The story of Cecilia in Chicago (a belated review)

Krannert Center performance details available (Mariska)
Date: 2005, Oct 25
From: Pen <Pen>

La scena: Symphony Center's Orchestra Hall, Chicago, Illinois, USA. 7:30pm Sunday, 16 October 2005. One night before the full moon.

La diva: Cecilia Bartoli, accompanied by Orchestra La Scintilla, concertmaster Ada Pesch.

La programma: "Opera Proibita." Arias from Roman oratorios (ca. 1700) by Antonio Caldara, Georg Friedrich Handel, and Antonio Scarlatti.

Sunday night, 16 October 2005, Cecilia Bartoli appeared at Chicago's Orchestra Hall-- a relatively small American venue with excellent acoustics (in my opinion). As in all performances of this tour, she was accompanied by the Orchestra La Scintilla, an ancient music ensemble of Zurich Opera orchestra members, led by violinist Ada Pesch (a native of Cleveland, Ohio). The performance was set for 7:30pm.

But first, to back-track somewhat: our fellow Forum member Klaus began a North American vacation several weeks ago, and managed to make his trip intersect with Cecilia's tour in both Vancouver and Chicago. Thus, I was fortunate to meet him face-to-face here in the US! We had enjoyed Sunday brunch at a "New Orleans-style" restaurant, with much delightful conversation as we got better acquainted, and we planned to meet again for dinner following the concert. (I trust that Klaus will write his own report, and will fill in the many details of the evening that I have overlooked or omitted.)

That evening, I arrived at the Hall slightly later than I had planned, so I did not get to say "hi" to Klaus before "The Event," but from my first balcony, fourth row seat, if I leaned forward a bit, I could see Klaus sitting in his fourth row, main floor seat. The Hall was full; as when Cecilia appeared here in Feb. 2004, people were even seated in the semi-circle around the back of the stage. My anticipation grew! At last, the houselights dimmed, and the orchestra entered and took their places on the stage.

Cecilia appeared, beaming at the excited welcoming applause, striding through the door at the lefthand wings! Resplendent in her seafoam-green gown, with sumptuous train, a sparkling emerald-colored gizmo holding back her shoulderblade-length ponytail, equally sparkling (if more pricey) diamond Rolex on her wrist and perhaps diamond earrings twinkling at her ears, her shoulders and decolletage tanned, her face well-rested, her eyes sparkling like black diamonds-- she looked simply lovely! And, as I later noticed when her gown's hem flounced during a quick turn, she wore sparkly mid-height sandals on those divine feet.

When the audience finally settled down-- it took a while!-- Cecilia launched into the first aria, Scarlatti's "Qui resta...l'alta Roma" appropriately enough, given the theme of the CD behind this tour, Opera Proibita. I must admit, I had not had enough time to fully acquaint myself with the CD's "new" music in the month since its September release, but the translated, printed lyrics of this aria almost describe the concert itself, as it got underway: "Stop here ... Here let every thought be stilled ... And you will, with fortune's aid, see / The wonders of your efforts ... Though noble Rome, queen of the world, / By destiny's abundance / Adorned herself with the palms of war, / For you she has become the mistress of peace / And now exchanged the barbarous fires of Mars / For the darts of love."

Cecilia, indeed the Roman queen this night! This Scarlatti, shot through with royal fireworks the likes of which Handel surely must have envied! Cecilia's technical brilliance has become almost unearthly-- the speed and accuracy of her coloratura here were both astonishing and beautiful, regardless of some critics' carping during this tour. NO ONE but Cecilia could have produced this firestorm of titanium tones!

