Downright Heavenly

Classical Music

By JAY NORDLINGER
December 4, 2007

The world has a fair number of lyric tenors. And New York has been hearing some of the finest in recent days. Last week, Michael Schade participated in a multi-singer recital at the Morgan Library & Museum. At the Metropolitan Opera, Paul Groves has been participating in "Iphigénie en Tauride." And Matthew Polenzani has been singing in both "La Traviata" and "Roméo et Juliette" there.

And, on Sunday evening, he sang a recital in the Rose Theater — formally, "the Rose Theater in the Frederick P. Rose Hall at the Home of Jazz at Lincoln Center." This is not an ideal venue for a song recital. But a good singer can transform any venue into a right one. And Mr. Polenzani is such a singer.

The first half of his program was devoted to the German art song. It comprised a Schubert group, Beethoven's cycle "An die ferne Geliebte" ("To the Distant Beloved"), and three Liszt songs. As usual, Mr. Polenzani displayed his amazingly beautiful voice — sweet, soothing, and sometimes downright heavenly. And, also as usual, he did some excellent, unforced singing.

If the first half had a main fault, it was this: Some of these songs were too slow, even tentative, and could have used more of a pulse, more of a spine. For example, I think the pulse of "Der Einsame" (Schubert) should be nearly absolute. Now and then, Mr. Polenzani and his pianist, Julius Drake, were too retiring, too careful, flirting with preciousness. I thought of a phrase used by Leontyne Price: "More juice."

Furthermore, Mr. Polenzani had a technical problem or two: some poor onsets, some breakings (though not crackings) of voice. But these hardly mattered — were but plums in the pudding, as a writer I know would say.

The second half of the program comprised two song-cycles in Italian, composed by two non-Italians. Britten wrote his "Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo" in 1940 — and Mr. Polenzani did them justice, bringing out their character, including some sublimity. In the first song, he used a trumpet. Mr. Polenzani can be honeyed or clarion, whatever he needs. And, in a later song, he used a nice half-voice — a half-voice that was not disembodied. The entire Britten set had a sense of balance and rightness.

I should say, too, that Mr. Polenzani sings a very pleasing Italian — idiomatic and tasty, perfectly comprehensible without being overly crisp.

From Reynaldo Hahn, we may be accustomed to French songs — such as the eternal hit "A Chloris" — but, in 1901, he wrote "Venezia." This is a set of six songs in the Venetian dialect. Gondola time. Again, Mr. Polenzani was idiomatic and flavorful — and big-hearted. This is an extremely talented and likable man.

The crowd wanted encores, and Mr. Polenzani gave them two. The first was "Una furtiva lagrima," from Donizetti's "Elixir of Love." Mr. Polenzani had done a lot of singing and may not have been at his freshest — but this was a sincere, direct, and completely satisfying rendering. Mr. Drake was satisfying, too, making the most of an accompaniment that is not very pianistic.

And then Mr. Polenzani sang "Danny Boy" — ethereally, nearly perfectly. I wish I could have heard it again.

A word about audience behavior. As usual, the shushers were out in force — I mean, the recital cops. Whenever people tried to clap between songs, the cops shushed them viciously. This policing is far worse than any applause. Nothing is more atmosphere-breaking than the vicious shushing. After one especially beautiful Hahn song, some people tried to applaud, and were pounced on. Mr. Polenzani had the grace to say, "Kind of hard to resist, I know." (This was not directed at the shusher-pouncers.) And a very odd thing happened when Mr. Polenzani started to sing "Danny Boy." This is merely the most beautiful and heartbreaking song known to man. And, when Mr. Polenzani began it, audience members burst into laughter. Mr. Polenzani gave a look that said, "What the ... ?"

New Yorkers tend to think of themselves as sophisticates, but, in concert halls, they can be real clods. The late Elisabeth Schwarzkopf sang "Danny Boy" as an encore. If people had laughed, she'd have killed them.

Downright Heavenly

Classical Music

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