John Tavener: Rest in Peace

I'm very sorry to hear of the passing of this unique, contemporary composer whose work I've grown to love very much over
the past several decades.

Still young and working at Tower Records, I'd long been a fan of Tavener's when The Protecting Veil made its debut on CD (I believe before the work premiered in the 1989 Proms). Cellist Stephen Isserlis had suggested Tavener compose a large scale work and it seemed a natural that the composer, (a fairly new convert to the Greek Orthodox Church) would select as topic the solemn celebration of the "Protecting Veil of the Mother of God," I recall the haunting image work on the cover (a Virgin Records release) and rushing to bring it home. My roommate - who at the time listened to nothing but death and speed metal, joined me and we sat in silence for nearly an hour as the eight connected movements of "The Protecting Veil" washed over us. I was (shut up) in tears more than once during the experience from the sheer beauty and power of Tavener's masterly manner of moving from haunting, shimmering sounds to powerful swells of emotion.

Apparently, audiences at the Proms' premiere were held similarly spellbound during the performance, yet at the same time (and of little surprise) the critical reception was mixed, proving, yet again, composers write music for audiences
(and themselves) and not to please critics.

The Protecting Veil holds a unique spot in contemporary/modern music in that a little over 20 years after its premiere it has received a number of recordings on major labels including those by Maria Kliegel, Yo Yo Ma, France Springuel, Raphael Wallfisch, as well as two separate recordings by its creator, Mr. Isserlis. I can't think of anything composed in the past twenty years that quite matches this success (and which still divides listeners).

If Tavener's other works haven't quite reached the popularity level of Veil, there are plenty of them well worth exploring to those not yet familiar with his compositions. If I were to suggest a single one to "whet the whistle," as it were, it would be his splendid mass/dramatic work Lamentations and Praises, composed for the ensemble, Chanticleer. I recall reading an acquaintance's enthusiasm and the moving experience he had attending the premiere of this piece back in 2001.

http://tinyurl.com/ne7qxo6

The news of Tavener's death, particularly at such a young age, is sad news indeed, despite lifelong health issues. He was and remains a unique, very individual voice, a composer almost obsessed with his spiritual nature, its mysteries and whose work may not speak to all, but still has plenty to say to those willing to listen. My thoughts and prayers go out to his wife, family and other loved ones on this sad occasion.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Tavener.

The Ultimate Outsider - Peter Grimes: '69 Film with Peter Pears

In listening to a good deal of Britten yesterday, I decided today to watch the 1969 film of Peter Grimes after a friend sent a link to a clip from the final scene. Decided isn’t quite the right word - there was no choice, really. It has been a while since I’ve watched this particular performance - and I’m at a complete loss as to why this is. As I hit play, I immediately recalled Natalie Dessay’s introduction to the opera during the Met’s HD cinecast several seasons ago, as with those wide eyes she lugubriously invited us in to experience “the sad, horrible story of Peter Grimes.” And so it began.

I have always intrigued by the physical production of this “Grimes” filmed in the converted barn at Britten’s Snape Maltings home. David Myerscough- Jones’ brilliant, realistic sets were trucked in from London and assembled onto a makeshift soundstage. The tight fitting - overly cramped stage works ; the planks, catwalks and breakwater with its jagged wooden pilings - the sea roaring and crashing on a rear projection screen - all work miracles in creating the believably stifling world of the borough.

Being one of the most prolific and successful composers of the 20th century, we (or I) often forget what a truly amazing conductor Britten was and in this 25 year old score it’s safe to say, no one knew - or ever shall know - how better to put across this amazing music better than its creator. Every nuance, every secret thing is mined here in this reading that makes the score almost a living organism, something propelled by its own volition - inexorably to a conclusion that could be imagined in no other way. From the opening notes, Britten’s invisible hand guides us over the next several hours which, fly by as if in dream time.

Peter Pears at 59 was not the same singer he was at 33/34 when he created the role, neither physically nor vocally. But, like his partner, having lived with this music inside of him for a quarter century, he brings something unique to it, and is able to infuse it with the type of wildness Vickers brought, yet also a vulnerable tenderness (not part of Vicker’s Grimes) as was recently shown to us in the performance of Anthony Dean Griffey.

