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| CONVERSATION WITH EGILS SILIŅŠ IN RIGA, 15 DECEMBER 2003 Laima Slava | |
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Mephistopheles and the Demon: two popular superhuman roles you've played with success. How would you describe the difference between them?
There's more similarity in the names than in the operas themselves. Yes, the Demon does have associations with something Mephistophelean, but in Rubinstein's opera it's the Demon himself who falls in love, while in Goethe's "Faust" Mephistopheles is the tempter, the one who entices Faust. The initial phrases of the two operas are somewhat alike: Mephistopheles asks Faust: "Have you known love?", while in Rubinstein's "The Demon" the Angel asks the Demon whether he has ever loved. Rubinstein's Demon is full of the romance of love, while Mephistopheles is in the role of an onlooker. He comments on events, he is a conspirator, while the Demon himself suffers. But doesn't an idea require visuality too, expressing the essence of the character? The cool militarism that marks the Demon in the new production seems to contradict the idea behind this role. I'm not saying it definitely has to be the Demon of Vrubel... The character created by Vrubel is such a success that I doubt it will ever be surpassed. Vrubel's Demon is a kind of standard, certainly in Latvia or Russia. Westerners, of course, don't have this link with Vrubel. They're not familiar with the Demon or with Vrubel, but it is an effective visual image (which accounts for its success!) and is more easily perceived by the viewer. With every new production of the opera, there's always the question of whether we should go back to using a character created long before, or seek out new interpretive avenues. For me as a singer, the former image would have helped to open up more. I agree that an opera has to keep abreast of the times and be modern. And still, it seems that people do like a small dose of kitsch, particularly when the music corresponds to this kind of romance and mystery. The audience would certainly prefer to see a construction of two mountain chasms, with the Demon appearing from one side of the mountain and then from another, and then in the middle, and to see at the bottom of a chasm the people's wedding that turns into a funeral. Blumbergs' approach to the Demon already seemed quite ascetic to me. The set designed by Ieva Kauliņa had those ascetically straight lines of the balcony that moved forwards... Well, what can you do as a singer when you're up on a balcony and also have a table in front of you? In the set design we see here, I often sense a lack of imagination. The stage is so correctly laid out that there's no opportunity for a romantic flight of fancy. The set must give the viewer some freedom too, to make him think as well. In this case, it's all told for you. And apart from this, in my view the Demon seems more to be rising up from the underworld, than floating down from the clouds. Of course, with the arias "Don't cry, child" or "On the ocean of the air" anything is possible. But after all, he is an angel! Yes, but what does an angel signify today? In the poem, he's a fallen angel, but an angel doesn't necessarily live in the heavens. Which is what the present interpretation seems to suggest. In this production, it's precisely the Demon's resemblance to an angel that I dislike. I can understand the idea, but I dislike it. This reduces the Demon in visual terms as well. He's no longer special as a Demon. To the viewer's eyes, these similar characters, one good, the other evil, are too simplified. The Demon is stated as the loser right from the start. At the production in Sigulda, when Latvia first saw you in the role of the Demon, I was stunned particularly by the perceptible human drama between the Demon and Tamara, and within the Demon himself. But in this production, the Demon is only a despotic usurper. I agree that the human aspect of the Demon has been insufficiently revealed. In the first rehearsal, I offered something like that, but was told, "Don't make a Puccini out of it!" Puccini's music is the music of passion, and with Rubinstein it's the same. Theoretically, even the last kiss was not intended in this production. But in that case, the opera would lose its whole meaning. It's the kiss that seals the fate of Tamara, so if the kiss is missing or if it's vague or relegated to the background... What's the story behind the production of "The Demon" for the Bregenz Festival? That was a message about the Demon from a slightly naïve standpoint, seemingly with fairytale elements, but it suited the music very well. There, the Demon was somewhat reminiscent of Tarzan, and in Sigulda too we tried to preserve something of this outer image. The production at the opera in Riga resembles one of those series about aliens. I've never liked that kind of thing. I think a problem with the visual image of the role was also that before this I had been singing "The Flying Dutchman", with long, black hair. But most of all in this production, I'm worried about the acoustics. We had previously agreed that the wall around the back of the stage would be of veneer. In the end it wasn't veneer, it was plastic covered in fabric, and the wooden floor was likewise covered in fabric. After all, people do come to the opera to listen to the singing, but if it is artificially reduced by such means... Although I've been raising this issue for a long time now: in Riga we don't have particularly good acoustics anyway, so don't make it worse with sound barriers of fabric, which absorb the sound! It is, of course, much more interesting to sing also when facing the back and sides of the stage and to be able to act with greater freedom. I don't think that in Latvia fabric-covered plastic is cheaper than veneer. If I had any say in it, I'd also auction off the seats of the Riga opera and provide comfortable ones (they're unbelievably uncomfortable!) that are acoustically suited, with wooden backs. It