Giordano Madame Sans Gene
View record and artist detailsRecord and Artist Details
Composer or Director: Umberto Giordano
Genre:
Opera
Label: Bongiovanni
Magazine Review Date: 7/1996
Media Format: CD or Download
Media Runtime: 109
Mastering:
ADD
Catalogue Number: GB1129/30
Tracks:
| Composition | Artist Credit |
|---|---|
| Madame Sans-Gêne |
Umberto Giordano, Composer
Arturo Basile, Conductor Carlo Perucci, Fouché Carlo Tagliabue, Napoleone, Baritone Danilo Cestari, Neipperg; Vinaigre Danilo Vega, Lefebvre Enzo Viaro, De Brigode; Gelsomino, Bass Irene Callaway, Toniotta; Carolina Magda László, Caterina, Soprano Maria Luisa Malacchi, Giulia; Principessa Elisa Milan RAI Chorus Milan RAI Orchestra Renato Berti, Despréaux Umberto Giordano, Composer |
Author: Michael Oliver
After Andrea Chenier, Fedora and Siberia, Madame Sans-Gene will be a considerable surprise to Giordano’s admirers, perhaps even to his innumerable detractors. How shall we translate the title? “Madame Carefree” says Grove Opera, “Madame Indiscreet” says my nearest French dictionary, but the point about Caterina Lefebvre, later Caterina, Duchess of Danzig, is that she never really stops being Caterina Hubscher, the vivandiere-turned-laundress from Alsace; even when she joins the would-be-elegant ladies at Napoleon’s court (her husband has been uncomfortably elevated from sergeant to Duke to honour his military prowess) she offends the Emperor and his sisters by offering them fritters, the food of the backstreets, and by doing the Italian equivalent of dropping her aitches and exclaiming “Gorblimey!”. She has, of course, a heart of gold, as Napoleon eventually recognizes, and all ends happily: she and her no less gorblimey husband are allowed to leave the stifling world of Compiegne, presumably for the “house with a vegetable patch and a cheerful hearth” in Alsace that they have been longing for ever since Act 1. Giordano being Giordano, melodrama does raise its head once or twice, notably in the last act, where Napoleon’s jealousy of his wife nearly leads to an execution, but as a whole the work is a picturesque lyrical comedy of some accomplishment and no little charm.
There is a great deal of local and period colour, sometimes of the expected kind (numerous references in Act 1, set during the French Revolution, to the Marseillaise, the Carmagnole and “Ca ira!”), sometimes far more adroit. Lefebvre, something of a tough in Act 1 (though also with a heart of gold) has acquired a touch of courtly urbanity by Act 2, set 19 years later: he enters to the sound of a polonaise which tells you exactly what his dress uniform must look like. Napoleon’s court, too, largely made up (as Caterina tactlessly reminds them) of arrivistes who not long ago were barbers and waiters, is nicely sketched with music of slightly artificial, ancien regime elegance. Caterina herself however, sneered at for once consorting with common soldiers, proudly replies (“Yes, I slept among soldiers, who showed more respect than you do”) in an aria that begins by recalling one of Mahler’s military songs, and ends with a flash of the anger of Andre Chenier’s Improvviso. She is very much the central character, something of a gift to a soprano of spirit and humour: she has a quite Offenbach-like patter-song in Act 1, describing how she was waylaid by a battalion of revolutionary ruffians and kissed by every one of them. Magda Laszlo hints that Caterina rather enjoyed the experience, and herself obviously relishes the role; she is in sprightly voice. Her husband is a less rounded figure and he is aptly enough portrayed by Danilo Vega’s rather throaty, vociferous tenor. Napoleon, however, who appears only in Act 3, should be capable of upstaging even Mme Sans-Gene, and Carlo Tagliabue manages splendidly. He is a benign, amorous Scarpia when Napoleon first recognizes Caterina as the laundress who once might have thrown over even Lefebvre if the “little lieutenant” had shown a little more interest; a genuine Scarpia, vehement and authoritative, when he suspects treachery and infidelity.
The recording sounds like a taped broadcast of only moderate quality; there are a couple of villainous edits, a lengthy moment when an adjacent radio station seems ready to burst in, and several patches of distortion. But the performance is thoroughly competent, if at times coarse; it gives a decent enough idea of an opera that sounds as though it has a good bit of life in it yet.'
There is a great deal of local and period colour, sometimes of the expected kind (numerous references in Act 1, set during the French Revolution, to the Marseillaise, the Carmagnole and “Ca ira!”), sometimes far more adroit. Lefebvre, something of a tough in Act 1 (though also with a heart of gold) has acquired a touch of courtly urbanity by Act 2, set 19 years later: he enters to the sound of a polonaise which tells you exactly what his dress uniform must look like. Napoleon’s court, too, largely made up (as Caterina tactlessly reminds them) of arrivistes who not long ago were barbers and waiters, is nicely sketched with music of slightly artificial, ancien regime elegance. Caterina herself however, sneered at for once consorting with common soldiers, proudly replies (“Yes, I slept among soldiers, who showed more respect than you do”) in an aria that begins by recalling one of Mahler’s military songs, and ends with a flash of the anger of Andre Chenier’s Improvviso. She is very much the central character, something of a gift to a soprano of spirit and humour: she has a quite Offenbach-like patter-song in Act 1, describing how she was waylaid by a battalion of revolutionary ruffians and kissed by every one of them. Magda Laszlo hints that Caterina rather enjoyed the experience, and herself obviously relishes the role; she is in sprightly voice. Her husband is a less rounded figure and he is aptly enough portrayed by Danilo Vega’s rather throaty, vociferous tenor. Napoleon, however, who appears only in Act 3, should be capable of upstaging even Mme Sans-Gene, and Carlo Tagliabue manages splendidly. He is a benign, amorous Scarpia when Napoleon first recognizes Caterina as the laundress who once might have thrown over even Lefebvre if the “little lieutenant” had shown a little more interest; a genuine Scarpia, vehement and authoritative, when he suspects treachery and infidelity.
The recording sounds like a taped broadcast of only moderate quality; there are a couple of villainous edits, a lengthy moment when an adjacent radio station seems ready to burst in, and several patches of distortion. But the performance is thoroughly competent, if at times coarse; it gives a decent enough idea of an opera that sounds as though it has a good bit of life in it yet.'
Giordano Madame Sans Gene
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