Portrait of a hopeless world: amazing performance of Berg's Wozzeck at the Auditorio Nacional, Madrid.

Madrid, October 3, 2025.

This is David Afkham's final season as principal conductor of the Spanish National Orchestra. A fruitful period in which this orchestra has become a local benchmark for the Germanic repertoire: its renditions of Bruckner, Mahler, and Wagner bear witness to this. The first title of the ONE's 2025-2026 season is one of the most important operas not only of the 20th century but of all time: Alban Berg's Wozzeck.

Under Arnold Schoenberg, the Second Viennese School challenged tonality at the beginning of the last century, with Alban Berg and Anton Webern as his most accomplished disciples. Berg composed two operas: one, Wozzeck, and the other, Lulu (which he never finished), both inspired by German theatrical masterpieces about tragic outsiders from society. In these operas, Berg successfully balanced theatrical stories with innovative music, while also featuring nods to tradition, taking atonal music to a more human and romantic level than his teacher Schoenberg did. Shortly before the outbreak of World War I, Berg saw a performance of Georg Büchner's play Wozzeck and was immediately struck by the inspiration for an opera. Büchner's work is based on a true story: at the beginning of the 19th century, a soldier, Johann Christian Woyzeck, murdered his partner for being constantly unfaithful and was executed for it. However, his broken mental state (he suffered from schizophrenia) was studied (in a pioneering way at the time), in a case that shocked German society at the time. Both Büchner in his work and Berg in his music dealt with the drama of Woyzeck (whom Berg called Wozzeck), a man with disorders bordering on madness, who is part of an impoverished and exploited working class, living in a vicious cycle of poverty. Berg took ten years to complete this project, and its premiere in Berlin in 1925 was a musical event in a Post-WWI Germany filled with impoverished people like its protagonist, who would entrust themselves to a "Wozzeckian" leader who a decade later would consider this work "degenerate" and ban it during his twelve years of terror. 

Yet, despite everything, time has established Wozzeck in the repertoire for its musical and theatrical power: a stark portrait of the humble working class through the personal tragedy of this impoverished soldier. This story is accompanied by powerful music, requiring a huge orchestra, with orchestral richness, evocative and striking musical interludes, as well as other passages of great beauty; it conveys the anxiety of the protagonist and his surroundings. The music is atonal and twelve-tone, yet incorporates traditional elements such as the leitmotif, with themes that will be heard together in the powerful final orchestral interlude, as a summary of the protagonist's sad life. Its impact can only flow completely in the theater. One leaves Wozzeck overwhelmed, gutted, shaken, but not indifferent. 

In more recent times, this opera has been seen twice in Madrid, always at the Teatro Real, once per decade: in 2006 with a powerful production by Calixto Bieito and conducted by Josep Pons, and in 2013 in a dull production by Christoph Marthaler, but with an outstanding Sylvain Cambreling conducting the orchestra and Simon Keenlyside in the leading role. It now returns in a concert version at the Auditorio Nacional.

David Afkham has done it again: his reading of the work was stunning. Each section of the Spanish National Orchestra sounded as dark, tragic, gloomy, and haunting as the score itself. The orchestra's interpretation of the musical interludes was exquisite, striking, and evocative, conveying their beauty and impact. A case in point is the brief and intense interlude between Scenes 2 and 3 of Act III, after Wozzeck kills Marie, which reflects his frantic escape. A brief piece divided into two parts, one stronger than the other. The ONE performed it so powerfully, from the brief opening by the brass to the final tutti, in forte and agonizingly prolonged, that some people even covered their ears. The rendition of the final interlude was equally striking, followed by a rapid but sad and emotional version of the final chords and woodwind, which foreshadow the tragic fate of the now orphaned son. The Chorus of the Spanish National Orchestra sounds well in its brief interventions: the male chorus managed to make its Act II performance sound like choral folk music in Scene 4 and ghostly in Scene 5. 

Martin Winkler is a well-known singer in Madrid, having recently performed extensively in the capital: Alberich in the Ring (2021,2022), Waldner in Arabella, and Shostakovich's The Nose, both in 2023. Now he takes on a role in which, despite the maturity in his voice and his grotesque guttural timbre, he is masterful as an actor. His Wozzeck is that of a completely mad man, oblivious to reality, the target of ridicule, a human wreck, who inspires compassion, but is also capable of aggression. 

