Therapy session with Pelléas

Interview |

Rolando Villazón between Debussy and Bellini: how he lives two worlds simultaneously as a singer and director.

It's still early in the morning in New York.
But he is already awake and fully alert ("I haven't got over the jet lag yet") and is already at work. For the Mozart Week in Salzburg, for his current production of La sonnambula at the Metropolitan Opera, for the Vienna revival of Pelléas et Mélisande. He, that is Rolando Villazón, who is on his feet from six in the morning and finds time for an interview between Debussy, Bellini, Vienna, Salzburg and New York.

You are a singer and director. Can you always separate the two functions? Or is the director Villazón always on stage when an opera house hires the singer Villazón?

No, when I'm engaged as a singer, I'm just a singer and the director stays at home. In this case, I am fully aware that I am stepping into a staged world that someone else has created. So my job, apart from singing, is not to co-direct, but to bring myself into this universe as a person and performer and to offer what the director needs from me. In this case, I am no different from any other singer in the production. Perhaps the only difference is that I also know the director's side and therefore fully understand their challenges and difficulties. For example, if I have to wait at a rehearsal because something isn't working properly, I always say: "Don't worry! I've been there!"

You are working musically on Pelléas and staging Sonnambula. How does it feel to live in two such different musical worlds at the same time?

Yes, yes, it really is a bit of a wow! At 10 o'clock I'll be working on my Pelléas with a répétiteur, and at 11 o'clock I'll start rehearsing Sonnambula. But can I tell you something? It's wonderful to start the day like this! As a singer, the first thing you do is enter this Debussyian world of sound and then switch to Bellini. Yes, they are different styles, but in the end it's easy for me to switch because I'm staging Sonnambula and not singing along. Apart from that: Here in New York, Sydney Mancasola is Sonnambula's Lisa- and she excelled as Mélisande in Los Angeles. So we can talk shop about both operas!

The composer Debussy said that Pelléas et Mélisande should be sung naturally, in a natural tone, far removed from any traditional strictures. How do you put such a demand into practice?

I think you have to take the opera like a play text. The rhythm that Debussy writes corresponds exactly to the French rhythm of speech. So you have to sing as if you were speaking naturally, as if there were no fixed notation at all. On the other hand, you must of course adhere exactly to Debussy's instructions and not simply babble away. If both succeed, then the naturalness that the composer intended is created. Then it is as if people are talking to each other on stage, as if there were no fixed form. However, it is quite clear that opera singers are needed for Pelléas et Mélisande. It's not like Astor Piazzolla, who wanted tango specialists for his opera María de Buenos Aires. No, here, with Debussy, classically trained artists with the appropriate operatic technique are needed.

Pelléas et Mélisande is dominated by the mysterious and indeterminate. It is fitting that Debussy was not a fan of overly precise analyses of works. Emotional access and intuition seemed more important to him. The questions that arose did not necessarily have to be cracked. Is that an approach you like?

Not just like it, but love it! Art is not about always having a clear answer to everything. In other words, the answer per se. It's often about the questions. For example, I love books and works of art that contain more questions than answers. Sometimes even: just questions! (laughs) Later, scientists and psychologists, artists and experts come along, and everyone presents an idea as to why this or that is the case and what it means: What does this symbol refer to? And to what? What exactly is meant? Then we have answers ... But what if it wasn't about that at all? Sometimes I think that writers, for example, who learn what others have found in their work, think to themselves: "Ah, really? Is that what I meant?" Which, on the other hand, is not to say that much of what is discovered is wrong. After all, that is ultimately what makes a masterpiece: that it is deep and multi-layered and never fully reveals itself to us. But that is precisely what enriches our world.

The inexhaustible is a characteristic of genius.

Absolutely! And also the fact that the questions and conflicts presented don't let us go. In Pelléas et Mélisande, such mysterious things happen on stage - and suddenly we are all in the middle of it and want to know more. To know more about the characters, their conditions, their existence.

"In Pelléas et Mélisande, such mysterious things happen on stage - and suddenly we are all in the middle of it and want to know more. To know more about the characters, their conditions, their existence."

Debussy's opera is based on Maurice Maeterlinck's play of the same name, a centerpiece of symbolism. It is also an artistic style that relied more on intuition than on intellectually honed situational analysis. What does Rolando Villazón - intuitively - think of when he thinks of Pelléas?

Pierrot. Pierrot de la lune. A world of darkness, a world in which someone is dreaming. And a nightmarish reality. "Mysterium" also comes to mind. A mystery that speaks about our soul as human beings. This opera, like every great, wonderful work, makes us restless. If you go to a performance of Pelléas, the result is not a relaxed: "Ahh, that's great. And so beautiful!". Instead, you get a feeling of: "What's going on here?" And: "What's wrong with me?" We enter a state of uncertainty, a blurring that also corresponds to the music. Because here, too, not everything seems clear and logical, what we expect doesn't always happen. And yet what has to happen always happens, with breathtaking perfection.

You once said that all your stage characters sit together like in a therapy session and discuss their problems. For example, Don Carlo and Alfredo talk about their fathers. What does Pelléas say in this round?

I haven't been to this therapy session with him yet (laughs). But what would he say? Yes, he would talk about love. He asked: Do we really love a person, or do we love love itself? Is the person we love just a means to an end, a vessel into which we pour our feelings? Is what we feel real and true? Why do we do some things even though we know they will end in disaster? Is it worth it? Why do we put ourselves in danger? Why do we accept the impending consequences? Oh, these would also be topics for Jacques Offenbach's Hoffmann!

On October 14, you will also be giving a song recital at the State Opera. Do you present songs that you personally simply enjoy singing, or are they numbers that you think the audience will appreciate?

Basically, I always try to develop a special concept for a recital, a dramaturgical line that determines the program. I choose a theme or musical style, a country or motto and build a sequence of songs around it. In the current case: we are going on a journey through time with Italian melodies. So we start with the 17th century, take a leap to bel canto and end up with Vincenzo Bellini, who wrote hundreds of unique melodies for the human voice. The path leads us on to Verdi, from there to Paolo Tosti, an absolute star of his time and creator of the most beautiful music, and finally to Giacomo Puccini. If you like: an evening with a crescendo towards tenor meltdown. And since I'm not a big fan of opera arias that have been reduced to piano plus voice, I've only chosen compositions that were not created for the opera stage, but rather chamber music works for piano and voice.

Don't you miss the acting at a recital? The scenery? The costume?

No, not really. I have many concerts and song projects and find evenings like this wonderful: I'm there the whole time, can establish a dialog with the audience, an invisible bridge is created between the stage and the listeners - and I get to tell my own little story with every song. Like a troubadour who comes and announces: "Now I'll tell the story of ..." - and then a song follows. Then: "And now I'll tell you about a sad event ..." - and another song is played. Then cheerful again. Then thoughtful. And so on. Actually, these are all mini-operas, even if I'm not in costume. Just like a song recital is a trio: between me, my piano partner - not accompanist, but partner! - and the audience. We give and take, we feel each other and create the evening together. I love that ... It's just so fulfilling!

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