Heather Harper is Ellen Orford down to her laces. Theatrically, Harper invests the role with a truly intriguing mix of young woman and old soul while vocally she soars through Ellen’s music with a limpid beauty as though it Mozart or Puccini, convincing me Britten is truly their equal in matters operatic.

Bryon Drake offers a stolid Balstrode with the right amount of gruffness and sensitivity, loyal to Peter, while aware of where this story must go.

Amidst all this bleakery, it was great fun to discover a voluptuous Elizabeth Bainbridge strutting her stuff as a most intriguing Auntie, the one outsider who knows her way in. She is simply terrific here.

Aside from the magnificence of the score, the acting here is about as good as it ever gets in opera, and this must be attributed not only to a fine, handpicked cast, but to the direction of Joan Cross - the original Ellen Orford. This level of the acting extends to every smaller role as well as every single member of the chorus - all creating a believable mob, yet who sing with a sweet earnestness in their church scene. The hunting down of Grimes is here, perhaps the most chilling I can recall and Brian Large’s camera work magnifies this to terrifying proportions. The
chemistry throughout the cast presents the best of all possible worlds from cinema and opera, offering 100 percent believability and a naturalness of movement.

The number of moments both visually and musically causing me to gasp, shrink into the back of my couch in terror, or just let the tears flow were countless. Ellen’s reappearance after the storm, holding John, as the door to the tavern bursts open; Peter’s striking Ellen (in what appears to be a punch in the face) and more.

Wonderful, too, seeing Jill Gomez, Anne Pashley and Robert Tear in supporting roles early in their careers.

The penultimate scene of Peter Grimes is as absorbing, as profoundly moving as anything that exists in the operatic canon. How Britten achieved this employing such economically musical means is nearly incomprehensible and yet works as if by magic, standing both as great music and great theatre. An a cappella mad scene, punctuated only by a offstage cries of “Grimes” and a few distant fog horns, there is for me, no more hopeless nor bleaker picture in all of opera than this. Even just shy of 60, Pears tears into this scene like a man possessed, pouring every last ounce he has into it. His cries of “Come home! Come home!” terrifying . . . his utterance “Turn the skies back and begin again,” cutting straight to the heart. It is, I believe, impossible not to have one's heart broken by this man, as this character, in this moment.

This is filmed opera at its very best. If there is anyone at all unfamiliar with this performance, I strongly urge you to remedy that situation immediately if not sooner!

DVD: Dialogues des Carmélites

Opera National du Rhin 1999

Yesterday, and again today, I spent a nice couple of hours reacquainting myself with this performance which I had not seen perhaps since its release over a decade ago. I remember being very moved by it then, and fail to understand as to why I waited so long to experience it again.

What a stunning, theatrically compelling and insightful production Marthe Keller put upon the Strousburg stage. Many would complain about the starkness of the set which is, more frequently than not, bare. Poulenc's opera (as John Dexter's similarly spartan stage proved decades before) holds up well in such a "setting" allowing not only more detailed portrayals of its finely nuanced characters, but for the viewer/listener to focus on those portrayals. The reward is a rich one in such a case as this.

Anne Sophie Schmidt gives us a deeply touching portrayal of Blanche, her face - particularly when framed by her wimple - registering every one of the frightened by the world, heroine's emotions. Those nuances come through, too, in her handling of the music, though (as is the case with several other cast members) high notes can feel a bit screeched out (of course, Poulenc is not easy on his singers, requiring some specatcular "leaping" effects at the ends of phrases).

The always wonderful Patricia Petibon gives a performance of Constance that elevates the chirpy young nun to a place of genuine dramatic prominence. The scenes between Blanche and Constance are powerful, a real connection is made between these two young novices which makes the final moment of an already overwhelmingly emotional scene, almost unbearable in its poignancy and strength.

Hedwig Fassbender is a strong presence, and captures brilliantly the almost over zealousness with which she wants the order to pursue martyrdom - it's almost an obsession. Her street scene with the Priest when she realizes she is not to be martyred presents a powerfully conflicted and wilfull woman denied the one thing she most desired.

Even if it took a few minutes for me to warm up to the voice of Valérie Millot, she made a fine and touching Mme. Lidoine - entirely believeable in her modesty.

