Archive for the 'Gobbi' Category

El Falstaff passat i la Bolenna present.

27 gener 2011

Per fi he trobat un moment per poder dedicar-me amb una mica de tranquil·litat a escriure. Les festes nadalenques, quan es tenen tres criatures petites, són tant il·lusionants com esgotadores, i la ressaca de la tornada al treball encara és pitjor.

El fet es que us vaig abandonar el dia 22 de desembre, just quan començava les vacances, sense cap ni un comentari de les funcions del Falstaff que es donaven al Liceu. I amics, van ser unes notables funcions (almenys en la part musical).

El repartiment principal (el que jo vaig veure) va ser molt homogeni, apuntalat per les excel·lents prestacions (per ordre segons el meu criteri) del Ludovic Tezier (Fenton), Mariola Cantarero (Nanneta) i Ambrogio Maestri (Falstaff). La Fiorillo va fer una histriònica (vocalment) Quickly, molt en la línia de l’inesborrable emprenta de la Barbieri, i correctes la resta dels principals, entre ells una disminuïda Cedolins, que en la meva opinió ja no tornarà a treure el cap.

No tinc cap fragment de les funcions, així que us deixaré, al final, les meves dues versions favorites de l’obra. Es tracta, en primer lloc, de la mítica gravació d’EMI dirigida per Herbert von Karajan en la dècada dels 50 amb tota una constel·lació d’estrelles encapçalades pel genial Falstaff del Tito Gobbi; i en segon lloc la més moderna gravació (tot i que ja té 30 anys) dirigida pel gran mestre Carlo Maria Giulini, amb un altre repartiment estel·lar encapçalat pel sotil Falstaff de Renato Bruson (es pot trobar per la xarxa vídeo d’unes funcions a Los Angeles amb practicament el mateix repartiment, si podeu no us la perdeu).

Per altra part, des de fa uns dies s’estan representant al Liceu les funcions de l’Anna Bolena de Donizetti amb un repartiment, sobre el paper, ple de grans noms: Gruberova, Garanca, Colombara i Bros.

L’Anna Bolena és una òpera molt especial en la meva vivència operística ja que va ser en les anteriors funcions de l’obra que es van fer al Liceu, la temporada 92-93, quan vaig anar per primer cop al teatre. I la veritat va ser que em vaig sentir una de les sensacions d’eufòria més grans que m’he endut en la vida.

La veritat és que jo en aquella època ja havia escoltat molta òpera, però ni el belcanto, ni els cantants actuals estaven en les meves preferències, refugiat com estava en les gravacions dels anys 50-60-70. Així, quan la senyora Gruberova va començar a cantar em vaig quedar de pasta de moniato, i quan vaig veure l’efecte hipnòtic que el seu art causava en tot el públic (m’incloc) i la posterior histèria col·lectiva, va ser quan en vaig adonar que els discs estaven molt bé, però que l’òpera era un espectacle total que s’havia de viure al moment i en directe (i això fins avui).

Automàticament em vaig tornar un devot de l’Edita, i durant mols anys fervent defensor i seguidor, tot fins que hom va descobrir el que havien fet senyores com la Gencer, la Caballé i la Sutherland, llavors em vaig adonar que, sense treure mèrits al seu art, aquesta senyora en el repertori belcantista ens dona gat per llebre.

En les funcions actuals, 18 anys després, repeteixen Gruberova i Bros (que en aquelles va exclatar), i em sembla que quan vagi viuré un déjà vu.

La informació de les funcions la podeu trobar en la pàgina web del Teatre.

http://www.liceubarcelona.cat/detall-obra/obra/anna-bolena.html

A part dels links amb antics posts de les Bolennes de la Sutherland i la Caballé, us deixo les versions absolutament referencials de la Callas, en l’històric revival de la Scala de 1957, i a una suprema Gencer en el festival de Glyndebourne de 1965.

Disfruteu de tot.

