THE ART OF SONG DECONSTRUCTED: "THAT'S AMORE!" Uel Wade and M. Hunter ccSCOOP Review On February 14, the Hudson Opera House was jam-packed with Valentine celebrants who heard a program of French art songs, Italian arias, a Neapolitan song, and duets from operetta and film. Is there a better way to celebrate “amore” than by listening to songs sung by a young, recently married couple blessed with big voices and cherubic faces? The program could easily have been called “Love in 3-4 Time,” given the plethora of waltzes. The singers led off with what may be the most famous one of all: “I Love You,” from The Merry Widow by Franz Lehár.

The duet provided a clear glimpse of how this couple, alone or together, would deal with classical and semi-classical material. They would make some very beautiful sounds but often retreat behind “singer's mask” until the final cadence. It was especially evident when, at the moment each song ended, charming, communicative individuals emerged.

Many singers give lip service to “becoming a character.” Few actually do it. Opera people in particular often succumb to
stereotypical operatic gestures and the sin that actors call “indicating.” Even more common is eyes-glazed-over-while-I-listen-to-my-beautiful-tones. These two did quite a bit of that except when . . . but more about that later. Meanwhile we had the beautiful voices.

Ms. Layton’s French art songs were all from the late 19th century. The first two by Ernest Chausson are early works with nicely contoured melodies and tasteful harmonies, very much influenced by Franck. This early style is as light as the hummingbird celebrated in Chausson’s “Le Colibri.” The song is set in 5-4, a somewhat unusual meter, which the composer manages very naturally. These songs were nicely sung except for the tendency of Ms. Layton to gaze at a spot
where wall meets ceiling (a hummingbird up there?) and then drop focus between each phrase.

“Notre Amour” is an example of Fauré’s early style, which typically deals with strophic texts. He was a master of the technique of unfolding melodies with surprising turns and modal harmonies that give strophic texts some welcome variety. But the variety is subtle: here the melody consists mostly of scales, and the rhythms are characteristically homogeneous; thus the song requires more acting variety than Ms. Layton brought to it, although her phrasing was
supple and musical.

Saint-Saëns (whose clarity and craftsmanship exerted a strong influence on the young Fauré) was represented by “Aimons Nous.” This is a second-rate poem set in second-rate music, and it does not translate well from orchestra to piano. There is an endless succession of block chords in quarter notes (the pianist chose to arpeggiate all of them) and an unyielding tempo. This older composer never gave in to the intense expressionism of his Romantic contemporaries, and his music remained conservative his whole life long. Ms. Layton had some intonation problems here, as elsewhere,
mostly in quick passages. However, her sustained passages were beautifully done.

For the next group, Mr. Layton stuck with the Italians. In the beautiful, popular “Una furtiva lagrima,” from Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore, he sang with great flexibility and secure intonation; and when called upon, he exhibited a well-controlled, floating dolce. However, one had no sense that he was a real person—or singing to one. The meaning of his closed eyes during the glorious transition from minor to major was especially questionable.

“Let’s lighten it up a bit,” he said afterward. Since there is a bittersweet quality to the Donizetti aria, he turned to “Maria Mari,” a delightful song by Eduardo di Capua (better known as the composer of famous Neapolitan songs such as “O Sole Mio” and “Torna a Surriento.” (Officially di Capua is only the co-author with Mazzuchi.) It’s another waltz, but this time with a Spanish flavor, probably because the scene includes a window, a girl, and a suitor on the street below.

The next waltz was Neapolitan: the famous “Mattinata,” by Leoncavallo, composer of Pagliacci. It was the first song written expressly for the gramophone, then recorded in 1904 by Caruso with the composer at the piano. Mr. Layton’s thrilling upper register was well used here.

It is odd indeed that the highlight of the afternoon was a delicious, old pop song: Frank Loesser’s “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” It was written in 1944, premiered at a house party by the composer and his wife (Jo Sullivan), and sung by them at many parties thereafter. In 1949 MGM inserted it into a film (Neptune’s Daughter), and it won an Academy Award. With this song, the masks came off these two singers. No opera mannerisms. No eyes glazed over. They played with and against each other with great freedom, pleading, teasing, whatever it took to reveal the relationship. (And, yes, even art songs must be delivered by real people, unmasked.) “Baby” worked wonderfully in spite of the pianist, who executed an excellent arrangement in more ways than one.

They closed with “Something Good” from The Sound of Music. Not a great song, but even worse at their deadly tempo. “Move this truck!” I kept thinking.

We hate to be critical of Jason R. Klein, who filled in for the Laytons’ regular pianist only twelve days before the performance, but fireman-duty must be a part of any accompanist’s bag of skills. There were obvious wrong notes and wrong chords throughout the program, and too often there was no strong, flexible support for the singers.

And then—oh Dino, it was inevitable. “That’s Amore”—as a singalong. Twice.

That’s

a
dumb

song.

(The performers probably thought so too, as they resorted to reading the lyrics.)

In the Q&A afterward, Diamond Opera Theater’s Mary Deyerle Hack asked them about pre-performance rituals. Both claimed to eat almost nothing on the day of a performance. Mr. Layton noted that opera singers are increasingly asked for more agility while singing. Therefore they are getting into better shape. Good point. These kids are gorgeous from the neck up. But oversize is over. Singing is a visual as well as an aural art. Even the Met is now trying to cast more to type.

We disagreed with Ms. Hack’s description of the differences between classical and Broadway singers. (But then, voice people disagree about almost everything!) The best singers in all genres aim for a smooth transition throughout the registers. It is true that nowadays Broadway singers often drag chest too high in a nasty, nasal screech, and opera singers often emit flabby, weak low notes for lack of chest pull. But good singers in both genres don’t have a break.

Ms. Hack noted the program’s absence of love-gone-wrong songs, which are certainly abundant in opera as well as country western music. Did we need them on Valentine’s Day? Naah.

Despite our nagging, the truth is that this series (The Art of Song Deconstructed) is always worthwhile. Talent abounds, and the performers and the repertoire always exhibit something special, something worth imbibing. And would you believe, it’s free!

Brahms' Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52, is the next offering in this series. Saturday, March 14, at 4 o’clock.