Beyond the genius of Western tradition composers and the contingent fandom one might have for the tenor or soprano of the moment, opera has remained an art form for over four centuries due to its unmatched ability to showcase the political-social contrasts of a specific environment to transform them into sound and theater. This arises from the repertoire itself (think of how Mozart exposes the class tensions derived from feudalism that result in the imperfect social contract of the 18th century or how Verdi exposes the struggle of individuals to survive in environments of sordid oppression), but also from the stages themselves; the psalmody is especially relevant for the Liceu, an institution of transcendental sonic history that has also been, and it is good that it continues to be, a mirror of power tensions, including economic and aesthetic ones, of this tribe of ours.
I was thinking last Wednesday while contemplating the endless parade of public representatives, celebrities, wannabes, and members of the Barcelonian "cultureta" in general who populated the stalls of this season opening at the Liceu, an audience that – for the vast majority – will never return to the theater in their lives and who, in fact, took advantage of the intermission of this Don Pasquale to rush out of the stalls and go to dinner at Baccaro. I perfectly understand that the theater's management wants to emulate similar experiences in Madrid or New York, but I would say that (accepting some concessions to the Big Brother of social networks), the first important performance of a public theater should show a greater warmth towards its subscribers. We are in times of contrasts, indeed, and the present dictates that an opera premiered in 1843 is attempted to be publicized via instagrammers for whom Donizetti is a simple hashtag.
I do not count myself among the purists who grumble when an attempt is made to open a theater like the Liceu to tone-deaf audiences, and I believe that, from time to time, it is good to add a bit of glamour to a culture that is usually morbid and martyrological like the Catalan one. But the contrast between the glitter of this Don Pasquale performance and the first subscription show (with many empty seats) should stir the thinking minds at the Liceu: something is not right. In turn, scratching a bit at what we called musical politics, it is also surprising that a seemingly lavish inauguration is carried out with a mediocre and secondary opera within the canon of great titles (even if we compare it with other masterpieces by the author), in a very beautiful production (but rented from Paris, London, and Palermo) and with a resident conductor who, despite what anyone says, is not a suitable master for said genre.
The Liceu must think about all this if it wants to honor its raison d'être; I insist, at the risk of being tiresome, that of a public theater that shapes the taste of opera fans by ensuring the survival of the national sound heritage. In this, there are also contrasts and positive changes, and I am glad, because it is also very transcendental that the first opera of the season at the Liceu exhibits a splendid cast of voices from the country. For years it has been the exception; I hope that from now on it will become the norm, as happens in many countries around the world. Thus our soprano Sara Blanch, who devoured the role of Norina with impeccable seductive grace and technical ease: we have a singer who can excel in this opera in any theater in the first world, and it must be celebrated loudly. When opportunities are given to talents, and they are placed in the right roles, results come sooner or later.
I would say that Blanch was the best of the night, deservedly so, but what the tenor from San Sebastian Xabier Anduaga did is something very serious. It had been a long time since a voice surprised me like this one, and not only for its ease of emission, but for an exquisite phrasing and a very elegant singing. It doesn't surprise me that Anduaga is starting to globetrot through many theaters around the world; but I would advise him (and his manager) to be wise and not fall into the trap of multiplying the Puritani and the Lucias as if there were no tomorrow, as there are too many tenors with an excellent ten-year career who end up mute and stage directors. Filonczyk was a magnificent Malatesta in the acting field, although the Pole's voice is not excessively round. What is truly meritorious is what Carlos Chausson did: singing this role at 72 years old, still with a thunderous voice and impeccable style, is something to applaud standing up.
Our soprano Sara Blanch devoured the role of Norina with seductive grace and impeccable technical easeDamiano Michieletto's production has the virtue of not falling into the absurd gesturality and ancestral histrionics of buffoonish orgies. There are well-thought-out theatrical games – such as the home screen and the puppet scene – and the Venetian director makes very good use of a team that excels in acting and adds muscle to an almost unusable libretto. And it must be said again: Josep Pons is an excellent musician, who can make, for example, Debussy's incidental music and contemporary opera shine (as principal guest conductor he would be optimal), but he is not the musician that Donizetti demands, as was evident in an opening of chumba-chumba, numerous mismatches in the singers' syllabification and a phrasing that is not typical of bel canto. Pons can do wonderful things at the Liceu, but putting him at the service of music that doesn't interest him would not be the best idea. Contrasts.