Samson 2003 - 2004 Chicago

December 2003 - January 2004

In Search of the Real Samson and Dalila

from Lyric Opera News

Winter 2003/2004

“Samson et Dalila is certainly sexier than any opera written before it,” declares Russian mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina, the star of St. Petersburg’s Kirov Opera, who will sing Dalila in her Lyric debut.

In its initial stages however, Samson et Dalila was neither sexy now an opera. It was 1867 when Camille Saint-Saëns started working on his Samson oratorio. After hearing it performed, Franz Liszt suggested his colleague rethink it as an opera. There was one problem, though: in France, prevailing attitudes of the time prevented biblical scenes being portrayed on the stage, even in liberal Paris. As a result, Samson et Dalila (opera in three acts, libretto by Ferdinand Lemaire), premiered on Dec. 2, 1877, in Weimar, Germany. It was not staged in France until 13 years after its Weimar premiere.

For much of the 20^th century, audiences considered Samson et Dalila to be old-fashioned, but that is no longer the case. “The audience nowadays accepts conventions that were diff JC stars in Turin as Samson icult to accept during the 20^th century,” says conductor Emmanuel Villaume, who will lead Lyric’s Samson in his company debut. “Sometimes pure beauty of the vocal line and clarity were equated with a lack of depth, but today people are beyond this,” Indeed they are. Modern audiences agree with those of the 19^th century: Samson et Dalila contains some of the most beautiful music every written for the opera house, including one of the most famous and most seductive arias in all opera, “Mon Coeur s’ouvre a ta voix.” In addition to gorgeous arias, the opera also offers a temperature-raising, semi-orgiastic bacchanal scene which shows that if nothing else, those Philistines knew how to party!

In keeping with its oratorio beginnings, Saint-Saëns’s opera contains choruses which, as Villaume points out, “are not exactly involved in the development of the action, but rather a commentary on the action.” While the confrontational scenes between Samson and Dalila are quite dramatic, Villaume thinks there is a different purpose for their presence: “They are a way for the composer’s musicality to express itself. Ultimately what Saint Saëns is going for is a score of great musical power, color, and balance, but I don’t think he is going for pure dramatic effect. He’s always staying a musician. He’s using the power of the story to express something and to portray something which is first of all a musical idea.”

Even though the work started out as an oratorio, it contains plenty of drama – especially in this production, with José Cura playing Samson. “If I were to portray Samson as a nice, sweet character, an Old Testament prophet, I would not be portraying the real Samson,” he says.

Do not think that José Cura could ever be less than real: “The Argentinian tenor gives to Samson all the strength of his magnetic presence, all the energy of a vocal emission of unseen arrogance,” wrote Sergio Segalini of Opera International. “Cura confirms himself to be the only possibly imaginable performer for Samson since Jon Vickers’s retirement.”

Indeed, the “Samson of our times” has strong feelings about the role. “Samson was not a prophet but a warrior,” Cura says. “To put it in modern terminology, Samson could be an Old-Testament terrorist, who believed in killing anyone who didn’t think the way he did.”

At least, that is how Cura sees Samson in the first two acts. “In Act One he is an Old-Testament Che Guevara. In the second act we see that Samson completely misunderstands the spiritual meaning of his life. He was of the flesh – a man filled with animalistic adrenalin – and that is why he was so easily corrupted.”

But was he corrupted, or did he simply surrender to Dalila’s love? Borodina thinks Dalila is something more than a biblical femme fatal. “My Dalila loves Samson very much,” she says. “But Dalila is a patriot and she remembers her duty.” The libretto shows this dichotomy: “Love come to my aid . . . Fill his heart with your poison,” Dalila sings. “A god much greater than your speaks through me – my god, the god of love.” (Borodina spoke to Lyric Opera News by phone during a family vacation at her dacha in the Russian countryside.)

Once Samson surrenders to Dalila he becomes powerless, is blinded by his captors, and winds up doing slave labor. He begs his people to forgive him and begs God for the return of his strength. Not surprisingly, when his strength is miraculously restored, Samson uses it to kill the Philistines by pulling down the temple. (If the story sounds like a Cecil B. DeMille sword-and-scandal epic, it is! DeMille directed the 1949 movie Samson and Delilah starring Victor Mature and Hedy Lamarr.)

Cura sees something more to the story than a strong man, a sexy woman, and tumbling pillars. “Samson completely misunderstood his gift of strength,” he says. “He thought his strength was given to him so he could destroy anyone who didn’t agree with him. He may have thought he was very spiritual, but he was not. He reduced everything to simply killing and taking. The real Samson, and I mean ‘real’ in the sense of the spiritual character, is seen early in the third act when he begs his people for forgiveness for what he has done. It is there that he finally sees his real mission, which of course leaves us suspended in conflicting thoughts. Samson becomes very spiritual in asking God to give his back his strength, but when he gets it, he pulls the temple down killing everyone. Today solving problems through war and aggression is something that is seen on every TV newscast. The story of Samson is not that old-fashioned after all. In Samson’s time strength was in muscles – today it is in bombs.”

To Cura, having a certain quality of voice is absolutely essential for Samson. Despite that fact that the character is a tough, primitive kind of guy, a good deal of subtlety is needed to portray him, and while “might makes right” in the biblical story, there is much more than raw power needed for this role. “You can sing very loud, but if you do not sing deep and dark and accent the proper words, then the whole psychological impact of Samson gets lost.” Cura says. “It is the same in Otello. It is not about singing loud but singing with just the right color. It is one thing to sing all the notes with great volume, but if you don’t have the proper color, then you lose that extra ingredient that makes the character believable.”

While in Chicago....

Super-Tenor Shines on Bloomington

22 January 2004

Eric Anderson
Indiana Daily Student

The events of José Cura's still-blossoming opera career have already become the stuff of legend:

He learned the role of Ruggero for Puccini's 'La Rondine' while performing in Verdi's 'La Forza del Destino' by attending 'Rondine' staging rehearsals in the basement of the opera house during the second act of 'Forza,' when his character was not present on stage.

