Wigmore Hall, London
4 November 2008
Diana Damrau (mezzo)
Julius Drake (piano)
Alban Berg:
Seven Early Songs
Samuel Barber:
Mélodies passagères Op. 27
Iain Bell:
Daughters of Britannia
Richard Strauss:
Drei Lieder der Ophelia Op. 67
Malven
Einerlei Op. 69 No. 3
Ständchen Op. 17 No. 2
Freundliche Vision Op. 48 No. 1
Wiegenlied Op. 41 No. 1
Muttertändelei Op. 43 No. 2
Amor Op. 68 No. 5
What the critics say
Keith McDonnell, MusicOMH
Rating: four out of five stars
A judiciously chosen programme for her Wigmore Hall debut recital and plenty of glorious singing cemented Diana Damrau’s position as Germany’s leading lyric soprano. The Zerbinetta of choice for most opera houses, few have bathed in such unstinting praise, or risen to such meteoric heights in what is a relatively short space of time.
She holds the remarkable accolade of having sung both Pamina and the Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte at the New York Met in the same season, and it came as no surprise that there wasn’t a seat to be had for her Wigmore Hall debut.
Having been blown away by her Zerbinetta at the Royal Opera a couple of years ago I was intrigued to see how her artistry had developed in the intervening years, especially as she appeared to migrating away from her usual fach of coloratura roles to focus more on the lyrical repertoire for the soprano voice. For her eagerly-anticipated Wigmore Hall debut she could easily have rested on her laurels and gone for a tried and tested programme, but it was testament to her musicality and depth of artistry that she presented a wide range of songs both stylistically and linguistically that also included a UK premiere.
She began the evening with a wonderfully introspective reading of Berg’s Seven Early Songs, teasing every possible nuance out of the opening song, Nacht (Night), and producing such an evocative pianissimo, always supported by rock-steady breath control and intonation, that as a listener one was immediately drawn into the singer’s world. Indeed it was a privilege to hear such a poignant and deeply-felt rendition of these songs, the range of emotion and palette of vocal colours at her disposal was breathtaking and the sense of abandonment of the final song, Sommertage (Summer Days) was palpable.
Barber’s Mélodies passagères (Fleeting Melodies) showed off her idiomatic French whilst she plumbed the emotional depths with a wonderfully restrained account of Tombeau dans un parc (Tomb in a park).
She followed this with a no-holds-barred performance of Ian Bell’s Daughters of Britannia which was written specifically for her. Five legendary women from Britain’s history lend their names to each of the songs: Boudicca, Maid Marian, Morgause, Guinevere and Lady Godiva and whilst Bell’s idiom may not be revelatory he certainly knows how to write for Damrau’s voice as she progresses from Valkyrie-like maiden (Boudicca), via lyricism (Maid Marian) to the coquettish Lady Godiva. Her English was faultless, as were the few notes she played on the piano at the end. A most beguiling song cycle that deserves repeated hearings.
The second half was made up of Richard Strauss lieder and here she was at her most relaxed, elegant and opulent. Few singers are able to sustain such beautifully supported pianissimo singing as she can, and all her powers of interpretation fused together for quite exquisite interpretations of Wiegenlied (Cradle Song) and Muttertändelei (Mother-talk), whilst she saved flashes of her incomparable coloratura technique for the fiendishly difficult Amor (Cupid).
Julius Drake was, as ever, an exemplary accompanist throughout. A thoroughly enjoyable evening.
Tim Ashley, The Guardian, 8 November 2008 5 stars
The German soprano Diana Damrau has become a cult figure of late. It is easy to see why. She is very much a diva, with all the intimations of greatness and excess the word implies. Her artistry is phenomenal yet paradoxical: you could perhaps describe her as the Meryl Streep of classical music, since she achieves a sense of total immersion in her material without ever quite letting you forget the powers of technique, intelligence and calculation that inform her singing.
She also takes familiar music into new territory. We think of Berg’s Seven Early Songs as an experiment in post-Romantic suggestiveness, though for Damrau they are more blatant – a sequence of torrid crescendos, shudders and gasps, some of them from the audience, particularly when, at one moment, the straps of Damrau’s gown began to slide from her shoulders.
Strauss’s Ophelia Songs, lewd and manic, afforded us remarkable insights. The recital was being recorded, and the third song was interrupted by coughing. At encore time, Damrau’s awestruck yet superb pianist Julius Drake admitted to being the perpetrator. “I swallowed something in a passionate moment,” he announced before the re-take, a performance identical in expression and mood to the previous one.
But Damrau’s range extends way beyond the erotic. A second Strauss group, including Muttertändelei and Amor, was all maternal love and mischief. Samuel Barber’s Mélodies Passagères allowed her to exploit that soft, high singing that is a pleasure in itself. She also gave us Daughters of Britannia, written for her by Iain Bell, which casts her as a series of legendary British heroines – Boudicca, Guinevere, Lady Godiva and so on – and envisions her as seductress, sorceress and warrior queen by turns. A scorcher of an evening, every second of it.