Simon Keenlyside: The Handsome Character

As baritone Simon Keenlyside’s adoring audience quickly discovered at his Oct. 27 evening recital with Malcolm Martineau at Herbst Theatre, he is more than a handsome man with an exceptionally handsome voice. His is also a most appealing and irrepressibly quirky stage presence.

Looking like a cross between a slightly dotty, absent minded barrister and a train conductor who had just rushed to work, the 51-year-old baritone wore a gray, conservatively cut three-piece suit with one of the middle vest buttons unbuttoned, and a white shirt whose right collar stuck out. His mannerisms were equally unbuttoned. Looking up at the ceiling, now left, now down, now right, now straight out at the audience, he frequently strutted about as he repeated variations of the above. Rarely did he stand in one place, or hold his hands in a conventional manner.

Although some of Keenlyside’s nonstop locomotion could be attributed to nervous energy, none of which registered in his smooth vocal delivery, his unpredictable movements continued throughout the recital. At the end of “Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt” (St. Anthony’s Sermon to the Fishes), one of seven songs in the opening Mahler set, he shared a smile of satisfaction at his coyly whispered ending. Almost at the same time, he clasped his hands as though delivering a sermon, then dropped them and stood at attention. From a sermonizing saint he became an adorable choirboy, lining up for inspection before facing the congregation.

Although Keenlyside had problems voicing the soft falsetto highs that he occasionally inserted throughout the recital, and too infrequently sang out, the splendors of his full-voiced midrange and top swept his falsetto mishaps and the shallowness of his lowest notes aside. His interpretations, too, seemed for the most part just what his repertoire called for. Not every sound was perfect, but the artistry was right on from first note to last.

Martineau, too, was wonderful. In St. Anthony’s sermon, after Keenlyside sang (in translation), “No sermon ever pleased the carp so,” Martineau transformed his playing into a veritable waterfall of cascading notes. Further on in the long song, he varied his playing by indulging in copious rubato between verses. Combined with Keenlyside’s soft and lovely half voice, it made for a superb performance.

The Artistry

Time and again, Keenlyside used his gorgeous voice and personality quirks for dramatic effect. The final verse of Mahler’s Liebst du um Schönheit  — “If you love for love, Oh yes do love me! Love me ever, I’ll love you evermore” — was enchanting in its simplicity. A similar opportunity came at the end the first set of songs from George Butterworth’s deeply affecting A Shropshire Lad, where the naïve simplicity with which he voiced much of “Is my team ploughing?” belied the pain.

There were also times when appearances mattered not. The two songs by Henri Duparc, “Le manoir de Rosemonde” (Rosamonde’s Manor House) and “Phidylé,” were sung with such strength, heart-touching beauty, and, in the latter, operatic generosity that it didn’t matter how often he glanced one way or the other.

Legato and diction in six songs by Richard Strauss were impeccable. Keenlyside invested “Winternacht” (Winter’s Night) with a huge amount of energy and forward momentum. “Das Rosenband” (The Rose Garland) was gorgeous, and “Befreit” (Freed) distinguished by full-voiced highs. Keenlyside did appear to be working hard in that song, taking an extra nervous breath between the final two words. But once he had established that his full-voiced singing was in order, he continued to sing out with utmost confidence.

By the time we arrived at his final set of four songs by Debussy, there were no questions left for asking. Keenlyside ended, not with the big bang, but with the shivers of “Mandoline” (Mandolin). Sparkle-eyed Martineau’s sly sounding of the final note helped elicit loud applause and cheers, guaranteeing the first of the four encores.

The Icing

Confessing, “I don’t spend my whole life singing Schubert, but I do feel uncomfortable without him,” Keenlyside treated us to the composer whose music helped build his reputation. The first Schubert song, the delightful “Der Einsame” (The Cricket), could have chirped along a little faster. Regardless, by its end, Keenlyside seemed like Papageno times two. Many in the audience who had seem him play the role in the outstanding DVD of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, conducted by Colin Davis, must have realized that all he had to do to impersonate a simple-minded bumpkin was to let his inner Simon shine.

Although his performance of John Ireland’s “Sea Fever” could not efface memories of Bryn Terfel’s bigger-voiced, more idiomatic sea captain at his Cal Performances recital a few seasons back, Keenlyside looked like a simple sailor longing for ocean. Percy Grainger’s “Sprig of Thyme” was lovely, and Schubert’s “An mein clavier” sung with unaffected naïve perfection. The audience left smiling at the lovable character with a rare gift for song.