——————-

Giuseppe Verdi-FALSTAFF

John Falstaff – Tito Gobbi

Ford – Rolando Panerai

Fenton – Luigi Alva

Dr. Cajus – Tomaso Spataro

Bardolfo – Renato Ercolani

Pistola – Nicola Zaccaria

Mrs. Alice Ford – Elisabeth Schwarzkopf

Nannetta – Anna Moffo

Mrs. Quickly – Fedora Barbieri

Mrs. Meg Page – Nan Merriman

Philharmonia Orchestra & Chorus-Herbert von Karajan, 1956

Links: 1 y 2

 

John Falstaff – Renato Bruson

Ford – Leo Nucci

Fenton – Dalmau González

Bardolfo – Renato Ercolani

Mrs. Alice Ford – Katia Ricciarelli

Nannetta – Barbara Hendricks

Mrs. Quickly – Lucia Valentini Terrani

Lon Angeles Philharmonic-Carlo Maria Giulini.

Links: 1 , 2 y 3.

——————-

Gaetano Donizetti-ANNA BOLENA

Ana Bolenna – Maria Callas

Giovanna Seymou – Giulietta Simionatto

Enrico VIII – Nicola Rossi-Lemeni

Percy – Gianni Raimondi

Smeton – Gabriella Carturan

Orchestra e Coro del Teatro alla Scala – G. Gavazzeni.

Links: 1, 2, 3 y 4

Ana Bolenna – Leyla Gencer

Giovanna Seymour – Patricia Johnson

Enrico VIII – Carlo Cava

Percy – Joan Oncina

Smeton – Maureen Morelle

Festival de Glyndebourne – G. Gavazzeni.

Link: 1

Altres Bolenas a Musica al día:

https://rodiazsa.wordpress.com/2009/03/10/l%e2%80%99anna-bolena-de-joan-sutherland/

https://rodiazsa.wordpress.com/2009/08/04/la-bolena-de-la-caballe/

L’Oracolo de Leoni

6 Setembre 2009

loracoloEsta ópera es una auténtica rareza, compuesta por Franco Leoni, discípulo de Ponchielli, para el Covent Garden (1905), es una tragedia lírica en un acto (una ópera corta, apenas de una hora) con la acción situada en San Francisco, año 1900, concretamente en Chinatown.

La ópera no se volvió a escuchar hasta el 1915 cuando se convirtió en caballo de batalla del gran barítono napolitano, afincado en el Met, Antoni Scotti, que la estrenó,  encarnando el papel del villano traficante de opio Chim-Fen. Ese mismo papel le sirvió de despedida del teatro neoyorquino en 1933.

Para conocer mejor la obra y sus circunstancias os adjunto un magnífico ensayo de John Mucci (musicólogo, crítico y compositor)

L’Oracolo by Franco Leoni: an appreciation

by John Mucci

L’Oracolo is an opera by Franco Leoni, not much heard since 1915, when it was successfully given for a number of years at the Metropolitan Opera. The success was due almost entirely to the performance of Antonio Scotti, out-Scarpaing himself as the villain, Chim-Fen.

The work itself has that sweet oddness to it that will polarize critics—especially those who are addicted to immediately telling you what other opera it sounds like, usually as an unfavorable comparison, and then deride the piece from there because the Met hasn’t performed it for 65 years. I am an advocate—as I am sure many of you are—of finding something that interests you, researching it from as many angles as you can, and then making up your own mind.

With L’Oracolo , I was initially interested in its story—Chinatown, San Francisco of 1900; just after the Boxer Rebellion, with the menace of Tong wars and gangs cheek by jowl with decent, honest people who want to live their life well despite the prejudice surrounding them. Seemed like a great idea for an opera. Further study revealed that it was based on a play that was based on a story, neither of which had much to do with each other.

Leoni studied with Ponchielli, as did Puccini, and from there the finger points to Leoni as an inferior version of Butterfly’s creator. How these blinkard ideas come about is not worth the research to discover, but Leoni is as much an individual voice as Zandonai, Wolf-Ferrari, Alfano, Giordano, and Mascagni. The fashion of comparing everyone to Puccini is unfair; I like his music as much as any operaphile, but he isn’t all there is. His nature was to be brief, and so are his melodies, his operas, his relationships. He was a true hunter! As such you have to take his impatience with a grain of salt.

