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The Kauffman experience is sumptuous: bold tones and palpable texture define the spaces and delight the senses; what seems like a pure white palette outside the performance halls is transformed by color in nuanced reflections. Arguably, similar elements define the score of Turandot and were readily apparent for the season opening night of the Lyric Opera of Kansas City on Saturday. Various, distinct instrumental tones enrich orchestral color. Melodic layering, between orchestra and singers, within the chorus and among leads in ensemble numbers, adds depth and complexity to musical texture. Puccini’s music teases with modern sounds that certainly lie outside of the traditional Italian musical aesthetic of his time. This is not gratuitous modernity, though; Puccini did not integrate pentatonicism to superficially offer “Asian” exoticism, but rather to bring to bear characters’ emotional pathos. Rest assured, there is plenty of Puccini present in Turandot—audiences still get heavy doses of soaring vocal lyricism with doubling by the full orchestra.

Turandot is a slow burn. Puccini’s dramatic intuition told him to reserve momentum, to not rush through turning points of the story. As the first utterance of the opera, the Mandarin’s proclamation, imparted by Stephen Fish’s alluring baritone, was an informative foundation. Then, the story advances in singular dramatic steps across three acts, delaying the resolutions of complex questions surrounding lost relationships, poignant life lessons, and sacrifice. Within the story reside a number of dualities: the most obvious is of course the question/answer dichotomy of the three riddles, with the love/hate dynamic a close second. Embedded in the libretto, though, are additional themes that match the binary formula of the riddles. Consider the powerful versus the powerless and the enslaved versus the free. Ultimately, this opera is not replete with action; rather, intimate interactions between these opposing characters act as sort of micro-dramas requiring audience attention and singer concentration.

Arnold Rawls was dashing as Calaf. Initially, though, the tenor was lost in the orchestral fabric. Then, as Turandot’s name escaped his lips for the first time, Rawls brought something more compelling to the portrayal. The full orchestra underscored the moment, and perhaps Calaf’s delayed, but remarkably vivid statement was the dramatic plan all along. At once, Rawls had the audience’s attention. His star power is in a commanding physical presence: he moves deliberately across the expansive set and in his dramatic posturing (particularly in Act 2 when Calaf volleys answers to Turandot’s riddles), we see the true essence of the character.  

The title character is only a fleeting presence in Act 1 (which contributes to her mythological allure and sets up another curious duality against the earthiness of Liù and Timur).  Finally in Act 2, Lise Lindstrom’s diamond-edge soprano arrives, well suited to “In questa reggia” and to the emphatic announcement “No, mai nessun m’avra” (“No one will ever have me”). This is pure Puccini, and in the hands of such a capable soprano, committed to musicality and precision, it was magnificent. Lindstrom moves with the measured grace of a princess, splendid in her icy coolness, and she managed a certain believability in Turandot’s abrupt emotional turn-about in Act 3 during a powerful encounter with Calaf. “Principessa di morte!” and “Del primo pianto” were convincing enough to move the audience toward sympathy, just as the princess experienced her first kiss and her first tear.

Elizabeth Caballero brought remarkable depth to Liù. “Signoro, ascolta” offered an ideal blend of the unassuming dramatic persona of a slave girl with Caballero’s lush voice; her luxuriant soprano was perfect. This was the first real show-stopping moment of the evening, and the interruptive applause for Caballero was well deserved. And while Rawls may have indeed nailed Calaf’s signature aria, “Nessun dorma,” Act 3 belonged to Caballero and “Tu, che di gel sei cinta.”

Kansas City waited for three decades to bring Samuel Ramey to a Lyric Opera production, and he did not disappoint. As Timur, the aged vagabond, presided over Liù’s lifeless body in Act 3, Ramey flexed his dramatic muscles, putting his signature vibrato to work as a character-specific vocal shade. That rumbling, cavernous, bottomless pit of a bass was the most distinctive voice on the stage, and the audience was fully aware that, quite simply, Ramey was perfectly cast. Turandot’s ministers, Ping, Pang, and Pong, were played by Michael Chioldi, Scott Wichael, and Doug Jones, respectively. The trio had a brilliant chemistry, mixing comedic intent and foreboding in Act 1 when trying to convince the prince to move on (“Fermo! Che fai?”). Chioldi was authoritative as Ping, and his liquid baritone was the just right for the nostalgia of “Ho una casa nell’Honan,” as perfectly played orchestral “sighs” underscored wistful longing.