However, seated up in the balcony as I was, my only complaint of the entire evening applies to this opening selection: others have trumpeted how well Cecilia sings "with" the horns which are featured in "Qui resta..." True, her voice blends seamlessly with their gleaming tone at times-- but maybe a bit TOO seamlessly. When she projected that tone mostly down, toward the main floor of the house, her voice seemed to me to disappear "into" those pealing trumpets. A technical flaw? Perhaps, perhaps not. Not much of a complaint, anyhow! And the audience surely agreed, answering this rousing piece with equally robust applause-- only for the first of many times, that night. (I much preferred the later exchange she performed with the oboe, or even her actual duet with the soprano recorder: her voice closely "mimics" both those instruments, too, and these pairings seem better suited to her timbre. Or at least, to my ears! < wry grin >)

Like a gelato, the quieting transition between the flaming Scarlatti and the piece which followed, Caldara's "Vanne pentita a piangere"... Among my favorite works from the Rome CD, this aria differs utterly from its antecedent. From peaks and valleys of blistering coloratura, Cecilia here stepped onto the broad, lush plains of heart-rending lyricism. Her pianissimi so pure and gentle and piercingly sad, the tears flowed unbidden to hear this true and solitary voice, as if one's heart were breaking, breaking...

Oh, when the final strains had faded and Cecilia stood silent and still, recapturing her composure... And oh, the barely restrained, approving applause that could be dammed no longer and finally burst forth! This was an exceptional audience, surprisingly sensitive to the most fragile moments of the program, respectful of and fully attuned to Cecilia's artistry, but as lusty and enthusiastic as any football crowd when the spectacular "play" ends! And, as always, Cecilia was gracious in accepting our vociferous accolades, herself often applauding the orchestra and its soloists, as well.

The subsequent aria, Caldara's "Sparga il senso lascivo veleno" called for yet another dramatic tack-- martial, with its driving pulse and emphatic proclamations of spiritual zeal. Cecilia's stance during the heroic arias was ardent, sometimes more like the "Winged Victory of Samothrace" than like a typical opera singer, radiating a fearful intensity. Then La Scintilla "soloed" on Caldara's Overture to Santa Francesca Romana, and the audience responded to their musical skill. No "sawing" at the antique violins in this orchestra! Pesch led the group effectively from her first chair, with "only" directive body movements which were, nevertheless, enough to hold all the players in absolute rhythmic unison. Very impressive playing!

Then more Scarlatti: "Caldo sangue" a song of death, alternating intensity and resignation, bleeding the heart dry; "Ahi! Qual cordoglio...doppio affetto" a similar theme, recognizing the eternal battle between fear and bravery. Addressing the lyrical "father," addressing the lyrical "mother"... Succeeded by the musical "family," La Scintilla, performing the first Handel work on the program, the Overture to Il Trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno (HMV 46A). Then again, Cecilia with Handel's "Chiudi, chiudi i vaghi rai" and Handel's first version of the ever-green, frequently set "Lascia la spina, cogli la rosa"... I admit, I'm no great lover of Handel, but if anyone could make me reconsider my lukewarm appreciation for his talents, it would be Cecilia! (Klaus, more detailed musical commentary, please??)

These two bittersweet, sensual arias were succeeded, and nearly supplanted in the memory, by another explosion-- Handel's "Come nembo che fugge col vento"-- and as this scalding display of vocal prowess ended, the Hall itself exploded into riotous applause, cries of brava, a standing ovation that surprised me and perhaps even Cecilia! I had never before seen a genuine standing ovation at intermission! This one was so spontaneous and sincere and loud-- yet it merely echoed the glorious aria which prompted it! Brava, Cecilia! < whew! >

And then a rest for all of us! Here at "intermission," I should note that the critics' complaints about Cecilia's voice sounding harsh or unbeautiful or, in one particularly nasty review, "ugly," on the Opera Proibita CD surely were comments made without the benefit of hearing this music performed live, in a good venue, with all the warmth and color and drama and depth of musical emotion that only Cecilia herself, in the flesh, can convey. In fact, I wasn't immediately "taken" by the CD upon the first few listenings, on my newer but bare-bones CD changer, BUT I now find that when it's played on my older CD changer, which allows a "hall" audio setting (versus, for example, "stadium" or "jazz club"), it projects a more "lively" sound, somewhat reminiscent of the concert experience Sunday. End of intermission!