seemed to me that this time the conducting style of Normunds Vaicis acted rather as a brake, not giving the emotional uplift that might "carry" one over what may be regarded as the more superficial passages in the music, and would give homogeneity to the work as a whole. I think such a standard disparagement of Normunds Vaicis had set in already before he assumed the work. Yes, it's true that some of the emotional aspects and phrase development might be improved, and this will take place over the course of time. (Over here, we don't really do much work at all on such aspects as phrasing. Such minor form is in purely technical terms an important element of the major form.) But in structural terms, he did it all very professionally. In the West, no conductor rants and raves so much during the performance: that's a feature of the Russian school, and we're used to it. If we look at the great conductors of today, we see that they've gotten through this emotional raving during the work process, so that in the performance their task is only to keep it all together as good foremen. I was comfortable singing with Normunds Vaicis, and he respected my wishes very precisely, so that in this regard I felt comfortable in the production. Of course, I haven't seen the performance as a whole from the audience. I don't mean this primitive display of emotion. I just can't forget how Sir John Eliot Gardiner conducted "The Trojans" of Berlioz, lasting five hours. Seemingly in one breath, with the orchestra mobilised to a maximum and the roles played by fantastically lively and unconstrained singers... When he comes up to the rostrum, one senses immediately the outstanding state of preparedness in which this emotional chemistry occurs. True, it's a problem of the Riga opera that the factor of the creation of music is often absent in the performance itself - it is more of a presentation of previously rehearsed material. The music must come about during the performance. The tempo, etc. - that's just an aid. But there are very few conductors who can always achieve this, so it's no wonder their names are on everyone's lips. And even the major names in conducting are often a myth. You expect something truly special, but nothing happens. Take that same Gardiner conducting operetta "The Merry Widow" at the Vienna State Opera - it was a complete flop! I asked myself at the time why he, a specialist in early music, ever agreed to something of the kind, particularly in Vienna? Yes, and the musical maestros often specialise in some narrow field. A very recent example. On 3 December in Vienna, I was watching the dress rehearsal of the new "Flying Dutchman" with Seiji Ozawa, whose name is certainly well known. However, the Vienna audience was not really satisfied. So, success is mixed with failure even in the big theatres. I experienced a real moment of creation in "The Demon" with Fedoseyev. With him conducting "On the ocean of the air", it was enough just to look at him to see "the ocean of the air". It's what I was saying before about conductors not always stirring up emotion - it also depends on the school. It's because Russian music needs this - couldn't this be so? Are there successful interpretations of Russian operas by foreigners? That same Seiji Ozawa I mentioned, again at the Vienna State Opera, conducted Tchaikovsky very well and very interestingly. It was wonderful! "Eugene Onegin" and "The Queen of Spades". There is the standard idea that Italians have a better feel for Italian music and likewise Russians for Russian music. In principle, I don't particularly agree with this. The only advantage, in my view, is that it permits the conductor to better structure and understand the music through language during the rehearsal process. The words in opera are, after all, of equal significance to the music. If it's Russian opera, where the words are fairly realistic, and if you understand them correctly, you're better able to explain what colour you want from the orchestra. But all this can be learned. Whether it's the Italian or Russian language. It's a matter of preparedness, of what kind of form you're in. With which conductors, apart from Fedoseyev, have you had this mutual understanding and compatibility? One of the first was the Austrian Walter Weller. He had been First Concertmaster at the Vienna Philharmonic, but he left this good post to become a conductor. At the time I met him, he was General Music Director at the Basel Opera. We put on Strauss's opera "The Woman Without a Shadow". The music is very emotional, even though it's German. (In our perception, German music is emotionally dryer, more rational.) At these performances, there really was a feeling of creation. We seemed to charge each other with impulses. A kind of joint breathing. Although I've encountered many outstanding names in conducting, particularly when performing at Vienna, it's often been a rational kind of work, without musical catharsis. In these cases, I can't say that we were as one. But it's precisely this thinking on the emotional wave and creation that most attracts the audience too. And "Rinaldo"? To be honest, "Rinaldo" was an excursion somewhat outside of my familiar territory. I'm not really a singer of Handel. It's simply that I liked the director - David Alden. It's with him that I'd worked on my great success at Vienna, Gounod's "Faust", and when he made this proposal, I thought to myself that even if it's not quite right in vocal terms, it will nevertheless be interesting for me in terms of acting. And now it's come out in DVD. It's a modern approach to Handel, but it's interesting and it addresses the audience. It really doesn't matter whether the production is modern or in the old fashioned style - the main thing is that people should find it interesting. And what, in your view, can nowadays make opera interesting? In the first place, it's when the director reveals some unexpected approach. The director is the generator of ideas, of the approach. The approach can vary, but it must be interesting. And