In 1999, he made history at the Metropolitan Opera as only the second tenor in the company's history to debut on opening night (the first being the grandest of all tenors, Enrico Caruso, in 1902).

Just a year ago, he further cemented himself into music mythology by first conducting Muscagni's one-act opera 'Cavelleria Rusticana' at the Hamburgische Staatsoper, then mounting the stage after intermission to perform the role of Canio in 'Pagliacci.'

The School of Music had the good fortune to catch this growing titan of the opera world between performances for a special guest lecture and masterclass.

His lecture, "Singer, Musician…Antonyms?", attracted a large and attentive crowd to Auer Concert Hall Sunday night, where Cura spoke for nearly two hours over the beginnings, triumphs and frustrations from his extensive career as a professional musician.

Seated on the edge of the stage, dressed in a black sweater and blue jeans, Cura gazed at the seats directly in front of him.

"Do you know how I feel coming out here to speak, only to find the first two rows empty," he asked in his strong Argentinean accent. "I refuse to start until you all move up and fill in the front rows.

"You," he called to those in the balcony, "come down here, the ticket price is the same!"

Cura began the lecture with an interesting question.

"How does the world regard tenors?" he asked. "Like a piece of shouting meat."

For the next hour and a half, Cura was part autobiographer, part philosopher, his penchant for storytelling never failing to deliver a comic anecdote or pearl of professional wisdom.

"Study, work, bloody your fingers," Cura said. "That's the best luck in the world."

Proclaimed by many to be "a true renaissance man," the tenor certainly does not fall easily into any category.

Though he is now famous for his interpretations of the great tenor roles -- among them Verdi's Otello and Saint-Saëns' Samson, which he is currently performing at the Chicago Lyric Opera -- Cura actually began his musical studies with no aspiration to professional singing.

His first piano teacher rejected him for having, in Cura's own words, "no gift for music," and so he decided instead to study the guitar.

Ernesto Bitetti, a professor of guitar at the School of Music was instrumental in arranging Cura's visit and has been a long-term friend of the Cura family. He said he remembers young José in his pursuit of guitar mastery.

"I've known him since he was 14 ... he was a very talented guitarist," Bitetti said. "Now, of course, he is better at his singing."

In fact, Cura was apparently so taken with the instrument he wrote a letter to the IU School of Music expressing interest in completing a guitar major at the Bloomington campus. (He was, unfortunately, rejected, as the school did not yet have a guitar performance program.)

Cura was soon studying conducting and composition and in 1991, at the insistence of a university choirmaster, departed for Europe to pursue a professional career in voice. The rest, as they say, is history.

For all his worldly experience and artistic expertise, Cura displays a remarkable ease with the students around him.

Tenor Emilio Pons, who was the first to sing in Monday morning's masterclass, was chastised by Cura for spending "half the aria deciding whether you were nervous or not."

Cura encouraged Pons to overcome his nerves by drawing a parallel to performing Verdi's 'Aida.'

"When you open 'Aida,' [it's so difficult] you think 'f-k you, Verdi,'" he said, eliciting laughter from the audience gathered in Sweeney lecture hall.

"People ask me what technique I use [to prepare]…there is only one technique," Cura said. "Balls."

"[Cura] is very comfortable," said tenor Eduardo Gracia, who also sang for him that day. "He transmits calm."

His easy, straightforward and always diligent manner revealed itself again while Cura coached soprano Carelle Flores in interpreting the text of her Puccini aria.

"Have you ever been kissed?" he asked her directly. "Was it a revelation of passion?

"Come on," he said, responding to her embarrassed laughter, "haven't you ever made love? Of course not…you are all nuns here."

It is hard to believe that this man, himself so full of passion, still encounters more than his share of resistance in the music industry.

Toward the end of the 1990s, tired of his played-up image as the sex-symbol of opera, Cura declined to renew his contracts with both his agent and recording label. Now, there are opera houses that find it too politically unsavory to engage him. His CDs are harder to find. And yet, he has found a greater peace as a free agent opera star.

"Now," he said, "I look in the mirror every morning and I am happy. I only go to sing where people want me to sing ... they're not there because they were invited.

"Plus," he added, "I have contracts until 2010, so I can't complain."

And his audience certainly had no complaints either.

"Spectacular" was the word of choice for Marianne Kielian-Gilbert, a theory professor.

"You never see this [kind of event]," she said. "This is right where it should be happening."

Cura concluded Monday's class by performing his final scene from Verdi's 'Otello' -- a scene that has garnered him both praise and criticism for his exceptionally theatrical interpretation.

Cura has brought an extensive amount of research and analysis to the role, not to mention a deep dramatic commitment -- and all were evident to the audience as he played out the suicide of Otello with such abandon as to suggest he had mistaken Sweeney Hall for the Teatro alla Scala.

Having heaved Otello's final breath, Cura looked up from the floor where he knelt, breathless from his exertion, and whispered: "If I continue singing for 20 years, it will be like this."

His audience, myself included, certainly hopes so.

José Cura offers master class worth cheering about

25 January 2004

Peter Jacobi

Herald Times

World-class tenor José Cura made a Sunday-Monday stop in Bloomington this past week and proved that, despite opinions some in the realm of music cling to, a tenor is not "a piece of shouting meat" and that Maria Callas was generalizing when she referred to that category of singers as "beasts."

Quite the contrary, the seemingly genial, relaxed Cura, dressed for both a lecture and master class in jeans and loose-hanging collarless top, made quite an impression as a generous and sagacious gentleman, both ready to and capable of giving very good advice.

He was here thanks to Ernesto Bitetti, the head of guitar studies in the IU School of Music, and the Lyric Opera of Chicago. To explain: Bitetti has been a long-time family friend, one who, when the tenor was a boy in his native Argentina encouraged him to take up music. The Lyric Opera is Cura's current artistic home; he's appearing there in Samson et Dalila as the hero with the long hair who falls for the wiles of the scheming woman who shares the opera's title.