So when I see that a critic called L’Oracolo “watered down Puccini” it annoys me. The opera is an intense study in greed, love, evil, action and revenge. What more can you want? The style is Leoni’s. It has elements in the score that Puccini would never have thought of. And if you compare the dates of L’Oracolo (1905) to Puccini’s American story (1910) and his Chinese story (1928), the question is who is influencing whom? I admit, that’s a moot point. But there are passages in L’Oracolo that sound very much like passages in later operas, and no one points them out as anyone being influenced by Leoni! It simply shows how futile it is sometimes to point out so-called “influences”. (For example, I keep hearing Massenet in Richard Strauss—does anyone else? Yet after all, when Strauss was conducting opera all over Europe, he conducted a fair amount of Massenet.)

I can tell you right off the bat why no one produces L’Oracolo any longer.

  1. The soprano role isn’t big enough. Maybe if it were on a double bill with Suor Angelica it could come off well (it’s really a good idea, programming wise, though).
  2. It needs a very good villain who can act. That’s why Scotti made such a hit with it in 1915.
  3. It needs a producer and director who can give it the spectacle it needs.

Other than that, it isn’t any more difficult than Gianni Schicchi (which ain’t easy, I’ll admit). But it needs a PRODUCTION. It is a show that is terrific accompaniment to a visual feast. It needs the squalor and spectacular pageantry of 1900 Chinatown, with San Francisco fog, back alleys, running water in drains, squalling vendors, a claustrophobic feeling of tension and an in-your-face feeling that these people are all on top of one another. Most importantly, there needs to be a central procession of the New Year’s Dragon —a parade not to be missed in New York, and I bet as awesome in San Francisco. It needs the children’s chorus and the vendor’s chorus—maybe not as long as the contadini in Pagliacci, but ever so more action-oriented. And finally, there are two hatchet murders on stage! Even Tosca can’t beat that one. There’s enough action to satisfy anyone; and I admit that the way most directors would deal with it is to keep everything as boringly stiff as possible. That will not work in this show.

Some of the objections to the opera have been—besides that it sounds like Puccini, badly—is that it is too much action in too short a space, the love interest is squashed hopelessly, and it’s action is muddled. We begin and end with a cock crowing at dawn, and only 50 minutes have passed in between.

All this is brushed aside if the actors really sell it, and audiences accept it as a 19th century potboiler. There’s plenty of subtleties in the score, and plenty of Grand Guignol. What a great mix, in my book.

One thing that is of interest: the score and the libretto do not always agree on the action or the lyrics. I am posting a new version that is a conflation of the action and a best choice of lyrics from the score. But the score does not have very much action indicated at all. Even the main climactic moments are missing verbally—only there musically. For one who is used to Alban Berg, whose music is keyed to actions on the second beat of a triplet, for example, it is a bit odd to have a whole score without stage directions.

It begins with three blows of a Gran’Cassa, an Italian version of the staff strokes hit at the beginning of classic French plays, redolent of Commedia dell’Arte all over Europe. It says eloquently that “this is going to be a tale told in the old manner.” This is not verismo. Then a cock crows. Then Chinese men are heard playing (an authentic) gambling game, and only then does the music start. No romantic overture, no sinfonia; I think it’s a marvellous idea. A quick theme in A minor brings the villain Chim-Fen to view, and we see the town through his eyes. I want to say, we see the town waking up, but everyone seems to have been up all night anyhow. The orientale themes that come up one after the other are not authentic Chinese melodies—but they are very much so an Italian’s idea of Chinese flavor, and it works perfectly.

In David Choo’s dissertation on L’Oracolo he speaks of what “Orientalism” in music meant in the 19th/20th centuries. Certain cues said to a Western audience that this was an “other” culture. Such musical devices were known since time immemorial, sometimes are based on the authentic item from the other culture, sometimes not. Open fifths, pentatonic scales, dotted eighth rhythms (almost a la Schottische), and unison melodies are all thought of as saying “Orient” to a Western audience. The use of gongs, temple blocks, and tamtams is of course a giveaway, whether the source material is authentically oriental or not. It’s a trope, and as such can be very effective. Remember the audience is not meant to be Chinese, and this is not a Chinese opera—think of how different that would be. Covent Garden wouldn’t even read through the score.

There is a brilliance in the orchestration, a certain cockiness that even Puccini doesn’t normally have. Strings and brasses abound, bursting through after simple declarative figures. The vocal score is very simple to play. It doesn’t take any liberties with time signatures or much that says ‘exotic’ from a technical point of view. The entire opera is in 2/4, 3/4, and 4/4, with some compounds of those in 9/8 and 12/8. It seems to have only three key signatures, C, B-flat, F, and A, (and their relative minors) with one number in G-flat at the end. It is rather a comforting feeling, seeing such chaos of a plot bound into such a simple format.