Lise Lindström, on the other hand, was the star of the cast with her well-sung Marie. Her voice is still resilient despite of the orchestra behind her and the repertoire she usually sings. Even so, she delivered impressive high notes and was a superb actress, haunting when she recites the Bible passage in the third act. 

Jürgen Sacher was a well-sung Captain, but overpowered by the orchestra. Stephen Milling sang the role of the Doctor with his beautiful bass voice, but also had moments when the orchestra overpowered him too. Tansel Akzeybek, on the other hand , was a well-sung, youthful, Andres. Rodrigo Garull was a sung Drum Major with an attractive, dramatic voice. Solgerd Isalv was a little more discrete as Margret, although her voice has beautiful low notes. The rest of the supporting cast and the girls' chorus were convincing in their roles. Special mention goes to the boy Jairo Somolinos , who played the unfortunate son of Wozzeck and Marie.

The concert performance had a scenic concept by Susana Gómez, which greatly aided the performance: the play of lighting created an atmosphere as gloomy as the story. In the Marie's death scene and Wozzeck's subsequent escape, the room was lit in a deep red, as well as during the final interlude, when the hall was lit in a turquoise green that increased the feeling of sadness. A barber's chair was used not only for the opening scene, but also as a bed for Wozzeck's son and where the soprano lies for a while after Marie's death.

Wozzeck is not an easy opera, and there were several dropouts during the performance. But those who stayed until the end, the majority, enthusiastically applauded the artists after the ending of the show. A remarkable evening of opera, in which the audience enjoyed the quality of the music and ended moved after an hour and a half of stark realism. Even today, among the most disadvantaged in every society all over the world, there are still Wozzecks and Maries struggling to survive. Berg was a genius, and this proves it.

My reviews are not professional and express only my opinions. As a non English native speaker I apologise for any mistake.

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Retrato de un mundo sin esperanza: Wozzeck en el Auditorio Nacional

Madrid, 3 de octubre de 2025.

Esta es la última temporada de David Afkham como director titular de la Orquesta Nacional de España. Una etapa fructífera en la que esta orquesta se ha convertido en un referente en la ciudad para el repertorio germánico: sus interpretaciones de Bruckner, Mahler y Wagner así lo atestiguan. El primer título de la temporada 2025-2026 de la ONE es una de las óperas más importantes del siglo XX y de todos los tiempos: el Wozzeck de Alban Berg.

De la mano de Arnold Schönberg, la Segunda Escuela de Viena desafió la tonalidad a principios del siglo pasado, con Alban Berg y Anton Webern como sus discípulos más aventajados. Berg compuso dos óperas: una fue Wozzeck, y la otra Lulú (que no terminó), ambas inspiradas en obras maestras del teatro alemán, sobre personajes rechazados por la sociedad. En ellas, Berg logró equilibrar con éxito historias de calidad teatral con una música innovadora, al mismo tiempo con guiños a la tradición, llevando la música atonal a un nivel más humano y romántico que su maestro Schönberg. Poco antes de que empezara la Primera Guerra Mundial, Berg vio una representación de la obra teatral "Wozyeck", de Georg Büchner, e inmediatamente le vino la inspiración para una ópera. La obra de Büchner está basada en un caso real: a principios del siglo XIX, un soldado Johann Christian Woyzeck asesinó a su mujer por serle constantemente infiel y fue ajusticiado por ello, pero se estudió (de forma pionera en la época) su quebrantado estado mental (padecía de esquizofrenia), en un caso que conmocionó a la sociedad alemana de la época. Tanto Büchner en su obra, como Berg en su música, trataron el drama de Woyzeck (al que Berg llamó Wozzeck), un hombre con trastornos en estados ya rayanos con la locura, que forma parte de una clase obrera empobrecida y explotada, que vive en un círculo vicioso de pobreza. Berg tardó diez años en acabar este proyecto, y su estreno en Berlín en 1925, fue todo un acontecimiento musical, en una Alemania repleta de gente empobrecida como su protagonista, que se confiaría a un "wozzeckiano" líder que una década después consideraría esta obra como "degenerada" y la prohibiría durante sus doce años de terror. 

