Undoubtedly the most successful musical ever written about Argentina was Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “Evita,” which stormed into the Prince Edward Theatre in London in 1978. Ten years before, Astor Piazzolla’s “María de Buenos Aires” made a much more modest debut at the Sala Planeta in the Argentinean capital. Nominally a “tango operita,” this relatively short work is a much more fascinating and esoteric composition. Until the early 1990s it was seldom performed outside Argentina.

The narrative is much more surreal than sequential with an impenetrable  plot involving the possible reincarnation of the heroine/whore as either a zombie, Mary Mother of God, Jesus Christ himself or an unholy trinity of all three. María’s possible rebirth is one highpoint of textual ambiguity –  the Voice of Sunday says: “The girl had another girl who is her and yet not so.” “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma” as Sir Winston Churchill once remarked. In a visual art parallel, “María de Buenos Aries” would be a fusion of Salvador Dalí and MC Escher with an overall tincture of Goya in his blackest phase.

Horacio Ferrer’s hermetic libretto actually obfuscates rather than clarifies. The language is a partial hybrid of the Order of the Mass mixed with contemporary jargon and street slang. Strewn amid the verbosity there are odd references to such mundane matters as (stolen) pool tables and Charlie Chaplin. It is if Umberto Eco had incorporated Trip Advisor quotes in “L’isola del giorno prima.” A description of the heroine as “the one-eyed rose of a lame clown” is an apt example of how Ferrer attempts arcane imagery but is actually afflicted with chronic over-writing. There is a cheeky parody of the Catholic “Ave Maria” when the Payador sings “Maria, forgotten art Thou amongst women” to the accompaniment of church bells. One of the better lines is that Maria was born “on a day that God was drunk.”

Musically the opus is a random collection of songs, Sprechstimme, lengthy instrumental passages, plainchant Greek chorus-like commentary, seductive tango dancing and a lot of spoken dialogue which may have been confusing for the mostly German-speaking audience in Graz. The single constant is the “Nuevo tango” genre of which Piazzolla became the undisputed master, grâce à Nadia Boulanger.

Not Lacking in Ideas

It says much for the imaginative repertoire planning of Oper Graz Intendantin Nora Schmid that this tango operita was included in the 2017-18 season – the first time the work had been performed in Austria. Even more interesting was that the production was not staged in the delightful Fellner & Helmer designed opera house but in the semi-al fresco setting of the Schloßbergbühne auf den Kasematten within 16th century fortifications overlooking the city.

Although the hypnagogic nature of the work defies accurate contextual description, it provides unlimited possibilities for insightful directors and Rainer Vierlinger was not lacking in ideas. Similar to Ella Marchment’s production in the graffiti-ridden London Vaults in 2016, the physical challenges in Graz were daunting – a 30-meter long space with quasi-cloisters behind meant that the performance was a continuous panorama of people passing by. The musicians, guitar, bandoneón and soloists were all miked, which thanks to an excellent audio system spread the sound in a realistic, unobtrusive manner.

Instead of the usual enlarged tango bar stage setting, Vibeke Andersen performed a minor miracle in her set and costume designs by transforming a medieval fortress in genteel Graz into a plausible streetscape of the seedy slums of Villa Soldati. There was constant movement of people with children zooming around on bikes, sex starved sailors on the prowl, officious military officers, posturing priests, portly pasta makers, altar boys in spotless vestments,  anxious mothers bringing in the washing and prim pigeon-toed nuns scuttling through the squalor with one eye avoiding the sordid goings-on and the other taking a vicarious peek. There were lots of layabout riffraff and an endless crowd of sly scammers, drunks, drug dealers, thieves, pimps and prostitutes. It would be hard to imagine anywhere more diametrically different from the sedate, circumspect capital of Austria’s southern Steiermark region. An enormous palpitating ruby colored heart dominated the center of the set with rather macabre arteries extending in various directions like pinkish roots on a grotesque gomeros tree. Perhaps symbolic of the barrio locals, the heart was actually hollow and at one point an immensely tall Madonna rose meters above the stage from the inside on a cleverly concealed hydrolic lift. Regrettably she looked like Fasolt in religious drag.

Too Fast

Unlike Piazzolla’s earlier compositions written for his own quintet of bandoneón, violin, piano, guitar and bass, “María de Buenos Aires” has an expanded instrumentation including viola, cello, flute, xylophone, vibraphone and celeste. German conductor Marcus Merkel led the talented ensemble with plenty of panache even though his tempi were significantly faster than Piazzolla’s original recording made in 1968. For example the Tema de María is marked Triste y lento but the opening vocalized “la la la li’s” were uncomfortably brisk. The sultry, smoky, seductive phrases just weren’t very sexy although there was outstanding guitar playing. Similarly the “Balada renga para un organito loco” tempo should be “vals lento” but Merkel turned it into a something closer to a thumpy local Ländler. The “Fuga y misterio” and “Tangata del alba” instrumental intermezzi were ferocious in their rhythmic intensity and the “Allegro Tangabile” similarly savage with some really impressive presto bandoneón and xylophone playing. The mock-marching band chorus of psychiatrists with warbling flute and jaunty xylophone obbligato was a foot-tapping pastiche of music which could have come from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Overall it is a hybrid creation with easily identifiable Piazzolla sonorities and several pastiche numbers ranging from schmaltzy waltz parodies and soaring Puccini-esque melodies to hurdy-gurdy cacophony and even a piano bar scene in the “Romanza del Duende Poeta y Curda” which was only missing Bergman and Bogie from “Casablanca.” Perhaps it was due to the amplification, but except for the outstanding bandoneón and guitar work of Martin Veszelovicz and Hanspeter Kapun, volume and rhythmic pungency took priority over the more lyrical and legato demands of the score.  Measured rubato was minimal.