Puccini was deeply affected by his heroines—he said so—building each opera around one luminous female character. A simple formula. This opera isn’t like that. We see the dealings of a poor, low-life man named Chim-Fe who lies, cheats, and steals at every turn. He doesn’t ever have a solo like Iago to tell us why he’s so wicked, and indeed he’s not terribly clever in what he does. He wants to steal a fan, and fails, he wants to run off with a woman, and fails; he wants to appear a hero and fails, but he has a certain spunkiness in him that makes him almost an anti-hero.

The heroine is not really one-dimensional, but the dimensions we see are uni-focused. Ah-Joe is her name, and she sings from her balcony at the rising of the sun (a sort of pre-Sondheim Green Finch and Linnet Bird), and sings in the ensemble during the fortune-telling scene, and then has a gorgeous number after her lover has been hatcheted to death across the street, believe it or not. After the horror of his murder is discovered, Ah-Joe doesn’t belt out a Tosca, or Minnie or even Turandot-like cannon-roar of horror or disapproval. She very quietly sings to him and in piano, allows us to hear her soul dissolving before our very eyes without any histrionics at all. It’s very, very creepy and effective. In the only recording out there, with Joan Sutherland, she gives it a little too much, I think, but looking at the score, I know how I’d stage it, and it would be aimed at really bringing shivers up your spine. It is somewhat reminiscent of the last scene with Liu in Turandot, but the crowd is much more restrained and supportive.

All in all, I thought the recording distributed by the Musical Heritage Society was excellent; very beautifully recorded by Decca. Bonynge conducts superbly, and brings a lot to the piece. I am baffled at his cutting the last three measures—it couldn’t have hurt anything to put them in—and I was curiously disappointed in La Stupenda. Her voice was simply not as good as I’d heard it in other recordings. This was made in 1977, and I can’t explain it. She sounds as though she has a cold.

Ah-Joe’s hymn to the sun was recorded earlier by Dorothy Warenskjold for her television program in the 1950s, and that is also on CD, conducted by no less than Carmen Dragon. It points up another odd assertion about this opera. In Choo’s dissertation, he says that the opera failed to take hold because there was no one real aria to hold on to, and that the piece was so through-composed that there was no chance for the audience to applaud. In Warenskjold’s recording, she sings Ah-Joe’s aria exquisitely, and, as the score says, it ends on a D-flat augmented chord—which in the opera leads to her lover’s entrance. When the cutoff comes at the end of that most suspended of chords, one is left hanging, leaving the impression that the score was so integrated that it couldn’ be separated from what happened next. But it’s quite obvious that it resolves itself on an F major chord in the next measure, and would have appeared to be very finished. Why did they end it on such a suspension, for no reason when taken out of context? Even in Turandot, “Nessun Dorma”— sometimes the only reason why the whole opera is performed—the aria does not end, but continues on with the scene. Can you imagine an audience putting up with that?? Yes, M. Domingo has finished the aria, and now let us continue, and you can applaud him at the end of the opera, where he will share his curtain call with Ms. Voigt. Uh-huh.

The music for the dragon’s entrance during the New Year’s Day parade is glorious. With a children’s chorus and adult choir as well as principals singing, it’s quite a nice ensemble. What would make it perfect, of course, is if it were produced well so that it became the focal point of the opera: the lovers are trying to make contact, the parents are divided between the parade and watching them; the villain is seeing all of this and decides his action (again, a little like Iago during the Act III ensemble in Verdi’s Otello) and takes it, boldly while everyone’s attention is off him—he kidnaps Ah-Joe’s nephew and will use him as blackmail to try to get her hand in marriage.

