Monday, October 06, 2003

By Andrew Druckenbrod, Post-Gazette Classical Music Critic

A surprise twist at the end of a thriller can leave you astonished with the contortion of logic. But dramatic art also can overwhelm you with an unexpected emotional moment, one you didn't see coming, or one arriving after you were lulled into thinking the play, film or opera wouldn't delve so deeply.

The transcendent end of Sofia Coppola's brilliant new film "Lost in Translation" is one such example, and there are countless others in the history of film and theater that simply don't set you up for the emotional impact of the final scene (De Sica's film "The Bicycle Thief" comes to mind). Opera has fewer examples, but singing's ability to create instant bonds with one's sentiments can make the strategy quite effective, none more so than in "Dido & Aeneas." Nowhere in the first two and a half acts of this droll baroque opera by Henry Purcell do you get the idea that you'll be so moved. But then Dido, dying from a broken heart, sings her "Lament."

The opera's plot, even with a marvelous co-production by Chatham Baroque and the Renaissance & Baroque Society Saturday night, seems rather silly. Queen Dido of Carthage (soprano Julianne Baird) is so fickle and overly sensitive in her interaction with her lover, the Trojan prince Aeneas (bass Curtis Streetman), that the opera's more a parody of Restoration English court protocol than reality. And to the modern audience at Synod Hall in Oakland, the antiquated affectations and period dancing have less meaning, even when buoyed by Purcell's gorgeous music.

But then, just as you are done laughing at the mean-spirited sorceress (contralto Daphne Alderson) and the drunken sailor (tenor Robert Frankenberry), and ready to write the opera off as light entertainment, Purcell hits you with the "Lament." A sorrowful chord progression that gives the blues a run for its money, its odd structure, chromaticism and haunting melody touch the listener in a way impossible to explain. Perhaps we finally have pity on this odd character, or perhaps her childlike self-centeredness resonates with a part of us we try to ignore as adults. In any case, Baird's voice was the equivalent of lips trembling and holding back tears -- her pure timbre awash with resignation. In one aria, she turned the entire action of the opera inward and rendered it profound.

Not that the rest of the performance was for naught. Soprano Laura Heimes sang Belinda with exceptional tone and mannered acting. Alderson brusquely voiced her plotting against Dido, teamed with witches Elaine Goldsmith and Mary Ann Shoenthal. Frankenberry was hilarious on his "boozy short leave." Streetman's booming bass and expert inflection simultaneously lent Aeneas airs of royalty and humanity.

"Dido" was only half the evening, however. The concert began with a suave performance of John Blow's three-act "Venus & Adonis." Similar in structure and style, Blow composed it a few years before Purcell's, around 1683, and with more consistent dramatic treatment. Venus (Baird) begins singing the name of Adonis (Streetman) and echoes it in Act III. Baird presented all statements with sweetness and decrescendo, the second two syllables trailing away with the sensuousness symbolic of the Love goddess' potency.

Streetman and Baird displayed good chemistry, both in vocal give-and-take and in acting. Heimes, now Cupid, sang with an appropriately childlike bell tone and pranced mischievously. When a boar gores Adonis while on his fateful hunt, it gave Frankenberry a chance to again nearly steal the show with a dance and mime as a huntsman. Goldsmith had solos here, though she was stronger when singing with others.

Actually, another dancer all but did that, too -- young Aviana, who danced with impressive composure. Rebecca Sass, Jeanne Fischer and Jo Schlesinger provided glimpses into the past with baroque dancing in both operas. James Cassaro's stage direction was appropriately simple and fresh. The chorus, handpicked and directed by John Goldsmith, was outstanding -- in tune and together throughout the night. Members of the Children's Festival Chorus performed minor roles in both operas.

Throughout the night, violinist Julie Andrijeski led her Chatham Baroque colleagues and other musicians wonderfully (she also provided the dance choreography). The warm, active sound pushed the evening forward -- no tepid period performance this.

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