Patricia Racette Descends Into Insanity In Riveting Performance

by David Salazar

OPERA WIRE

Over the course of two uninterrupted hours, Strauss’ “Salome” must develop from a clueless ingénue to a passionate seductress that eventually ends up a murderous, lustful lunatic. It is the dream role for any actress, but also one that demands a grade-A star to dispatch all of its nuance and intense passions.

Patricia Racette was not supposed to be the one tasked with carrying the Met’s “Salome” this season. That assignment had originally fallen on Catherine Nagelstad, who withdrew weeks before the opening night. So Racette, who sang the role earlier this year, stepped in for her Met role debut this past Monday. On Friday, Dec. 9, she dominated the stage in one of her greatest achievements on the Met stage.

A Well-Defined Character Arc

Her Salome is every bit the “innocent” unknowing girl at the start of the opera as her delicate voice questions why King Herod has been staring at her so insistently. She wandered about the stage until hearing the voice of Jochanaan (Željko Lučić). At that point, Racette’s voice took on a thicker complexion, the vibrato, which was nearly non-existent in opening passages, gaining momentum as Salome’s passion rose.

Her lustful passion flowered through the ensuing scene with Lučić, the confusion over her desires and the rejection potently portrayed. In one moment, she was attempting her best to seduce him, moving suggestively toward him, her voice delicate. But upon being spurned, there would be more pointed accents in the vocal phrases, her glare penetrating even from across the stage.

By then she was no longer the “innocent” girl from the start and as she sat atop a scaffold over Jochanaan’s cell, she turned her back to the audience and expressed her pensive state with very still body language. When Herodes (Gerhard Siegel) did his utmost to seduce her, Racette showed another facet of the character, this time a playful indifference that created great friction with Siegel’s more invasive approach.

And then Racette really turned up her sensual nature throughout the famed “Dance of the Seven Veils,” displaying a fearlessness in every aspect of the dance. As it climaxed, she stared right at Herodes and stripped herself completely naked, a moment that created audible astonishment throughout the Met audience.

Of course, the moment every connoisseur of the opera awaits is the final scene in which Salome finally receives Jochannan’s head on a silver platter and obsesses about having it in her power and yet wanting more. The soprano is tasked with blasting her voice over a titanic orchestral sound, which Racette had no qualms about doing, pushing her vocal resources to their intense limit. Hers was a ferocious interpretation, cajoling the head in some moments and then looking like she was ready to tear it apart like an animal. At one point, her voice dipped into its lower register, all the brightness sucked out for a deadly vocal phrase filled with resentment.

Gerhard Siegel Matches Racette’s Dramatic Nuance

Siegel was fascinating as Herodes, giving the Tetrarch a complex arc in his own right. We hear about the King long before he is on stage, anticipating his lecherous nature. Siegel did not disappoint in this respect, though he made Herodes far from a potent looking king. He slipped on the floor in a moment of wondrous believability and pouted in other moments as he demanded why Salome had left his party despite his wishes. When he came around to winning over Salome, he climbed up on the scaffolding, his stare full of insatiable desire. His singing oozed desire with emphatic diction and swelling phrases. Yet for all his attempts, his Herodes came off rather weak-willed, making for interesting drama when the King finally does his best to protest Salome’s wish for Jochanaan’s head.

One aspect of Strauss’ work that is often overlooked is the King’s own religious fervor. He is hanging out with the Jewish High Priests and repeatedly mentions that he feels a menace coming toward him. He imagines crows hovering over his gardening (an image that Jürgen Flimm’s production portrays late in the work). Strauss portrays these beautiful with the strings emulating the entrancing wind. Herodes own fears drive his protection of Jochanaan and Siegel’s errant rambling about the stage throughout this passage, his voice growing in intensity as he offered up jewels, gems and half his kingdom to his stubborn step-daughter. If ever a King was dethroned onstage, Siegel’s performance was it.

Nancy Fabiola Herrera Leads Solid Supporting Cast

As his wife Herodias was mezzo-soprano Nancy Fabiola Herrera, celebrating her 11th year at the Met. Hers was a frustrated Queen, her catty nature giving a very naturalistic quality to the onstage bickering between husband and wife. Watching her and Siegel battle was akin to watching a couple in the autumn of their marriage trying to find a way to get along and then realizing that one-upping each other was more fulfilling. Her voice boomed at the emphatic passages Strauss litters throughout the opera for her, the potency of the voice perhaps more suited to taking down the behemoth orchestra than anyone else in the cast.