I have always been something of a fan of Nadine Denize and she captures, quite perfectly, the severity, hope and charm of Madame de Croissy. Her death scene is (as it built into the role itself) one of the most chilling, terrifying moments one can experience on stage. I loved the connection here between de Croissy and Blanche, the young nun cradling the dying woman - a symbol of authority and order she so much needs in her life. I dare anyone to keep a dry eye here!

As a director, Keller provides some amazing effects in her production, an almost air-raid style roar near the end, the filmed sequences in black and white which are captured beautifully on DVD (and which only during the curtain calls does one notice the movie screen at the rear, meaning the in- house audience got the same effect). Particularly, the violent ripping off of the sisters' facial veils by the Revolution Council officers, and the March to the Scaffold.

The final scene is simply staged, the nuns - all now in tattered white with self-decorated black grease chalked crosses each marked herself with as they were condemned to death, holding each other together in a huddle, hands and arms draping themselves almost as a single organism before simply lining up for the guillotine, each collapsing at her moment of death until Blanche's turn, whereupon she walks amongst the corpses of her fallen sisters, fearless and serene.

Film director, Don Kent, in (apparently) his first televised opera production does not have a single faux pas - capturing every moment for maximum impact. His ability to captures the myriad - almost never ending - dance of shadows and light, minimizing the use of the facial close-up too prevalent in opera videocasts these days, all revealing someone with a genuine gift. (Kent has since gone to be video director for some truly wonderful operatic DVD experiences: Platee, Lucia, Onegin, Traviata, Ariadne, and more).

Conductor, Jan Latham-Koenig "feels" this score to his bones and the results show in his work with the chorus and orchestra of the Opera National du Rhin forces.

Bernstein's Exquisite Peter Pan

“Peter Pan” was a score I was once in love with, heard live in concert performance, but which I (as well as many others) have put in the back of the memory banks.

While I no longer have the original cast LP, the discussion had me pull out a wonderful five year old recording on Koch Classics I’d also not paid much attention to, but which I’ve played a number of times the past few days and have fallen in love with this score – to the point of being enthralled enough that I’d wish someone would mount a major revival of this Peter Pan. The score is an absolute gem.

The first song is Wendy’s lullaby “Who Am I?” – a lovely, lyrical piece but showing Bernstein’s penchant for difficulty of extremes of range requiring a singer who can sustain some hushed, piano high notes. Similarly, Wendy has more high note challenges – keeping them within the scope of the hushed music in the exquisitely tender “Build My House.” Bernstein’s mastery of this kind of music produces a sort of swoon in the orchestration that spills over into the listener of this most beautiful song. The lyrics themselves raise this far, far beyond a mere children’s story –

Make the ceiling strong
Strong against the storm
Shelter when the days grow shorter
But build my house of love,
And paint my house with trusting.
And warm it with the warmth of your heart.
Make the floor of faith.
Make the walls of truth
Put a roof of peace above.
Only build my house of love.

They fit right in with the universal, almost archetypical themes Bernstein yearningly makes in nearly all of his stage works from West Side Story to A Quiet Place. A bit more wistful is Wendy’s closing song “Dream With Me” though still hardly your typical Broadway ballad. (And it’s a wonderful final number).

As stated this was a “play with music” – NOT a “musical” in the sense we think of today. Historically, this sort of “score” harkens back to the great theatre music composed by Beethoven, Grieg, Debussy, Mendelssohn – a sort of lost practice that (with few exceptions) is just not much enjoyed anymore. A pity.

Though the songs come few and far between (and no spoken dialogue is offered in the recordings) there appear to be three principal singing roles: Wendy, Captain Hook and the chorus. As with Wendy and Hook, Bernstein has given challenging, difficult and exquisitely atmospheric music for the choristers. (Some will note how the women’s chorus “Neverland” has a hypnotic, almost Philip Glass-like minimalism – even in the manner Bernstein chooses to end the song. (Can’t tell me Glass was not familiar with this score!)

Similarly the chorus for The Pirate Song – provides wonderful, rhythmically comical work for the men with a sort of built-in theatrical bravura aria for Captain Hook.