Sin embargo, pese a todo, el tiempo ha convertido a Wozzeck en una ópera consolidada en el repertorio por su fuerza musical y teatral: un retrato descarnado de la clase humilde obrera a través de la tragedia personal de un pobre soldado raso. Esta historia viene acompañada de una música poderosa, que requiere una enorme orquesta, con una riqueza orquestal, con evocadores e impactantes interludios musicales, y otros pasajes de gran belleza; que transmite la ansiedad del protagonista y de su entorno. Una música atonal y dodecafónica, pero que incorpora elementos tradicionales como el leitmotiv, con temas que se escucharán reunidos en el potente interludio orquestal final, como el resumen de la triste vida del protagonista. Es una obra cuyo impacto solo se puede en plenitud total en el teatro. De Wozzeck se sale sobrecogido, destrozado, revuelto, pero no indiferente. 

En épocas más recientes, se ha podido ver esta ópera hasta dos veces en Madrid, siempre en el Teatro Real, a una por década: en 2006 con una potente producción de Calixto Bieito y con la batuta de Josep Pons, y en 2013 en una aburrida producción de Christoph Marthaler, pero con un sobresaliente Sylvain Cambreling al frente de la orquesta, y el reconocido Simon Keenlyside como protagonista. Ahora regresa en una versión de concierto, al inmenso Auditorio Nacional.

David Afkham lo ha vuelto a hacer: su lectura de la obra ha sido impactante. Cada sección de la Orquesta Nacional de España sonó tan oscura, trágica, lúgubre, sobrecogedora, como la partitura misma. La interpretación de los interludios musicales fue exquisita, impactante, evocadora, por parte de la orquesta, transmitiendo su belleza y su impacto. Sirva de ejemplo el breve e intenso interludio entre las escenas 2 y 3 del tercer acto, después de que Wozzeck mate a Marie, y que refleja su huída frenética. Una breve pieza dividida en dos partes, una más fuerte que la otra. Pues a la ONE le salió tan potente, desde el breve inicio por parte del metal, hasta el tutti final, en forte y prolongado agónicamente, que hubo gente que hasta se tapó los oídos. La lectura del interludio final fue igualmente impactante, seguida de una versión rápida, pero triste y emotiva de los acordes finales, que presagian el trágico destino del ahora huérfano hijo de Wozzeck y Marie. El Coro de la Orquesta Nacional de España suena bien en sus breves intervenciones: el coro masculino logró que su intervención del acto segundo sonara como la música popular coral en la escena cuarta y fantasmal en la quinta. 

Martin Winkler es un cantante conocido en Madrid, ya que en los últimos tiempos ha cantado mucho en la capital: Alberich en el Anillo, Waldner en Arabella y la Nariz de Shostakovich. Ahora viene con un rol en el que si bien vocalmente está ya maduro y tiene un grotesco timbre gutural, a nivel actoral lo domina. Su Wozzeck es el de un hombre totalmente loco, ajeno a la realidad,  blanco de burlas un despojo humano, que inspira compasión, pero que también es capaz de ser agresivo. 

Lise Lindström en cambio fue la mejor del elenco con su Marie bien cantada, y con la voz aún resistente pese a notarse un poco de desgaste, debido a que tenía la orquesta detrás y por el repertorio que ha cantado. Aun así dio agudos impresionantes, y como actriz estuvo estupenda, sobrecogedora cuando recita en el tercer acto el pasaje de la Biblia. 

Jürgen Sacher fue un Capitán bien cantado, pero sobrepasado por la orquesta. Stephen Milling cantó bien el rol del Doctor, con su bella voz de bajo, pero también tuvo momentos en los que la orquesta le venció. En cambio Tansel Akzeybek superó la prueba con su bien cantado Andres, de timbre juvenil. Rodrigo Garull fue un Tambormayor cantado con una atractiva voz de timbre dramático. Un poco más discreta Solgerd Isalv como Margret, aunque la voz tiene bonitos graves. El resto de comprimarios y el coro de niñas estuvieron convincentes en sus partes. Mención aparte el niño Jairo Somolinos que interpretó al desdichado hijo de Wozzeck y Marie.

