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Hezké recenze na Simonkova Pellea jsou zde :
Výběr:
Simon Keenlyside similarly invested Pélleas with a vivid identity: his declaration of love for Mélisande in Act 4 was electrifying.
Simon Keenlyside, playing Pelléas in a thrillingly boyish way, shows Mélisande a way out, a way to live and flourish, through an embrace of play and sensual touch. Mélisande’s voice, learning new intimate tricks, suggests a reversal of fortunes is in the offing. But her husband Golaud’s bruisingly abusing hands, impeccably sung and acted by Laurent Naouri, refuses to let her go. Keenlyside’s Pelléas was exquisite. No other singer of his age could so convincingly reconfigure themselves to the impulsive swings of a boy.
“Je ne suis pas heureuse,” she mutters blankly after her husband has beaten up. But what would make her happy?
The sucker was Simon Keenlyside’s Pelléas, a boy who believes in love, as boys do, and trusts what a girl says. When he played this role four years ago in a vile production at Covent Garden, I thought he attacked the subtleties of the vocal line with too much force. Here (nursing a broken arm), he rediscovered its sweetness and gentleness. One freak blip aside, he sang with flawless grace and sensitivity.
The naturalness of the conversational style that makes up so much of the opera acquires the perfect immediacy with singers who speak the language by birthright rather than learning. Not that anyone was likely to have any complaints about Simon Keenlyside’s way with French - by now he must almost be an honorary Frenchman!
Simon Keenlyside, despite having one arm in a sling and about to take on one of Verdi’s heaviest baritone roles at Covent Garden, remains a pretty near ideal Pelléas. He heroically encompasses the testing tessitura of the role which pitches the singer mid-way between conventional tenor and baritone ranges. Although the role is often allotted to a tenor I have always preferred a baritone in the role as it gives a more manly cast to the role that can easily seem unassertive and driven by the other characters’ actions. Keenlyside is the latest of a distinguished line of baryton-martin exponents including Thomas Allen and Richard Stilwell. His virile tone and ringing high notes give an edge and excitement that the role often lacks.
In Natalie Dessay as Mélisande, Simon Keenlyside as Pélleas and Laurent Naouri as Golaud, we had a perfect trio of singers in the lead roles, and all performed astonishingly. Dessay and Keenlyside, despite being placed on opposite sides of the conductor, were absolutely in love, and Naouri made the most of Golaud’s desperation, especially when he loses control, murdering Pelléas and then showering Mélisande with abuse. Dessay approached her role with touching simplicity when needed - often understated yet affectingly feminine and sincere. Keenlyside, meanwhile, was impish and impulsive, qualities so appealing to Mélisande’s desire for escape and freedom.
Simon Keenlyside’s Pelléas was naive yet insistently sexual, while Natalie Dessay’s Mélisande radiated both manipulative self-will and vulnerability.
Keenlyside, singing in impeccable French, opted for youthful passion over fervent adoration in order to point up the contrast between the two half-brothers’ relationship with the strange young woman. Here again, the characterisation was precise, for presenting Pelléas as a hothead enhances his innocence in playful love scenes and makes him less likely to ask probing questions of the enigmatic Mélisande.
Keenlyside was a profoundly moving Pelleas, full of humanity. Yes, he’s getting a little old for the role, but who cares when its sung like this. His relations with Dessay’s Melisande quivered beautifully with unspoken depths. That is the delight of this opera; the dialogue is matter of fact and natural, but much is implied and requires a sort of restraint from the singers. Something all of them understood, under Langree’s capable direction.
Simon Keenlyside, suffering from an injured arm but in outstanding vocal health, dared to be ardent and desperate as Pelléas, a fine counterbalance and foil to both Mélisande and Golaud, yet still unknowable.
Výběr:
Simon Keenlyside similarly invested Pélleas with a vivid identity: his declaration of love for Mélisande in Act 4 was electrifying.
Simon Keenlyside, playing Pelléas in a thrillingly boyish way, shows Mélisande a way out, a way to live and flourish, through an embrace of play and sensual touch. Mélisande’s voice, learning new intimate tricks, suggests a reversal of fortunes is in the offing. But her husband Golaud’s bruisingly abusing hands, impeccably sung and acted by Laurent Naouri, refuses to let her go. Keenlyside’s Pelléas was exquisite. No other singer of his age could so convincingly reconfigure themselves to the impulsive swings of a boy.
“Je ne suis pas heureuse,” she mutters blankly after her husband has beaten up. But what would make her happy?
The sucker was Simon Keenlyside’s Pelléas, a boy who believes in love, as boys do, and trusts what a girl says. When he played this role four years ago in a vile production at Covent Garden, I thought he attacked the subtleties of the vocal line with too much force. Here (nursing a broken arm), he rediscovered its sweetness and gentleness. One freak blip aside, he sang with flawless grace and sensitivity.
The naturalness of the conversational style that makes up so much of the opera acquires the perfect immediacy with singers who speak the language by birthright rather than learning. Not that anyone was likely to have any complaints about Simon Keenlyside’s way with French - by now he must almost be an honorary Frenchman!
Simon Keenlyside, despite having one arm in a sling and about to take on one of Verdi’s heaviest baritone roles at Covent Garden, remains a pretty near ideal Pelléas. He heroically encompasses the testing tessitura of the role which pitches the singer mid-way between conventional tenor and baritone ranges. Although the role is often allotted to a tenor I have always preferred a baritone in the role as it gives a more manly cast to the role that can easily seem unassertive and driven by the other characters’ actions. Keenlyside is the latest of a distinguished line of baryton-martin exponents including Thomas Allen and Richard Stilwell. His virile tone and ringing high notes give an edge and excitement that the role often lacks.
In Natalie Dessay as Mélisande, Simon Keenlyside as Pélleas and Laurent Naouri as Golaud, we had a perfect trio of singers in the lead roles, and all performed astonishingly. Dessay and Keenlyside, despite being placed on opposite sides of the conductor, were absolutely in love, and Naouri made the most of Golaud’s desperation, especially when he loses control, murdering Pelléas and then showering Mélisande with abuse. Dessay approached her role with touching simplicity when needed - often understated yet affectingly feminine and sincere. Keenlyside, meanwhile, was impish and impulsive, qualities so appealing to Mélisande’s desire for escape and freedom.
Simon Keenlyside’s Pelléas was naive yet insistently sexual, while Natalie Dessay’s Mélisande radiated both manipulative self-will and vulnerability.
Keenlyside, singing in impeccable French, opted for youthful passion over fervent adoration in order to point up the contrast between the two half-brothers’ relationship with the strange young woman. Here again, the characterisation was precise, for presenting Pelléas as a hothead enhances his innocence in playful love scenes and makes him less likely to ask probing questions of the enigmatic Mélisande.
Keenlyside was a profoundly moving Pelleas, full of humanity. Yes, he’s getting a little old for the role, but who cares when its sung like this. His relations with Dessay’s Melisande quivered beautifully with unspoken depths. That is the delight of this opera; the dialogue is matter of fact and natural, but much is implied and requires a sort of restraint from the singers. Something all of them understood, under Langree’s capable direction.
Simon Keenlyside, suffering from an injured arm but in outstanding vocal health, dared to be ardent and desperate as Pelléas, a fine counterbalance and foil to both Mélisande and Golaud, yet still unknowable.