Hook gets it even better in “Captain Hook’s Soliloquy” – called a “song” – it is in every other way but title an “aria” (and has been picked up by operatic baritones, and recorded as such by no less than Thomas Hampson). Again, though set for a “children’s story.” – the dark inward look and psychological insights Hook sings of would confuse almost any child. But for grown ups it is glorious stuff.

Hook and his henchmen get another doozey of a tune in the hilarious “Plank Round” (a wonderful bit where every line rhymes with “plank” – and the accompaniment is a brilliantly minor-key rendition of the opening of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3. Genius – and guaranteed to put a smile on yer mug!

With such wonderful songs as these, the bulk of Bernstein’s “Pan” score falls to the incidental music and overall, it is a rich score full of surprises, and covering a wide range of emotions. Melodically, rhythmically and theatrically we hear a lot of Bernstein’s ideas we’d hear earlier and later from “On the Town,” “West Side Story,” as well as from his symphonic works.

In the new(ish) recording, the original orchestrations by Trude Rittman and Hershy Kay are expanded upon by a team led by Alexander Frey, who also restored and edited the score. Broadway/Pop soprano Linda Eder, baritone Daniel Narducci and an uncredited (but wonderful) chorus join the Amber Chamber Orchestra under Frey’s leadership in a reading that is atmospheric, respectful of the original, and (sigh) just a real treat to spend some time with.

A “bonus” comes in the form of “Spring Will Come Again” a lovely, but forgotten song Bernstein composed for – but dropped from Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth.”

This recording was clearly a labor of love and the efforts are well worth it. For anyone looking for some off-the-beaten-path, wonderful, music, some delightful and touching unfamiliar songs I can’t recommend this recording highly enough.

Tippett's King Priam Arrives On DVD

I was thrilled to find in this morning’s mail, the hot-off-the-press DVD release of the Kent Opera production of Sir Michael’s “King Priam.” This has for years been one of my favorite videos of any opera, and though I still own it on VHS, that tape has seen better days, so I’ve been waiting for this to appear on DVD – for years never believing it would finally happen. Well, here it is! First the technical: Little seems to have been done in transferring it to DVD, though it appears to have been minorly cleaned up, but since this was shot on videotape in 1985 lacks the visual "pop" we're getting used to with HD. It is still looks good. I did have to cruank up the sound as the audio seems to have been recorded at a lower volume, but that's a minor quibble. There are no extras, save for the standard subtitles in several languages and chapter settings.

The VHS release was little known and seemed to be something of a cult hit – even amongst modern opera aficionados. It’s my hope that this attractive new DVD incarnation, nicely put together by Arthaus, will find this production – and Tippett’s magnificent opera, a whole new audience. While there has always been some debate on Tippett providing his own libretto, some finding it subpar to the music, I find the text to be one of incredible imagery, and beauty. Often criticized for sometimes arty-ponderous turns of phrase in his other works, here, working from The Ilyiad and the Fabulae of Hyginus, Tippett was inspired - artful and direct, fusing equally its components of text and music and condensing one of the world’s great tales into a gripping musical drama.

One of the most interesting aspects of the score is that its composer uses a sparseness to the orchestration – recitatives, arias and ensembles with spare accompaniments, broken up – punctuated and punctured by violent outbursts sometimes by solo instruments, others by massive walls of sound. The opera, composed in 1962, sounds fresh enough that, were its composer still among us, one might not be surprised to learn the ink hadn’t yet dried on the score. I have read some compare Priam's score to Berg's Wozzeck, in matters of tonality and structure, but I fail to see the connection or any necessity in comparing one with the other: Each has plenty to comment upon on certain aspects of the human condition, but then so do Massenet's Manon and Bach's Passions. Musically, I find there is more here in common with Stravinsky and Barber.

Another feature I very much like was how Tippet scores a number of scenes with only one, or several instruments, e.g., guitar, piano, cello, and harp. One of the most hauntingly beautiful and odd moments in this opera is Achilles' aria "O rich soiled land" – accompanied only by guitar. Somewhat boldly (especially for 1962) Tippett makes clear what is at best usually only hinted at and that is the great love shared between Achilles and Patroclus.