La función contó con un concepto escénico de Susana Gómez, que ayudó bastante a la representación: el juego de luces creó un ambiente tan lúgubre como la historia, y en momentos como la muerte de Marie y la posterior huída de Wozzeck, la sala se iluminó de un rojo intenso, así como durante el interludio final, que se iluminó de un verde turquesa que aumentaba la sensación de tristeza. Se dispuso de una sillón de barbero no solo para la escena inicial, sino también como cama del hijo de Wozzeck y en la que la soprano estuvo recostada despúes de la escena de la muerte de Marie.

Wozzeck no es una ópera fácil, y durante la función hubo varias deserciones. Pero los que se quedaron al final, la mayoría, aplaudieron con entusiasmo a los artistas después de acabar la función. Una notable tarde de ópera, en la que uno disfruta por la calidad musical, y sale conmocionado después de hora y media de realismo descarnado. En el mundo, entre los más desfavorecidos de todas las sociedades sigue habiendo Wozzecks y Maries luchando por sobrevivir. Berg era un genio y esto lo demuestra.

Las fotografías y vídeos no son de mi autoría, si alguien se muestra disconforme con la publicación de cualquiera de ellas en este blog le pido que me lo haga saber inmediatamente. Cualquier reproducción de este texto necesita mi permiso.

La última pasión de una mujer: Pepita Jiménez en el Teatro de la Zarzuela.

Madrid, 1 de octubre de 2025. 

Hoy en día Isaac Albéniz es conocido principalmente por su obra para piano. Pero también tuvo una faceta como compositor de música escénica, que no ha conocido el mismo reconocimiento. Y dentro de esta faceta poco explorada, Albéniz compuso varias obras en inglés, tres de ellas surgidas de la colaboración con el libretista inglés Francis Burdett Money-Coutts: Merlín, Henry Clifford, y Pepita Jiménez. Estas tres óperas han conocido cierta difusión debido a las grabaciones que José de Eusebio y Plácido Domingo hicieron a principios de los años 2000. Merlín fue estrenada escénicamente, con todos los honores, en el Teatro Real en 2003 (aunque en los años 50 en Barcelona se estrenó una versión corta en español). Henry Clifford se estrenó en el Liceu de Barcelona en 1895, cantada en italiano, conociendo un éxito discreto; siendo reestrenada en versión concierto en Canarias en 2009. Al año siguiente, en 1896, se estrenó, también cantada en italiano, Pepita Jiménez, basada en la novela de Juan Valera. 

De esta obra, habría varias versiones, que se conocieron en diferentes estrenos: si la de 1896 en italiano fue de un acto, en 1897 se estrenó en Praga en alemán, pero en dos actos, y luego en París y Bruselas en francés. En 1964, Pablo Sorozábal hizo una versión en tres actos, y cantada en español que se estrenó en el Teatro de la Zarzuela, con nada menos que Pilar Lorengar y Alfredo Kraus como pareja protagonista. En tiempos más recientes, se ha escenificado en versión inglesa. En 2013, se vio la versión en inglés en los Teatros del Canal de Madrid, dirigida en lo escénico por Calixto Bieito y con Nicola Beller Carbone en el rol principal, producción que se repondría en Oviedo en 2015. Ahora en 2025, vuelve al Teatro de la Zarzuela en la versión de Sorozábal.

Para esta ocasión, se ha contado con Giancarlo del Monaco para la puesta en escena. El veterano regista realiza una puesta en escena ambientada en los años veinte o treinta del siglo pasado, a juzgar por el vestuario de Jesús Ruiz. La escenografía de Daniel Bianco, muestra una omnipresente enorme estructura de tres plantas y escaleras, que además gira durante buena parte del segundo acto. Al comenzar la música, hay un telón negro, y Pepita, con la apariencia más de una viuda madura que de la joven veinteañera de la historia original, agarra el telón hasta tirarlo al suelo, convirtiéndolo en un enorme manto. Al fondo hay una pintura de un cielo en atardecer y en escena un cerezo, además de un enorme cuadrilátero con un espejo que refleja la puesta en escena. La represión sexual de Pepita no sólo se manifiesta con el amor prohibido hacia Luis, sino que en un momento dado, besa al vicario. En el segundo acto, la enorme estructura gira sin parar durante el aria de Pepita, para luego mostrar en el centro del escenario una enorme cama, y en las plantas superiores, al coro, con las mujeres vestidas de negro con una mantilla blanca en la cabeza. Durante el tercer acto, el más intenso en todo sentido, mientras suena el bello preludio, Pepita se desviste para dormir, mientras caen pétalos blancos sobre el escenario. Luis aparece descalzo, y es aquí donde empiezan las contradicciones con el libreto. Luis cae rendido a los encantos de una Pepita que, rodeándole con una enorme sábana negra, le empieza a desvestir, mientras que canta que su amor es fraternal y que el beso que se dieron fue un error. De hecho, hay un breve momento donde tienen relaciones sexuales (evidentemente simuladas), y mientras el libreto muestra un último intento de rechazar a Pepita, Luis parece seguir luchando contra las caricias de ella. Finalmente la acepta, pero ella muere en la cama. 

