That is why singing captivates us
Interview |
“Phenomenal.” “An experience.” “Brilliant.” “Well-thought-out, nuanced.” No, this isn’t a collection of buzzwords for an awards ceremony, but rather highlights from the reviews of Elīna Garanča’s debut as Princess Bouillon at the Vienna State Opera. Performed a few years ago, to the delight and enthusiasm of the audience. Now she is singing the role again at the Vienna State Opera. Whether and how her perspective on the role has changed, just how dark and sinister the murderous princess is, and what inner conflicts Elīna Garanča is going through —Oliver Láng learned all this in a conversation with the one-of-a-kind mezzo-soprano.
Princess Bouillon has been on your mind for quite some time now: not only in Vienna in 2021, but also in Madrid and, most recently, in Naples. Has your perspective on the dying Princess changed? Has the character changed for you?
Bouillon is one of those characters who doesn't necessarily display a wide range of character depth and complexity. She is what she is, and she doesn’t really develop any further as the plot unfolds. There is the famous, grand “Acerba voluttà” aria that many are familiar with: she loves, suffers from doubts, and longs for Maurizio. Even though we see her here as a loving woman, one senses from the very beginning that the waters are deep and dark, that there are abysses. Later, her jealousy escalates to the point of frenzy.
At first, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that. – I believe that anyone who has ever been zealous is familiar with thoughts that perhaps go beyond the ordinary. But the princess actually commits murder! And one must consider the character within her historical context: As a historical ruler, she moves in a world where, time and again, people were murdered for trivial reasons, without giving it much thought. That shocks us today far more than it did her.
She isn't a female Scarpia? She isn’t a strategic, pitch-black character, but rather someone seeking revenge for a romantic slight?
I don't think she's a wildly calculating person. She reacts in the moment, without thinking things through too much. Scarpia, by comparison, is a mastermind. He has a vast mental map in which developments are mapped out many steps in advance.
He reflects, plans, and calculates. Princess Bouillon acts more emotionally; her love and passion are a brightly blazing flame.
David McVicar’s production, presented at the Vienna State Opera, is set in the early 18th century, The sets and costumes are faithfully recreated to match the period of the story. Is it fun to travel back in time on stage? To perform in historical costumes?
Yes, it’s a little trip down memory lane—it lets you feel different for a change. Although 18th-century fashion isn’t exactly comfortable—just look at the shoes! These days, we all wear sneakers in our day-to-day lives, and when you’re walking around on stage in high heels, your feet start to hurt after just an hour and a half!
Not to mention the dresses, which are quite heavy and feel stiff—and then there’s the corset on top of that. It’s all very nice, but I’m still really glad that time is over.
The character Adriana in the opera—based on the French actress Adrienne Lecouvreur—says the following: “I am merely the servant of creative genius.” Is that a view you share? The performing artist as an executor, as an instrument?
That’s a good question. It’s true that we’re actually reproducing something that was conceived and created by others. Verdi, Cilea, and Puccini wrote the music, librettists penned the text—the great ideas are already there, as is the structure.
Every single orchestral part, every melody, everything we sing, everything the choir sings—it’s all in the score. And we—we bring them to life. At the same time, of course, we breathe new life into these works every single time. I give the music a physical form, and this form enters into an exchange with the composer, responds to the current situation, to the audience—my counterpart—and to the energy in the room.
And even though I’m no Verdi, God has still blessed me with a talent: my voice. So I add something to an existing work by reinterpreting it— —but I don’t create anything entirely new.
When someone sings on stage, a close connection forms with the audience—one that we cannot precisely describe or even grasp. It is an almost esoteric—or, let’s call it—spiritual bond. —And that is one of the reasons why singing and opera captivate us.
When you say that God has given you a talent: Do you feel a sense of responsibility to make use of it? That you owe it to the world and to yourself?
Sure! That's a big responsibility. I definitely feel a moral obligation not to let talent go to waste. Incidentally, this awareness is also a strong “imprint” from my upbringing in Latvia, which instilled in us —as in many countries of the former Eastern Bloc—taught us that we must serve the stage and the arts. And to the highest degree. This was also linked to the awareness that one must sacrifice some aspects of one’s private life for the sake of one’s profession. And ultimately, that is exactly how it is.
Rainer Maria Rilke was also familiar with this theme and wrote about the “old enmity between life and great work” in this regard. In other words, the tension between private life and responsibility. How do you deal with these issues?
Is it true that you have to set aside a little time for your private life every day—and then feel guilty about it?
Well, I believe that this is different for every person, for every artist—male or female. The mere fact of whether or not you have a family changes your perspective on this question. I can look back on a 30-year career as a singer and know that a significant part of my career has already taken place.
Likewise, I’ve probably already lived half my life, and that’s a point at which I’m allowed to ask myself: How well-balanced have the last 30 years been? And what will the second half be like? Because in addition to the artistic responsibility I mentioned above, there’s a second one—namely, my responsibility as a mom. My children will grow up someday, and I want to give them my time and a part of myself. Now, not in ten years, when they’re grown up.
I often say: In my life, there are three personalities—one in my head, one in my heart, and one in my gut. These three have to find a common path and get along with one another. And yes, I have to admit that there were times when I put other things aside for the sake of my career. These things are now coming to the surface, and they’re saying, “We need to figure this out anew.” And it’s actually fun, because I’m getting to know a different side of myself.