The original direction for the Kent Opera by Nicholas Hytner (directed for television by Robin Lough)is presents a timeless, "indoor" Troy, both futuristic and ancient feels more like an office building, partially in ruins but gleaming white as it steadily grows jagged, jumbled, its surfaces –as the evening wears on - cluttered variously and stained by earth, blood, wire, sandbags and eventually everything we perceive as the wreckage of war. While not "realistic" in appearance this production is every bit as powerful visually as it is musically.

Several moments stand out and provide lump-in-your-throat terror, excitement and beauty. The image of Priam and his sons standing over the corpse of Patroclus and stripping down to smear their torsos with his spilt blood reaches a fever pitch, their triumph turned inside out by Achilles’ horrifying battle cry at the discovery of his beloved’s murder. The scene that moves me most is that of the King, barefoot and broken who, humbled bows before Achilles and, kissing “the hands of him who slew my son," begs for the mutilated body of Hector. As the two enemies share wine they discuss the futilities of their efforts and, in candor, prophecy how each will die at the hand of the other’s son.

Without ever getting preachy, by guiding the story through its natural contours, Tippett’s opera is among the strongest anti-war statements made by any artist equal to Britten’s harrowingly beautiful “War Requiem.” Historically these works are also linked together, premiering in back-to-back in Coventry in May 1962; Priam on the 29th, the War Requiem on the 30th.

As Priam, Rodney Macann gives a tour-de-force performance, giving the enormous palette of Priam’s emotions full range, musically and dramatically. He is never short of amazing. The Achilles of Neil Jenkins, makes this “hero” equal parts seductive and repulsive. Christopher Gillett, his body painted gold and at first wearing but a G-String, has an otherworldly ease and his aria preparing the final scene is beautiful. The trio of women – Andromache, Helen and Hecuba are, respectively, Sarah Walker, Anne Mason and Janet Price – while looking a little older than their male counterparts, handle their difficult music wonderfully and dramatically. (They also briefly appear as the godesses Athene, Hera and Aphrodite.)

Honors extend also to riveting performances by Omar Ebrahim as Hector and Howard Haskin as Paris. While neither possesses a voice of great beauty, each serves the music well and make believable the difficulties between Priam's sons. Tippett populates his tale with a trio of huntsman, nurse, Old Man, Young Guard, soldiers, etc.

Musically everything is held together perfectly by then Ken Opera’s Music Director, Roger Norrington who leads a reading from those forces that is appropriately propulsive, contemplative and compelling. “King Priam” is not an easy entertainment that can move you, sweeping the observer along in the easy manner of Puccini or Mozart. Its subject matter, its musical language and its individualistic way with the story require – or should I say “demand” one pays complete attention in order to reap its many, and powerful rewards.

This is a most welcome release to DVD and, again, I hope this wins new fans to one of Tippett’s greatest works.

p.

DVD: Janacek's From The House Of The Dead

What an emotionally harrowing experience is watching this opera for the first time. Stephane Metge has made a film using the production by Patrice Chereau and Pierre Boulez (together again 30 some years after their famous Bayreuth Ring) and what a film it is. Boulez, almost literally seems to conjure this stunning performance from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra. From its haunting, jangly opening I was brought to mind of Strauss and Prokofiev and how all three use the orchestral colors in the boldest possible - and not always most subtle ways. The score is a wonder of violence, tenderness, dreamlike and gritty realism. It is magnificent.


Metge's camera work gets right into the middle of things, roaming through Richard Peduzzi's stark mile high walls with a voyueristic violence that thrusts the viewer into the world of this terrible place. Pulling episodes from Dostoevsky's tale, Janacek's opera is virtually plotless, yet this which is not to say "nothing happens" because there is plenty to focus on, as these hapless gulag prisoners live, suffer, dance, dream and reminisce of their lives outside these walls. Note I didn't say dream "of happier times" for the stories they tell of their pre-prison lives are as terrifying and violent as the world they create for themselves within the walls.

As Alexandr, Olaf Bar's entrance is terrifying stuff, clearly a man of some means, besuited and bespectacled, the guards and inmates encircle and strip him, hurling his glasses into the courtyard. When he later emerges near the end of the act, filthy, shackled, and blindly crawling across ground, it's tough not to weep But, as in life, there are occasional acts of kindness and one such here between Alexandr and the boy prisoner Aljeja (a remarkable and heartbreaking performance by young tenor Eric Stoklossa) is sufficient to remind us these are still human beings, still part of the family of man, still "us."