Bitetti suggested that as long as he was in the area, why not drop down to Bloomington and give the voice students some sage counsel. Cura agreed, his interest fed also by the fact that more than 20 years ago, when he yearned to become a guitarist, he wrote to the music school seeking admission, only to be told that no degree in guitar performance was available, only a few courses. Cura turned to other avenues and other places.

On Sunday evening in Auer Hall, he spoke about those other avenues and places. The guitar, though he loved it deeply and still does, was not to be his musical specialty. He discovered that he simply wasn't good enough. Instead, he turned to choral conducting and to composition and, finally, to singing. "There were disappointments along the way," he said. "When I was seven, my father sent me to a piano teacher. 'No gift,' the teacher told him. I decided on rugby and built my muscles. A friend told me to play the guitar to be more successful with the girls."

And so went visitor Cura's account, through twisting roads of study and shifting career goals (although determination to make music his life never faltered), through marriage and children and financial crises. "I didn't want to be a singer, really. Now conducting, ah! But the best advice came from a teacher who said, 'You have to study singing. It's the only way you'll become a conductor.' And so I did. And look what happened. But if someone comes to me to offer a job as conductor, I'll quit singing."

Cura's audience was bulging with voice students. "What's in your heart?" he urged them to ask themselves. "How do you see yourself in 10 years? This business is a jungle. You have to have a goal." He admitted to luck being a factor to have his level of success. "The train passes once, maybe twice, and you must be ready to catch it or be left in the desert. But it's mostly study and work."

Cura's lecture was extemporaneous, definitely low-keyed. His Monday master class in Sweeney Hall was charged with electricity and was, for the three young singers who performed for him and for those who came to listen and learn, a concentrated lesson on matters of interpretation, vocal control and performance practice. Here he proved the master.

For two hours, he listened and he taught. He advised. He demonstrated. He amazed.

The hours were rich with words worth remembering:

· "You cannot be a musician in less than 10 years. And then, 10 years more. Twenty years. Think of that. Who is willing to do that today? Nowadays, we push buttons to get quick solutions. You ask, why a dearth of voices? That's why."

· "You've broken the ice," he told the morning's first singer. "That's one of the hardest things to do. With your voice and courage, you'll go far. ... Now, sing the aria again. You spent half of it trying to decide whether to be nervous or not."

· "Put your hands in your pocket. Act with your voice. Overuse your hands, and when the time comes for hands, no impact is left. Simplify your action."

· "Work in front of a mirror. Don't let your face show the tremendous struggle inside. That makes the viewer uncomfortable."

· "Don't ever let a pianist or conductor push you. Take time to breathe, then move ahead. And don't leave a note until you get from that note the best sound possible."

· "I can see you're nervous. You'll hurt your voice if you try the next note," he told a soprano, attempting for the minutes that followed to calm her down. She did.

· "Sing for you. A natural on stage never acts for the audience. You portray a character. Show that you're a mature woman falling for a younger man. Sing to my eyes."

· "You're very angry," Cura reminded a tenor after completing a recitative to a Verdi aria. "Convince me of that without overacting."

· "Create the feel of something happening, that what you're singing is immediate, not planned."

· "Verdi was the genius. We are not. Our job is to be expressive of what he wrote."

To prove that last point, Cura devoted the final 30 minutes of his session to explaining, then singing the death scene from Verdi's Otello. He spoke of learning how to die on stage without being ridiculous. "Sometimes," he said, "you die for a whole act. There's an edge between what's interesting and believable and what is ridiculous. A thin edge." He said he consulted a doctor, "If I stabbed myself, would I die immediately? Would I bleed? Would I suffer? If you stab yourself in the stomach, it takes ages to die. When you remove your knife, you really die. You see, it's up to us to find out how Violetta or Mimi dies, how Riccardo dies for 20 minutes in A Masked Ball. The baritone has to stab him the right way. And Otello does. He's a man of weapons, and he knows."

Cura discussed motivations that resulted in Otello's easy fall to Iago's duplicity, the self-loathing, he said, of a Muslim who has led Christian forces to defeat his own people, a mercenary who feels undeserving of Desdemona. "My Otello is not heroic," Cura explained. "He is a betrayer and hypocritical. He sees that in those around him. Under that psychological pressure, even a handkerchief can have power. Alone, by himself, Otello is too cowardly to destroy himself. He waits for someone else to do it for him. At the end, he decides to be a Muslim again. He can kill his wife. Because he loves her, he suffocates her with a kiss and hands. He then realizes what he has done and kills himself as a supreme act of cowardice," choosing not to face death from others who might want to punish him.

Using a prone woman student as the dead Desdemona, Cura proceeded to act out and sing that death scene with such passion and persuasiveness that this listener came to tears and the audience gave him an extended and cheer-filled ovation.

José Cura had left advice and a strong impression. Outstanding tenor, yes, but outstanding musician, too. He had titled his lecture, "Singer and Musician, Antonyms?" In his case, synonyms.

Lion in winter: José Cura weathers the critical storms

Chicago Sun Times

Laura Emerick

4 January 2004

Opera at its essence exists on an exaggerated scale. Think of those massive sets, palatial venues and often oversized talents. In a tasteful understatement, critic Stephen Brook once wrote: "The power of opera is that its range of emotion is larger than life; its nature is excess."

So in an artform that worships excess in all its many guises, Jose Cura, now starring in the Lyric Opera production of Saint-Saëns' "Samson et Dalila," should fit right in. The Argentinian-born tenor can rightfully boast of being a jack-of-all-trades, and contrary to the expression, becoming the master of every last one: singer, conductor, composer, arranger, instrumentalist (guitar, piano, winds, strings), rugby player, photographer and businessman.

But instead of receiving unqualified encouragement for his artistic reach, Cura often finds himself criticized for his craven ambitions. (Not unlike Saint-Saëns himself, a child prodigy whose interests ranged from butterflies to botany.)

When he made his London recital debut, conducting his own arias, critics called his dual role indulgent. The Independent ripped him with the headline "the ego has landed." It really got petty when critics accused him of being eccentric because his opening aria of Verdi's "Otello," one of the most thrilling and demanding of all tenor parts, was too powerful. That role begins with the triumphant cry, against a gale-force orchestra: "Esultate! ... Nostra e del ciel e gloria..." ("Rejoice! Ours and heaven's is the glory...")