The opera was described as “quick flashes of scenes” —and indeed that is one reason why so many critics have found it too difficult to believe, and that it’s too episodic, and the time frame doesn’t seem to make any sense. But there are certain cesuras in the action that to me say there needs to be light changes to express time passing – certainly a foggy day and then a sunset, so that the last scene should take place almost at dawn the next morning. There is plenty of music to cover such changes; I can imagine the present-day directors just having a bare stage, waiting for that damn music to stop so we can get this stupid thing over with. (Sorry: it’s the way they seem to be directing these days.) In any case, these quick flashes do have some cohesiveness. There is a scene in the first part in which the villain and the uncle have a rather strange conversation sitting against the building on a bench, while a policeman walks by. In the last scene, after the uncle has killed Chim-Fen with a hatchet (I would no doubt be sure it was the same one that Chim-Fen used to kill his rival), he props up the body and sings the same song to it as he sang in the beginning—the orchestration is different. And the same policeman walks by. This is preceded by a long scene accompanied by four cellos, sung by a bass, and is superbly effective. Again, he is talking little by little about killing Chim-Fen, as he knows everything, and it should be another of those creepy moments that would make the opera an enjoyable, if a little gruesome, experience.

There are many other subtleties of the score that are worth pointing out; perhaps the only one here I’d say is the expressionist device of having the maddened Ah-Joe appear in the last scene only as a disembodied voice, with a cri-de-coeur for her lover, just as a foghorn booms out. (She does not cry out Peter Grimes! although she might…) This happens three times, twice as a separate event (i.e. in silence), but once during her uncle’s last number, it comes again, almost unheard, as the bottom layer of sound.

So while you may wish to believe the old critics and the old reviews and feel this is not the kind of story for you, remember that I truly believe opera is something that can transcend all the piddling arts out there. If you don’t judge it like an episode of Law and Order, you can immerse yourself in the most enormously high passions down to the vilest motives with this little work. I am very pleased with the recording (and at such a reasonable price) and encourage you all to listen to it, as it has a great deal to offer.

La gravación es un registro de DECCA con grandes artistas de la casa, destacando la soprano Joan Sutherland (un poco descentrada) y el gran Tito Gobbi (madurísimo, pero haciendo una gran creación del malvado Cim-Fen). El sonido es excelente y la dirección de Richard Bonynge es extraordinaria (muy verista), en una obra que musicalmente recuerda a un Puccini venido a menos.

Espero que os pique la curiosidad y os interese.

Link de la sinopsis de la ópera

Link del Libretto de L’Oracolo

Leoni-L’ORACOLO (Parte1, Parte2)

UIN-SCI Richard Van Allan

CIM-FEN Tito Gobbi

HU-TSIN Clifford Grant

AH-JOE Joan Sutherland

L`INDOVINO Ian Caley

UIN-SAN-LUI Ryland Davies

HUA-QUI Huguette Tourangeau

National Philharmonic Orchestra-RICHARD BONYNGE

Mis favoritos: Nabucco de Giuseppe Verdi

31 Mai 2009

NabuccoNabucco, tercera ópera de Verdi, es una ópera en cuatro actos con libreto de Temistocle Solera, basada en el Antiguo Testamento y la obra Nabuchodonosor de Francis Cornue y Anicète Bourgeois. Fue estrenada el 9 de marzo de 1842 en La Scala de Milán. En España se estrenó en 1844, en el Teatro de la Santa Cruz de Barcelona.

Nabucco fue el primer éxito decisivo de Verdi. Sus melodías, armonías y ritmos se vinculan todavía nítidamente a Donizetti, son simples en estructura, pero de un efecto dramático innegablemente fuerte. Cada nota parece tener auténtica sangre teatral que entusiasma de manera irresistible. La pieza maestra de la partitura es el coro «Va pensiero», una melodía pausada, nostálgica y llena del más profundo sentimiento, en que violentos arrebatos alternan de manera espléndida con atribulados susurros.

El compositor alemán Otto Nikolai (autor de Las alegres comadres de Windsor) había cosechado prometedores éxitos en la Scala de Milán. Entre los libretos que se le habían ofrecido para ulteriores composiciones se encontraba también el proyecto de Solera para Nabucco. Pero Nikolai no se interesó. Merelli, el empresario de la Scala (hoy diríamos el director artístico), un nombre que casi merece el título honorífico de profeta de Verdi, insistió al joven compositor italiano para que pusiera en música aquel argumento. Mostró con ello una confianza fuera de lo común, pues Verdi había triunfado con Oberto pero también había fracasado totalmente con Un giorno di regno. Además, le había afectado profundamente la muerte de su joven esposa y de sus dos hijos, de manera que atravesaba una profunda crisis anímica. Merelli impuso formalmente el libreto al compositor; cuando éste lo arrojó sobre la mesa al regresar a su casa (Verdi relata el episodio en un breve esbozo autobiográfico), se abrió solo y Verdi leyó la frase «Va pensiero sull’ali dórate…». En el mismo instante se le ocurrió la melodía para estos bellos versos. Y escribió la ópera en un arrebato creativo sin pausa.