Aún a través de la orquestación de Sorozábal, se puede ver que la música de Albéniz muestra varias influencias tanto del verismo, wagnerianas y sobre todo una esencia española, presente en muchos momentos de la obra. Guillermo García Calvo dirige la Orquesta de la Comunidad de Madrid (la titular de la Zarzuela), en una interpretación entregada, tratando de extraer toda la fuerza sonora de la obra. El viento madera tuvo su momento de lucimiento en el bello nocturno que da inicio al tercer acto. Bien el coro, aunque algo afectado por su situación en la estructura escénica y por la orquesta.

Ángeles Blancas interpretó a Pepita. La voz tiene presencia y volumen, aunque en algunos agudos, cuanto más arriba, sonaba un poco estridente. Su autoridad escénica compensó cualquier limitación, convenciendo aquí como una Pepita que no es una joven viuda, sino una experimentada mujer madura ilusionada con un bello joven. 

Poco antes de empezar la función, se anunció que el rol de Luis lo cantaría el tenor Antoni Lliteres en lugar del previsto Leonardo Caimi. No sé cómo sonaría Caimi, pero Lliteres dio la interpretación más aplaudida de toda la función. Su bella voz juvenil, lírica transmitieron la belleza y pureza de su personaje. Estuvo espléndido en su aria del tercer acto, que fue muy aplaudida, y en el dúo siguiente. 

En cuanto al resto del elenco, todos bastante notables: el veterano Rubén Amoretti un Vicario muy bien cantado, igualmente la mezzosoprano Ana Ibarra, una Antoñona bien cantada, así como Rodrigo Esteve en el rol de Pedro (el padre de Luis) y Pablo López como Genazahar.

Nunca había estado en una función de estreno del Teatro de la Zarzuela, algo que me gusta que siga siendo asequible al público, a diferencia de las funciones de estreno del Teatro Real, a precios exorbitantes. No es que estuviera lleno el teatro, por otra parte.  

Al final de la función, hubo aplausos para el elenco musical, especialmente para Lliteres. Sin embargo, al salir el equipo escénico, hubo abucheos. Incluso Del Monaco hizo el ademán de poner la oreja para escucharlos. Mientras todo el equipo recibía los aplausos, un técnico del teatro colocó una bandera palestina en la plataforma escénica, lo que fue muy aplaudido. Sin embargo, poco después aumentaron los abucheos, no se sabe si por Del Monaco o por la bandera.

Con todo, recomendable asistir a estas funciones, es una oportunidad única, con una ópera interesante que no se repondrá previsiblemente en mucho tiempo.

Las fotografías y vídeos no son de mi autoría, si alguien se muestra disconforme con la publicación de cualquiera de ellas en este blog le pido que me lo haga saber inmediatamente. Cualquier reproducción de este texto necesita mi permiso.

Otello... or should we say Desdemona? Asmik Grigorian returns triumphant to the Teatro Real.

 

Madrid, September 28, 2025.

