Classical musicians come from all over the world. (Here I am speaking of Western classical music, not the classical music of, say, India.) In the last half-century, there has been a surge from East Asia. But relatively few classical musicians come from the Arab world—which makes it all the more gratifying to see Fatma Said.
She is a soprano from Egypt. She studied at the Hanns Eisler School of Music in Berlin, and at La Scala’s academy in Milan. On Monday, she gave a recital at Wigmore Hall, which you can see here (for a month, I believe). The soprano is accompanied by Joseph Middleton, a British pianist.
Their program covers a great many songs: from Mozart to Bernstein. Various styles, various tongues. The program has themes, too: flowers and dreams. Not together. Not floral dreams. But flowers, on one hand, and dreams, on the other.
As I have said over and over: no one cares about themes except administrators and critics (and possibly musicologists). Audiences want to hear songs—good ones. And themes are incidental. Said and Middleton gave us a program of good songs.
They started at the top, namely with Mozart. Also, what can be more difficult? As a rule, if you can sing Mozart, you can sing anything (and the same goes for piano playing). Said sang “Das Veilchen,” and did so with assurance and ease. She was in tune, tasteful, and “appetizing,” as my grandmother would say. Also, she was unafraid—it’s easy to be afraid in Mozart. Said stayed within Mozartean bounds, but there was plenty of feeling in “Das Veilchen.”
Let me pause for a language note: “Said” looks odd at the beginning of a sentence, because you think of the word “said.” I have noticed this problem writing about Edward Said (and reading about him).
I’ll give you another one: “Will,” as in George F. When you begin a sentence with “Will”—well, better to avoid doing so, although sometimes this proves more trouble than it’s worth.
After Mozart, Fatma Said sang Schumann (Clara), Liszt, Brahms, Strauss, Schubert, et al. I will note some generalities.
She has a lovely voice. For now—at this stage of her career—it seems modest in size, and may she never force it. The voice is “well placed.” Said has a dependable technique. She knows how to “sell” a song. She does not shrink from emotions, but she is not obnoxious.
By the evidence, she is never bored in a song, and, as a result, you’re not bored either. She is engaged, and therefore you are engaged. She is not on auto-pilot. She is smart and expressive.
And, obviously, in love with song.
In her Wigmore program, she sang Schubert’s “Viola,” a very long song (twelve to fifteen minutes). At the end, her soft singing was moving and fragile—but the kind of fragile that does not, vocally, break.
Moving into the “dreams” section of her program, Said sang another Schubert song, “Nacht und Träume.” A person can always quibble with interpretation, and I will quibble here: in my view, the song should have moved more. (I am speaking of tempo.)
Then there were French songs—three of them, by Fauré and Debussy. How should a soprano sing French songs (as a rule)? She should sing them—to borrow a famous word from a famous aria—délicieusement. This, Fatma Said did.
I have not said anything about Joseph Middleton. He is a very good pianist, and a very good accompanist. I will give you something specific, then ask a general question.
To “Nuit d’étoiles” (Debussy), Middleton applied some strange emphases. Which I bought, somewhat to my surprise.
My question: What is it about Brits and song accompanying? That should be the subject of an essay or study, and probably has been.
After their French songs, Said and Middleton gave us two hits from the North: “Var det en dröm” (Sibelius) and “Ein Traum” (Grieg). Then it was time for Bernstein (“Dream with Me”) and Kurt Weill.
By Weill, Said sang three songs, beginning with “Youkali,” a French number. Said injected some Piaf into this—just a little, and it was effective. She went on to two songs from One Touch of Venus: “Speak Low” and “I’m a Stranger Here Myself.” I don’t think I had heard the latter song since Teresa Stratas.
Fatma Said has, among other things, a sense of theater, a sense of humor—she is versatile, as you have seen.
She sang one encore: that immortal number by Kern and Fields, “The Way You Look Tonight.” That a young woman from Egypt so enjoys singing this hit from Swing Time (a Rogers-Astaire flick) touches my American heart.
The song recital is dead, some people say—dead or dying. I certainly hope not. There is nothing more satisfying in music, I find, than a good song recital: a recital offering a “mixed” program, as this one did.
Wigmore Hall is back to having an audience, by the way—a small, socially distanced audience. For a while, the seats were empty, owing to COVID policy. (The livestreams proceeded regardless.)
Care for a fashion note? Fatma Said wears a pendant in the shape of Africa, I believe. If I’m wrong, some sharpie can tell me.
According to the program—listed under the video—we were to have heard “Beautiful Dreamer,” the Stephen Foster classic. I believe I last heard it from Marilyn Horne, who made it a staple of her recitals. Unless I went to sleep—Said did not sing it.
For an encore, I expected her to sing an Arab song. Instead, she turned to the American Songbook. She has a new album, El Nour, which comprises French songs, Spanish songs, and songs from her home region. I touch on this album in my forthcoming piece for the magazine. Let me paste a paragraph, please:
A soprano from an earlier generation, Victoria de los Angeles, introduced many of us to Spanish songs—not just art songs but folk songs, too. Leontyne Price used to call herself an “American troubadour.” Wherever she was in the world, she put spirituals at the end of her recital program. As she explained it, her attitude was, “I have sung your songs. Now you will listen to mine.” From Fatma Said, I have learned some songs I never knew. This sharing of songs is one of the nicest parts of the whole enterprise.