There is a lot of talk about opera being in danger of dying a slow death, pointing at dwindling and aging audiences, at the evidence of opera houses cutting back on new productions on one hand and their, as I would argue, nearly desperate efforts to lure in new audiences with ever more elaborate, modern technology-fueled productions and transparent attempts to remain relevant by addressing what they perceive to be the contemporary zeitgeist. I doubt it's the right approach, but then, opera has always relied to some degree on high drama and spectacle, and we are, after all, living in the era of spectacle and short-winded sensationalism. Personally I would prefer if opera offered an alternative to this trend rather than trying to run along with that mad marathon that doesn't stretch but shortens our attention span, but that's another story. I am much more concerned with the health of another art form, the intimate Lied recital, which requires a different kind of audience commitment, as well as purified levels of artistry. Benjamin Appl and James Baillieu's homage to Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, presented on October 28 at Carnegie Hall's Zankel Hall, was a masterclass on how it can be done.
Mr. Appl cut a striking figure, dressed in white tie and tails, and his calm pose and demeanor exuded confidence and charm from the moment he entered the stage in Zankel Hall. His style does not rely on vocal fireworks but on clarity, purpose, and connection. A native German speaker, he has an intuitive understanding of the emotional wavelength behind each word he sings, and his finely tuned instrument and craftsmanship enable him to expose it with great specificity, via a wink, a subtly shifting stance, a simple head movement, or a spark in his eyes. Most of the time, he kept his warm voice courtly and understated, with touches of whimsy, occasionally toning it down to a magnetic level of intimacy more associated with a cabaret than a concert hall, gently drawing the docile audience closer. Only now and then, he allowed his voice to flare up, opening the doors, as it were, to grant the audience a glimpse into a slow-burning force underneath it all – but he remained courtly and restrained and never indulged any further than that. The evening was curated with exquisite care, linking an eclectic sample of songs from Fischer-Dieskau's vast repertoire to excerpts from Mr. Appl's writings about his mentor, read by an actor. James Baillieu, one of the very best collaborative pianists working today, underscored the evening with his signature finesse and understatement, creating a velvet-like sea for Mr. Appl to smoothly sail on. Among the many highlights were a Tchaikovsky composition set to a poem by Goethe (Nur Wer die Sehnsucht Kennt) about gentle longing for romantic unison, a gentle reminder of the nobility of the human soul delivered with diamond-like clarity and poignancy, and a deeply moving rendition of Hanns Eisler's tender yet minimal Mutterns Hände (with lyrics by Kurt Tucholsky, in Berlin dialect) about a mother's caring hands and the gratitude we owe them.
Rarely have I seen a singer command a concert hall with such calm confidence. A private pupil and protégé of Fischer-Dieskau's, Mr. Appl has clearly absorbed the legendary baritone's exacting demands for excellence and, in his words, "tireless pursuit of deeper understanding in text and music," but, being cut from a different cloth and of a different, sunnier temperament than the intense, trauma-burdened Fischer-Dieskau, he never fell into the trap of imitation, delivering his homage to the master with both humility and ease. Focused yet relaxed, generous and ever so slightly flirtatious with his roaming eyes, he presented every song with the greatest simplicity, using only the sparsest of gestures, letting the inner dynamic of music and lyrics unfold naturally in real time, engaging the audience on a transcendent level that eschews all spectacle or grand allure, the sign of a great artist – and proof of a societal need for this purest, purifying, quietly introspective form of communal experience. Speaking only occasionally about the times he spent with the great man, and the privilege he had been accorded of getting access to his personal archives in preparation of his album dedicated to his memory, he candidly admitted, without ever being indiscreet, that it taught him more than he had wished to know. Surely, having been close to a giant of the music world can impart some significant life lessons about the potential dangers of ambition and obsession, and the importance of finding a sense of emotional balance in life. It appears that Mr. Appl has taken them.
Like Fischer-Dieskau before him, Mr. Appl occasionally takes on operatic roles, but the recital stage is clearly his rightful home, which makes him indeed an heir to the man who changed the world, one Lied at a time.