective. The idea is, you use the music of a Mozart opera to introduce what Aaron Copland liked to call the “Five Elements of Music”: Melody, Harmony, Rhythm, Color, and Form. Mozart is sending us messages with every note of his opera music; to figure out what it is he’s saying, you have to listen carefully, which means analyzing the music in terms of its five elements, asking yourself exactly what’s happening in that music. The teacher gets the students to define and give examples of the five elements more generally, then provides a bit of music from a Mozart opera. Students then figure out what that melody, harmony, rhythm, orchestral color, etc. is saying about the plot, characters, drama, etc. In the process, the music pulls them into Mozart’s world.

The easiest of these five elements of music for a first-timer or non-musician to grasp is usually rhythm, since that’s such a bodily thing. To calibrate your ears to Mozart, the important thing is to pick up the cultural associations of rhythm in his period: the difference bewteen a minuet (slow, stately ¾) and a gigue (lively 6/8), which is the difference between aristocrats and peasants. Or, in Le nozze di Figaro’s Act 3 finale, the difference between the march (walking tempo 4/4)...

...and the fandango (traditional Spanish court dance in slow 6/8)...

(Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic, Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)

...because Mozart’s choice to juxtapose these two extremely different rhythms in that finale embodies all the binary oppositions of Le nozze di Figaro, all the public vs. private, women vs. men, society vs. nature, servants vs. masters, indoors vs. outdoors, daytime vs. nighttime, etc. you could perceive.

My favorite thing to do, when teaching this lesson, is to put students on the spot and make them sight-read Mozart! In any group of 30 or so high school students you usually have a couple performers who aren’t intimidated by pulling out their violin, or oboe, or heading over to the piano, and showing off their sight-reading ability. And Mozart’s music is so straightforward, they can usually do a credible job of communicating to their peers how the music goes. The class then tries to figure out where this music fits in, in the opera. But along the way they’ve obliquely learned a very important lesson: classical music like Mozart is not only to be found on a recording, it is to be made, and owned, by us all.

Backstage at FIGARO: A Chat with Chorusmaster Beth Kirchoff

Our interviews with the behind-the-scenes Figaro artists continues today as we check in with Beth Kirchhoff, Seattle Opera's Chorusmaster since the February 2000 production of Lakmé .

JD: Beth Kirchhoff, this season at Seattle Opera has featured two big chorus operas (Aida and Pearl Fishers), two operas with no chorus (Elektra and Bluebeard’s Castle/Erwartung), one opera with only childrens’ chorus (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) and now Le nozze di Figaro, which has a smaller role for chorus. Is the chorus schedule always that unpredictable? How do you make sure you have enough good singers when you need them?

BK: Actually, this season is rather unusual in the wide variety of demands for chorus....I LOVE that about my job. I was fortunate to be Interim Artistic Director at a local wonderful girl's choir a few years ago, and that truly helped to keep me more up to date with kids’ voices and their vocal abilities for the YAP production.

Our chorus at SOA consists of a regular group of 36, who are offered contracts for 2 years at a time, and a roster of another 10 who are given "first crack" at the work whenever we need a larger group, say for a Verdi opera.

Also, I am constantly in process of auditioning new voices, in order to keep a running list of available extras.

JD: What makes a great chorus member? What do they have in common with the kind of singers who play principal roles, and how are they different? What do you listen for when you’re auditioning potential chorus members?

BK: Great choristers are born, not made! First requirement to sing in an opera chorus is a healthy-sized, lovely, clear voice. I also listen for blendability, accurate pitch, and excellent language skills. A love for drama and a sense of humor helps too.

The initial university/private vocal training is pretty similiar to a principal artist...basic "big voice", advanced degrees at a good music school, private vocal training. Our choristers have made life decisions to remain in Seattle and we benefit from that for sure!

JD: Take us through the process of preparing the chorus for an opera like Le nozze di Figaro. What kind of materials do you give them ahead of time? How long does it take them to learn their music and staging?

BK: The process begins months before an opera opens. With most operas, we begin music rehearsals about three months before opening night, and send out music about a month before that. For Le nozze di Figaro, our part is very small, (about 10 min of actual music!). So we only have three music rehearsals, all music is memorized by the end of those, and about four staging rehearsals. All of our rehearsals take place in the evening, because many of our choristers also have full-time day jobs. During the production weeks, these folks are working two jobs, very busy people.