As Jochanaan, Lučić showed vocal and physical restraint, imbuing the prophet with a sense of dignity. Kang Wang sang with elegance and fervor as the young Narraboth.

In the pit, Johannes Debus managed to bring out lush and powerful sound from the Metropolitan Orchestra, the waves of music so potent that they even threatened to drown out the singers at times. Arguably the most memorable moment of the evening from the orchestra came in the tense moments where Jochanaan is beheaded. Over a light tremolo, we hear sharp intermittent attacks from the basses, piercing sounds that are as dangerous-sounding as the action unfolding offstage.

Flimm’s Production a Subtle Updating With Unique Insights

Flimm’s production updates the action to what looks like the 1920’s. The stage is divided in half with stage right featuring a luxurious patio from Herodes’ palace while stage left showcases the desert and the well where Jochanaan’s cell lies deep underground. The divide seems to suggest the social divide that is represented by the wealthy king and the poor prophet. It also emphasizes the two men that come to dominate Salome’s psyche and drive her to madness. She is a wealthy princess, used to having anything she desires and yet she rejects the man that represents all of this in favor of a desperate passion for a man who rejects everything that she is. Salome’s wardrobe also expresses her descent into madness. When we first see her, she sports a silver dress hinting at her luxury as well as her “innocence.” But by the end, she is wearing a black robe that not only emphasizes her darkness but also draws her closer to the wardrobe one might anticipate from the poor prophet Jochanaan.

Racette still has four more performances in the title role of Strauss’ early gem and it is highly recommended that anyone in the mood for an intense passionate night of great operatic singing, and especially acting, should make sure to catch one performance before the run is up.

A Rivering Racette Ignites in Met's "Salome"

by Eric C. SImpson

NEW YORK CLASSICAL REVIEW

It is one of the defining features of live performance that it continues to surprise us. To be an informed listener and attend a concert or an opera without expectations is just about impossible—and those experiences that shatter expectations are often the most rewarding of all.

Patricia Racette provided just that kind of rare experience, starring in a revival of Richard Strauss’s Salome at the Metropolitan Opera. She was not even originally scheduled to sing in this run, and stepped in to replace an ailing Catherine Naglestad.

Yet the veteran soprano had a career night Monday, showing she still has an enormous amount to offer, both musically and dramatically, as an artist. Racette has not had a success at the Met like this in several years–maybe ever.

A wobble or two could be heard on high notes in the early going, but Racette quickly settled into a secure, penetrating soprano. Salome is not the sort of role that requires vocal perfection—it requires dramatic conviction, captivating presence, and raw, visceral vocal power, all of which she had in spades. Her harrowing intensity and consistently direct singing were a service to Strauss’s work, and made this a heart-racing performance to watch.

Salome’s is not an easy arc to portray. The dramatic action of the opera takes place in a relatively short time, but even so her journey to psychotic breakdown, fueled first by her rejection at the hands of Jochanaan and then by her stepfather’s lecherous abuse, is a long one, and requires constant focus.

Racette maintained formidable presence throughout and was riveting from first to last. Her performance of the famous “Dance of the Seven Veils” was itself a dramatic feat, elegantly styled and fluid choreographed by Doug Varone, pulsing with eroticism.

That strain of the erotic only magnified the deep pathos of the final scene. Salome’s monologue, as she caresses the head of the prophet who spurned her, is a “Liebestod” of sorts, inviting death through dark amorous obsession. Racette’s account was exquisitely crafted, terrifying as she exulted in her grim triumph. Even in these last moments, the bright power of her voice showed no signs of fatigue, and her glimpses of rapture elicited a particular kind of horror—we saw, even in the darkest instant, a sad kind of innocence, a naive love that became a ruinous obsession.

Racette’s was not the only outstanding vocal performance from Monday’s cast. Željko Lučić was in superb voice as John the Baptist, bringing rich, dark color to the music as he seethed with disdain. There was roughness to his singing at times, but he found real authority and majesty in his monologue, striking a chilling note of dread as he spat his curse, “Du bist verflucht,” at the princess.