Part two opened with La Scintilla's expert rendering of Corelli's Concerto Grosso in F Major, Op. 6, No. 12. Again, although I often prefer Romantic or Classical music to that of the Baroque, Pesch & Company played the hell out of this work, justly earning the vigorous applause. Pesch herself had a beautiful solo in one of the orchestral works (or an instrumental interlude, I forget which, exactly--). Such evenness of luscious tone, one might've thought she was playing the viola, rather than the violin. < wry grin > (I might add that I don't understand the later critic's complaints about La Scintilla: they seemed in very good "form" here in Chicago.)

In the wake of the band's virtuosity, Cecilia returned, Caldara's "Ahi quanto cieca...come foco alla sua sfera" a perfect vehicle for her own melodic and dramatic efforts, his "Si piangete pupille dolenti" a still more intense, evocative expression of sensuous sorrow. After this piece, Cecilia left the stage momentarily, and La Scintilla launched into the Introduction to Part Two of Handel's Oratorio per la Resurrezione di Nostro Signor Jesu Cristo (HMV 47).

As the orchestra played, Cecilia made a genuinely operatic, theatrical entrance, returning to the spotlight center-stage as if acting the role for the subsequent aria, "Un leggiadro giovinetto," renewing our pleasure indeed! Handel's spare and dulcet "Io sperai trovar nel vero" (another aria not on the CD) followed... And then the final aria of the program, again Handel, "Disseratevi, o porte d'Averno"...

The lyrics should have read, "Disseratevi, o porte di Cielo, / E al bel lume / D'un lume, ch'e Etern[a]"! At this stupendous conclusion of a long, varied, difficult program, Cecilia pulled out all the stops, and the aria's "vittoria" was indeed all hers.

Pandemonium! The audience leapt to its feet, cheering wildly, applauding this awe-inspiring display of vocal power, this truly colossal feat of musical expression! An incredible standing ovation, it was, almost as astonishing as the pyrotechnics which prompted it. And Cecilia beaming, bowing, projecting happy gratitude to every corner of the Hall. She stepped into the wings for a moment, but the prolonged ovation continued unabated! Then she returned and announced her first encore, the incomprehensibly lovely "Ombra mai fu"-- oh, if only this heart-wrenching aria were on the CD, I would not have to attempt the impossible task of explaining its effect on that exuberant audience....

The silence, during one long, painful, divine pianissimo... Was total. Where mere moments before had been deafening cheers, there now was absolute silence. Perhaps 1500 people seemed to hold their breath-- no, not one of us was breathing-- during that life-long, perfect, unearthly note... The tears flowed in silence, and too soon that aria's pluperfect musical agony passed into a silent oblivion-- the audience seemed stunned, as if we could not breathe again until Cecilia herself had returned to earth, and then...

A building rumble of...

Renewed applause, more cheering, a joyful chaos still wilder than before! Another standing ovation! The emotional contrast, the tension between the strenuous Handel and the musical pathos of the Bononcini was almost too much to bear, and the result was a manic outburst of adoration.

Eventually, Cecilia somewhat quieted us with announcement of the second encore-- I actually couldn't hear what she said, but I presume it was (as in previous concerts of this tour) the Handel "Aria van Cleopatra uit 'Giulio Cesare'"-- which again elicited an appalling outburst of adoration, AGAIN a standing ovation-- followed by the third and, presumably, final encore, I guess Scarlatti's "Che dolce simpatia" as in previous concerts (Klaus, can you confirm what the encores were??)... And guess what?

AGAIN, an enormous ovation erupted-- with a ROAR the likes of which I have NEVER heard in a Chicago concert hall or opera house! On and on and on it went! The electric energy of this audience, jumping to our feet, bursting with the harsh music of love and appreciation, and near-stupefied by the DIVINE performance we had just witnessed, was almost shocking in its intensity and duration. Only Cecilia could achieve this unbelievable height of musical expression; only Cecilia could earn this incredible height of fanatic adoration.