JD: So what do the chorus members do to pass the time when they’re just hanging out backstage, waiting for the Count and Countess to stop arguing about who’s hiding in the closet?

BK: When they aren’t onstage, choristers are free to read, knit, review the words of next scene, listen to other music, study other music scores, etc. It’s never dull back there!

JD: What’s the trickiest part of the opera, for the chorus? Most solo performers would say that Mozart looks easy on the page, but is terrifying to perform because it’s so exposed; his music is so perfect, any mistake a performer makes is going to be noticed. Is that true of the choruses, too?

BK: Mozart choruses are generally not so tricky musically--the big challenge is to stay focused and energetic ONSTAGE, after such long periods OFFstage, maintaining the connection with the drama while you were away!

JD: What’s your favorite moment in Le nozze di Figaro?

BK: My personal favorite moment is in the Act 4 Finale, when Figaro, for one brief moment, sings "Tutto e tranquillo e placido"--all is tranquil and peaceful...beautiful Larghetto and melody in the orchestra as well, before all hell breaks loose and the plotting, scheming, and deceit picks back up. For a brief moment, we revel in the beauty of the night, his voice, his confidence in victory.....just for about 30 seconds!

Conductor Taste Test: FIGARO Act 2 Quartet

It’s fun to do the singer taste test, like we did last week with Cherubino; but what about the great Conductor Taste Test? That’s when you compare recordings or performances of a passage featuring much more than one singer’s voice. Today, three contrasting takes on one of my all-time favorite moments, the end of the quartet movement embedded in Figaro’s Act 2 finale.

That finale, famously, goes duet/trio/quartet/quintet/septet. The quartet, after beginning in a bustling 3/8, settles into this gavotte-rhythm when the Count tries to interrogate Figaro about a letter casting suspicion upon the Countess. Figaro deflects the Count’s attempted gavotte just as he sidesteps his questions; he improves upon the Count’s tune and then, at the end, when they all sing simultaneously, Mozart adds a musette figure in the bass, a wondrous droning-bagpipe effect.

Here’s the amusing text for this passage:

F: Mente il ceffo, io già non mento.
CTA & S: Il talento aguzzi invano;
palesato abbiam l'arcano, non v'è nulla da ridir.
CT: Che rispondi?
F: Niente, niente.
CT: Dunque accordi?
F: Non accordo.
S & CTA: Eh via, chetati, balordo, la burletta ha da finir.
F: Per finirla lietamente e all'usanza teatrale
un'azion matrimoniale le faremo ora seguir.
CTA, S, & F: Deh signor, nol contrastate,
consolate i lor/miei desir.
CT: (Marcellina, Marcellina! Quanto tardi a comparir!)

F: My face might lie, but I don't.
CTA & S: Your cunning is useless here.
The secret is already revealed. Give it up!
CT: What do you say?
F: Nothing, nothing.
CT: You confess?
F: I do not confess.
S & CTA: Shut up, you blockhead. This comedy is over.
F: To end it happily, in accordance with theatrical custom,
we should close with a wedding.
CTA, S, & F: Oh, my lord, do not quarrel,
fulfill my/their desires.
CT: (Marcellina, Marcellina! You're late!)

And now, let’s compare some conductors and their ensembles! We begin with the classic Giulini 1960 recording of Le nozze di Figaro, featuring the brilliant Italian comedian Giuseppe Taddei as Figaro:


(Taddei, Wächter, Moffo, Schwarzkopf; Giulini, Philharmonia Orchestra; EMI 358602-2)

And from the early 1980s, the beautiful Solti recording:

(Ramey, Allen, Popp, Te Kanawa; Solti, London Philharmonic; Decca 410 150-2)

And, from 2004, a perhaps more authentic version by early music specialist René Jacobs, with a lower pitch and quicker tempo:

(Regazzo, Keenlyside, Ciofi, Gens; Jacobs, Concerto Köln; Harmonia Mundi B0001HZ728)

Can you make up your mind which recording to buy? Or, like most opera fanatics, do you want to hear them all?