unexpected. But it should not be an obstruction. Can there be such a thing as an opera director who doesn't have a feel for the music? It does happen, unfortunately. Sometimes, operas are directed by people who can't read music. I've come across this myself, and these have never been successful productions. In the first place, the director must love the music. And if he's passionate about the music, he'll never do anything against it. We each have our own very subjective view of many things. I've met directors whom I've wanted to ask: "If you hate this opera, then why on earth are you putting it on?" I have to say this doesn't apply to Latvia. What are the main stereotypes currently attached to modern opera? "Modern opera" is for the most part known only in German-speaking countries. The Americans permit themselves a very small percentage of modern opera. In the first place, this is because American culture is based on sponsors, benefactors. The state's contribution to the Metropolitan Opera is minimal. I think it's as little as 30 percent of the theatre's budget. But in essence, the system is the same, only turned around: the Americans make donations to opera and then the money's deducted from their taxes. In Europe, the taxes are collected, and then the state supports the theatre. I mention this because the people giving money do try to partly influence the direction in which the opera develops. They rarely support modern approaches, since for the most part they're people advanced in years. And it's not quite as if they meddle in the director's work. It's more that they say: "If it's going to be a modern approach next time too, then I'm not going to give any more money." And then some compromise is evidently sought, since the theatre management is unwilling to risk it. But at the same Metropolitan Theatre, one can see Shostakovich's "Katarina Ismailova" or "Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk", which is a supermodern production. Quite provocative. But this is partly permitted by Shostakovich's music. After all, nobody knows how it ought to be staged. In my view, the action of "Rigoletto" at the Metropolitan could never take place in a car workshop, as it does in Frankfurt. Gilda is taken away in a Trabant (the archetypical East German car), while in "Aida" Radames is a company director who gazes at the charlady and imagines she's Aida. But I consider that the world of opera would be profoundly boring without such "hocus pocus" in Germany. This does, after all, lead to diversity and a movement towards various extremes. And what is the reaction of the audience - to what does the audience react when going to the opera? The singing always remains the main element of opera. If the singers are good, then we often see at the premiere that the singers get enormous ovations, while the production team is booed. At other times, it doesn't matter even if the production is a poor one: if there's a famous name singing, then they'll go to hear the music. Even if they don't always like the packaging. Whether it's modern or not, it seems the main thing is that it should be interestingly presented, with the essential message conveyed, so that someone coming to the opera less than perfectly prepared will obtain a clear idea of what it's about, what it deals with. So that even if you don't understand the language, you'll understand the opera. But in general, opera does require this kind of "homework". Nowadays you can't go to a less popular opera unprepared - you'll miss a great deal. I read somewhere that whoever can describe in a few sentences what takes place in Wagner's "Ring of the Niebelung" should be awarded the Nobel Prize. And my experience too indicates that, for example, the present boom in Baroque music is occurring thanks to the productions of David Alden. Nowadays, the event held in Munich in June is already known as the Handel festival, not simply as an opera festival. Here, similar to the Riga version, the season's best productions are shown with special guests, adding one premiere as well. In recent years, it's been the case that three out of five are Handel's and Baroque operas. The house is full and the audience enjoys it, since it's interesting. Of course, it's also important that this music was once forgotten and unpopular. After all, how many times can you watch "La Traviata"? But Vienna's the only place where I've seen that opera is also policy. Opera is just as important there as football is in Germany. One of the expressions of such policy is the opportunity to buy cheap one-lat tickets to the opera, so important to young people. And moreover, the standing room in the parterre is acoustically the best location. For those people who've been going to opera for years and years, it's good to have such major centres of music as the Vienna State Opera, where you can afford to put on unknown works without worrying whether you'll have an audience, since they will come. In the very modern operas, it's often the interesting approaches to directing that are important. In my view, the management at Vienna has found a very successful formula, since the less popular the opera, the more popular the singers they involve, thus guaranteeing interest among the audience. But what can a singer achieve with his voice? I consider that I've achieved my aim as a singer if I've managed to affect the listener by addressing him - either touching the soul or delighting him, or else, if it's a negative role, then in a negative sense too. He's been affected and has empathised with me as a human being. I try to create the experience in some way on the stage and put it across. In the opera it's somewhat more difficult, while in concerts I can see from people's expressions whether some particular song has reached the listener and left an impression. But how does it seem to you: what is it in the voice that creates this impression? As a listener, it's clear to me that I can suddenly respond to one moment of timbre, which releases something in me, stunning or elevating