John Mark Ainsley is a riveting presence throughout giving seering performance as Skuratov. Mad with grief, and imprisoned "for falling in love" - we watch his pathetic tale played out as he changes his garments, his mind seeming to hold the focus of his love story to keep him centered - but clearly not working. Mostly silent during the 3rd act, Ainsley still manages to give a tour de force performance - simultaneously chilling and touching. It is a stand out performance from an ensemble filled with amazing work.

At the center of the second act - and perhaps the longest sequence of the opera - is a harrowing "pageant" a ballet of depraved sexuality played out by some of the prisoners for the entertainment of the rest of the gulag. The symbolic meanings of what goes on are made clear without feeling obvious. It is stunningly choreographed (as is most of the movement seen throughout) by Chereau's collaborator Theirry Thieu Niang.

Centering on the lives and stories of these men, Chereau tends to keep the spectacles down, but he cannot resist giving us several arresting coups de theatre, particularly at the end of each act. Each of these is, in their own way, visually stunning and complimentary to Janacek's amazing score. Everything comes together perfectly, every element of the score, drama, characterizations and visual elements serves to bring this difficult work to life and when it's brief 100 minutes are over, every feeling, every emotion was felt both deep in my bones and raw on the surface.

I am thrilled the Metropolitan Opera will be featuring this production in 2009/10 season. Wild horses won't be able to keep me away.

p.

Glass: Satyagraha at The Met

Last month I attended one of the most amazing nights of my life: The Metropolitan Opera's production of Philip Glass's Satyagraha. What follows are some notes, thoughts and meditations on the production and the experience. For those unfamiliar with this, Glass and his librettest, Constance DeJong, took sections from the great ancient Indian epic, the "Baghavad Ghita" and fashioned a dramatic presentation about Ghandi in his South African years. The result is one of the most powerful, artistic (without being "arty") works of American music of the last century. The work is sung in its ancient Sanskrit text, which puts some off, but with the nature of Glass's powerfully hypnotic score, serves to illuminate the texts both beautifully and brilliantly. So . . . read on, if you dare!

* * * * *

I was stunned how packed and difficult it was to get into the Met last night for the prima of Glass's "Satyagraha." The house was packed and althouth told it hadn't sold out I spied not a single empty seat The production by English National Opera is listed oddly in the program book and a genuine team effort with the scenery by Rene Marchal, amazing lighting by Kevin Sleep "properties by ENO" but it's hard to figure out who served as the actual production head.

Regardless of such confusion the phyysical production is one of wonder with 20 foot tall puppets, some created right before your eyes of newspapers, papier mache and, seemingly little more than light. The entire stage was framed - surrounded by a circular wall of what appeared to be corrugated metal from which panels of myriad sizes could open - Advent calendar-like - to provide entrances, exits, visions. At the top right - left and center were three outsized panels - one for each of the acts which, once opened, were entered into (by climbing upon ladders), the central character for whom the act is named: Tolstoy, Tagore & M.L. King, Jr.. Tolstoy and Tagore enter as members of the ensemble, and then dressed, and bearded by other ensembel members, King, costumed before us THEN climbing the ladder. Each, silently, almost dolcile-like dominates the scenery.

This was a difficult call, with the King character - occupying the center panel, felt a little too static and, for a while (and too long) took one's attention away from the stage as, standing at a podium silently renacted his famous "Dream" speech. At first, however, this was powerful as images of the masses at the Lincoln Memorial were projected onto all of the panels, then acts of rioting and violence shown, before the entire walled structure disappeared revealing the vast Met stage - now a beautiful sky, great nimbus clouds gently rolling across it.

Throughout the production magic would appear before us, transforming everything, the crowds with a team called the Skills Ensemble propeling the action (such as it is) in the role of onlookers AND participants. It really was one of the most stunning productions of anything I've seen. People don't "get" Satyagraha and in several discussions I had I could only explain that I wasn't getting all of what I was seeing either BUT, that was part of the beauty - beholding the wonder of something that is not fully comprehensible to me. I likened it to being as Parsifal in the first Grail Ceremony: awed, but uncertain as to why - The effect being more important than the cause of it. At a pre-curtain dinner (at the amazing Rosa Mexicano) a friend asked: "What kind of mood should I be in for this?" I could only answer: contemplative, open, forgiving? I told h im not to approach it as an opera at all - there is no linear structure as we know it and find (generally) in more standard repertoire works. The music.

