Recital in Ann Arbor

by Niel Rishoi, 21 March 2000

Tonight, at Ann Arbor's Lydia Mendelssohn Theatre, Thomas Quasthoff ended his 5 week recital tour with the following programme, accompanied by Justus Zeyen on piano:

It is not often in life that one is privileged to encounter in a singer, true greatness - greatness of artistry, voice/technique, personality, and soul. I consider myself most fortunate to have witnessed tonight one of those few life moments of "greatness" in the person of Thomas Quasthoff.

First off, any absurd notion that may happen to prevail, of "allowances" needing to be made in light of his "disability" can be immediately, and cynically discarded: this is sublime artistry under ANY circumstances. Yet, somehow, one can't help but think if his birth defects somehow contributed to his ability to communicate so deeply such a wide range of emotions: surely someone in his position has perhaps felt the realities of life more deeply than most individuals, and is able to draw on those emotions and channel them through music. Too, perhaps his drive to succeed made him work that much harder on perfecting his technique, which is practically flawless. Speculation, of course, but entirely possible.

I first heard Quasthoff in a 1997 RCA Mozart Aria disc, my first exposure to his voice. I was at once mightily impressed by the beautifully golden, burnished voice, the phenomenal range, as well as his incredible agility - I have never heard a better sung account of the fiendishly difficult concert aria (K.512), "Alcandro, lo confesso". As well, he easily encompassed the vocal and histrionic ranges of, variously, Count Almaviva, Sarastro, Papageno, and Don Giovanni. I thought at the time, this singer should be storming the world's opera stages. It wasn't until I saw the 60 Minutes segment that I was made aware of Quasthoff's unusual circumstances. But I was left even more impressed that this man was able to go far and beyond his "disabilities" - such as it is - into a consecrating artistry that is all too rare these days.

Tonight, in concert, Quasthoff provided more than a confirmation of what I heard on that CD. As I mentioned, the technique is simply prodigious: nothing fazes him, every difficulty is surmounted with a minimum of effort - high, low, loud, soft - he has all the facets needed. Diction is immaculate, the musicianship sterling. Physically, his deportment is exemplary, a lesson to all aspiring (and some active!) singers. There is almost a complete lack of tension in his jaw, neck, and shoulders, and he is blissfully free of that mannerism of manipulating his mouth to produce the right "space" for his tone and vowels. There was no impression whatsover that there was any efffort involved in breathing, either. The production of that all-important column of air is deep, steady, beautifully sustained, and worked in coordination with a resonant, perfectly placed tone. No area of the voice is developed at the expense of another: from the subterranean depths, all the way up, with his being able to lighten the top notes without growing "croony," this is an artist in complete command of his voice, not vice versa.

Then, there is the matter of Quasthoff's interpretational gifts. Even if one is unfamiliar with some of the material (such as I am), it is clear that there is a specificity of purpose in everything he does. He conveyed well the agonizingly moody Brahms' songs, which were rather grim opening pieces. He caught the ardent, obsessive passion of "Wie bist du, meine Königin (How blissful you are, my queen)": the way he magically intoned the repeated word ' wonnevoll! (blissfully!)' , with a look on his face to match, will linger forever in my memory. Of the Italian Liszt pieces, we suddenly heard Quasthoff's voice open up and pour out, stunning everyone with the size and fullness of his tone. The most outstanding of this group was the blazingly intense "Pace non trovo", especially toward the end, where he encompassed a wide range within a single phrase, the top having the freeness of a baritone, while the bottom was as sonorous as one could wish. Moreover, this technical feat was used as a mode of expressiveness, the desperation of 'E bramo di perir e cheggio aita' palpable. Quasthoff's ability to fine down the voice to a near whisper, at the last line ('ô Dulcinée') of the first Ravel song, "Chanson romanesque" was no less impressive. He ended the recital per se with a marvelously sung and acted "Chanson à boire", conveying the sottish swagger of the song in a charismatic, "larger-than-life" enactment which sent the audience to their feet, accompanied by ecstatic bravos. However, it was Quasthoff's singing of "Swing low, sweet chariot" that really drove the audience into a mad frenzy, once again on their feet. The refulgent tone, the complete feel for the idiom (yet within his own personal style), and the incredible range he covered, simply had to be heard to be believed: it was one of those jaw-dropping-pin-your-ears-back moments. Most special of all, though, his utter simplicity of spirit had several members of the audience visibly in tears: an indelible, moving experience.

Justus Zeyen was a superb accompanist, with his soloist in every sense, musically and emotionally. It was touching to see Quasthoff's open displays of affection toward Zeyen, as well as singling him out for his share of applause.

After the concert, there was a question-and answer session with Quasthoff and the audience. As during the recital (in which he actually spoke quite a bit), he displayed engaging wit, charm, and a refreshingly open, friendly quality that put everyone at ease. Among the things he spoke of was his beliefs in his art, the convictions of those beliefs, and his disdain for commercial-minded music making.

I can't possibly imagine a more memorable experience. If Quasthoff ever appears your way, I strongly urge you to catch a great artist while you can.