me, but what is it that makes the voice sound this way? It's hard to express in words... Sometimes, when performing a song or an aria, you associate it with something, visualising it. Whether it's a situation or some person, some moment when you were in love, or if you are in love. I simply strive to sense that. And I try - successfully, I hope - to weave this into the colour of my voice. Previously, my efforts were aimed more at vocal bravura, to ensuring that my voice was operatic and fulsome, but that's because my professional abilities were weaker. Nowadays I don't have to worry about whether I'll be heard; I don't have to prove myself with my voice from a position of strength. Often, I also vary my programme: to start with, I show the voice, then the emotion and then the character, the comic side too. That's why sometimes it's hard for me to achieve this when performing something from, say, Donizetti. There, the melody has pride of place, not always corresponding to the words. The melody is elegiac and calm, while the words deal with revenge, for example. Of course, I can sing it beautifully, relying only on the music, but I can't say as much as I can with the kind of music where the words and the music are united. Where the composer has succeeded in making the words colour the music too. Accordingly, when I'm looking for works for a solo concert, it takes me a very long time before a song truly speaks to me and I can say that I really want to perform it. I have to search long and hard. I can't simply say: "This song's OK." I can't perform something "middling". The songs of Jānis Kalniņš are not really very popular at all, so how did you find them? This was just before the political changes, back in the late 80s. "For each hour" came from America. It's true that with Kalniņš' songs you really have to put in more work to make the words come across, so that the listener can get the feel, since the melody is very simple. It's very difficult if you yourself aren't in the right state of mind, since the song starts right away and is rather short. You have to search within yourself, you have to work up the emotion. But Latvian music in general has never been especially popular. I think it's largely the fault of the singers themselves. I've often heard, since I've been singing Latvian solo songs, something like this: "I really didn't know that this Latvian song can be performed so simply, so un-operatically." It seems to me that the approach to chamber music has been too operatic. It should be approached more simply. Before you came, it seems that Jānis Zābers was the only one so capable at singing these songs, but he too is an opera singer... Yes, but he always tried to do it from the heart, not through vocal effect. The main thing was not to demonstrate the voice, but to tell it from the soul. What has guided you in turning to Latvian solo songs: is it a matter of principle, that they should be sung, or do they contain something significant to you. When listening to you, I found to my own surprise that they contain something significant to me, which cannot be found elsewhere. I think it's definitely so. And it's important for this not to disappear. In Zābers' time, Latvian solo song was heard more, and radio was one of the central mass media. Are singers nowadays invited so extensively to various events? This kind of thing accustomed people to perceive the music, to recognise it... I've had the chance to talk to young people who say they hate opera. When you ask whether they've been to an opera, they say, of course not. How can you dislike what you don't even know? But in general terms, thanks to the Song Festivals, we Latvians have a closer link with song. Very many of us have sung. Compared to other countries, we have an enormous percentage of people who've come into contact with music in one form or another. I've heard that at home you have many works by Latvian painters too... Yes, for me, painting comes next after music. Yes, I am inspired by it. Maybe it's the patriotic aspect, or maybe the financial one - I can still afford to buy works by Latvian artists, while in the West the prices even for second-rate works are inordinately high. For me it's a kind of link with Latvia. There have been times when I've liked a work by a Westerner, and if the price were not so high, I'd have bought it, but I've always changed my mind and thought: no, I'll take a trip to Latvia instead, since that's closer to my heart. I'm particularly delighted with the young generation of Latvian painters, whose work is in my view of a very high professional standard. I'm not a great aficionado. For example, I don't know the trends prevailing at the present day in Italian modern painting, though when I'm there I do have a look. Neither do I have any general understanding of Latvian art. But I am pleased that the new Latvian painting is not as drab and brown as it was during the first period of independence. Up to the mid-90s, I was interested mainly in the Latvian classics, and I don't know how it happened that, on one of countless visits to the museum, I had another look at the collection of classics after an interval of three years, and this visit to the museum made me feel somehow depressed. Although I could see that it's all professionally interesting and accomplished. But I wanted more sun, more colour. It all seemed somehow ponderous. Maybe that's why I started following what the young artists are doing. And their optimism fascinated me. The following names are those whose works I have at home: Naglis, Zuters, Laima Bikše, Kaspars Zariņš. And there are others who could also interest me. With paintings too, I can't buy them straight away. I make about three visits, separated by an interval of time, and if I still like the work just as much, then I'll always like it. In a sense, it's that way with other things too. I'm quite choosy, you could say. It's hard for me to find what I like, but if I like something, then I keep liking it. | |
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