Strutting spitefully as Herod, Gerhard Siegel showed a forceful, aggressive tenor. Though he barked in spots, when he set his mind to it he could bellow forth clear, ringing pitches, and blazing lyrical lines. He was an easy character to revile, clapping his hands and licking his chops, Hutt-like, during Salome’s dance. But as the stakes became more urgent his intensity rose to match, trying desperately to dissuade his step-daughter from her grisly demand for the Baptist’s head.

Mikhail Petrenko brought a strong, woody bass in his cameo as the First Nazarene, while Kang Wang made an impressive debut, flashing a ringing tenor as the guard captain Narraboth.

There is an inescapable hint of Ian Fleming in Jürgen Flimm’s 2004 production—a portly, Nehru-collared villain hosting a black-tie cocktail party at his secret lair among the dunes of a Middle Eastern Desert, surrounded by armed guards. And yet it works, oddly creating a compelling setting for the moral shock on which the drama rests. The staging is a bit unkind to Herodias, who is forced to spend much of her time stumbling drunkenly about, but Nancy Fabiola Herrera made the best of it, finding a sympathetic note under the imperious trappings.

Though just a hundred minutes, Salome is no easy conducting assignment. Johannes Debus made an excellent impression in his company debut, leading a tight, disciplined performance of this difficult score. One might have wished for a little more abandon, more Straussian sumptuousness in the most heavily string-laden passages. But when it came to communicating the essential character of the piece, Debus was right on the mark, finding thrilling tension in the lean, hard edges of the score.

Revivals like this one, featuring performances so fresh, don’t come around every week, or even every season—opera lovers would be wise to rush to the box office.

Salome, Metropolitan Opera Review - Jürgen Flimm’s production is silly, but there are substantial musical compensations

by Martin Berheimer

FINANCIAL TIMES

Strauss’s Salome came back to the Met on Monday, unfortunately in Jürgen Flimm’s silly production, introduced back in 2004. Santo Loquasto’s incongruously modern costumes added nothing to narrative comprehension, and his awkward set remained an obstacle course for the agitated participants. Weird, winged, black-robed figures observed the show silently from a side-stage mountain, and John the Baptist used a clunky yet convenient elevator to ascend from his cistern. Ask not why. A new cast did what it could under the circumstances, and the great Met orchestra, led by Johannes Debus of the Canadian Opera, made a mighty if sometimes raucous noise. Subtle instrumental nuances proved scarce. Still, one could savour vital individual compensations. The evening belonged, rightly, to Patricia Racette, who portrayed the princess of Judea in place of Catherine Naglestad, reportedly unwell in Europe. Racette, 51, rose to the challenge with gutsy abandon, singing with almost unflagging power and inflecting the text with illuminating stresses. She manoeuvred the cluttered stage with grace, and, yes, bared all for a brief moment as she discarded her seventh veil. Željko Lučić, her forceful Jochanaan, sounded a bit gruff when onstage and suffered bad miking when off. Despite modest vocal means, Kang Wang exuded sympathy as the lovesick Narraboth, and Nancy Fabiola Herrera flounced neatly as a giddy Herodias. Most remarkable was Gerhard Siegel, who exulted in the desperate pomposity of Herod. A uniquely versatile artist, he dominated the stage with contradictory qualifications: the persona of a busy buffo and the tone of an authentic Heldentenor. It is intriguing, if not surprising, to read in the programme booklet that his Ring repertory includes both the heroic Siegfried and the pathetic Mime. Personal nostalgia: in the bad old days, the Met felt Strauss’s 100-minute depiction of love, horror and climactic lust was insufficient for a night at the opera. While still a precocious youth, this incipient aficionado witnessed Salome for the first time, in Boston, coupled with Puccini’s comical Gianni Schicchi. Strange billfellows indeed. [FOUR STARS]

Mourning Glory

by Patrick Clement James

PARTERRE BOX

In his excellent book Humiliation, Wayne Koestenbaum describes why he likes to watch clips of Liza Minnelli on YouTube: “I want to see her humiliation,” he writes.

“And I want to see her survive the grisly experience and turn it into glory.” It’s a dynamic I find compelling too. The diva transformed, newly forged and phoenix-like, seeking revenge through artistic ferocity. Where there was once an aversion, a demure glance away, there is now a grotesque and thrilling fascination, burning into our eyes.

