Steven Blier’s encyclopedic knowledge of the annals of song has produced many worthy recitals. Indeed, as Blier confided during his accustomed, wry narration, he has piles of future programs stored up on his computer — let’s hope he has a good backup system for his hard drive. The recital Blier hosted, with members of Wolf Trap Opera Company, was organized around four islands, and the dreams of paradise that islands distant and near can inspire.
He admitted that the island idea was born in 2002 and that he was just tired of seeing it come up on the screen. That description, although it elicited some laughs from the audience, does not do justice to the happy combination of songs Blier accomplished here, especially in the more serious first half.
For the first island, Ireland, we had four of the Thomas Moore Irish Melodies in their excellent arrangements by Benjamin Britten. The accompaniments in these pieces flow around the original melodies, often almost oblivious to the intended tonal territory, making some of them hauntingly modern. In particular, the bass line in “How Sweet the Answer” rumbles dissonantly, threatening to overturn the lover’s song. Two other Irish songs, not arranged by Britten, were of less interest: the affected Irish brogues that crept into the singers’ voices in these two selections didn’t help.
The most satisfying island of the evening was Madagascar, evoked in Ravel’s sinuous and sometimes spiny Chansons madécasses (1925-1926), set to poetry by Evariste-Désiré de Forges Parny. These songs were entrusted to the strongest singer of the evening, Alexander Tall, whom I admired this June in the title role of Telemann’s Orpheus. His tone can be murky sometimes, a little cluttered by vibrato, but his strength, especially in the upper range, will serve him well in the dramatic baritone repertory. Without any build-up, Tall’s voice rattled in admonitory exclamation at the opening of the second song, “Aoua!” — don’t trust the whites who live on the shore, shouts the wise native of Madagascar.
The third song, “Il est doux,” a gentle appreciation of the traditional life of the oisif Madagascar male, had nice contributions from flutist Stephani Stang-McCusker, who also played the piccolo parts, which Ravel often set quite low, giving a brittle, hollow-reed sort of sound. Sadly, this song was tarnished by disastrously played harmonics from the evening’s cellist.