El 9 de marzo de 1842 se estrenó triunfalmente en la Scala de Milán. La melodía del coro, se convirtió en la canción de súplica y combate de todos los patriotas italianos que se identificaban con el pueblo hebreo en su hora más difícil y se esforzaban por liberarse de la dominación extranjera. La misma melodía sonó en el entierro del maestro, casi sesenta años más tarde, y para entonces ya se había convertido en un himno nacional. En el estreno, el papel de Abigaille fue interpretado por Giuseppina Strepponi, quien se convertiría en compañera sentimental y luego esposa de Verdi. Se dice que la dificultad del papel causó el decline vocal de la cantante.

El éxito de la ópera perdura hasta estos días. Es grabada y presentada en los teatros de ópera con cierta frecuencia aunque no es fácil conseguir una soprano dramática de agilidad que pueda medirse con la despiadada tesitura de la malvada Abigail.

Sinopsis de la ópera

Acto I – Jerusalén

Dentro del templo. Los Levitas y la gente se lamentan por el desgraciado destino de los judíos, luego de haber sido derrotados por el Rey de Babilonia Nabucco, quien se encuentra ahora en las puertas de la ciudad. El cura principal Zaccaria anima a sus seguidores. Los judíos han capturado a un importante rehén para mantenerse a salvo, la hija de Nabucco, Fenena, a quien Zaccaria unió en matrimonio con Ismaele, sobrino del Rey de Jerusalén. Sin embargo, Ismaele promete a Fenena su libertad, pues tiempo atrás en Babylonia él había sido tomado como rehén y fue ella quien lo liberó, pues estaba muy enamorada del joven. Ambos están organizando su vuelo cuando Abigaille, una supuesta hija de Nabucco, llega al templo encabezando una gran tropa de babilonios. Ella también está enamorada de Ismaele, y amenaza con contarle al padre de Fenena de su plan de escape con un extranjero; y al final, Abigaille declara que mantendrá silencio si Ismaele renuncia a Fenena. Pero él se rehúsa a aceptar el chantaje. Nabucco, a la cabeza de su ejército, irrumpe en escena, habiendo decidido saquear la ciudad. En vano Zaccaria, blandiendo una daga sobre la cabeza de Fenena, intenta detenerlo; Ismaele interviene y entrega en mano a Fenena, sana y salva, a su padre.

Acto II – El malvado

En la corte de Babilonia. Abigaille se ha enterado de un documento que revela su verdadera identidad como esclava: por lo tanto, los babilonios se equivocan al creer que ella es una heredera al trono. Nabucco, ocupado en una batalla, ha nombrado a Fenena como princesa regente de la ciudad, lo cual provoca que el odio de Abigaille aumente. El sumo sacerdote de Belo, aliado de Abigaille, le dice que Fenena está liberando a todos los esclavos hebreos. Abigaille aprovecha la oportunidad y se contempla tomando el trono de Nabucco.

MARIA CALLAS: “BEN IO T’INVENNI SALGO GIÀ”1949-Teatro san carlo Napoli- Vittorio Gui

Zaccaria, mientras tanto, anuncia alegremente al pueblo que Fenena, enamorada de Ismaele, se ha convertido a la fe hebrea. Abdallo, un antiguo consejero del rey y de Fenena, le revela a ella las ambiciones de Abigaille y le avisa que debe volar para escapar de la ira de su hermanastra. Pero no hay tiempo. Abigaille llega junto a sus magos, el sumo sacerdote y una multitud de babilonios. Pero inesperadamente, también llega Nabucco, coloca su corona firmemente en su cabeza y maldice al Dios de los Judíos. Luego amenaza con matar a Zaccaria. Fenena revela su conversión al judaísmo, pero el la fuerza a arrodillarse ante él adorándolo no como un rey sino como un dios. El Dios de los Judíos le lanza un rayo y Nabucco, aterrado, cae en agonía, mientras que Abigaille se coloca la corona sobre su cabeza.