A similar cycle of humiliation and glory is one of the many reasons I love Strauss’ Salome; and it’s the same reason that, perhaps, divas throughout the last century have been drawn to Tetrarch’s terrace. In fact, I can think of no other role that provides the most unique promise of humiliation, and consequently the most opportunity for glory.

The role’s demands are staggering. In merely one act, the soprano must wrestle with a large orchestra while traversing a wide vocal range, project a girlish immaturity, dance (ostensibly) the dance of the seven veils, perhaps get naked, and perform necrophilia with a severed head. While critics and aficionados compare Salome to other roles within the expressionist canon (Elektra, Lulu), I am hard pressed to imagine a more vocally or emotionally demanding task for its central figure—no other piece in which a singers’ body and art are so exposed.

This exercise gestures toward vulgarity—a notion that directors have exploited throughout Salome’s performance history. Jürgen Flimm’s conservative production at the Met, this season starring the indomitable Patricia Racette, works against this through displays of elegance and wealth, conjuring 20th century chic, with all its attending atrocities. There is little blood dripping from the prophet’s neck. Instead, dark angels of death gather on the dunes surrounding the palace, like a flock a vultures waiting for Salome’s demise. In the meantime, the costumes shimmer and shine, recalling the glamorous surfaces of Wilde’s original text—the jewels and capital Herod promises to Salome in a last ditch effort to avoid her sickening demand.

For those unfamiliar with the source material, Strauss’ Salome is based on the notorious play by Oscar Wilde—which is in its own way an obscene fantasia on short biblical passages from the gospels. In the opera, Salome dances for Herod in order to receive the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter. Her desire for his head is born out of an acute need to possess the prophet sexually.

For Wilde, the play is an opportunity to indulge a preoccupation with surfaces, beauty, and idolatry. Long passages are given to vivid descriptions of material objects—the moon, rubies, ivory, and flowers—all in an intoxicating prose that engages and hypnotizes the senses. Strauss’ intervention in this aesthetic is to bring a high-pitched, modernist lens to the discourse, with a temperamental score that seethes and writhes with explosive beauty.

In the Met’s current performances, Racette elegantly transforms Salome’s humiliation into one of glory. Her voice, more lyrical than that of a traditional Salome, allows her work to highlight the hubris that propels the character toward own her heart of darkness. Her dance of the seven veils especially impresses, in which the singer handles the demanding movement and resulting nudity with courage and skill.

However, it is in the final scene, where music and text turn most ambivalent, that Racette’s artistry begins to flourish. Her tireless voice and lyrical approach enact the deep well of longing that Salome mismanages.

As Jochanaan, the single-minded prophet, Zeljko Lucic is serviceable, though disappointing. Frankly, I find his singing is more effective when amplified from the cistern prison than we he actually appears onstage. And though the character of Jochanaan coopts the position of moral arbiter throughout the evening, paving the way for the radical ethics of Christ, I find Lucic interpretation to lack empathy, bordering on a mean-spirited, stingy misogyny.

Lucic does better with a wonderfully unhinged Herod. He topples back and forth in the grips of lust and aversion, manipulated by his whims and women. Usually, Herod’s reaction to Salome’s dance seems forced and one-dimensional. But Siegel pulls off his incestuous attraction to Salome, and his voice bites through the gnarly textures of the orchestra with sharp vigor.

Nancy Fabiola Herrera is equally demented as Herodias, less master-manipulator and more detached aristocrat. She flounces about the stage, spitting out thick, juicy notes with ease. Also, two debuts at the house are happily worth mentioning, despite their brevity within the opera. As Narraboth, Kang Wang trumpets a clarion tenor, successfully negotiating the bizarre passions of the self-destructive soldier. And Nicholas Brownlee, as First Soldier, displays an exiting, rich bass-baritone. One hopes for more from these two at the house in the future.

Conductor Johannes Debus debuts with a somewhat lethargic Met orchestra. And yet, their playing still demonstrates all the angst, aggression, and transcendence of Strauss’ score, which lurches toward its inevitable conclusion with a force that enchants and sickens.

Ultimately, the opera transforms the humiliation of Salome into something unbearable—much like Koestenbaum’s vision of Minnelli—one whose brilliance fascinates me, just as it forces me to look away. This Salome burns bright. Perhaps too bright. Like Herod, one asks for the moon to darken, the torches to be put out. The glory of Salome is too much; we avert our eyes, an the curtain swoops down to block her from view.