Opening Berwaldhallen’s 2024 Baltic Sea Festival , on August 24th, Esa-Pekka Salonen and Gerard McBurney produced a tastefully contemporary and neo-Wagnerian rendition of Modest Mussorgsky’s unfinished “national music drama,” “Khovanshchina ,” to a ravenous public. Awarded, and rightly so, with three ovations, ten soloists from across Europe and three choirs successfully produced one of the most expressive versions of Mussorgsky’s work I’ve ever heard. Complete with lighting and sound effects, opera history achieved an exciting next chapter.
A Bit of a Backstory The opera which typifies the war for the soul of Russia, a war which remains unsolved to this very day, a war which has found its way into the affairs of nearly every country on Earth, Modest Mussorgsky’s first of two unfinished operatic works is nothing short of immortal. Titled, “ Khovanshchina ,” the name translating to a satirical-cum-ironic essentialism of Prince Ivan Andreyevich Khovansky’s attempted arrest of Tsarist power in 1862, dubbed the ‘ Moscow uprising ,’ the work became something of a ‘Black Horse’ upon the face of Russian (operatic) history. Not only was it left incomplete at the time of Mussorgsky’s death on March 28, 1881 but, like other unfinished works like Alexander Borodin’s opera, “ Prince Igor” among many others, certain colleagues, in other words Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, took upon themselves to not only hijack the work but fully rework it.
Not only did it fail to capture the original splendor and vision but it also failed upon its premiere and soon was replaced with a Stravinsky-Ravel hybrid in 1913. Commissioned by the Francophile founder of the ‘Ballet Russe’ Sergei Diaghilev, this version proved to be the spark which gave the opera its international standings, becoming performed globally. This second version, of which only Stravinsky’s Act five finale remains used in performance, served as the second iteration in a continued attempt to realize Mussorgsky’s vision of the provocative ‘Russian question’ through the eyes of historical allusion.
However, many decades later and Soviet heavy hitter and persona (non) grata Dmitry Shostakovich devised his own version in 1958 on commission for a 1959 film of the work, and it is this version which is most heard throughout the world. This version, as opposed to the first and second iterations, took much from Rimsky-Korsakov’s version, but Shostakovich chose to musically allude to the opera’s opening in a strategic act of narrative building, signaling a cyclicality to life itself, the 1958 film, ‘ And Quiet Flows The Don ,’ takes an equally cyclical approach for its ending. Interestingly, the film was first aired at the 1962 Oscars held in Los Angeles, California, winning several awards.
Thus, the opera, like in the past, became globally known once again. Upon this foundation, on August 24th, I bore witness to the airing of Russia’s extremely dirty laundry. That is, the uncomfortable publicizing of a series of questions, namely, “What does Russian want to be? Who is Russia? What does it mean to be Russian? Why does Russia exist? What does being Russian mean? What does being Russian in the world look like” Led by the golden Esa-Pekka Salonen , the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, three Finnish choirs, and ten international soloists, provided us in the West with an opportunity to see the Russia which lies beyond the Putinian chokehold.
Beginning Berwaldhallen’s ‘Baltic Sea Festival,’ the performance set a spectacular foundation for a festival where politics, arts, culture, and history seem to converge, converse, and combine in fluctuating degrees. Using a new version of the work devised by Gerard McBurney which combines Shostakovich and Stravinsky’s versions, aided by the soundscape atmospherics of sound designer Tuomas Norvio , the evening proved to be one of exceptional dramaturgy all around. An evening of Wagnerianism, ‘Gemsamkunstwerk’ found its Russian composition, although Russia certainly has its own tradition of creating total artistic works.
Phenomenal Vocal Artistry There was, without a speck of hesitation, not a single moment in the performance’s entire run-time that any of the ten soloists and the choir were lacking in technical sophistication, creative dedication, and dramaturgical candor. All four of the tenors those being Kuzka ( Johan Krogius ), the Scribe ( Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke ), Vasily Golitsin ( Kristofer Lundin ), and Andrey Khovansky ( Tuomas Katajala ), were sensational embodiments, a masterclass really, of how to be an operatic tenor. Full resonance, full spinning, effortless cut, with all the lyrical ‘pesennost’ (i.
e., tunefulness) expected when singing Russian repertoire, I find it challenging to praise one without giving such deserved qualifiers to the others as well for the masterful artistry displayed was well beyond the reach of the words to explain. From Krogius’s incredible ability to command any space through the potency of his legato verisimilitude, Ablinger-Sperrhacke’s leggiero competencies which beautifully betray his maturity, Lundin’s weightless blossoming in his upper register, and Katajala’s youthful spin whose cut is as sensational as it is stark, I was falling into the arms of these four tenors at every turn, with every legato phrase, piercing call, and penetrating vibration.