She laughed with pleasure! She shook her head in amazement. She bowed and applauded us in turn, the musicians, perhaps even her own success-- for indeed, this was a GREAT success! Over and over, she pressed her fist to her breast with obvious gratitude. She seemingly could not believe that the audience remained on its feet, minute after minute, still clapping, still caught up in our own extreme pleasure. The shouts of brava rang out again and again! What was she to do?!

The announced autograph-signing had already been called off, because the re-scheduled Toronto concert (postponed due to Cecilia's illness after her trans-Atlantic trip, a cold from which she recovered quickly and almost completely, thank goodness) was to be the very next night! The entourage was supposed to be boarding a chartered bus that very moment, no doubt, for the overnight drive to Canada to perform a concert-- a taxing concert like this one!-- less than 24 hours hence! But it really seemed the ovation might continue forever. O, poor Cecilia tried to leave-- she waved, she edged toward the wings, she seemed a bit befuddled, actually, by this terrific outpouring of ecstasy and affection...

In the end, Cecilia succumbed to our collective will. She returned to the center stage; she consulted with Ada Pesch; they made instructive gestures to the musicians; Cecilia turned to the Hall... And announced a FOURTH ENCORE! O, gioia! Truly, this was like dying and heading straight to heaven! We quieted almost immediately, and wonder of wonders, this incomparable singer launched into a recapitulation of one of the most difficult, most meteroic, most spectacular passages from the entire program! And it was nigh perfect.

I could hardly believe my ears: who could have that kind of firepower, that kind of stamina, that truly Olympian skill after already singing the 16 preceding arias in a performance notable for its emotional commitment and its technical difficulty?! Only Cecilia.

Cecilia is La Suprema.

This stupefying conclusion compelled the audience to its feet once again. The shouting and applauding and unremitting enthusiasm seemed to make time stand still. But at last, at the very last, a sated Cecilia again sidled toward the wings, waving and waving with the most apologetic of expressions on her face, and many of us waved farewell in turn— silly though that gesture seemed, even in the moment— and then, finis, it was over, she was gone.

------*------

IN RETROSPECT... I must mention how Cecilia herself in many instances openly directed the orchestra-- if they lagged slightly behind her torrid pace, from lowered arms her curled hands gestured them onward, forward, hasten; when she sought a firmer line, a more pointed emphasis, firmly shrugging shoulders or a downwardly stabbing hand set them on the right path; when the tempo changed, her torso became a mesmerizing, cobra-like metronome; when she struck a final note and required utter synchrony, a concise sweep of the arm was sufficient guidance... She displayed a fresh confidence in her leadership. And yet, rather than some generalissimo leading the troops, rather than some maestro pointing fingers and demanding blind obedience, she seemed only to be dancing-- her body articulating the rhythms and sensations that her voice translated into song.

Ah, but what sort of dancing is this?! That heaving warrior's breast, the straining sinews of the athletic neck, that clenched adamantine fist, that grinning, childlike delight, the gentler, swaying form and sorrowful, uplifted gaze as softer strains unfurled... And held us rapt. Each affective word singular and complete-in-itself, each lyrical word and tone transformed into music by this womanly body, the body itself transforming moment-by-moment into the spectacular-- the spectacle of music... Can you tell that I don't know how to describe what I mean?!

Only this: that though I sat rivetted to what I saw, enrapt by the multi-sensory experience of "Cecilia Bartoli singing," mere fragmented moments of that hours-long vision now remain. Mere moments, a mere handful of moments! Yet so vivid as to escape the realm of words, here. This is the best kind of music, I think, I feel, music so engrossing that only a few seconds of fleeting melody, only a few fervid gestures, only the memory of how that moment felt, only a minuscule fraction of the whole remains...

Perhaps this is why the experts say that a musical score, the notation, is not "music." Only the performance, the performance en toto is the real music-- and once the sonic vibrations have faded into silence, the music is gone! Oh, what sadness. And yet, what joy! To have heard this thing, to have seen this thing, felt this thing we call music. And thanks indeed to Cecilia, for truly, "sine qua non."

Pen