If you can't be eccentric at the moment of victory, however, then what's the point?

But Cura, in an interview conducted at his home for the run of "Samson," takes the critical brickbats in stride. "When you are blessed with many talents, and you go for them, it [upsets the established order]," he said, speaking fluently in English inflected with the musicality of his native Spanish. "You become viewed as not being easy to control. They say, 'Let's put on him the label of arrogance.' No one's been able to explain this to me. It's just arrogance when you decide that you will not shut up. In this world, courage is viewed as a sign of arrogance. But the real arrogance is not being prepared to be who they really are."

On this December day, less than a week before Christmas, when he would return home to Madrid and his family for a brief holiday respite, Cura appears relaxed and at peace with himself. With his easy, open manner, he seems anything but arrogant.

At 41, still in the upward trajectory of his career, he remains philosophical. "It can be a curse to be a renaissance man. It equals arrogance. In ancient times, that was the goal of a person. To hide [my talents] and show only one, that would be a regret. I would rather show them all and deal with the envy of people. So you have to decide which negative situation you want to deal with. It is a fight every day. Then again, if someone is loved all the time, then that person is not being an original."

Cura a specialist in many styles, but especially Latin music
Along with his operatic work, Jose Cura has found himself equally at home in the folk music of Latin America. "Anhelo" (1998) focused on primarily guitar-based songs of his native Argentina, while "Boleros" (2002) showcased the classic ballad style born in the Caribbean.

Though many classical artists often founder in such pop or crossover projects, Cura skillfully manages to scale back his voice when required.

"In my case, I started out as a pop singer, so I'm at ease at lowering down [vocal] gears," he said. "It's important to strive for the simplicity of the pop singer and the richness of an operatic singer. It's a less muscular sound, like playing the Beatles on a Steinway."

But as in opera, technique needs to be uppermost. "It's not pop dropped from the corner of your mouth," he said. "It's very tricky technically, especially boleros. You have to have proper technique, as in jazz."

For "Boleros," Cura performed several songs brought back into vogue by Latin pop star Luis Miguel, such as "Voy a Apagar La Luz," "Somos Novios" and "Contigo Aprendi."

While Luismi favors a heavily produced, synthesizer-based sound, Cura prefers to keep his bolero arrangements truer to the original style.

"The bolero format allows you to take it simple or do a great symphonic thing. You can do whatever, but personally I prefer to keep it simple. With overproduction, things start to degenerate."

Though most Americans associate Argentina with tango music, Cura points out that the tango is only one of many folkoric genres there. And certainly not the most important.

"Tango is not the music of the whole country," he said. "It's music from the city, primarily Buenos Aires, where Italian and Spanish immigrants settled at the turn of the century."

Unlike some of his fellow countrymen, such as CSO music director Daniel Barenboim, Cura does not see himself undertaking a tango project. "I don't feel that I have the authority to go over it," he said, smiling. "I'd have to do a lot of studying."

Laura Emerick

Of course, some of the backlash can be attributed to his rapid rise on the opera scene. Often touted as the potential Fourth Tenor (a label that he insists "means nothing"), Cura has been welcome in the world's greatest houses since the mid-'90s, with more than 25 roles at the Metropolitan Opera, Covent Garden, La Scala. With his rich baritonal coloring, Cura also has been hailed as a successor to the great dramatic tenors of an earlier era, Mario Del Monaco and Franco Corelli.

Of Corelli, the Met mainstay who died Oct. 29 at age 82, Cura said, "I'm a big fan of his style of vocal production. Corelli, Del Monaco, Carlo Bergonzi -- those were amazing organs. I don't think now you could sing like that anymore."

To some critics, those three tenors represented the loud, fast and sometimes out of control school of vocalism. "If you sang that way now, you would be booed," Cura said. "Or again labeled as arrogant. Caruso couldn't sing today the way he sang. Whether this is good or bad, I don't know."

But even more so than to Corelli or Caruso, Cura often finds himself compared to a contemporary dramatic tenor, Placido Domingo. Like Cura, he performs many roles -- singer, conductor, administrator. Cura also shares with the Spanish supertenor an unusually wide repertoire, ranging from Italian bel canto (Bellini's "Norma"); Verdi and Puccini ("Aida," "La Forza del Destino," "La Traviata" and "Manon Lescaut," "Tosca"); French opera (Massenet's "Werther" and "Herodiade"); Italian verismo (Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana" and Giordano's "Andrea Chenier"), and even 20th century works (Janacek's "The Makropulos Case"). And Cura made his American debut in 1994 at Lyric Opera, replacing Domingo as Loris in Giordano's "Fedora."

In addition to a similar repertory, they share other bonds. Cura won first prize in Domingo's annual Operalia competition in 1994, and Domingo conducted the orchestra for Cura's first recital disc, "Puccini Arias," in 1997.

Despite the connections, Cura waves aside all comparisons to Domingo. "It's a good shortcut for a lazy press," he said. "I started to conduct at age 15. I never followed his life calendar. Maestro Domingo mostly conducts operas and not symphonic works. In both cases, it's the reverse of my situation.

"Again, these are shortcuts. No one brings to the surface the true story. If you are a dramatic tenor, you are regarded as a Domingo clone."

And don't even broach the subject of the Three Tenors, the opera phenomenon, with Domingo as its linchpin, that continues to sell out stadiums worldwide. "All this talk about the Three Tenors, and now the search for the Fourth Tenor -- all this is press shortcuts," he said. "It can be useful to attract readers.

"But I have my own company with 20 employees. I am watching this whole thing 24 hours a day. Meanwhile, I am studying new scores," and pointed to a bound edition of Verdi's "Un Ballo in Maschera" on a nearby table. "It's a question of temperament. I have the capacity of absorbing many challenges. It's the way I am."