ADDED IN 2015:Live recording of this passage from Seattle Opera's 2009 performances, starring Mariusz Kwiceien, Oren Gradus, Twyla Robinson, and Christine Brandes

Backstage at FIGARO: A Chat with Maestro Williamson

Time now to get to know some of the artists behind Seattle Opera’s upcoming production of Le nozze di Figaro. Let’s begin with our beloved maestro, Dean Williamson, a true son of Seattle Opera. Williamson, who grew up in Bellevue (proud alum of Sammamish High School), was Seattle Opera’s principal coach/accompanist for most of the ‘90s. As the first Music Director of our Young Artists Program, he conducted nine operas for Seattle Opera at Bellevue’s Meydenbauer Theatre, and, at McCaw Hall, Tales of Hoffmann and Pagliacci. Williamson comes home to us now from Cleveland, where he is Artistic Director of Opera Cleveland.

JD: Dean, you’ve played and conducted Le nozze di Figaro already a number of times. How many different Figaro casts have you worked with in your career? Any ideas you’ve taken from a performer in one cast and given to another later on?

DW: Yes, Jon, at this point I’ve had at least 9 or 10 different casts, and it’s remarkable how each one takes on a personality of its own. The goal for a conductor in an ensemble opera such as Figaro is to keep the individual characteristics of the singers, but at the same time guide them into a musically cohesive approach that works with the dramatic line. Occasionally you get a singer that strays into unknown territory (the younger and inexperienced) or has a completely different concept (the older one who’s done it 50 times). The real fun comes when you get a cast that is a combination of the two...the younger ones doing the opera for the first time bring a freshness and excitement to the process, and the older ones bring a lifetime of experience. In that situation, the conductor is like a coach, helping them to find a common language, and occasionally keeping the musical arguments at bay!

I’m always learning something new with each production, and of course cataloging in my mind great ideas that work. I never insist on anything except basic tempo...after that it’s a conversation. We can discuss interpretation, ornaments, an appoggiatura, pronunciation, etc. I’m not afraid to suggest something that worked for another singer, but in the end each cast member has to believe in what they do, and they have to make their own decisions. I look after the bigger picture and make sure by opening night we are all on the same page interpretively.

JD: Any favorite memories you'd like to share, the ghost of Figaro productions past?

DW: A favorite memory is doing the Countess’ third act aria “Dove sono” with Carol Vaness, one of the greatest interpreters of the role. I had just begun conducting, and was asked to step in at the last minute for an orchestra concert with her. How thrilling it was to stand next to her onstage, making music, and learn from her experience. She knew when to move, when to linger, and how to coax the best playing from the orchestra with her voice and musicianship. And, how to charm them in rehearsal, and get them all on my side!

JD: Mozart is unusual among opera composers in that although German was his mother-tongue, he wrote amazing operas in Italian. Do you consider Le nozze di Figaro an Italian opera? And while you're at it, how do you go about getting a stylistically consistent, idiomatically Italian performance from a polyglot cast such as the one Speight Jenkins has assembled for you, which features a Pole, a Dane, a Frenchman, a German, a New Zealander, a handful of Brits and Americans, and no native Italians?

DW: Figaro comes from the southern Italian opera buffa tradition, full of commedia dell’arte characters, fast patter songs, and complex plot developments. Maybe it was the hot sunny Mediterranean climate that promoted such fun operatic hijinks! At the other end 30 years later we get Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia. Then 50 years after Figaro is Donizetti’s Don Pasquale, which by 1843 was written in a style that was already considered out of fashion and passé (opera had moved through bel canto and was now heading into Verdi and Wagner.) What is remarkable about Figaro is how Mozart turns completely away from the Handelian opera seria style of recitative with static aria. In Figaro everything propels the plot forward, even the arias...you really are watching a play set to music. The libretto could almost be performed without the music.

In our time, we are lucky in that most opera singers are well trained and comfortable with the Italian language. We also have two coach/pianists working the show who are excellent with Italian diction, so there is always someone looking after the cast to keep things tidy and idiomatic. I find the most difficult thing for singers to understand is not the language, but rather the culturally Italian emotional intensity. Interestingly, Mozart complained about the singers in the world premiere cast! He wrote that they didn’t know how to do the recitatives correctly, and that they weren’t singing the Italian cleanly and clearly. So the same challenges continue...

JD: Ok, let’s talk ornamentation. Some conductors encourage their singers to jazz it up and vary the repeats at the end of the arias in Figaro; others don’t. The printed score we’re using also includes what look like ‘optional’ appoggiaturas in many of the recitatives. Do you insist your singers adhere to what’s written, or do you give them more freedom? What difference does it make for those of us in the audience with untrained ears?

