13895 Wagner News 174 - Wagner Society of England

alone on the platform, he commanded it, conjuring up the absent Kundry and Parsifal with
a glance or movement until the tenor belatedly appeared. This boy should go far, unless he
sings heavy roles too early and too often. His is a voice to treasure.
Larissa Gogolevskaya, who did not cover herself with glory as the
Götterdämmerung Brünnhilde in 2009, proved to be far more adept as Kundry. This is
unequivocally a soprano voice –“und lächte” was hair-liftingly powerful, yet the lower
register is as deep and full as many Erdas I have heard. She could end a phrase with a
snarl of rage (though she eschewed the customary screeches of manic laughter), yet knew
the value of quietness too – the whispered “Tod” was gripping, and the single word “küss”
seemed to embody all the seduction and depravity of Klingsor's realm. Given the concert
format, she could do little to differentiate the character of Kundry in the different acts,
but she, again, knew how a little interaction with her colleagues could go a long way –
the venomous glances she exchanged with Klingsor said much, and although she did not
essay the crucial kiss, the long, steady gaze which she exchanged with Parsifal conveyed
volumes. So, too, did her glance around the peaceful woodland in Act I, a smile beginning
to touch her lips until the harassing Esquires disturbed her peace.
Nikolay Putilin, whose Alberich was one of the glories of the 2009 Ring, gave a
wonderful, sharply-etched little sketch as Klingsor. He has no need to snarl or grimace to
convey evil: the dark, cutting edge of his baritone does it all for him. He too was fully
engaged from the very beginning – his cool, proprietorial glance about him as the prelude
to Act II began established the character at once, and the way he entwined his pudgy
fingers was chilling, while the orchestra boiled like a thunderstorm with evil, its
sinuousness seeming almost to draw pentacles as he cast his spell to awaken Kundry. The
sadness in his face, and his little, futile gesture at “hüt’ ich mir selbst den Gral” showed
movingly how empty his victory would be, even if he achieved it. Like Alberich in
Siegfried, Klingsor knows that he has already lost.
Evgeny Nikitin's angry, leonine Amfortas was worlds away from the usual pallid
invalid. Tall, strong, noble, powerfully built, this Amfortas' rage and despair was a life
force that could have generated a power station and was utterly riveting. He blew the
audience away. I have never heard him sing so superbly, his noble baritone wonderfully
incisive. This was the angriest Amfortas I have ever seen. While he sat awaiting his cue,
he blazed with energy and impatience. Unleashed, he raged against the light. Glorious.
In this proud company Avgust Amonov’s Parsifal was underwhelming. He sang
competently but the voice sounded colourless, and dramatically he was not the equal of
his colleagues. He spent most of his time hunched over his score, and if he did look up to
acknowledge the presence of another singer, it was with a lofty, disdainful “What are you
doing sharing my platform?” glance which was hardly appropriate to the character.
There was excellent work in all the lesser roles, especially Andrey Popov's edgy
Fourth Esquire and a luscious sextet of Flowermaidens, all of whom sounded sensational
and looked gorgeous in brightly coloured frocks which made them resemble a flowerbed.
59 members of the Mariinsky chorus, as many as the platform could hold, created a
glorious sound, especially in the wonders of the Grail scene, where the contrast between
the deep, clotted bass voices and the ethereal sopranos was astonishing. The cavernous
contralto voices added extra allure to the Flowermaidens' music.
The emotional impact of this Parsifal was immense, worlds away from that patchy
Ring. With this performance, Gergiev and his Mariinsky forces have confirmed
themselves for me as major players on the international Wagner scene.
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