As part of his all-embracing temperament, he refuses to limit himself to classical music. Along with his operatic recital discs, Cura has released several collections of Latin ballads and folk songs, beginning with "Anhelo" (1998), "Boleros" (2002) and "Aurora" (2003). Issued on the London-based independent label Avie, "Aurora" features Argentinian music along with opera arias.

He attributes his wide-ranging musical tastes to his mother. "I enjoy any type of singing, save for rock 'n' roll. I don't feel comfortable in it. But I began to love all types of music because my mother was wise enough to introduce me to them, almost like a DJ. She made me understand that there is only good and bad music in the world. All other labels are immaterial. She moved from Beethoven to Frank Sinatra without remorse."

Nowadays, with the consolidation of the music industry, especially radio, it's not exactly easy to segue from the longhairs to Ol' Blue Eyes. At several points, Cura bemoans the influence of "marketing forces." As part of assorted promotional campaigns, Cura finds himself lumped in along with other Latin operatic talents such as Marcelo Alvarez, Juan Diego Florez and Ramon Vargas.

But Cura dismisses the Latin connection as more marketing nonsense. "People see only the tip of the iceberg. There's much, much more. Florez, Alvarez, Vargas, all have been working for years, they're not just overnight sensations. They are very accomplished professionals. That they are Latin is only a coincidence."

Then again, talk of a Latin connection hints at the bias that opera should remain a European domain.

"Some people mistakenly think that the so-called Third World is not supposed to produce a first-class classical music product. In any case, 99 percent of Latin America has something to do with European roots. It's 100 percent Mediterranean."

As for another kind of 100 percent, Cura hopes to remain at full strength vocally for many more years. "It depends on the organ," he said. Referring to the supertenor, who turns 62 in January, he added, "Domingo is the exception. He is an amazing example of longevity, considering his especially heavy artistic life. I want to pray I will last as long as he has."

With longevity of course comes a better understanding and interpretation of roles, especially in operas like "Samson et Dalila," which favor orchestral color over characterization and drama.

"I feel that I am a better Samson now, in part due to maturity," Cura said. "'Samson' cannot be performed if you only produce the music. If you put in the extra ingredient, the spiritual component, then you have a great evening. The French repertoire, in the first approach [music only], maybe is kitsch. You have to go beyond the sugar to see the real message.

"It's a big challenge also with 'Werther,' 'Herodiade.' When I first studied the scores, I thought it was pure sugar, but then I find the inspiration of modern life."

"Samson" has turned into one of his signature roles, along with "Otello," which unfortunately he has not yet recorded.

And it seems unlikely to happen given the state of the classical music recording industry. "When you record a whole opera, you almost never break even, except as a live [concert] performance," he said. "Production costs are enormous."

In 1999, when Time-Warner closed the Erato label, Cura along with many other classical artists, found himself without a home. "The times when singers were signed to an exclusive recording contract are finished," he said. "We're all in a period of transition, trying not to die, but also not to overdo.

"The problem with the market now is that it's not interested in real things. Without last-minute inventions, they think the buyers are lost."

Meaning Italian tenor Salvatore Licitra, who stepped in for an ailing Luciano Pavarotti at the Met in 2002 and rapidly gained press acclaim as opera's newest star?

Ever the diplomat, Cura quickly added, "No, you said that. Not me."

Referring again to the hype machine, he said, "It used to be like that for me, too. But I got fed up with it. I did not study for 20 years to become a marketing clown.

"Serious music needs time to be serious about its art. So maybe it's not bad luck that Erato closed down. All of sudden I was alone in the desert. Now I am slowly recovering my position as a serious musician. The events of four years ago have led to a reversal of bad fortune."

Superb cast, music make 'Samson' hard to resist

Chicago Tribune

Wynne Delacom

15 December 2003

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Here at home, it's nothing but French opera as Lyric Opera of Chicago moves toward its Christmas hiatus with Gounod's "Faust," which closes Dec. 20, and Saint-Saëns' "Samson et Dalila," which opened Saturday night. With a superb cast headed by Jose Cura and Olga Borodina, and staged by Sandra Bernhard with sets by Douglas W. Schmidt, costumes by Carrie Robbins and lighting by Christine Binder, Lyric's revival of "Samson" is spectacular. It is a terrific evening of music theater, one that deftly balances French grand opera's tricky blend of luscious music designed to insinuate itself into the ear and brain and staging requirements that can easily descend into kitsch.

Cura, the tall, dark, handsome Argentine tenor who made his American debut at Lyric in "Fedora" in 1994-95, has been on everybody's list of the longed-for "Fourth Tenor" since emerging on stage in the early 1990s. Mercifully, the sillier aspects of that near-desperate early hype have died down a little, allowing Cura's phenomenally rich, flexible tenor voice and stage presence time and space to blossom naturally. Nine seasons ago, Cura arrived at Lyric with a beautiful voice and woeful acting skills. Saturday night, paired with the equally gifted Russian-born Borodina in her Lyric debut as the Philistine femme fatale, he was, both vocally and in terms of acting, the kind of sexy, noble Biblical warrior opera lovers dream about.

"Samson's" fierce confrontation between the pagan Philistines and the enslaved Jews, with its martial choruses and pensive laments, wild Bacchanale ballet and smoldering love duet hot enough to melt the polar ice cap, is a potent blend of fire and ice.

Aided by conductor Emmanuel Villaume's spirited control of Saint-Saëns' highly colored orchestral accompaniment, Cura and Borodina explored every angle of that potentially confusing combination.

With Cura exploiting his tenor's darker weight, Samson emerged as both a thoughtful servant of God and a headstrong warrior. A sexy-looking hunk in his short tunic, he was a magnetic figure in the opening scene, a natural leader whose stirring call to arms galvanized the dispirited Jews. Eschewing cartoonish strutting and gestures for more understated intensity, Cura's Samson was a believable young hero from his first entrance.

That intensity turned the Act II love scene into a titanic struggle worthy of both its Biblical authors and Saint-Saëns' gorgeously crafted score. Cura's Samson was acutely aware of his weakness for Dalila and the danger his liaison posed for his people. But the ultimately disastrous clash of his passion with the savvily deployed tears, caresses and curses of Borodina's irresistible Dalila was as riveting to watch as an impending train wreck.

