As I entered Salle Pleyel Saturday before last, I couldn’t help but be struck by shear emptiness. Every time I’d been in that room over the last seven years, it was full to capacity. For Renee Fleming’s recital in December ‘12, I was seated behind the stage with a stunning view of the back of the soprano’s head. The sound was surprisingly good, but I was missing the connection one makes with the artist during a recital, and I wanted a glimpse of her unassuming and sincere expressions. Even less significant artists had easily sold out the room in my experience, so I was expecting quite the same for Bryn Terfel.
Once again, I had ended up with a reasonably priced arriere scene ticket, but upon entering the hall, it became clear that I needn’t stick to my originally assigned seat. We easily snuck downstairs and found a place on the left side somewhere around the 12th row, and I’m thankful we did, as Terfel’s facial expression and interactions with the audience aren’t to be missed.
The theme of the evening was Legendary Heroes. Well, that’s what the program read in any case. I’m not entirely sure how Leporello, Mephistopheles (Gounod’s version) or Falstaff could really be considered heroes, at least by the standard definition, but his interpretation of these characters was hardly disappointing. The first half of the program provided quite a bit of comic relief with Terfel interpreting Mozart’s catalog aria with the aid of his cellphone, recounting chortle-inducing stories in between each piece, and grunting and blowing raspberries as a spirited Mephistopheles. It would seem he ordered the program so as to allow his voice time to warm up. None of these pieces seemed particularly vocally taxing, and he almost gave the impression to be more of a singing actor rather than a full-fledged baritone in the first half.
Post-intermission was a different story, however. He entered the stage with a calm reassurance, and the audience was able to fully experience the depth of performance for which he is known. The most effective piece of the entire evening had to be the excerpt from Tannhäuser, O du mein holden Abendstern. Between his mastering of a perfectly controlled, audible and breathtaking sustained pianissimo, and the stunning precision of his German diction, the entire audience was in the palm of his hand. There is a reason Bryn Terfel is a universally respected performer, and this kind of singing is it.
He ended the evening with a single encore, a spirited rendition of Boito’s Mephistopheles which included an impressive amount of very loud whistling, and the entire room rather sad for the experience to be over.
A special mention should be made for Gareth Jones and the Orchestre Nationale de Belgique. Their well-rounded sound and good nature complemented Terfel perfectly, and the orchestral interludes were almost as pleasant as the singing. The Prelude to Act III of Lohengrin was particularly well-received. After all, who doesn’t love a good cello-section solo?
The only negative thing I could express about the evening was really about the amount of space left in the room. It is sad to see a performer of such caliber not selling out every hall in which he steps foot. As a young singer, I have to say I learned a lot about the art of concert giving from this evening with Bryn. His calm reassurance, his relation to the audience, and the intelligence in the choice and order of the program are all terrific lessons to be learned. And those pianissimi. We should all learn from those as well.
