Ainadamar: a nuclear blitz on the senses and a proud moment for Scottish Opera
A co-production with the Met is a resounding endorsement of Scottish Opera’s artistic standing.
Scottish Opera flew into Manhattan to mark the opening night of their co-production with New York’s Met of Argentinian composer, Osvaldo Golijov’s opera, Ainadamar. A proud moment for Scot Op. A co-pro with the Met is a resounding endorsement of the company’s artistic standing.
Scottish government please note. You have a success on your hands!
And one that gave huge pleasure to this writer, introduced to opera in Glasgow in the late 1960s by towering figures of the era – the likes of Music Director, Sir Alexander Gibson, soprano Dame Janet Baker and General Director, Peter Hemmings. All would have been thrilled to see the feisty company they helped shape acting as cultural ambassador for its country.
And less embarrassing than New York Tartan Week hokum – steer clear of Midtown in April – when costumiers in the city’s 42nd Street Fashion District run out of tasteless plaid.
Ainadamar is an opera constructed in three images, tracing the life of Spanish playwright Federico Garcia Lorca. For his “revolutionary” intellectual troubles, Lorca was executed by the Falangists during the Spanish Civil War.
His muse, actress Margarita Xirgu tells the story of Lorca’s life in episodes. His persecution for his political stance, his homosexuality, and her failed attempts to have him flee for safety.
Margarita’s student is Nuria, in Montevideo 40 years after the former performed Lorca’s play about Mariana Pineda, another revolutionary heroine from an earlier era. Nuria learns of the sequence of harrowing events that followed. She is a presence throughout, woven into Margarita’s reflective scenes. The role was sung by Elena Villalón a Texan soprano, who became immersed by degrees in the drama as Marguerite’s tale was revealed.
The presentation intentionally verges on the surreal. Moments of harsh reality blend with transcendental idealism and the action is driven by a powerful feeling of traditional ritual. The last is represented by blazing dance sequences which dominate the opera. This is not a story told by words alone.
The whole is a nuclear blitz on the senses. Bulls charging, horses galloping, fandango fans cracking, bullets exploding, all lit by blinding strobes, borne to the audience on a tsunami of amplified sound, descending pools of blood, a the curtained space through which the characters wove their tale through time.
And a fountain weeping in Granada – Ainadamar. As Lorca wrote, “I am the enormous shadow of my tears.” The opera is the harrowing tale of how that shadow came to be cast.
A fuller synopsis can be found here.
The risk in a work that oscillates in time and across countries – the theatre in Montevideo, Uruguay, Granada, Spain, Cuba – and a plot that is internalised in the minds of the protagonists is losing the audience.
Before heading to the Met, I was dubious about what was clearly going to be a dance fest, mainly flamenco and a sound blizzard of musical styles – classical, jazz, folk, regional and, most importantly flamenco. Would it overwhelm the story? Was Ainadamar going to be opera at all?
Curious, I watched a production from Bogota in 2012. Dire. Well sung, but static, the singing chorus of Nińas, who provide a running commentary throughout, sitting on their bahookies back of stage, looking prim. Not a dance step in sight. The music seemed pointless.
The contrast between that and Deborah Colker’s approach could not have been more stark. For Brazilian Colker, in charge of production and choreography, this was an opera debut. But, highly experienced with theatre and Cirque Soleil, she exploited Golijov’s hard driving score, providing an unceasing flow of movement.
Brava! She even managed to coax soprano, Angel Blue, singing the role of Margarita Xirgu, to indulge in some nifty footwork. From the moment the curtain rose it was obvious this was exactly what the music demanded. Strong, sometimes plangent voices and the often-insane intensity of Spanish dance. The dial registered fever pitch – and stayed there.
Colker was assisted by the lend-lease of Scottish Opera’s Roxana Haines, responsible for their recent, stunning Oedipus Rex at the Edinburgh Festival. Over a coffee Roxana bubbled with enthusiasm at having the opportunity to bring her skills to the Met stage. During the performance, I think I spotted the same deft blocking of characters that characterised Oedipus.
Well, at least they all seemed to turn up at the right time, no small feat when shepherding a lightning-fast mêlée. Never, ever, underestimate the importance of an assistant director in placing characters onstage and managing every gesture.
