The Young Artists Recital is the culmination of Renée Fleming’s annual Song Studio Series at Carnegie Hall, an intense week filled with workshops, coaching sessions and masterclasses.
Two days before the concert, I was lucky to catch guest artist Elīna Garanča’s masterclass offered to a select group of the eleven participants. Miss Garanča’s sharp focus and ability to hone in on highly specific details that challenged them to think deeper and approach their craft with the precision of a sculptor was uncanny. Her generous advice to each singer covered a wide range of subjects including vocal technique, interpretation, enunciation and body language. She was always respectful and careful in her critique and warm and charming in her demeanor. I loved her use of quite visceral imagery to describe physical sensations connected to singing, encouraging one singer to think of a cobra’s appearance when trying to expand the back of her throat, or comparing the singing of earthy flamenco-style music to giving birth. The students received a wealth of information from her to process and would be well advised to mentally revisit all of her carefully placed recommendations.
This is the second year I attended the final recital, presented this time at Zankel Hall – a boon to us all. In her gracious welcoming remarks, Miss Fleming mentioned that the theme of the workshop had been “truth” within the context of a song recital, as well as finding one’s own truth through this intimate art form. Each of the eleven singers was accompanied by the pianist they had been collaborating with during the week, another great gift the series offers its participating singers and accompanists alike, enabling them to forge new professional relationships and learn from each other. Some singers chose to present only one number, others as many as four (albeit short ones). Some introduced themselves and gave small descriptions of what they were about to sing, others stuck to the norm of letting their chosen repertoire speak for themselves.
Soprano Natalie Buickians opened the recital. Her calm poise and elegant demeanor immediately won me over. She deftly delved into Dvorak’s opening number from Zigeunermelodien before moving on to a sprite Spanish Song by Joaquin Rodrigo, De donde venis, Amore? that teasingly calls out a possibly cheating lover. Miss Buickian’s voice beautifully blends dark velvety undertones with lilting highs that came into full fruition in the closing number of her well-balanced set of three songs, Debussy’s Le Jet d’Eau. She is clearly a seasoned performer who has already found her groove –and continues to deepen it.
Baritone Dominik Belavy made some very bold choices in his interpretation of a selection of Ravel’s Histoires Naturelles, relishing the suggestive lyrics with palpable glee – perhaps a bit too much of it for this material, but he is onto something there, presenting himself like a cat playing with the audience, with a hint of spiteful, lustful haughtiness that will serve him well when cast as a villain.
Mezzo-soprano Kady Evanshyn was one of the few singers who addressed the audience directly. She did so with natural relaxed charm, also announcing a change to her song selection, which meant that she was not going to sing the Rossini aria announced in the program, probably due to time restrictions. Too bad - it would have been interesting to hear her sing some lighter fare in contrast to the slightly labored Song of the Dew by Stravinsky that she performed. Miss Evanshyn’s voice has a mature and warm tone, but I also sense a pluckiness in her I would love to see spring forth. Next time!
This was the third time I got to see soprano Meghan Kasanders perform, having already seen her Donna Anna in Juilliard’s production of Don Giovanni a while back as well as her appearance at the Metropolitan National Council Finalist’s concert last year. She always radiates warmth and beauty, completely in her element, gliding through a selection of Alban Berg’s Sieben Frühe Lieder like a swimmer through languid water, with a voice that seems made for the dramatic soprano repertoire, down the road. It’s a precious instrument and I hope she takes her time with it and continues to seek careful and nurturing advice in order to hone it for the long career it deserves.
Baritone Laureano Quant presented a selection that included songs from a cycle called Sombras for which he himself wrote the music – an unusual thing for a singer that speaks for his wide ambitions. He attacked each song with gusto, like a hungry man diving into a juicy steak. His somewhat insouciant, youthful joie de vivre is charming and winsome – a baritone with a bon-vivant tenor’s vibe. One can imagine how much fun it would be to work with him.
Mezzo-Soprano Xenia Puskarz Thomas’s performance brought back what Elīna Garanča had told her in her masterclass when she addressed her physicality, stressing that she, as a tall woman, needed to own her stature rather than trying to diminish it with a somewhat tentative demeanor. The advice served her well: Miss Puskarz Thomas has a striking elegance and a highly sensitive face and a shy smile that made me think of Ingmar Bergman’s muse, Liv Ullman, with a surprisingly dark timbre in her voice that contrasts beautifully with her light complexion. She has a slight tendency to emote with strong facial expressions that I would gently recommend to keep in check lest she risks drifting into the territory of self-deprecating parody, an ability she very effectively put to use in her cheeky rendition of Mahler’s Verlor’ne Müh, playing a maiden whose advances are constantly rebuked. If she manages to overcome her gentle shyness without losing her natural charm, perhaps even adding a frisson of stylish danger to her aura, she will be something to behold indeed. As I see it, it’s all already there, it just needs to come to the surface.
Soprano Anneliese Klenetsky presented four songs by Lili Boulanger. By her third number, something happened. I cannot say how it came about, but it suddenly felt as if a spotlight had been turned on that magnified every subtlety in Miss Klenetsky’s extraordinary performance, for me the highlight of the evening. Here it was, the phenomenon of creating intimacy on a large stage. This young singer has clearly processed the importance of subtle inflections in posture, gesture, facial expressions, and the soft focus of her eyes, knowing how to give the impression of someone caught in a moment of most intimate reflection and who is not at all aware of being watched. It was nothing short of riveting, bringing to mind something Miss Garanča had expressed in her masterclass (which Miss Klenetsky, by the way, did not take part in) when she pointed at the difference between singers who merely send their energy out into the room versus the more refined art of pulling people towards them. For me, Miss Klenetsky stood out as a prime example for achieving the latter, beautifully and effectively.
Aged 27, baritone Jonathan McCullough is a few years ahead of most of the other singers presented that evening, and he dove with fierce confidence into his delivery of a contemporary song by David T. Little, who was in the audience. Generally, I applaud (as Miss Fleming did in her closing remarks) singers who take chances and chose unusual ways to present their material, but picking a rather forceful and confrontational song about a father’s grief over the death of his soldier son and presenting it in a theatrical staging complete with lighting effects, video projection and props was, in my opinion, a misstep: to say that it lacked subtlety would be an understatement. It’s a pity that Mr. McCullough, a fine singer and strong performer, let himself be led into this kind of trap that is quite common in musical theater but in my mind has no place in a recital.
It’s always the same problem when monosyllabic, frankly accusatory political messaging creeps into the performing arts: it may feel good for the messenger who believes he is doing a messianic deed, but it really is a violent and manipulative trick that literally punishes the audience – I could feel in the room the hushed discomfort that dares not speak its name: confusion.
Music is a powerful vehicle to express emotions – grief, anger, rage, sadness – all of them. But it takes a great deal of artistry and artfulness to transfer them to the audience. Singers as talented as Mister McCullough have it in their hands to learn how to do just that without ever coming across as heavy-handed as the writers and composers they champion will at times be. Finding the right material and the right form to present it is part of any performer’s growing process. In this regard, every performance I saw on that stage that night was a great step forward. I wish all of them the very best and look forward to seeing more of them.