After completing Aida ( taking a while to convince him to compose it), the great Giuseppe Verdi had intended to retire. He had already composed quite a bit in his youth, during his famous "galley years," and in subsequent decades, during which he had created much of the work for which he is remembered today. However, the Italian genius still had much to say. In 1874, on the occasion of the death of Alessandro Manzoni, he composed his magnificent Requiem. In 1881, he would revise his Simon Boccanegra, which would definitely establish the work in the repertoire. In 1883 and 1886, he revised the Italian version of his Don Carlo. But it was difficult to convince him to compose a new opera. He finally accepted the challenge: this time based on Shakespeare's Othello, as the Bard's plays fascinated Verdi. As early as 1847, he produced a masterpiece, Macbeth. Verdi was fascinated by the character of Iago, and his new creation was initially to bear this name. But it was eventually called Otello. The 1887 world premiere of his Otello at La Scala in Milan was a huge success and became a major title in the operatic repertoire from that moment on.

Shortly after its premiere, it received its Madrid premiere at the Teatro Real in 1890. Shortly after, it was reprised, featuring Francesco Tamagno, the same tenor who premiered this opera at La Scala. Since then, it opera has been performed frequently in Madrid. Plácido Domingo, the last great Otello of the last 40 years, sang it several times in the capital, including once at the now-defunct Vicente Calderón Stadium in the 1980s. After the reopening of the Teatro Real, it was performed in 2000 with José Cura and Renato Bruson, and in 2016, for the last time, with Gregory Kunde, George Petean, and Ermonela Jaho in the first cast, and in the second with Alfred Kim, Lianna Harotounian and Ángel Ódena, the latter two giving amazing performances. Nine years later, it returns with the same staging, directed by David Alden.

Alden's production, which, judging by his productions of Alcina and Lucia di Lammermoor, seems to have a fondness for dilapidated buildings, has very interesting details that make it more enjoyable live than on video. All the action takes place in the enormous and gloomy hall of a ruined palace, intensifying the drama, bringing together all of Iago's scheme and Othello's jealousy in a violent, oppressive, and suffocating atmosphere. The staging may seem overly somber, but it doesn't make the play too difficult to understand, allowing its plot to be followed quite clearly. In a device that seems taken from Elizabethan theater, Iago is present for almost the entire action, a creation of his own; as were Virtue and Vice in some dramas of that period, as supernatural entities that control human actions. Another interesting aspect of the production is the use of shadows, noticeable in different areas of the theater, especially on the right side of the hall. One could see the shadows of Othello and Desdemona in their love duet, or in the second act, the shadow of Iago, sitting near a door, projecting itself gigantically over the shadow of Othello and Cassio, an allegory of his evil superiority.  Jon Morell's costumes move the action to an unspecified time in the first half of last century. Adam Silverman's lighting created moments of certain beauty, such as in Othello's monologue "Dio mi potevi," illuminating the Moor with a single light, from the left, as he writhes with jealousy, or the lovers' duet in the first act, as well as the tragic finale, with a somewhat blue light. The hall is dominated by a large door, which opens in the second act to reveal a desert landscape, more appropriate for a sunset on Mars than Cyprus. In the third act, however, it shows a ruined wall, bathed in a beautiful orange light. The production incorporates dancing, especially by a female soloist, but in the second act, the officers perform a laughable dance while offering gifts to Desdemona. Otello kills Desdemona not by strangling her, but by crushing her. In the end, everyone slowly leaves the stage, except for Iago, who witnesses the final tragedy: Otello dying in a corner, unable to approach Desdemona, as the stage gradually darkens.

The music manages to combine Italian tradition with new musical conventions, such as the absence of closed numbers, to avoid applauses and bravos distracting from the plot. Drawing on the composer's innate ability to create atmospheres with his music, the score conveys the atmosphere of intrigue, conflict, and emotion of the main trio. He didn't need to, but Verdi managed to evolve his music to the point of defying his artistic rival, Richard Wagner. In these performances, except for two, the musical director is Nicola Luisotti , so beloved by the audience. Leading the Teatro Real Orchestra , the Italian maestro conducts with his usual force, something also welcome in this spectacular work, although at times a little lyricism could be missed. The strings sounded beautiful in the love duet, and thrilling in moments such as the tremendous tremolo when Otello enters Desdemona's room, after having lifted the audience in the previous aria, as much as the soprano herself. The Real's brass instruments, in their usual powerful line when conducted by this maestro, as well as the English horn and other woodwind instruments in the beautiful introduction to Act 4, shone brightly. The Teatro Real Choir , under the direction of José Luis Basso , sounded spectacular at the beginning of the work, where they sang their most important part, their powerful voices dominating the mighty sound of the orchestra. Their rendition of the fragment " Dio, fulgor della bufera!" was thrilling, as was the later in the lively "Fuoco di Gioia." A high point is at the end of Act 3, when they have to sing "Evviva Otello, Evviva il leon di Venezia" offstage, where they sounded as imposing as ominous. The children's choir, the Pequeños Cantores de la ORCAM,  was also featured in Act 2.