I was not immediately taken by David Henry Hwang’s libretto. It began as a stream of self-contradictory slogans. ‘Long Live Death’ sort of thing. But as occasional arias began to depict more complex emotions the work achieved a better balance.
Lorca’s From my Window, a poignant view of life, Margarita’s My whole life, in such a place, the ballad, What a sad day it was in Granada, provided occasional oases of relief from the constant action.
Lorca’s nemesis, Ramón Ruiz Alonso, a historically accurate fascist thug was flamenco singer, Alfredo Tejada, Anadamar’s ‘go to’ baddie. He has performed the role everywhere, including for Welsh, Scottish and Detroit Opera. He positively snarled as the fatal shot rang out and Lorca fell,
Use was made of back projections, including a superb newsreel simulacrum of Falange Radio, broadcasting actual recordings from the 1930s. From time-to-time, sound effects were amplified and the singers miked, essential if they were to be heard over the mayhem.
Sometimes the transition of miked soloists, especially Angel Blue, back to natural voice was clunky. A minor gripe.
Angel Blue was in fine voice. Some reviewers of earlier performances complained of her voice fading before the end. Not on my watch. She was steady as a rock throughout and crested every challenge Golijov tossed her way.
Lorca was performed as a trouser role by mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack. She looked slight, but so was Lorca. Digging through news files it turned out she bore an uncanny resemblance to the playwright. Mack sang beautifully and established character with ease. What more can anyone demand?
The “chorus” of dancing, singing Nińas stole the show. Eighteen young girls, mostly all in debut roles, determined to prove themselves on the Met stage. Did they fizz?
My Manhattan collaborator, soprano Katie Norchi, arranged a coffee with one, the Puerto Rican, Natalia Santaliz. They had known each other as students. Santaliz’s story was almost as evocative as Lorca’s.
She had travelled on her own dime for the audition, from Puerto Rico, staying with family in New York. One of 800 applicants. The audition process is brutal. She described the “live cut” process.
A group of, say 20, dancers is asked to audition. They are all given numbers. As the audition progresses numbers are called out and the unfortunates simply leave for the Greyhound home and maybe, or maybe not, another shot at a career. The others dance on until only the winners remain. Life is always supported by another career.
This time, Natalia’s number was not up. And she and her fellow dancers delivered an unforgettable experience. As she took her bows at the end of the line stage left, the radiant smile said everything. Her family has every right to feel deeply proud.
The Met orchestra coped admirably with the unfamiliar tempi and rapid changes of musical mood. Peruvian conductor Miguel Harth-Bedoya has spent his whole career ranging across the musical landscape, but he had his work cut out here. The challenge of melding with pre-recorded, amplified sound and making the joins disappear is prodigious.
And maybe the format of Ainadamar is a pointer to the opera medium’s future. Eighty minutes, no interval, the audience leaves in an adrenalin rush, heading home at a reasonable hour.
Perhaps that opera package is more to the taste of today’s audiences than a five-hour Parsifal, three intervals and bus home to a dawn chorus.
Cultural appetites in today’s instant gratification world have changed. In the 19th century opera in Paris morphed to accommodate the need for episodes of pure burlesque.
In the mid 21st century, the medium needs a fresh eye. Innovators like OperaGlass Works – vehicle of Eliza Thompson and Selina Caddell, opera’s terrible twins, are using film. Their La Traviata is hitting screens around now. The Met pioneered HD. Time to extract heads from the sand. Just saying.
I hope Alex Reedjik, Scottish Opera’s Director General will use this stepping stone of the Met to bring forward future productions that will cement the relationship.
Nagging question. Why on earth did Scot Op find a winning formula rooted in the Spanish Civil War?
Maybe the answer lies in Glasgow’s long connection with the conflict. In 1972, in memory of a brigade of Clydesiders who enrolled to fight for the Republicans in Spain, a statue was erected on the banks of the River Clyde – 286 Clyde Street, to be precise – to La Pasionara, Dolores Ibárruri, a fiery communist politician with a flair for rhetoric.
Ainadamar, a testament to Lorca, blazing with force, sound, colour and innovation is very different. Sculptor Arthur Dooley’s Pasionara looks across a river. Scottish Opera’s Ainadamar conquered New York.
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