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| foto: Joanna |
Esta es la crónica de Joanna, que asistió a las sesiones de los días 19 y 20 del Requiem de Verdi de Philadelphia, con dirección de Yannick Nézet-Séguin, con Rolando Villazón como tenor. Os dejo también fotos suyas y de Marion. Thank you both!
I did it. I survived. I can now finally say that I have seen Rolando Villazón perform live, not once, but twice.
Here is the story of those magical nights.
I begin with a certain given: I knew that something would surprise me about the whole experience, I just couldn’t predict what. In both performances, so much came together into a kind of marvelous union: the conductor, the orchestra, the chorus, and the soloists. Yannick was on fire, conducting without a score, sawing the air with his baton, the brilliant master and commander of this magnificent ship. The soloists were superb, their voices blending in complete and gorgeous harmony.
One of the big surprises of the evening was the large choir: they were fabulous and forceful in the powerful “Dies irae” and “Sanctus” and delicate and soulful in the soft passages. One would have thought that these were 170 seasoned veterans, but this was not the case. They were in fact students from a small music school in New Jersey, all of them barely in their early twenties. But more about them later in a very “Rolando-esque” moment.
I’ve heard so many of you say that hearing Rolando on CDs and DVDs is so different from seeing him live. Now I know what you mean. Watching him sing is a physiological, even visceral, experience. You feel it throughout your body, like blood coursing through your veins. You feel it in the pit of your stomach. You feel him in the air where his voice shimmers or cuts through you. He sings with his whole body in a way that I have never seen anyone else do before. And that voice: so full of colors, nuances, and richness that you actually hear the music in a new way.
I watch him closely throughout the performance. The music is so powerful for him that on occasion he closes his eyes trying to take it all in. He is so excited during the “Dies irae,” that he begins to nod his head sharply, punctuating the forceful rhythms, looking like he is about to do some serious head-banging. The tenor in the Requiem is judged by his “Ingemisco,” and Rolando shapes his with a staggering beauty that brings you to your knees. And what can you say about “Hostias”? It is sung with such exquisite, melting sweetness that it would wring tears from a rock. When those violins shimmer and he sings the first notes, I am transfixed. During the final moments, a beaming smile spills over his face—“Perfection, bliss,” he seems to be thinking.
The final note sounds softly, and Yannick holds his baton, poised in perfect stillness. Everyone and everything freezes. There is a hushed moment that hangs in the air for what seems like forever. Yannick barely begins to lower his baton, and the audience explodes into wild applause and cheers, jumping out of their seats for an immediate standing ovation. I promise you that this is not typical behavior after classical music concerts in America. If we give standing ovations, we must be coaxed out of our seats very gradually. Not here. The audience has been completely and overwhelming swept up. The young choir receives a resounding roar of approval. The performers, hand-in-hand, take their final bow, and a jubilant Yannick kisses Rolando’s (and only Rolando’s) hand in a touching moment of friendship and gratitude.
Almost impossibly, the second performance is even better than the first. Simply perfect.
A particularly memorable and touching scene followed the second performance. The young members of the choir (and it looked like all 170 of them) lined up for autographs from Rolando. The line stretched down a long hallway as far as the eye could see. Each student brought his/her score for Rolando to sign, all of them choosing the pages of “Ingemisco” or “Hostias” for the signature. The looks on their faces as they approached Rolando for their turn was just precious. “You were fantastic,” “You were incredible,” they said to him over and over. These fresh-faced kids looked completely star-struck, gazing at Rolando in a kind of giddy wonderment. Soon the students began beseeching Rolando for not just a signature but a drawing as well, and once that started, there was no going back. Rolando promptly announced that he would be charging 2 euros for each drawing, which drew a big laugh. I’m sure even these poor students would have paid it. As this scene unfolded, there were some special moments. One young woman’s name was “Maria,” and Rolando promptly burst into “Maria, I just met a girl named Maria…” to her complete delight. A young man approached Rolando, loudly proclaiming, “You’re fantastic! I’m Philipino!” The delightful non-sequitur, spoken in such a heightened state of obvious and ridiculous excitement, drew a howl of laughter from the crowd.
Each time and for each student, Rolando exhibited that kindness, humor, and generosity that so many of you have described during the autograph sessions. After about 25 minutes of signing, the Kimmel Center staff was looking anxious to bring it to an end, even though there were still many more students waiting. The choir director then asked all students making the trip to New York to ask for Rolando’s autograph there. The young people walked away, hopefully only disappointed for a few more days.
Then out into the dark night wondering, “Did this really just happen, or did I make it up out of my over-active imagination? Too much Chardonnay?" Each morning I woke to find that, yes, indeed, I just saw Rolando perform, and he was superb. I promise you all this is just the first of many more to come. I’ve only just begun.
Viva Rolando! Viva Philadelphia!
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| foto: Joanna |
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| foto: Marion 19/10/12 |
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| foto: Marion 20/10/12 |
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| foto: Joanna 20/10/12 |
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| foto: Marion 20/10/12 |
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| foto: Marion 20/10/12 |
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| foto: Marion 20/10/12 |
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