At 56 singers, the chorus is the largest in Lyric Opera history, but the ensemble functioned masterfully as a single character, demonstrating an admirable flexibility. Compare the near riot of Act 1 when the savage mob’s cries for blood (“Gira la cote!”) give way to the sudden reserved quiet of “Per chè tarda la luna,” just as the rising moon signals impending execution of Turandot’s latest would-be suitor. The basses were particularly potent when bottomed out on “Principessa, show mercy,” and the prayerful, speech-like pleading of Act 2 was positively ethereal choral singing. The score boasts numerous marches—ceremonial music for movement, but the children’s serene processionals were the most mesmerizing. Congratulations to Paula Winans and the disciplined young singers. The five sword-wielding martial artists could have brought more precision to their game. Impressive acrobats were part of the choreography, but with sharper movements, that scene could have been much more engaging.

Garnett Bruce’s recent experiences with Turandot paid off for the Lyric Opera season opener, and his production expertly exploits the technological capabilities of the new space. R. Keith Brumley clearly understands how Puccini himself sought to connect action to setting, and his dynamic designs became the ideal spaces to situate each dramatic scene. The sets were simply phenomenal, where vertical and horizontal elements met on the new stage in a grand scale, offering a physical perspective not possible at the Lyric Theater.

Since Puccini only sparingly incorporated explicit exotic elements into the music, costumes, sets, and lighting contributed mightily to a sense of place. Mary Traylor skillfully outfitted an enormous cast, and Brumley drew inspiration from the Chinese Art Collection of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. The opening seconds of the production alerted the audience to how critical lighting would be to the narrative details. James Sale created thrilling effects, at times subtle, atmospheric gradations (like the gradual change from full moon of night, through the pink of a coming dawn, to full daylight), and at times more obvious, like when lighting informs the riddle/answer sequence (Turandot asks what burns like a flame, and the Prince’s answer is “blood”, so red hues descend). Puccini and his librettists engineered the passing of time to function as part of the action sequence: night moving into day instills some amount of chronological sense, as an audience watches a character move from one state of mind to another. Turandot’s psychological trajectory is thus enhanced significantly by visual effects, as well as by the music, making clear just how collaborative this art form truly is. 

REVIEW:
Lyric Opera of Kansas City
Turandot                                            
Saturday, October 1 at 7:30 p.m. (reviewed)                                     
Runs October 5, 7, and 9
Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts
1601 Broadway, Kansas City, MO
For tickets call 816-471-7344 or online at www.kcopera.org

Top Photo: Anthony Rawls (Center) with Turandot Cast (Lyric Opera of Kansas City) (Photo by Cory Weaver)

By Sarah Tyrrell

Opera, Vocal and Classical Contributor

Since 2004, Dr. Sarah Tyrrell has been part of the Musicology faculty at the UMKC Conservatory of Music. In 2003, she completed doctoral work at the University of Kansas and also holds degrees in music history and voice performance from the New England Conservatory of Music and Kansas State University. At UMKC, Sarah teaches undergraduate and graduate classes in music history and world music, as well as graduate seminars on American and Latin American musics. Sarah has presented her research locally and nationally (her research specialty is the art music of Brazil) and actively guest lectures about town on Brazilian popular subjects such as samba and bossa nova. Her articles and reviews have appeared in Musical Quarterly, Latin American Research Review, and Latin American Perspectives.

Sarah is also active in the Kansas City choral music scene: she is the Artistic Director of the Metropolitan Chorale of Kansas City and also sings soprano with the group. This 60-voice ensemble presents four concerts each year and recently completed a performance tour of Brazil.