Uneven Overall

Interestingly the opus is written for only three vocalists, one of which, “El Duende”, is more Sprechstimme than stimme. Serbian baritone and Oper Graz ensemble member Ivan Oreščanin was a convincing Singer taking on the multiple roles with varying degrees of success. The lyrical demands of the first analyst and old thief were more successful than the declamatory Payador and the tender “cerrá los ojos María” passage in the lobotomy scene had an admirable evenness of tone. Oreščanin has a well-supported vocal technique but occasionally fuzzy intonation. The timbre was agreeable and characterizations generally sympathetic.  As the only non-native Spanish speaker, Oreščanin had the least impressive diction which is perhaps why he and a few of the “mystery men” muttered several phrases in German during the “Lame Ballad.” Better attention could have been paid to word coloring and “las arpías viejas de negro capuz como en una eucaristía mugrentera,” for example, lacked the ideal cynical bite. “Nacía con un insulto en la voz!” was convincingly delivered, even if not exactly appropriate to the María in this performance.

Impeccable Clarity

As the narrator El Duende, acclaimed Madrid-based actor Ciro Gael Miró brought emotion and exemplary diction to the part and managed to deliver Ferrer’s incomprehensible text with obvious feeling which conveyed the sense of the poetry, even for non-Spanish speakers. Unfortunately his delivery of the complicated lines seemed consistently hurried, especially in comparison to the original Duende, which was played by Horacio Ferrer himself. Obviously the author knew how his tortuous text should be paced. There was ominous shading on “sencillas de la muerte, he de traer tu canto oscuro” which established the pervasive darkness of the libretto. The lengthy, almost manic “Tocata rea” monologue was riveting in its wrath.  By contrast the plaintive “Contramilonga a la funerala pir la rimera muerte de María” was sensitively delivered with the lines “María de Buenos Aires lloró por primera vez” having particular poignancy. One of the more uplifting aspects of the operita is the genuine affection El Duende has for his ill-fated  creation and Miró was able to convey these feelings without feigned sentimentality. The bar room scene with three drunken marionettes was another fine piece of acting although the sudden switch to German between sections of dialogue was particularly odd – perhaps an indication of serious insobriety.

Genius

The title role seems to have become the personal property of Colombian diva Catalina Cuervo who has sung the doomed harlot from Florida to Alaska. In preparation for the part, Catalan mezzo Anna Brull spent several months in the tango bars and dives of Buenos Aires and gave a performance which was in all respects dramatically convincing and vocally far superior to Clare Guigo at the London Vaults two years ago. Her first wordless lentamente phrases, albeit precipitate, revealed the resonant chest notes from Brull’s operatic training. This is far from a head-voice singer dependent on a mike for projection.  The highpoint “Yo soy María” was a bigger show-stopper than “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” although Merkel’s tempo was again more impetuous than the allegro  indicated and synchronization between Brull and banda not always exact.  There was a contemptuous gutsiness to “no ven quién soy yo” and “cada macho a mis pies como un ratón en mi trmpa ha de caer!” made Carmen’s “Si je t’aime, prends garde à toi!” seem like an a serenade for seraphim.  In “Poema valseado” Brull coloured the Sprechstimme lines “Seré más triste, más descarte, más robada” with profound pathos. The mezzo’s top was as strong as her solidly supported lower tessitura and the soaring “María del amor! De Buenos Aires soy yo” could have been Celia Cruz in her raunchy prime. As her own reincarnation, the letter to the trees and chimneys displayed Brull’s innate understanding of the immensely complex text and “Mi dolor ha inventado el dolor” was copybook legato chest voice singing. The Catalan’s shrieks of horror at the end of the psychoanalyst scene could have been Kundry. The repeat of “Yo soy María” had more rhythmic precision and the concluding “de mamar a un botín” delivered a knockout punch.

This was unquestionably a performance of the highest calibre acting with vocal qualities to match.

The good mannered Grazers were wildly enthusiastic about the performance and displayed vociferous appreciation for the singers, musicians and production team. Even if Ferrer’s libretto was an exercise in unfathomable surrealism, Piazzolla’s marvelous music snared the audience’s emotions with searing sensuality and pétillant potency.

A victory for Piazzolla over Peron and another triumph for Oper Graz.