A Star Returns to Cincinnati

Michael Maniaci

A very rare one, having risen in the Queen City and gone on to light up the opera world.

Extravagant words?  Perhaps, but true nonetheless, for guest artist on Catacoustic Consort’s second concert of the season October 14 at Walnut Hills Christian Church was Michael Maniaci.

A native of Cincinnati who attended the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, Maniaci, 34, is a male soprano, a man whose voice never changed.  It was a fluke of nature that his vocal chords did not lengthen at puberty, leaving him with a voice that soars naturally into the treble range.

Maniaci, by the way, does not sing falsetto and he is not a countertenor (a tenor with an extended upper register, usually utilizing falsetto).  He sings with a natural, modal voice and human intervention had nothing to do with it.

Call it a fortuitous anomaly, for not everyone can sing, especially like Maniaci, and it has enabled him to recreate operatic roles and sing other music written for the legendary castrati of the 17^th and 18^th centuries.

Maniaci now lives in New York and is embarked on a stellar career, but he found time in October to come to Cincinnati (where his parents still live) to sing with members of Catacoustic Consort, Cincinnati’s accomplished early music group.  Performing with him were Catacoustic artistic director Annalisa Pappano on viola da gamba and lirone (an accompanying instrumental similar to the gamba)  and Daniel Swenberg of Highland Park, New Jersey, on theorbo (a long-necked bass lute).  It was a musical feast of the highest order, enhanced by the intimacy and fine acoustics of the church.

Maniaci is not just a physical and vocal phenomenon, but a phenomenal artist.  He trained at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music with David Adams, and made his operatic debut in 1997 as Nerone in CCM Opera's “Giulio Cesare” (Handel) directed by former CCM Opera head Malcolm Fraser.  After CCM, Maniaci attended the Juilliard School in New York and the rest is history, with a sheaf of competition victories, debuts at major opera houses in Europe and the U.S. and offers rolling in from everywhere.

The all-Italian program comprised songs, arias and instrumental music by Claudio Monteverdi, Jacopo Peri, Johannes Kapsberger, Giovanni Vitali, Giulio Caccini, Barbara Strozzi and Francesco Corbetta, a treasury of baroque music including works that are either never heard, transposed to lower voices or sung by women.  Pappano and Swenberg, provided informal commentary.

Maniaci opened on a perfect note:  Io la Musica son (“I am Music”) from Monteverdi’s “Orfeo” (1607), the first opera in history that is still regularly performed.  The aria forms the Prologue to the opera and is an exhortation to be still and hear the tale of Orpheus, the legendary musician and lutenist who descended to Hades to win his wife’s freedom by singing for Pluto, god of the underworld.  One was struck immediately by the distinctive beauty of Maniaci’s voice, supple yet substantial, with a timbre matched to the gravity of the text.  Pappano and Swenberg provided a handsome accompaniment on lirone and theorbo.

Maniaci followed with Ecco dolci raggi (“See the sun armed with gentle vernal rays”), a madrigal from Montiverde’s “Scherzi Musicali,” which showed off the flexibility of his voice and the gentle, caressing tone color of his lower register.  Clearly, he has all the technical skills needed to perform baroque music, runs, shakes (trills) and all kinds of florid ornamentation.

Son rubin amorosi, Nero’s ravishing, love-smitten aria from Monteverdi’s masterpiece “L’Incoronazione di Poppea,” got a reading to match by Maniaci and included a lovely instrumental interlude by Pappano and Swenberg on viola gamba and theorbo.  Swenberg introduced 17^th-century German-Italian composer and lute virtuoso Johannes Kapsberger, an important figure in the development of plucked stringed instruments, then obliged with a Toccata for theorbo and a catchy little dance called a Capona, accompanied by Pappano on lirone.

Maniaci returned with Tu dormi (Sleep”) by Peri, a musical revolutionary who wrote history’s first opera (“Dafne,” 1597, now lost).  Peri was a member of the so-called the Florentine Camerata, who, hoping to revive Greek drama, literally invented opera.  Addressed to Sleep, the aria had a spellbinding effect, and demonstrated Maniaci’s ability to command an opera stage.

Pappano on viola da gamba and Swenberg on a tiny baroque guitar performed three short works by Giovanni Vitali:  ”Passa galli,” “Ruggiero” and “Chiacona,” each utilizing a ground bass (a repeated bass line, as in Pachelbel’s ubiquitous Canon).  Pappano was quite nimble in all of them.

After intermission came contrasting arias by Giulio Caccini, another opera pioneer whose works are still heard today.  In order, they were Amor ch’attendi (“Why do you delay, Love?”), Amor io parto (“Love, I depart”), Con le luci d’un bel ciglio (“A pitiless beauty battles me”) and Amarilli (“Amarilli, my beautiful one”).  As a set, they demonstrated the confused emotions inspired by love:  1) a call for vengeance on a faithless lover, 2) a cry of pain for unrequited love, 3) another call for vengeance and finally 4) a declaration of true love.  Maniaci gave each one clear definition, vocally and dramatically.

The crescendo continued with Lagrime mie (“Tears, why do you hold back?”) by Barbara Strozzi, an impassioned work opening with a wail worthy of 19^th-century verismo opera.  Maniaci's expression on the closing verses -- “Fate even denies me death.  It is true then, oh God, that destiny desires only my tears” -- was appropriately flat.

Swenberg performed a charming Sinfonia on baroque guitar by Francesco Corbetta, guitar teacher of royals (Louis XIV of France and Charles II of England), to set up the final work, Voglio di vita uscir (“I want to depart life”), a madrigal by Monteverdi with an amusing disconnect between words and music:

         “I want these bones to fall into powder, these limbs into ash . . . The tomb opens . . . if in loving you, I offended, henceforth pardon me.”

Graveyard verses set to jaunty, syncopated music, give or take a few snarls along the way!  Maniaci sang the final "pardon me" straight-faced and delightfully deadpan.

There was a lengthy standing ovation, calling for a repeat of the final number.

Note:  Cincinnati Opera should snap up Maniaci immediately for a starring role -- while they can.  Meanwhile, watch his star ascending.