Acto III – La profecía

Los jardines flotantes de la corte de Babilonia. Abigaille en el trono recibe honores de todas las autoridades del reino. Nabucco intenta en vano recuperar el trono, pero es detenido por los guardias. En el diálogo siguiente entre ambos, Abigaille, tomando ventaja de la inestable condición mental de Nabucco, le hace poner a él su sello real en un documento que condena a los judíos a muerte. En un momento de lucidez, Nabucco se da cuenta de que ha condenado también a su amada hija Fenena y ruega por su salvación. Pero Abigaille hace pedazos el documento que afirma que ella es una esclava y se declara a si misma como única hija y por lo tanto, heredera al trono. Luego ordena a los guardias encarcelar a Nabucco.

DIMITRA THEODOSSIOU & LEO NUCCI: “DEH, PERDONA”Will Humburg-Vigoleno, 29.06.2008

A orillas del Eufrates, los hebreos invocan su patria lejana y su tierra y, una vez más Zaccaria intenta consolar a su pueblo con una profecía que los alienta en su fe.

 “VA PENSIERO SULL´ALI DORATE”-Metropolitan Opera House, James Levine 2001.

Acto IV – El ídolo roto

Desde su prisión Nabucco ve a Fenena arrastrada hacia la muerte junto con los otros judíos. En su desesperación, se vuelve hacia el Dios de los hebreos, convirtiendo su fe.

RENATO BRUSON: “DIO DI GIUDA”Teatro alla Scala, Muti

Cuando Abdallo y un grupo de soldados aún fieles al rey ven como Nabucco recupera su fuerza y sus sentidos, deciden revelarse liderados por el antiguo rey. En los jardines flotantes se está tocando una marcha funeraria: los hebreos condenados a la muerte están llegando. Zaccaria bendice a Fenena, un mártir. Pero Nabucco irrumpe la ceremonia, el ídolo Belo cae al suelo destrozado, y todos los prisioneros son liberados. Una vez más Nabucco se sienta en el trono. Abigaille, muriendo a causa del veneno ingerido a conciencia, pide el perdón de Fenena y predice su casamiento con Ismael. Zaccaria profetiza el dominio de Nabucco sobre todos los habitantes de la tierra.  

Nabucco-Bechi-Callas-Neroni-Sinimberghi-Gui (CD01 , CD02)

nabucco-callas

La Callas jovencísima crea una Abigail inigulada y, presumiblemente, inigualable, con el veterano pero poderoso Nabucco del gran Gino Bechi. La función es en directo, con un sonido suficiente, pero con un ambiente electrizante.

Nabucco-Gobbi-Suliotis-Cava-Prevedi-Gardelli (CD01 , CD02nabucco-gardelli

Todo un clásico de la discografía, con la estrella fugaz  de Suliotis en una Abigail a lo Callas, y un Gobbi muy mermado vocalmente pero dramáticamente irreprochable. Bravos Cava y Prevedi como Zaccaria e Ismaele. La dirección de Gardelli es contundente, con unas masas de la Ópera de Viena espectaculares.

Nabucco-Manuguerra-Scotto-Ghiaurov-Luchetti-Muti (CD01 , CD02)

nabucco-muti

La versión de Muti posee dos grandes puntos a favor: la excelente dirección del maestro italiano (quizá el mayor especialista verdiano de los últimos 30 años) y el Nabucco de un Manuguerra vocal y dramáticamente poderoso. La Scotto flojea con una zona alta tirante y un grave dudoso. Ghiaurov está correcto pero no del todo cómodo.

Nabucco-Cappuccilli-Dimitrova-Nesterenko-Domingo-Sinopoli (CD01 , CD02)

nabucco-sinopoli

De las versiones de estudio quizás esta sea la más equilibrada. Sinopoli dirige con brío y contundencia a un equipo sin puntos débiles donde destacan la buena labor de Cappuccilli (excelente otra vez en un papel demasiado dramático para su voz), Nesterenko (con un Zaccaria vocalmente sanísimo) y la Abigail de la Dimitrova (correctísima en todos los aspectos, que ya es un gran mérito).