The Music Season Opens in Paris

In Paris, September is the month of return from vacation, the start of school, and the opening of the arts season. This week I sampled two offerings of the Paris opera, one at the Beaux-Arts Palais Garnier (1875), and the other at the newer (1989) Opera Bastille. The experience at the older venue was incomparably better. 

The Palais Garnier, like much of Paris, was built during the reign of Napoleon III. It is to him (and his architects like Charles Garnier and Haussmann) that we owe the characteristic Parisian broad avenues radiating from spokes (eg the Arc de Triumphe) lined with 5-story apartment buildings with similar architecture. The Palais Garnier is large for a19th C. opera house, seating almost 2000. It is magnificently decorated and provides a real sense of occasion when attending an event there. A painting by Marc Chagall surmounts the ceiling. It's the most spectacular place in the world to see ballet or opera, and you should go sometime. 

Because the newer Opera Bastille is larger, both in capacity and in backstage room, the Garnier is now only used for smaller (eg baroque or classical) operas, special events, and ballet. Here, I saw and interesting musical production Perle Noire: Meditations for Joséphine, composed in 2016 and based on the life of French-American singer-dancer Josephine Baker (1906-1975). This black "refugee" from US racism was immensely popular in Paris between the wars, famed for her smoky voice and scandalous costumes worn at the Folies Bergère (eg only a skirt of bananas and a shell necklace). Growing up poor in racist St. Louis, she eventually fled to Paris, where she consorted with Picasso and Hemingway, who called her "the most sensational woman anyone ever saw". Her career was fascinating, as she later transformed herself from erotic dancing to opera singing (eg Offenbach). Her writings and songs were ahead of her time in condemning US racism, and she found that living abroad was the only morally acceptable solution for a black American. 

This one-woman show, accompanied by a small instrumental ensemble, was directed by Peter Sellars (know for his direction of John Adams' opera premieres). The single act lasted about 1 hour 45 minutes. The score by Tyshawn Shorey meandered between jazz and modernist styles, often becoming quite dissonant. The instruments were used creatively, and the players actively moved about on the mostly bare stage, interacting with the singer. American opera singer Julia Bullock was onstage throughout, speaking, singing, dancing, and courageously performing nearly topless for much of the performance. It was a demanding role, moving from spirituals to jazz to serialist music, and required long, Wagner-length meditations on racism, culture, and womanhood. Since Josephine Baker was apparently the most compelling performer on the planet, the bar was set very high here. Ms. Bullock did not consistently meet this standard, although was very moving at times. My attention wandered a bit as the piece went on. But I'm glad I saw this piece, especially in this magnificent opera house. I hope to return often. 

I had the opposite experience at the modern Opera Bastille, seeing Rossini's Barber of Seville (1816). I love this composer, with his effervescent music and keen sense of comedy. So I was dismayed from the very first note of the overture, which sounded as if the orchestra were behind a thick blanket. This muffed acoustic also muted the fine singers, and made the whole evening mediocre, despite a fun modern production (the married couple left on a motorcycle at the end) and excellent singer actors with a good sense of Rossini style and comic timing. The standout was a young (34 yo) tenor with the very un-Italianate name of Jack Swanson (an American from Stillwater, Minnesota, of all things). It's the sort of name an Italian would make up for an American. Swanson played Count Almaviva, and his coloratura and Rossini style were impeccable. 

In a less muted house, I think his voice would demonstrate a nice Italianate ping. His extended ending tripartite aria "Cessa di più resistere", historically omitted because of its length and extraordinary virtuosic demands, was here the musical climax of the opera. Rossini liked the aria so well that he brought it back for his later La Cenerentola (Cinderella), now as a showpiece for the mezzo soprano (Marilyn Horne was famous for this aria). Placing the aria just before the finale really made the opera about him, not Figaro the barber, which may explain why Rossini cut the aria from later performances. Its inclusion also made the ending curtain calls a bit odd, since the extraordinary young American tenor should have gotten the last bow, rather than Figaro, the title character. Brisk directing, good tempi by conductor Jader Bignamini, and a fine overall cast made this an excellent performance, despite the limited acoustics.

But what a disappointing opera house! Besides the rotten acoustics, the interior is a gloomy collection of black pillars, the lobbies are shallow and inadequate for the 2700 attendees, and the exterior is completely unmemorable for such a renowned site (it replaced the old famed Bastille prison). 

The comparison to the Palais Garnier could not be more dramatic. This place provides no sense of festivity whatsoever. Apparently there was some jury confusion during the selection of the architect (they thought they were picking a renowned contemporary architect, but instead picked a novice), and there was also a very French goal of making this the "people's palace" to contrast with the elite stylings of the Garnier. What a mistake. Modern architecture can create memorable concert halls (see the Disney in Los Angeles) and the people deserve more than a gloomy, undersized, dark opera house. Sadly, I think Paris should tear this down and try again. They did much better with the 2015 Philharmonie de Paris, which I described last year.  I hope things will sound better at the Bastille when I sit in different seats for the complete Wagner Ring in December. Otherwise it will be a long 16 hours.