First of all, debuting conductor Dante Anzolini won the respect and admiration of all present for keeping the score together and adjusting the dynamics in less time then the blinking of an eye - to which the Met Orchestra performed one of the most amazing feats I've heard from any orchestra, responding with remarkable precision and deftness to a score that must be impossibly difficult to perform on many levels. It's no secret I like much of Glass's music and, for me, Satyagraha is his masterpiece. That doesn't mean it's without fault. The first act is the best and the work progressively weakens in each ensuing act - though I still find all of it beautiful, and the final scene is (as it should be) the best music of a very long evening. The choral music for Satyagraha, clearly inspired by eastern modalities and chant is beautiful - almost mind numbingly so. While this may be frustrating (and infuriating) for some, for others - like me - there is a spirituality a "something else" quality that seems genuinely spiritual - even while we're aware we're watching a piece written for the theatre. It was not unlike watching video footage of dervish's whirling during their ceremonies (something else that I can watch for hours) - and which leaves me gape-mouthed in wonder.

Pride of place for the singing simply goes to Richard Croft who was present onstage throughout the long night, presenting - with equal parts passion and believability, Ghandi's journey of the spirit. Put as plainly as possible: no singer today moves me as much as Mr. Croft. I've been in love with the work of Richard Croft for a couple of decades now and, having heard him in Handel, Mozart, Debussy, Verdi, Salieri, Rossini and more. His singing last night was as amazing, as moving and, on a purely vocal level - as beautiful as anything I've ever heard from him. Croft also remains one of the finest operatic actors I've seen onstage. In anything. With most singers I'm aware of "who" they are, while they're portraying (even brilliantly so) their characters. Not so Mr. Croft. At the curtain of each of his performances I'm always stunned back into reality - "oh, yeah - it's HIM!" Few singers have had as profound effect on me as Richard Croft did and does. The timbre of his voice, the infinite varieties he can shade text and tone with were put to the test last evening in a long evening where the music depended upon this ability more so than they do, say, in Mozart or in Handel. Even when, as he must in the first act, stand still for 10, 15 minutes his posed gesture grew in intensity and and there is an earnestness in his performance which must be praised.

Croft's singing of the final scene - caused me to want to fight crying (I don't know why) but into the third strophe of the aria I gave in, the waterworks just gushed forth as he would move - one measured step at a time, toward us and sang with a sweetness almost impossible to define. In fact, I simply can't. He's a funny curtain call artist - always has been; every performance - even when he gets a roar of cheers - he merely nods a little bow preferring to jump back into line with the rest of his cast. The true team player. Last night, we got a little (not much) more of him as he was clearly and deeply moved by the audience's reaction (which was a deafening roar of screams, bravos and pandemonium) and he clutched his heart, tears in his eyes at the response.

The rest of the cast: Bradley Garvin as Arjuna; Richard Bernstein as Lord Krishna, Ellie Dehn - (making an impressive debut), Maria Zifchak, Earle Patriarco, Alfred Walker and Mary Philips all sang with beauty, clarity and precision and that is no small compliment given how devilishly difficult this score must be to perform.

After those final notes of Croft's voice and the orchestra simply fade into the house the red show curtain descended and immediately there was some loud, vociferous booing. I could only wonder: who in their right mind would sit through 4 hours of this to boo it? Clearly the only answer is no one. The boos were shortly drowned out by a cheering, thunderous ovation - more bravos shouted than I can recall as cast, conductor, production team and, finally, Mr. Glass came out for their bows. Afterwards (the show ended right at midnight) people stayed, even standing outside in the rain (some of us!) talking about and sharing the experience. Most everyone I spoke with loved it - a beautifuly, emotional night at the Met. Most of us seeming to get what Glass - and this amazing production were trying to say. Bravo to the Met for daring to put this on, for challenging its audiences and helping many new ones discover the beautiful messages of Satyagraha.

One can't really ask for more than this.

p.