A satisfying voice recital is a very satisfying thing. And Weill Recital Hall hosted one last Thursday night. Onstage was Ema Nikolovska, a Canadian mezzo-soprano. She graduated from the Glenn Gould School in violin. Then she turned to singing. A singing musician is a particularly good kind of singer.
Ms. Nikolovska was accompanied at the piano by Howard Watkins, a capable, versatile musician who is an assistant conductor at the Metropolitan Opera.
They began with Schubert: a group of four songs. Immediately, Nikolovska showed herself to be a real recitalist, a real song-singer. She sang naturally. She was not so much singing art songs as song songs, if you know what I mean. If you sing Schubert unnaturally, he, and his songs, are sunk.
Nikolovska sang with understanding. The songs had character, but they were not “oversold.” ’Tis the gift to be subtle, sometimes. Also, Nikolovska sang with clear diction. And there was a calm confidence within her. She was “centered,” to use current jargon.
Even her stage manner appealed. After one of the early songs, some in the audience applauded, and she smiled and sort of nodded—without encouraging further applause. This was a classy handling of the matter.
So, the Schubert group established a special atmosphere. There was a bit of magic in the hall. I was primed for the rest of the program. And then the singer began to talk. And talk and talk and talk.
Why do they do this? I have ranted on this subject many times and will not rang for long today. But talking kills an atmosphere. It plunges an evening from the exalted to the mundane. If audience members want, they can read the program notes. But performers feel the need to lecture.
Ema Nikolovska talked throughout the evening, at length. She is good at it. But, frankly, I’m a good talker, too. And if I could sing—that’s all I would want to do.
I will now stop talking and resume reviewing . . .
Nikolovska and Watkins proceeded with Richard Strauss: three songs. Then they turned to something unusual: Songs of the Seasons, by Margaret Bonds, setting poems of Langston Hughes. Again, Nikolovska sang naturally—utterly naturally. She was bluesy, idiomatic, unfussy, direct. She reminded me a bit of Eileen Farrell (soprano though Farrell was). But speaking of high notes, Nikolovska has an impressive top. She can sound contralto-y, and then: boom, pow.
Listening to her sing her Bonds, I thought, “She enjoys this, and she knows she’s good at it.” That is a wonderful condition for an artist.
Nikolovska had arranged an exceptionally appealing program: different styles, different periods, different languages. She had themes, as she explained: the seasons; different chapters in life; different moods, or whatever. Doesn’t that cover pretty much all songs?
But recitalists and concertizers need musicological fig leaves, for some reason. Presenting an interesting and mixed program is not enough, somehow. It must be musicologically validated. Well, you can call your program a ham sandwich, as far as I’m concerned, as long as it’s a good one.
Nikolovska and Watkins began their second half with Debussy: his Ariettes oubliées. They were suitably Gallic—Debussyan. Nikolovska understands coolness, and a hotness beneath a cool surface. Then there was Medtner: two songs by Nikolai Medtner.
“Why nobody plays Medtner?” Vladimir Horowitz once complained. In his honor, I ask, “Why nobody sings Medtner?” Young Nikolovska does, and she sang him with warmth and affection.
She ended her program with a rarity, and novelty: Nicolas Slonimsky’s Five Advertising Songs (“Utica Sheets and Pillowcases,” “Pillsbury Bran Muffins,” etc.). Nikolovska showed a comic touch, a touch of Carol Burnett (who was a very good singer, by the way, jokey though she may have chosen to be).
It is natural, and right, and traditional, to talk at encore time. It is also natural, and right, and traditional, to offer something from one’s national or ethnic heritage. As Nikolovska told the audience, she was born in Macedonia, arriving in Canada at age one. She grew up with Macedonian culture in the home. For her first encore, she sang a Macedonian song. Gentle. But she would end the evening on something splashier: the Composer’s Aria from Ariadne auf Naxos. Truly, she sang it thrillingly.
Yet it had been a long evening, in my judgment. It was now about 9:45 (and the recital had started at 7:30). I think of a radio slogan from my youth: “Less talk, more rock.”
I should not be churlish, however. Voice recitals aren’t as common as they once were, and genuine recitalists don’t grow on trees. Ema Nikolovska is a gift to the music scene.