Some nights at the opera are sparkling, glittering affairs. And then there are other nights that feel more like a step or two away from a Stephen King horror story – more gore than glamour. And believe it or not, that’s much more my kind of opera . . . the kind that offers up brutal, visceral, stomach- churning intensity. That’s when I feel like I’ve really gotten my money’s worth- and experienced all that opera has to offer as an art form. And by that measure, last night’s opera at the Lyric, though it was a one-act opera lasting scarcely 90 minutes in all, felt like 5 nights worth of opera thrills rolled into one unforgettable night.
The opera was Richard Strauss’s Elektra, a groundbreaking work which knocked the opera world on its ear when it had its world premiere in 1909. The story is based on the Greek myth of Agamemnon, who is murdered by his wife Klytemnestra – an act of betrayal which leaves their daughter Elektra consumed with sorrow and bitter anger as she lives a grim existence in the courtyard, like one of the neglected dogs. As the opera opens, Elektra is singing “Allein!” (“alone”) as she mourns the murder of her beloved father and vows to avenge him, one way or another. The story is fairly intense in and of itself, but what makes it all so painfully raw and disturbing is Strauss’s uncompromising musical score, which conveys Elektra’s pain and bitterness as though it were the musical equivalent of battery acid. The world had never heard such searing dissonance – and not just in the moments of anger and pain, but even in the peaks of ecstasy. For instance, there is the incredible moment when Elektra realizes that her brother Orest, whom she believed to have been killed, was in fact alive and standing before her. Elektra is filled with joy, but joy so intense that it seems as if it might tear her apart – and even we even in the audience almost feel as if we might be torn apart as well, so searing is the ecstasy of the music.
It’s an amazing opera, but there are two essentials in order for it to have its fullest impact. First, you have to have an amazing orchestra able to meet the score’s backbreaking demands – plus a conductor with full mastery of this complex score. Sir Andrew Davis and the Lyric Orchestra covered themselves with glory last night – and by the way, the number of orchestral musicians required to properly perform Elektra is over 100, which makes it one of the largest opera orchestras in the entire repertoire. And when they were going full bore, it felt like the roof of the opera house might blow right off.
The other thing you must have is a soprano equal to the insane demands of the title role. Elektra is essentially onstage the entire night, and has to manage to be audible over that enormous orchestra – and manage a role that takes her from the stratospheric reaches of high soprano to the depths of altos. And beyond just singing this fiendishly difficult music, she has to somehow convey Elektra’s tortured state of being. In short, there is not a more taxing role for soprano than Elektra, and to undertake it a soprano has to be prodigiously gifted- and more than a little courageous. . . or should I say crazy? And in Christine Goerke, the Lyric found someone who was actually equal to the demands of this role . . . and when the performance was over and the lights came up on her for a solo bow, the ovation accorded her was one of the greatest Marshall and I have heard in more than a quarter century of attending the Lyric. The audience knew that they had been witness to a truly extraordinary performance. And because it happened to be the last performance of the run, I think we felt very grateful that the singers had managed to hold it together through all those performances and not burn themselves to a vocal crisp.
I love this opera, in part because I have had several amazing encounters with it. My first encounter was actually hearing some of it in a live from the Met radio broadcast my sophomore year at Luther, back when I was still figuring out what this opera thing was all about. Marshall was really excited about this particular broadcast because it marked the return to the Met of the legendary soprano Birgit Nilsson- and I still remember at one point within the first couple of minutes when you could hear the sound of footsteps in the background. “There she is!” Marshall exclaimed excitedly. “That’s Birgit!” But I’m sure the opera itself left me completely bewildered. The first time I saw it was actually a concert performance at Ravinia- which means you have women in evening gowns and men in tuxes, with no scenery. For the drama to take off, you need exceptional performances, and we had them: Ute Vinzing, Leonie Rysanek, Mignon Dunn, Simon Estes, among others – and none other than James Levine as the conductor. By this point I knew enough to understand how incredibly difficult this score was and what a privilege it was to hear it performed this well. I think that was in 1986 – and in 1992 I finally saw my first fully staged Elektra performance at the Lyric. A Hungarian powerhouse named Eva Marton was the Elektra and opposite her as her depraved mother Klytemnestra was the legendary Leonie Rysanek. That night we clapped until our hands bled, so blown away were we by what we saw and heard. That was twenty years ago but in some ways it feels like just yesterday.
One more Elektra story – which I’ve told before in my blog but I think it’s been years. A long long time ago – twenty years ago at least – Kathy and I were up in MIlwaukee with our friends Lynn and Walter and their kids. My little buddy Shawn (probably 5, 6, maybe 7 years old at the time) was getting antsy during what was supposed to be a quick stop by the Radio Doctors Store. (Remember when there were things called Record Stores in which you could walk in and purchase things called record albums?!?!) Shawn was losing his patience, so I decided to try and keep him entertained by taking him over to the opera section, in the hopes that there would be some album covers that would look fun or be entertaining in some way. And it actually worked, believe it or not. (No one except Greg Berg would think to entertain a 6 year old boy by taking him over to the opera section of a record store.) At one point, as we’re both pulling out albums, he grabbed a recording of Elektra with German soprano Hildegard Behrens on the front, looking downright demented. “Who is that?” I tried to explain, but the story of Elektra is not exactly prime material for the children’s hour, so I just said something about how this woman named Elektra was a very scary lady who was going to do some very terrible things. . . or words to that affect . . . “Can we see it?” Shawn asked excitedly. “Maybe sometime. I have it on tape at home.” And you guessed it: all the way home from Milwaukee to Racine, Shawn begged, pleaded and whined to his folks “I want to watch Elektra.” “Maybe sometime, Shawn,” his parents said. “But I wanna watch Elektra tonight!” Over and over and over again. I’m not sure a youngster has ever begged for anything more ludicrous than what Shawn was begging for that night . . . and to this day, it gives us a good laugh. Shawn still hasn’t seen Elektra – or heard a note of the music . (It’s not exactly the most advisable choice for an operatic newcomer!) But there was more than one moment last night, as Christine Goerke was pouring on the juice, that I thought to myself “I wish my friend Shawn were here!” If any performance could have made him a believer, this was it.
pictured above: Christine Goerke takes her solo bow at the end of the performance. Note the incredible set, one of the best we’ve ever seen at the Lyric. And see the bright red? That’s supposed to be blood on the steps, and it suddenly appeared almost instantly, thanks I’m sure to pipes in the set. But it almost seemed like magic and it was just the right touch to underscore the final climax of this masterpiece, when Elektra- in the wake of her brother Orestes avenging their father’s death by killing both Klytemnestra and her new husband- literally dances herself to death. If you experience this live in the opera house, you’re unlikely to ever forget it.