A Tenor Attuned to His Instincts OPERA
By Anthony Tommasini
Some of the qualities the Polish baritone Mariusz Kwiecien brings to his work are typical products of raw talent, good training and hard work. His voice, for one: burnished and rich, with robust carrying power and a ringing high A many a tenor would covet. His good looks, trim physique and agility are also givens, though at 35 he stays fit through routine exercise. Even his hobby – nature photography in mountainous regions like Peru – keeps him pretty limber.
But other aspects of his artistry – his communicative power, the subtleties of his portrayals – seem to come from instincts that he cannot account for.
Take his portrayal of Dr. Malatesta in the Metropolitan Opera’s production of Donizetti’s “Don Pasquale,” introduced in 2006. The character is usually presented as middle-aged and courtly, a friend to the crusty old bachelor Pasquale, but also to the young Ernesto, Pasquale’s nephew, whom the prosperous uncle plans to disinherit by taking a young wife.
When Kwiecien reported for rehearsals, Otto Schenk, the Austrian director, explained that in keeping with tradition, Malatesta should be presented as about 50. But as the rehearsals began, some chemistry started brewing between Kwiecien and the soprano Anna Netrebko, portraying Norina, the sassy young shopkeeper who loves Ernesto.
The vibes “came spontaneously from both of us,” Kwiecien said during a recent interview. “So Otto told me to forget the idea of making the character older. ‘You are going to be who you really are,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I will ruin everything you and Anna are making onstage.’ “
So this was a “Don Pasquale” with an intriguing psychological twist. The spark between Netrebko and Kwiecien turned Ernesto, played by the appealing tenor Juan Diego Florez, into almost a boyish bystander.
More recently Kwiecien brought bristling volatility to his portrayal of Enrico in the Met’s new production of Donizetti’s “Lucia di Lammermoor,” which opened the season.
Expectations for this production, directed by Mary Zimmerman and conducted by James Levine, were almost impossibly high. Before opening night, a haunting picture of its star, the compelling French coloratura soprano Natalie Dessay, as the mentally unhinged Lucia, seemed to be everywhere in New York.
The reaction among critics, opera buffs and bloggers was mixed, especially about Zimmerman’s directing, which many found unfocused. But there was consensus on Kwiecien’s portrayal of Enrico, Lucia’s older brother, who is forcing her into a marriage that will rescue the family’s fortunes.
In the scene in which Enrico learns that Lucia has fallen for Edgardo of the Lammermoors’ hated rival family, Kwiecien sang with chilling intensity.
Again the connection with Dessay happened instinctively, Kwiecien said. “At the first rehearsal Natalie and I worked alone,” he recalled, “without the stage director, thank God, who didn’t try to destroy what we had made.” As an artist poised to be a major player at the Met in coming seasons, Kwiecien was surprisingly ready to critique Zimmerman’s work. While acknowledging her record of achievement in theater, he found her insufficiently prepared as an opera director.
“She doesn’t speak Italian,” he said. “She had a translation, but that translation was always at her desk. When she was with us onstage, she permanently asked: ‘What does this mean? What do you sing?’ “
Asked about his instinctive feeling for drama, Kwiecien suggested that it may come from being a keen observer. “Every person has something to say, even if they don’t actually say it,” he said. “I watch, always asking myself: What can I get from that person? How many vocal colors, how many emotions does this person have?”
Kwiecien grew up in Krakow. Though he loved rock, he was drawn to the music of his church, where he sang in the choir. Friends urged him to take the exams for entrance to the conservatory in Krakow. So he did and at 18 was accepted into its vocal program. His first love was lieder. But inspired by a colleague, he had an epiphany. He moved to Warsaw and entered the academy there to study opera.
By his early 20s he was getting offers from the many regional opera houses in Europe. “I was scheduled to sing Rodrigo in Verdi’s ‘Don Carlo’ in Bologna,” he said. He had other “crazy offers,” he added: the title role in Berg’s “Wozzeck” and vocally heavy Verdi parts like Rigoletto and Iago. “This was ridiculous,” he said. “I was a lyric bel canto baritone. Maybe when I will be 45 or 50 I can sing those roles.”
Instead he auditioned for a place in the Met’s Lindemann Young Artist Development Program and won it. Coaches there cautioned him to slow down, advice he appreciates even more in retrospect. “Too many young singers, even at my age, 35, who are just now starting,” he said, “are also finishing.” Starting in 1999 he eased into the Met’s roster with supporting assignments. His breakthrough came in 2005, singing two major Mozart roles under Levine: Count Almaviva in “Le Nozze di Figaro” and Guglielmo in “Cosi Fan Tutte,” earning great reviews. He now considers Don Giovanni his calling-card role, having performed it to acclaim in Vienna, San Francisco and elsewhere.
Next season in Paris he will take on a rarity, the title role in the Polish composer Karol Szymanowski’s “King Roger.” This 1926 opera tells of a king in 12th-century Sicily who has a complex relationship with a charismatic young shepherd-prophet, first denouncing him as a heretic then falling under his sway. In the last act the shepherd, transformed into Dionysus, lures the king and his court to a bacchanal.
“This is the only Polish opera our nation can sell to the world,” Kwiecien said. “The music is modern, but the harmony is close to the mountains of Krakow, the harmony I have in my ears.” The role excites him, he said. His instincts are fired up, which, given his past, means that anything could happen once rehearsals start.
Originally published by The New York Times Media Group.
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