DW: You’re asking about one of the most controversial aspects of baroque and classical opera interpretation. We are living in a time of transition and renewed knowledge of period practice. Many of the tenets of the first generation of period scholars from the mid 20th century are being adjusted or questioned. Frankly, the pendulum will and always has swung from one extreme to the other in terms of ornamentation. It seems every 20 or 30 years we get a turn away from what is prevalent...this has gone on since the Renaissance.

I take a more practical approach to ornamentation. We do know that Mozart expected it, the singers in his time did it, but what we don’t know is to what extent they ornamented. If you go on examples of his own ornamentation (the 1789 Vienna version of the Count’s aria, the cadenzas to his concerti, etc) you can see his style was more melodic in nature, much like Handel’s own ornaments, and certainly not Rossinian. Singers in that time probably did much more than the composers wanted, and we do know there tended to be a bit of friction between the living composer and the singers performing their music. Mozart also wrote to highlight the vocal prowess of each singer in his cast. We know, for example, that the first Susanna must have had a great lower register, but we also know that she was not good at doing appoggiature, so in frustration Mozart wrote them all out for her in the 4th act aria.

I ask each singer to think about adding ornaments to the repeated A section of an aria. I won’t demand it, and ask them to wait until we are in a staging rehearsal to find the right ornamental gesture. Some singers take to it willingly, others by force of habit or training just can’t get themselves to do it. Usually I can convince them to do at least a few passing tones or appoggiatura.

As for the appoggiatura in recitative, it was assumed by the composers that you would do it. I don’t subscribe to the old school of thought that you only occasionally added them when you wanted to color a word or turn a feminine cadence. The suggested appoggiature in the critical editions are exactly where you would be expected to do one…it was notational convention not to write them all out. Just as in Baroque ground bass notation or modern jazz improvisation, much was left up to the assumed knowledge of the performer.

In the end, though, I wish we could all get in a time capsule and go back to 1780 for one opera! We’d probably be shocked at what we heard on stage and from the pit.

JD: Sometimes opera companies that produce these comic operas engage one musician to conduct the orchestra and another to accompany the recitatives on the harpsichord. I understand that you’re somehow going to do both! Isn’t that a bit like patting your head and rubbing your stomach?

DW: No, I find it an invigorating and exciting thing to do. The biggest challenge for a conductor also playing recitatives is finding a seamless flow from recitative to orchestral number to recitative again. It can be tricky just getting enough time to give a good downbeat, and I have to choreograph the transitions with my arms. Sometimes you want to overlap the final chords of the recitative over the beginning of the next number, which means the concertmaster and the orchestra have to be aware of the situation and memorize tempi. I mark in the parts exactly whenever this happens so no one is caught by surprise.

By playing the recitatives myself I can help control the flow and pacing of the show, and it’s so much fun improvising the accompaniment to match the mood and intent of the singers onstage. All I’m given in the score are the singers’ lines and a bass line with suggested chords. Beyond that, it’s all made up in the moment. Many times Peter Kazaras (the stage director) and I will work out certain flourishes that have to happen in any given moment. And by being in all the staging rehearsals I can familiarize myself with the dramatic flow that he and the singers would like.

JD: What’s your favorite moment in the opera?

DW: Honestly, there are too many. This is one opera that never fails to amaze me, make me tear up on the podium, and make me laugh, no matter how many times I’ve done it. That is the brilliance of Mozart...as a composer he was able to distill every human emotion imaginable. The characters jump off the stage as real people, and in the music you get the soundtrack to their emotions.

Interpreting FIGARO: “I did my best not to listen!”

If Le nozze di Figaro is, as I asserted the other day, really a misty-eyed reactionary fantasy about a Romanticized feudal utopia, its world has at least this much in common with almost every Orwellian futuristic dystopia written since 1945: a world entirely without privacy. In works such as the wonderful Seattle novelist Jonathan Raban’s 2007 Surveillance, or movies of the same name released in ’06, ’07, and ’08, our current culture is demonstrating both an obsessive urge to find out and publicize everything about everybody, and simultaneously a perhaps hypocritical moral indignation that there’s no privacy left.