Borodina sounded underpowered at one or two points in Act II, but for most of the evening her ringing mezzo-soprano with its seductively dusky lower register was as magical as Cura's tenor. This is one of Borodina"s signature roles, and her Dalila was as proudly aware as any Scarlett O'Hara of her own beauty and power over men. She manipulated them with the dispassionate skill of a veteran battlefield general.

This sense of Dalila as both participant and observer heightened the love scene's drama. Dalila's iron control over every nuance of Saint-Saëns' sinuous aria "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix" from a soothing whisper to jubilant ecstasy, made Samson's helplessness even more pitiable. Her scenes with Jean-Philippe Lafont, Lyric's commanding High Priest of Dagon, dripped hauteur and venom.

Schmidt's sets brought the ancient Middle East to life with an edgy, 20th-century flair. In the opening scene, the golden-toned, brick Temple of Dagon reared backward, a looming but mysteriously vulnerable edifice. Amid the diaphanous curtains and soft pillows of Dalila's boudoir, we could all but smell the perfumed night air of the purple desert sky. When the chained Samson summoned his last strength to destroy Dagon's temple, its columns buckled, and statues and ramparts fell in stylized, almost slow-motion chaos. Half-dream, half-reality, it was stagecraft at its best.

This "Samson" triumphs because kitsch has been banished from the stage. Even the bacchanalia, set to one of Saint-Saëns' most famous, Middle Eastern-spiced melodies, was much more than a pagan orgy tidied up for middle-class consumption. Kenneth von Heidecke's choreography had plenty of flashing leg and arching back, but its lean line and continuous flow echoed the streamlined seamlessness of Saint-Saëns' entire score.

Secondary characters, including Tigran Martirossian's mocking Abimelech and Raymond Aceto's touching Old Hebrew, were well done. Lyric's chorus was a strong, expressive presence, whether as the Jews pouring out their wrenching despair in the first scene or the cruel Philistine mob taunting Samson at the opera's close. The orchestra was virtually its own cast of characters, from the love scene's succulent woodwinds to the bold brass in the opera's martial moments.

"Samson et Dalila" isn't your typical holiday fare, but it could be the perfect antidote to too many sugarplums or the post-Christmas blahs. Naughty and much more than nice.

More Acclaim for José Cura as Samson

Opera Japanica

Maria Nockin

José Cura as Samson is effective from the dramatic point of view: as a warrior and a prophet he has his entrance in a modest way and then incites his people with fervour and dignity (what dignity permitted him by the short tunic he dresses in during all three acts). From the dramatic viewpoint, his highlight is not the intimate second act, where Olga Borodina as Dalila dominates, but the third act, where the tragic and pathetic vein of this singer finds a vent in the lament "Vois ma misère” and then in the pressing rise towards the final invocation to God and the destruction of the temple. (L’Opera, Marta Tonegutti) Translated by Cicci

The Lyric Opera of Chicago is one of the few companies that offers premieres on weeknights. On Tuesday, December 16, it presented Camille Saint-Saëns' Samson et Dalila as a setting for spectacular singing by Russian mezzo-soprano, Olga Borodina and Argentine tenor, José Cura. Borodina was an exciting Dalila with all the vocal and physical attributes that the role demands, a perfect temptress whose captivating seduction made it easy for the legendary warrior lay down his weapons. She gave a 'golden age' performance.

Cura sang with powerful dark tones, impressing the audience with his stagecraft and athletic physique. In his interpretation he showed that he was aware of his weakness for Dalila, but totally unable to resist. He had not been heard at the Lyric Opera in nine years and he received a warm welcome. Jean Philippe Lafont was an evil high priest who sang with an acid tone, Tigran Martirossian a mocking, acerbic Abimelech and Raymond Aceto a touching Old Hebrew. The chorus, led by Donald Palumbo, performed well throughout and conductor, Emmanuel Villaume, drew sensuous sonorities from the fine orchestra. Special kudos go to the woodwinds for their exquisite work in the love scene.

Sandra Bernhard's production was effective without being overdone. Set designer, Douglas Schmidt, made Dalila's Act II boudoir visually piquant with diaphanous draperies and it provided a wonderful background for seduction. The finale worked perfectly, too, with the coordinated collapse of the temple barely preceding the falling curtain. Costumer, Carrie Robbins, had attractive singers to dress and she decked them out in an aura of beauty: Samson in a short robe and Dalila in flowing garments. The only weak point in the whole production was the rather lack-luster ballet which did not seem in keeping with the sinuous rhythms of the Baccanale.

Chicago 'Samson' a don't-miss affair

News-Chronicle

Erik Eriksson

4 January 2004

Lyric Opera of Chicago begins the New Year just as it ended the old one - and that's welcome news. Lyric Opera's opulent production of Saint-Saëns' "Samson et Dalila" is an absorbing example of opera at its best and shakes loose any residing notions that this work is too oratoriolike, too static.

With two principals who bring large voices, exemplary physical appearance and incandescent histrionic gifts, "Samson et Dalila" flames up as it rarely has in its century-and-a-quarter lifespan. Opera enthusiasts have six more opportunities to hear and view this production (resuming Friday, Jan. 9), one we deem a "don't miss" affair.

Beyond the luminescence of the two title artists, the production is what Wagner called "Gesamtkunstwerk" come to life. It holds accomplished singing, spectacular scenic design, costuming both lavish and honest, powerful theater and superb choral work. Such a well-balanced enterprise underscores opera's ability to engage and move audiences on multiple levels.

The Samson, Argentinean tenor Jose Cura, began roughly, the tone in his upper middle voice curdling to a near yodel. Bottom and top registers sounded intact, but this unsteadiness around the "passaggio" is unsettling from one who just six years ago offered a suave, smooth integration of registers and a trim, thrilling vibrato. Notwithstanding this problem (one we hope he will address with a first-class vocal pedagogue), Cura was a powerful, subtle, ultimately profoundly moving leader of the Israelites. He has the volume, the dark good looks, the sense of stagecraft and the massive physique of a body-builder.