But, then the baritone and basses came on stage, and thus began a different, equally as arresting saga. In these roles, namely Ivan Khovansky ( Mika Kares ), Dosifey ( Ain Anger ), and Fyodor Shaklovity ( Tomi Punkeri ), a mixture of intimidation, blushing, gravitational allure, and aesthetic pleasure seemingly emanated from every moment. All three of these singers showed the audience that night that the bass and baritone must not be an artist of the second and third octave nor the lower registers alone, but one who masterfully, and adroitly, utilizes all which one can access, if only for a short time.
From the histrionic bravado of Kares’s unequivocally robust, unforced, and open-throat training, Anger’s melodically-oriented, richly layered and dynamically nuanced performance, to Punkeri’s naturally dramatic yet youthfully enriched lyrical beauty, it’s seems apropos to say that opera is in very safe hands. Maybe classical music is dead but in hands such as these, one needn’t worry about the future, for it is with the grandchildren of those like Hvorostovsky, Gobbi, Chaliapin, Björling, Caruso, and Gigli, that opera will live on. But then the women came out on stage, namely Susanna ( Olga Heikkilä ), Marfa ( Nadezhda Karyazina ), and Emma ( Natalia Tanasii ), and if one fell into the voices of the tenors and basses, then one was even more willingly fused into the propensities of Mussorgsky’s feminine expressions.
Words betray the evening’s performance of three highly competent seamstresses of an exquisitely opulent musical fabric where nothing was wasted or taken for granted. Neither a breath, moment of introspective silence, nor an expulsion of dramaturgical tension and compressed pronouncement of emotional angst, was taken for granted and thrown away, but instead was given life through a realization of purpose at every turn. While two smaller roles, Heikkilä and Tanasii each achieved their fair share of artistic beauty with their roles.
That being said, it was clear that Heikkilä had a taste for the neo-Caballean dramatics, dressed in a cascading veil tied at the top her head, fully utilizing the affordances of spatial dimensions, her vociferous voice was a phenomenal match with Tanasii’s equally sizable instrument. Both Heikkilä and Tanasii deserved much more than they were given but the night was really stolen, however, by Karyazina, completely and recurrently, over and over and over. What can be said about this Russian mezzo-soprano other than she is the reincarnated embodiment, the living legacy, of great mezzo-sopranos before her like Marguerite Sylva and Éva Gauthier, even further great contraltos like Ewa Podleś and Louise Homer? Sumptuous, velveteen, caressing, yet equally profound, demanding, and highly nuanced, her resonant dramaturgy and stupefying presence spoke to the true constitution of the operatic ‘singing actor.
’ In other words, Karyazina’s performance as Marfa expressed a sincere devotion to art, the operatic thespian, servant to the muse of art, a neo-Callas in the making. I bow to her consummate abilities and uncompromising acumen, her supreme talent at interpretation, her commanding presence and beauty, and her transcendent realization of Mussorgsky’s martyr. A Taste Of Opera’s Future I can overlook the street clothes choice because of how sensational the performance really was.
At key moments, the sound world created by Norvio, complete with dimensional rumblings, surround sound, rain, birds, and so much more, was reflective of a world of opera just beginning. This world of opera doesn’t need a stage but only a hall as the stage becomes the hall becomes the world, a truly immersive experience where bodily feeling is as much a part of the score as the music is, where one is in the score not just listening to it as an observer. For me, having come from a performance background, it was riveting to experience for the first time, an operatic listening experience where the sonic environment, not particularly the music but all of the sonic elements including the music, was one of the most vital parts of the performance.
Although the Act four Petrine fanfare in all of its resplendent drama was one of the most palpable moments of the evening, one could quite literally feel Tsar Peter I in the room with us, it was in the moments of stillness, occupied by nothing more than panning footsteps, or creaking doors, or ghostly rain and birdsong, that really stole the show for me. Hats off to Norvio for creating an experience which seems way ahead of its time, an experience of the real future of opera, where the opera house may actually not be the best place for opera. Ironic but true, opera may be better in smaller spaces.
Opera’s future may lie in venues like Berwaldhallen and its sonic capabilities, where audience members can be really embraced by the world of sound in all of its manifestations. With a degree of certainty, I will argue that Norvio, in collaboration with the lighting and music, achieved something of extreme importance, not only that night but for opera in general. That is, opera is far more than creating a story on stage but creating a world through sound , as it unfolds, draws the listener’s body, mind, and soul, into a world parallel to ours but far more allegorical in nature.
I congratulate Norvio on his success and hope to see his work back at Berwaldhallen again and then the world’s many other suitable venues as often as possible. Overall, Berwaldhallen has once again served its loving public art of exceptional quality, rich dimensionality, bringing together artists of differing mediums to produce something of indescribable influence upon the human psyche. I feel safe in saying that if opera focuses on creating worlds not isolated performances, there will be great things to come if this path is continued.
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