Was there ever any privacy? Or is that more Romanticized misty-eyed fantasy? Certainly in the village social milieu of Le nozze di Figaro, the kind of place where everybody knows everybody else and all their family history and sexual scandals, real privacy--the kind of anonymity we crave and achieve in huge modern megalopolises--would have been extremely difficult to come by. But in Figaro it goes way beyond that. If Così fan tutte is also known as “The School for Lovers”, then Le nozze di Figaro ought to be called “The School for Spies.” No one in Figaro is ever alone; whatever each of the characters thinks they’re confiding in private turns out really to be confessed in public.

In Act 1, that’s mostly cause for amusing embarassment. It begins with Cherubino, who (because he’s hiding behind a chair) overhears the Count coming on to Susanna. We’re to understand that this young apprentice rake is taking lessons in womanizing from an unwilling master; the day previous, we learn in recitative, Cherubino (hiding under a table) overheard the Count coming on to Barbarina. In the trio that contains the Count’s well-known (yet still funny) revelation of Cherubino-beneath-the-sheet, tenor Don Basilio (who’s so used to it he didn’t bat an eyelash when he found out the Count was spying on him as he oozed his slime on Susanna) concludes, as Da Ponte must have oft asserted: “Così fan tutte le belle, non c’è alcun novità!” (Everybody [female] does it, there’s nothing new here!) Is he talking about sex, or spying?

(Hilde Gueden, Cesare Siepi, Murray Dickie; Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic; Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)

One act later, Mozart gives us an even more inspired invention, the second act ensemble in which the Count and Countess are bickering about who may be knocking things over in the closet (it's the klutzy Cherubino, despite the Countess's claim that it's Susanna). Unbeknownst to them, Susanna, spying on them from the back of the room, adds her voice so that duet becomes trio—without the characters in the duet realizing it has become a trio!


In Le nozze di Figaro at Seattle Opera’s Young Artists Program in 2005, Edlyn de Oliveira was the Countess, Maria d’Amato Susanna, and Michael Todd Simpson the Count.

All the eavesdropping and spying grows more serious, or its treatment a little darker, in Acts 3 & 4. Act 3 begins with the Count’s aria “’Hai già vinta la causa’? Cosa sento!”, one of the most popular of all audition arias for baritone. But I can’t even begin to tell you how many young baritones sing that aria seemingly unaware that it begins because the Count has been eavesdropping on a conversation between Susanna and Figaro. Susanna’s line (which he begins by quoting) “Hai già vinta la causa!” has upset him so deeply he has to sing an aria about it. And then, Act 3 ends with the strange scene of public spying that happens while they’re all dancing the fandango at the wedding: Figaro watches the Count prick his finger on the pin sealing the letter asking him to a midnight rendez-vous in the garden, decodes the situation (except for the part where the assignation is to be with Figaro’s own bride!) and laughs at the Count for hurting himself with the pin.

You can see this little game in the following video clip of the Act 3 finale from the 1976 Jean-Pierre Ponnelle film of Le nozze di Figaro, about 3:40 into the clip. Ponnelle has the Count (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau) sing his line as voice-over, instead of thinking aloud, although Figaro (Hermann Prey) whispers his explanation of what’s going on to his dance partner, (Mirella Freni as) Susanna:


If the guys, the Count and Figaro, are spying and eavesdropping in Act 3, in Act 4 the girls, Susanna and the Countess, take revenge by manipulating these strange games of public and private. Each sets up a situation in which their husband is SUPPOSED to spy on them, to see her cheating on him with another; both husbands are deceived; and the result is the wife achieves a moral victory. Susanna does all this in her amazing aria, “Deh, vieni” (right), sung obstensibly to torture Figaro (who she knows is eavesdropping) with jealousy. But the best Susannas find a way in this aria to communicate Susanna’s own sincere affection for Figaro, buried beneath so many layers of pretense, pride, and the twisted folds of the plot.

Figaro earns a beating for spying upon and doubting Susanna, one he gleefully accepts, in private, as the Act 4 finale hurtles towards its end. With the Count and the Countess, however, the same scene happens in public. The Countess has the opportunity to excoriate the Count in front of the assembled cast, the moment he kneels down and asks her forgiveness. They all think he’s asking her to forgive his jealousy and suspicion; but the private reality, understood only by the two of them (plus Figaro and Susanna, plus the audience) is that he’s asking her to forgive him for cheating on her. She could humiliate him in a big way, expose him as a faithless idiot who can’t even tell the women he’s seducing apart from each other. But in her magnanimity, she doesn’t say anything about it. The Countess, who embodies all the grace and dignity available to humankind, understands that even in an age of constant surveillance some things are better kept private.