After ranting a bit in the first act, he settled down to singing of nuance and purpose. In the first scene of the final act, pushing a millstone, he made Samson's anguish heartbreaking and he lifted himself in the temple scene to the final note that brings down the house - literally. A noble, courageous portrayal.

No reservations whatever apply to his Dalila, Russian mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina. This beautiful artist has a lustrous instrument of such range and exquisite dark hues, of such volume (as to set loose torrents of sound in the big moments), of such overwhelming sensuality - that she occupies a realm apart from all other exponents of Dalila in the past 50 or 60 years. Before that, no one comes to mind who might outrank her.

Borodina was resolute in her perceived duty to the Philistines, despite residual feelings toward her former lover. In her seduction of Samson, she was the most dangerous of women. Borodina's is one of the truly great voices of the present age and, here, it was displayed in a role its owner commands absolutely.

Among the rest of a strong cast, Tigran Martirossian was a haughty, handsome-toned Abillech, his firm bass establishing all necessary authority. Baritone Jean-Phillipe Lafont was an imposing High Priest of Dagon with a menacing voice now beginning to fray a little. Bringing gravity and pathos to the Old Hebrew, bass Raymond Aceto had the granitic timbre and full low notes to make the most of his role.

Patrick Miller and Christopher Dickerson were fine as the First and Second Philistines and Green Bay tenor Scott Ramsay made a cameo of the Philistine messenger, singing with lovely, plangent tone and acting with fevered urgency.

The Lyric Opera chorus, for years one of the world's best, sang with such full, gleaming, finely tuned sound and acted with such intensity that it claimed a leading part in the production. Choral singing of such splendor can never be taken for granted.

Douglas W. Schmidt's sets were luxuriant, with special attractions in Dalila's pavilion and the massive temple which collapsed at the end with striking verisimilitude. Christine Binder's lighting was always apposite and frequently breathtaking. The Lyric Opera Ballet executed a bacchanal of utmost sensuality, avoiding all suggestions of overheated kitsch.

Finally, in the pit before Lyric Opera's extraordinary orchestra, was a Frenchman of uncommon eloquence. Conductor Emmanuel Villaume made the most of his players' virtuosity in pressing moments that benefit from propulsion, yet lingering when Borodina wished to prolong her act one aria ("Printemps qui commence") with suggestive languor.

Not for a moment does this "Samson et Dalila" flag; rather, the full measure of its decadence, sensuality, betrayal and triumph resounds with clarion call.
Eriksson writes about classical music and jazz for The News-Chronicle.

Lyric cast delivers powerful, guileful 'Sampson et Dalila'

Chicago Tribune

John von Rhein

December 15, 2003

Talk about your weapons of mass seduction. Olga Borodina, as the Philistine uber-temptress Delilah in "Samson et Dalila," has them all, and they're hidden in plain sight.

When we first behold her, singing of the amorous delights of spring in Lyric Opera's handsome revival of the Saint-Saëns opera, she is so ravishing to the eyes and ears as to turn any stout-hearted Samson to marshmallow. Listen to Borodina's soft phrases that curl as sinuously as Delilah's motives. This siren knows Samson's strength and faith cannot withstand her sensuous wiles. No wonder Jose Cura, as the biblical strongman she loves to hate, succumbs without much of a struggle.

The extraordinary Russian mezzo-soprano finally made her Lyric debut in her signature role Saturday at the Civic Opera House, and if Borodina's performance towered over everyone else's, much else reminded us how good Lyric Opera can be when the stars are in proper alignment. The singing, conducting, playing and production values all were first-rate, and there was that spectacular temple collapse at the end for those needing a theatrical frisson to tide them over until "Phantom of the Opera" returns in March.

Back after 14 years was the opulently kitschy production -- sets by Douglas W. Schmidt, costumes by Carrie Robbins, lighting by Christine Binder -- Lyric has been sharing with the San Francisco Opera since 1991. It still looks terrific. Nicolas Joel's name is no longer on the production credits, but the new director, Sandra Bernhard, has focused the show's dramatic energies in such a way that no one can accuse Saint-Saens' one-hit wonder of being a staged oratorio.

Borodina reminded one why Saint-Saens toyed briefly with the idea of calling his opera "Dalila." A mesmerizing singing actress can bring down the house with the role, and she did.

Delilah stands between Samson, whose power is vulnerable through his strength, and the High Priest of the Philistines, whose strength lies only in the power he wields over the oppressed Hebrews. Each of her three arias made slightly different use of Borodina's mezzo-soprano, with its dark, velvety, voluptuous timbre. Indeed, the subtle inflections of her singing and her dramatic skills gave the seductress far more complexity than one usually finds.

"Printemps qui commence" was a slow, soft reverie floating on a ravishing cushion of sound. In "Amour, viens aider ma faiblesse," Delilah called for strength; in "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix," she summoned everything she had to learn the source of Samson's power. Her Act 2 scene with baritone Jean-Philippe Lafont as they plotted the Israelite hero's downfall was gripping music drama.

Borodina delivered as lusciously sung and cannily portrayed a Delilah as you will hear in any opera house today. It's good to have this important artist singing at Lyric, at long last.

Cura certainly looked the part of the brawny Samson and, once past the hectoring tone with which he oversang the hero's opening scene, the Argentine tenor mustered the heroic timbre and dramatic declamation needed to get him through this demanding French tenor role. He aptly conveyed Samson's Tannhauser-like struggle between faith and the flesh. His most intense and poignant singing came in "Vois ma misere," when the blinded, shackled captive despairingly cried out to God. At quieter dynamic levels, however, the music needed more elegance and a smoother legato line.

Lafont may be rather rough of timbre but, as the only Francophone in the cast, he sang the fanatical High Priest with idiomatic style, attack and diction, fully inside the character's ferocity and cruelty. Bass Tigran Martirossian introduced an Abimelech of grave, sonorous impact, while bass Raymond Aceto made sure we paid attention to the Old Hebrew's brief scene, which normally is barely noticed.

