If music is like water, then singing in an opera is the equivalent of sailing in a boat, whereas singing in recital is like swimming in the ocean. The stakes are always high, but the challenges quite different. In the former instance, singers have at their disposal a good amount of equipment to help them navigate the waters (a clearly defined character role, a narrative, dramatic staging, costumes, lighting, and even a lifesaver – the prompter), whereas in the latter, they are pretty much on their own. In addition, the audience will also be bereft of a boat and thus need some extra assistance to be able to come along for the trip. One way to do this is to give them a context, a kind of flotation device, as it were. This is not often done, but Juilliard’s recent presentation of songs by Robert and Clara Schuman at Alice Tully Hall made an excellent case for this approach to be adopted more frequently.
The recital brought together five singers, two pianists and two actors who shared the stage for the entire duration of the evening and, taking turns, jointly conjured the intricate history of the Schumanns’ complex relationship, beginning with the couple’s early courtship, leading to a short period of marital bliss, heightened by inspired creativity, all the way to Robert Schumann’s tragic manic depression that eventually escalated to clinical psychosis and led to his premature death. The two actors framed the musical offerings by reading short excerpts from Robert and Clara’s correspondence, a deceptively simple yet highly effective way of underscoring the emotional wavelength of each presented Lied or piano piece with a subtle, biographical hint. This automatically gave the young singers a very specific sense of purpose, helping them to avoid any vagueness and allowing for the material itself to take centerstage in its purest form.
Keshav Moodliar, reading excerpts from Robert Schumann’s letters, conveyed the romantic composer’s demanding yet tender singlemindedness in pursuing Clara as his muse and destined spouse with steadfast intensity. Lauren Norvelle, whose carefully poised, gentle demeanor and quietly luminous allure reminded me of the legendary Austrian actress Romy Schneider, was an excellent casting choice, portraying Clara Schumann as a highly gifted, intelligent, precocious and emotionally mature young woman who stood up to her father’s explicit opposition to her marrying the young composer.
Each of the five featured young singers brought a distinct timbre to program. Tenor Chance Jonas-O’Toole has a gracious, naturally light voice devoid of any affectation that makes him particularly well suited for singing German Lieder of the romantic period. It will be interesting to see how he further develops his own style within this genre. Soprano Jessica Niles is brimming with a mix of self-conscious hyper-femininity and withheld eagerness that made me imagine her as a perfect Sophie in Der Rosenkavalier. Libby Sokolowski brought the beautifully fragile timbre of a shy, first romantic infatuation to her rendition of Der Nussbaum, a Lied about the innocence of a young girl who might have to wait for another year before her love can be consummated. Baritone Kyle Miller was the least restrained of the group, intently articulate with Sturm und Drang, a bit like a young tiger pacing back and forth in a cage. The biggest revelation of the evening was mezzo soprano Erin Wagner, whose mature and dramatic delivery was full of gravitas and densely filled with focused micro-inflections.
Interspersed between songs and narration were a handful of carefully chosen piano pieces, some of them for four hands, played by artistic director Brian Zeger and pianist Chris Reynolds. It is unusual for a recital to include purely instrumental pieces but they played a crucial role in the pace of the evening, letting the program breathe, giving the audience moments of respite from the intensely emotional storyline of the couple’s life, inviting us to turn off the more intellectual part of our brain that receives words and and open the channels that are directly connected to the senses.
Clearly, much care and attention to detail had been put into rehearsing this elegant production, subtly dynamic with seamless transitions and understated interactions between the singers, down to the way they and the two accompanists intently watched the two actors whenever they read from the letters. The effect the historical context and the intricate staging had on the audience cannot be underestimated: everyone was palpably bound together by a common purpose, a raison d’être that was much larger than the sheer fact of “Here I am and I want to sing for you.” Swimming as a team requires synchronized breathing, but this production showed that it does not necessarily prevent participants to branch out now and then and make some waves of their own before realigning themselves with the ensemble.
Several of the singers will be featured in the Met Museum’s upcoming presentation of Gertrude Stein and Virgil Thompson’s opera, The Mother of Us All, a collaborative production of the New York Philharmonic and the Juilliard School. I look forward to seeing them hop aboard this mothership.