Interpreting Figaro: COMMEDIA DELL’ARTE

I’m afraid I’ve been taking Le nozze di Figaro way too seriously on this blog, subjecting it to lengthy analyses as incendiary political manifesto or psychological self-help handbook for Martians and Venusians who find themselves at war with each other. No, Figaro is really just a silly sex comedy, with all the slamming closet doors, hiding behind chairs, ridiculous disguises, and cockamamie excuses you’d expect from a Feydau farce—or an episode of Three’s Company.

The three rules of comedy, dating back to the days of ancient Rome, are drag, disguise, and dummies, and Figaro has all three in spades. These three magic ingredients were the backbone of the ancient Italian tradition of commedia dell’arte, which is best understood as live-action Looney Tunes. In real commedia, there’s isn’t really much of a plot; instead, there are stock characters and scenarios or situations which provide a framework for jokes, buffoonery, and rampant silliness. Drag and disguises afford the audience the joy of watching foolish characters get taken in by the hopelessly lame disguises and excuses of equally foolish characters. Figaro features both the character-in-drag gag (that’s Cherubino, prince/princess of gender confusion) and the master-and-servant-switch-clothing gag (in this case, the Countess and Susanna, mistress and chambermaid, switch clothes). As for dummies, the famous stock characters of commedia include the inamorati, a pair of young people suffering from a wildly exaggerated, suicidal passion for each other; any number of bumbling, incompetent servants; and most of all the old men, the greedy old misers and pompous old professors who stand in the way of the young peoples’ love.


A: Harlequin (progenitor of Figaro); B: Pantalone (Bartolo's spiritual father); C: Punchinello (the original Andy Capp); D: Columbina (ancestress of Susanna)

Dr. Bartolo is probably the purest commedia character in Le nozze di Figaro; at one point Mozart even has him sing good old fashioned commedia patter, in which the singer tries to spit out tongue-twisters as fast as humanly possible. You’ve heard it before in Gilbert & Sullivan, who stole it from Mozart:

(Fernando Corena; Erich Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)

Another classic commedia figure is the dim-witted judge. (In commedia, the more you can make dignified patriarchal authority figures look absurd and incompetent, the better.) In Le nozze di Figaro this is Don Curzio, who traditionally has a stutter. I’ve never heard where this tradition arose, but it gives his recitative a particularly distinctive sound:

(Hugo Meyer-Welfing; Erich Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)

That judge only appears in the completely crazy, surreal scene in the third act in which Marcellina and Bartolo recognize Figaro as their long-lost son. The other day we talked about how that scene hearkens back to the tearful pastoral reunions of the ancient Greek Odyssey; it also emerges straight out of the commedia tradition, particularly the running gag in the middle of the sextet. A ‘running gag’ is something which isn’t particularly funny the first time, but if you repeat it enough, eventually the audience can’t help but laugh. (Watch Sideshow Bob whapping himself in the forehead with a rake nine times, from the classic Simpsons’ “Cape Feare” episode, for more information.) Here, when Marcellina tries to explain to Susanna that she’s really Figaro’s mother, Susanna has to go to each person in the room in turn, asking for confirmation of this astonishing fact: “Suo madre?” “Suo madre!” they say, and then she repeats the joke when Figaro tries to tell her Bartolo is his father:

(Hilde Rössl-Majdan, Hilde Gueden, Corena, Alfred Poell, Cesare Siepi, and Meyer-Welfing; Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)



Antonio the gardener is also a standard commedia bumbling servant, one whose unfathomable stupidity gives rise to some of the opera’s funniest lines. Marcellina and Susanna both derive from commedia’s typically wily female servants. And Figaro and the Count both used to be stock commedia figures, back during Barber of Seville; but in the years that have passed since, both have matured into more psychologically real human beings. Beaumarchais was following the lead of his Italian contemporary Carlo Goldoni in writing plays about real people who live in a commedia world. Those of us who love this opera benefit because we can both probe the psychological depths of these wonderfully rich characters, and simultaneously laugh at how absurdly silly it all is.