Otello is to Verdi what Tristan or Siegfried are to Wagner. A "tenor-killing" role. A role that requires vocal strength and dramatic tone, which tests the tenor who performs it. In the past, tenors were afraid of the role. Some, like Caruso, even if they could have taken it on, didn't dare. Today, it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to find a suitable tenor to sing it. And those who do, endure pressure and comparisons with tenors of the past who were surely more capable. Otello is a Moor converted to Christianity, so to recreate his dark skin, tenors blackfaced their faces. Today, this is considered racist, so if the singer is white, so does Otello. Back in 2016, this generated some comment in the local music press. In these circumstances, the American tenor Brian Jagde strives to give his best. His voice is powerful, has a pleasing timbre, and his dedication is total. His Otello is that of an overly impulsive young man, and his performance improved as the work was transcurring. The Esultate, with such a difficult range, was a bit difficult for him in the final phrase "dopo l'armi, lo vinse l'uragano." The best moment was in the "Ora e per sempre addio," where his singing achieved a balance between strength and lyric beauty. In the "Dio mi potevi scagliar," he attempted to convey the character's fragility with heartbreaking singing. The final "Niun mi tema" was as moving as his abilities allowed, contributing to convey the aura of tragedy that concludes the work. 

Although the tenor is the protagonist of this opera, ironically, the main attraction of this run of performances is to see Asmik Grigorian in the role of Desdemona. One of today's most acclaimed sopranos worldwide, Grigorian is an accomplished singer-actress who has taken on a highly varied repertoire, so far succeeding. In addition to being a capable singer, she is a very beautiful woman with a slender physique. And once again, she has risen to the challenge. Her voice not only has a beautiful dramatic tone, but she is also capable of projecting it well throughout the theater. She is capable of producing beautiful sounds, such as in "te ne rammenti," sweet pianissimos, and even a couple of imposing high notes in the duet with Otello in Act Three. The most anticipated moment of the evening was her grand scene in Act Four, with the two arias together: Piangea cantando, the famous willow song, and Ave Maria. Grigorian, transfigured, transformed into her own character for a moment, gave a lesson in singing and sensitivity (she movingly sings the two words "cantiamo, cantiamo"), emotion (another beautiful high note in "Ah, addio Emilia, addio") and refinement (in Ave Maria, singing with lyricism and conveying the sadness of her character). Finally, that voice of pain says goodbye, singing with a beautiful timbre her last lines " Ingiustamente... uccisa ingiustamente...", before remaining as beautiful as it is rigid... a further example of her stage talents.

Gabriele Viviani gave a generously sized performance to Iago, with a villainous timbre, but a bit flat in conveying the character... his Iago is more of a thug than an intelligent villain. I still remember Ángel Ódena at this same theater and in this same role, becoming the embodiment of absolute evil during the famous Credo. Viviani sings as neatly and correctly as possible, and for example, in the finale of the second act, his volume is comparable to Jagde's Otello, but he doesn't fully convey the nuances of his rich character.

Airam Hernández performed well as Cassio, and veteran mezzo-soprano  Enkelejda Shkoza as Emilia still retains a beautiful timbre that is audible. Korean bass In Sung Sim was outstanding as Lodovico, delivering a beautiful bass voice with a wonderful bass line in his brief third-act performance. Albert Casals performed competently as Roderigo and Fernando Radó performed competently as Montano.

The theater was full, and the audience gave a standing ovation to Grigorian, as well as to Jagde and Luisotti. Madrid loves Verdi, and the great Verdi always makes you leave the theater with a smile or completely uplifted, even if the cast has its ups and downs. Otello is such a beautiful, vibrant opera that it's very hard to get bored during the performance, going by in a flash. And specially if it features a great diva in the cast.

My reviews are not professional and express only my opinions. As a non English native speaker I apologise for any mistake.

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