The Lyric Opera Orchestra is having one of its best seasons ever, and Emmanuel Villaume, making a welcome debut in the pit, is one of the reasons. The Strasbourg-born conductor has great idiomatic feeling for the score, and it showed in scene after scene: from the atmospheric way he built tension and release, to his flexible regard for the singers' needs, to the wealth of color and rhythmic élan he brought to the orgiastic Bacchanale. The dancers executed this ballet with bare-chested bravado. Kenneth von Heidecke was the choreographer.

LOC Samson Review from Opera News

March 2004

Critical opinion of Saint-Saens’s one hit, Samson et Dalila, often veer toward self-conscious patronization, as though learned men were embarrassed to admit they really like it. In truth, the opera is hardly a masterpiece. A certain dramatic rigidity, particularly in Act 1, betrays the work’s original oratorio concept, and design excess has tended to render it as glitzy, quasi-Biblical kitsch. However, when Samson et Dalila is as intelligently produced as it was in Lyric Opera of Chicago’s stunning revival (seen Dec. 18), it can be a terrific night at the opera.

Smoldering at the center of the Lyric production were José Cura and Olga Borodina, in her long-awaited Lyric debut. The Argentinean tenor was last seen here in 1994, a promising young talent subbing for Plácido Domingo in Fedora. Cura returns an international star in what has become a signature role for him, and with good reason. He unleashed torrents of ringing heroic tone within a dramatic conception that remained convincing, from the eroticism of the Dalila with the child in the final scenes. His voice seemed to gain power through the evening, yet he maintained the necessary control for some delicate pianissimos in the opening of Act III. Cura’s is not a refined sound, and there is a certain lack of French elegance; but this is an exciting performer who here provided a wealth of visceral thrill.

Borodina was even better. She has a gorgeous voice, with a chesty, throbbing quality that retains its roundness throughout the register, and she is capable of the rapid passagework required for the temple ensemble. If her Act I demeanor was a trifle cool, the sensuality of the seduction scene was palpable, and her “Mon Coeur s’ouvre a ta voix” was one of the most beautiful in memory.

Jean-Philippe Lafont’s High priest was a sneering demon of insinuating malevolence. His vibrato has loosened somewhat, but the voice remains imposingly resonant, and his handling of the French text is a pleasure to hear. Tigran Martirossian, in his Lyric debut as Abimelech, and Raymond Aceto as the Old Hebrew contributed sonorous bass voices to the timbral mix. Lyric Opera Center’s Scott Ramsay, Christopher Dickerson and Patrick Miller did well by the spooked-out Philistines. (Mark Thomas Ketterson)

Samson et Dalila, Chicago, December / January 2003/2004: “Cura certainly looked the part of the brawny Samson and, once past the hectoring tone with which he oversang the hero's opening scene, the Argentine tenor mustered the heroic timbre and dramatic declamation needed to get him through this demanding French tenor role. He aptly conveyed Samson's Tannhauser-like struggle between faith and the flesh. His most intense and poignant singing came in ‘Vois ma misere,’ when the blinded, shackled captive despairingly cried out to God.” American Record Review, Spring 2004

Samson et Dalila, Chicago, December / January 2003/2004: “José Cura as Samson is effective from the dramatic point of view: as a warrior and a prophet he made his entrance in a modest way and then incites his people with fervor and dignity (what dignity permitted him by the short tunic he dresses in during all three acts). From the dramatic viewpoint, his highlight is not the intimate second act, where Olga Borodina as Dalila dominates, but the third act, where the tragic and pathetic vein of this singer finds a vent in the lament ‘Vois ma misère’ and then in the pressing rise towards the final invocation to God and the destruction of the temple.” L’Opera

Samson et Dalila, Chicago, December / January 2003/2004: “The exceptional cast was able to provide long stretches of suspended disbelief. José Cura achieved moments of great vocal power and dramatic intensity as Samson.” Opera, June 2004

A Wild Night at the Opera

Chicago Tribune

Lucinda Hahn

19 January 2004

Can a woman wear -- gasp! -- pants to the opera? "Oh, sure, people even wear jeans," said Diana Davis, clad in slacks at Lyric Opera's black-tie bash on Friday. She should know: She's married to the institution's general director, Bill Mason, who concurred. "We're fine with it," he said, "as long as people enjoy themselves and love the music."

Held at the Civic Opera House, the 20th Fantasy of the Opera party raised $325,000 -- and further dispelled the myth that opera is but a grandly staged bore. (As the great English conductor Sir Thomas Beecham once remarked, "No operatic star has yet died soon enough for me.")

The enthusiasm of some 600 revelers -- who scurried in from the cold to martinis with names like Tosca's Kiss -- certainly helped. Among them: Dave Ormesher, the founder of a River North marketing firm, and his wife, Sue. "We bought a box here to entertain clients," he said, "and after a few years we were enjoying it so much we said, 'Screw the clients, we're going to come on our own,' and we bought our own seats."

Just after 8 p.m., the crowd filtered into the theater for the evening's high point: a recital of modern tunes by stars of Lyric's current productions. Russian diva Olga Borodina (Dalila in "Samson et Dalila") sang a heart-breaking "Summertime," from George Gershwin's "Porgy and Bess."

The show was emceed by Lyric's music director, Sir Andrew Davis, whose wit rivaled anything Billy Crystal produces on Oscar night. When hunk-tenor José Cura carried off his own music stand after performing two smoldering Argentinian love songs, Davis gave him a long look and quipped: "Not only does he sing like that, he's a good stagehand."

Afterward, guests dispersed to various rooms for a gourmet buffet, then made haste to the Opera Bar, where long tables teemed with some 5,000 dessert pieces -- from mini Sacher torte to demitasse cups of fleur-de-lis cheese laced with Grand Marnier.

Later, couples crowded the marble dance floor in the art deco Grand Foyer. Some fox-trotted to the tunes of the Stu Hirsh Orchestra; another gentleman, who jerked and flailed, perhaps danced to the beat of a different band.