To conclude, a scene of the purest commedia influence on music theater, from Stephen Sondheim’s A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. The 1966 film directed by Richard Lester starred (in this particular scene) Buster Keaton as the dim old man, Jack Gilford as the nervous servant, and the incomparable Zero Mostel as the crafty servant:

The Marriage of Figaro: Director's Talk

The Marriage of Figaro Director Peter Kazaras introduces the huge cast from this popular Mozart opera. This exciting video clip includes rehearsal footage including all of the main characters, plus set and costume sketches. Let us know what you think?

Cherubino Taste Test

Opera is not a science; but the scientific method, when applied to art, sometimes yields surprising results. We have a little game we love to play here at Seattle Opera’s education department, what we call the “Singer Taste Test.” It’s a little bit like going to a wine-tasting, except instead of comparing Syrahs, Merlots, and Cabernets the idea is you compare Callas, Sutherland, and Eaglen all singing the same phrase from Norma and immediately hear the differences between the singers. You can, of course, pit them against each other and try to figure out which one is your favorite...and if you do this exercise in a group, you’re sure to get divergent opinions.

We’ll try this little scientific experiment here, today, and see if it works on a blog. Our control group is the passage we’re comparing: in this case, the end of Cherubino’s aria “Non so più,” when the confused teenage boy sings “E se non ho che m’oda, e se non ho che m’oda...parlo d’amor con me, con me...parlo d’amor con me!” (And if there’s no one to hear me [chatter about love]...I speak about love with myself.) Now, most of “Non so più” is a wild, breathless aria, illustrating this hormone-addled youth’s chaotic emotional state. But Mozart slows everything way down, here at the end, and allows in this final line either a lewd interpretation of what it is Cherubino is doing with himself, or a more tender take on the boy’s predicament.

The question is, what do the different voices of great singers bring to the role? And what interpretive decisions do each make about the words and the character? We have four Cherubinos, today, for you to compare:

Italian Fiorenza Cossotto, famed for bigger Verdi mezzo roles in the 60s, 70s, and 80s
(Giulini, Philharmonia Orchestra; EMI 358602-2)


American Tatiana Troyanos, master of a wide mezzo repertory (pictured, right, as Giulio Cesare)
(Böhm, Deutsche Oper Berlin; DG “The Originals” 449 728-2)

American Frederica Von Stade, who sang Handels’ Xerxes at Seattle Opera in 1997
(Solti, London Philharmonic; Decca 410 150-2)

Austrian Angelika Kirchschlager, who sang Strauss’ Octavian at Seattle Opera in 1997 (right, singing Hansel)
(Jacobs, Concerto Köln; Harmonia Mundi HMC 801 818-20)

Which Cherubino appeals to you the most? Which is most boyish? Which most mature? What kinds of different interpretation do you hear?

More Mozart Opera on HD: DON GIOVANNI

Tonight at SIFF Cinema, Mozart's Don Giovanni from last summer's Salzburg festival. I'm curious to hear Chris Maltman as the Don and Matthew Polenzani as Ottavio; the two of them charmed as Guglielmo and Ferrando in Seattle Opera's 2006 Cosi fan tutte. Above, the two of them with Richard Stilwell as Don Alfonso. We've also heard Polenzani here as Almaviva in Rossini's Barbiere. Maltman was Seattle Opera's Artist of the Year for Billy Budd, back in 2001.

Other exciting members of this Don Giovanni cast include Erwin Schrott and Dorothea Röschmann. Left, Maltman as Giovanni with Schrott as Leporello. The production, by Claus Guth, is apparently set at a bus stop in the middle of a forest, all in the three hours between when the Commendatore mortally wounds Giovanni and when he dies, and is all about humanity's fear of death.


(What the...? I thought Don Giovanni was supposed to be a dramma giocosa...)

Where is Mozart in LE NOZZE DI FIGARO?

It’s a Romantic conceit, and patently false, that great artists can only ever talk or write/compose/paint/etc. about themselves. With some—-Richard Wagner comes to mind-—it’s true, the artist’s extreme narcissism makes it helpful to know a bit about the creator if you want to understand the creation. But with others, that’s not the case. Shakespeare is probably the poster-boy for the artist who conspicuously DOESN’T write about himself all the time. It may very well be this self-effacing tendency of his that has encouraged many people, over the years, to believe that Shakespeare’s plays were really written by Ben Jonson, King James, Pocohantas, or various other candidates.

Right: The real Shakespeare?

