Allyson McHardy at Opera Hamilton's Popera
Opera Hamilton’s last Popera at Hamilton Place, before the company’s move to the more intimate and less pricey Dofasco Centre for the Arts for 2011-2012, was a richly satisfying evening. With David Speers conducting, the orchestra began the overture to Luisa Miller lyrically with an occasional punch of Verdian chords before transitioning to full-tilt Verdi of frenzied cascades in the slightly ragged strings, ethereal winds that seemed to tease the bowed sections, and then the assertive and uncompromising brass. Later, in the Intermezzo to I Pagliacci, these same strings seemed a chorus of individuals which in turn humanized the orchestra’s full-bodied sound into a pleasing complexity of texture. In the overture to La Cenerentola, Speers opted not for lunatic urgency one might expect in Rossini but, instead, a very enjoyable tasting of musical detail.
The large grouping of the McMaster University Choir and the Opera Hamilton Chorus seemed, on the whole, surprisingly subdued. In the Cigarette Girls’ Chorus from Carmen, this restraint proved befittingly leisurely for the hot streets of Seville, but in the Kermesse Waltz from Faust the chorus seemed a tad too polite, like a young wine that still hasn’t matured into a blend of subtleties. In what seems the inevitable and inescapable Va Pensiero from Nabbuco, with vocal riches effectively balanced, and with Speers nailing the orchestral punctuation to maximum effect, these Hebrew slaves did seem dramatically without a care in the world.
The solo arias and groupings began in breathtaking fashion with Lyne Fortin’s Ave Maria from Verdi’s Otello given a performance of stunning beauty. Fortin’s voice is solidly anchored in the lower range, so her vulnerability as Desdemona, as a result, was cleanly shaped, substantial in body, and especially clear. Later, in Pleurez, pleurez mes yeux from Massenet’s Le Cid, Fortin was inherently dramatic without artifice, emotionally logical with one depth of feeling leading to another. The night’s mezzo was Allyson McHardy whose Carmen, after a physically cocky entrance, sang the Habanera with a measured richness that was pungent but also defiant in, paradoxically, its air of restraint. This Carmen oozed confidence because she seemed sexually self-sufficient, almost arrogant in sexuality. As Cinderella, McHardy, with a voice of body and substance, showed ease in range, in effortless fluidity, and in ornamentation.
The first pairing was Viens, Mallika from Lakme, in which Fortin’s rounded upper tones and McHardy’s firm delicacy created a blending of lilting individual wills. Later, McHardy joined bass baritone Daniel Okulitch, as a Don Giovanni who seems arrogant about his own charm, in a well-conceived La Ci Darem from Don Giovanni in which physical acting enriched the libretto. In the Finale of Act I of Madama Butterfly, Fortin united what one might call a magnitude of dignity with her delicacy as Cio-Cio San, while tenor Gordon Gietz, with a voice more saxophone than trumpet, brought a compelling qualities of both everyday naturalness and tenacity to Pinkerton. All four soloists appeared in the Act II Finale of La Traviata. Gietz as Alfredo and Fortin as Violetta did not coast as icons of romantic melodrama, but became two people realizing the deep pain of intimacy. Violetta seemed battered already before Alfredo spoke (sang) and he seemed a guy out of his depth in this situation of what he thought was betrayal. By not pushing the drama but instead slowly realizing it, they were indeed very moving.
Like the ladies, the men were adept at characterization. In Non Piu Andrai, Daniel Okulitch’s crisp enunciation gave a flavour of piquant irony to Figaro. He was solid in tone, playful in facial and bodily expression, and a very amiable presence. In Tannhauser, he sang “Dusk covers the land” like a metaphysical pronouncement from the heart, with an authority even in moments of yearning delicacy. In Rachmaninoff’s Aleko his subtly impassioned “How she loved me” showed palpable inner pain and unforced desperation of one who cannot escape into the past. Gordon Gietz’s Chanson de Kleinzach showed a dark-edged tenor with a faintly plaintive quality in his meaty voice doing fun and entertaining, especially when physically punctuating his lyrics. His E Lucevan Le Stelle from Tosca, on the other hand, was sung with poise and some restraint, leaning more to fluidity of musical line than emotional cues in the libretto. It was sung with a pleasingly natural “Everyguy” personality in voice and manner that one not often finds among operatic tenors.