What about Mozart, where does he fit in? Does he project himself into his operas the way Giuseppe Verdi becomes all his great Verdi baritone roles, or fall in love with his characters the way Giacomo Puccini clearly fell in love with Mimì, Tosca, Cio-cio-san, etc.? Hard to say; I think most of us perceive, as did Peter Shaffer in (the play) Amadeus, that Mozart is Tamino, the Orpheus-like player of the Magic Flute. But Tamino is an ingenue without much personality, and studying him doesn’t really tell us what Mozart was like. (Nor, despite my great admiration for it, does Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus, play or movie!) And the most interesting characters in Mozart’s three da Ponte operas may very well be projections of Da Ponte, who truly loved to write about himself—-just check out his memoirs.

A great place to look for Mozart’s fingerprints are those moments when his music adds something to the opera that may not have occurred to da Ponte as he wrote the text. Mozart makes a big deal, for instance, out of Figaro’s powers of illustration when he’s telling Antonio and the Count a (fictional) story about how and why he jumped out of the Countess’s window. Da Ponte gave Mozart five lines for Figaro to tell this story, and they tumble along at a quick pace in the Italian:

Aspettando quel caro visetto...
Tippe tappe, un sussurro fuor d'uso...
Voi gridaste...lo scritto biglietto...
Saltai giù dal terrore confuso...
E stravolto m'ho un nervo del pie'!

I was waiting for [Susanna’s] dear face...
Knocking at the door, murmuring outside...
You were screaming...I remembered the letter...
I jumped down, confused and terrified...
And I twisted a nerve in my foot!

Mozart sets the first three lines to quick, tumbling music, probably just what Da Ponte was expecting; but then he asserts his own artistic presence as composer. He cuts Figaro’s rhythm in half and takes away the harmony (the orchestra just doubles Figaro after line 4); and Figaro illustrates his jumping with a melody that jumps downwards, and his pain with a tortured chromatic descent on line 5.

(Alfred Poell; Kleiber, Vienna Philharmonic, Decca “Legends” 466 369-2)

There, that little moment is a distinctly Mozartean contribution to the opera, one which probably delighted da Ponte as much as it has generations of opera-goers. (You ALWAYS get a laugh at that line, in the theater.) What does it tell us about Mozart, other than that he had a great sense of humor? I think Mozart goes out of his way to show Figaro acting out the story, musically, because I believe it’s that exaggerated, extroverted, larger-than-life personality that attracted Mozart to Figaro in the first place. (Whether or not Mozart himself had such a personality is another question...)

Mozart again adds to da Ponte to make his own point in the little duet for the Count and Susanna that opens Act 3. Susanna has just asked the Count to meet her in the garden at midnight; but only as part of a ruse, she doesn’t really intend to meet him. The Count is a little suspicious, and asks her to reassure him:

CONTE: Dunque, in giardin verrai?
SUSANNA: Se piace a voi, verrò.
CONTE: E non mi mancherai?
SUSANNA: No, non vi mancherò.

C: So I’ll see you in the garden?
S: If you like, I will come.
C: You won’t fail me?
S: No, I won’t fail you.

But listen to how Mozart sets this little passage (brilliantly!): first, the Count offers Susanna a gentle little folk-tune melody, which she promptly sings back to him. (First rule of flirting in a Mozart opera: singing another character’s tune to them is like ordering what your date orders in a restaurant, demonstrating that you can follow their lead and trust their decision.) They repeat the exchange, with lines 3&4, and then Mozart adds text that wasn’t in da Ponte’s libretto: “You’ll come?” “Yes!” “You won’t fail?” “No!” “You’ll come?” “No.” “’No’?” “Yes, yes, if you like, I’ll come!” The Count’s insistent questions confuse Susanna, and she almost gives away her true intentions.

(Cesare Siepi, Hilde Gueden; Decca “Legends” 466-369-2)


Why did Mozart add this little detail to the opera? Again, it may be simply great theatrical genius, because it always delights an audience to see Susanna—who is, after all, the smartest and most manipulative character in the show—almost screw up bigtime. Good singing actors can take this scene in different directions, but it’s the closest we come, in the opera, to the great threat that’s hanging over the entire plot, a romantic encounter between Susanna and the Count. The fact that Mozart decided to extend the scene makes me think that he wanted to spend a little more time in this dangerous, deliciously fraught moment, with the would-be lover desperately seeking reassurance that his fantasy is about to come true and the master manipulator discovering the limits of her power to manipulate. Which of them was Mozart? Probably both.