Radiant "Song of the Lark" from PBS American Collection

"I reluctantly watched this last evening and am glad to report I was more than than just pleasantly surprised. It had that good old-fashioned Masterpiece Theatre feel to it which I remember from when I watched more PBS in my youth. In fact watching this, in a very big way, returned me to my youth, reminding me of my own innocent passions. I can picture other kids living in "nowhereville" watching this and sense their growing youthful aspirations of achieving greatness and leaving those stifling towns for Great Things.

As a highschool fan of Willa Cather - after being forced to read "My Antonia" - it was nice to see such a fine treatment of this moving novel. 

Allison Elliot's Thea is a strong young woman, as she would have to be in the world which the film shows - mostly dominated by men. In fact the film has its own late romantic operatic touch in that Thea, a Swedish minister's daughter, is the only central female character, and she fits into this "men's world" quite easily.

It is no small irony that the men in Moonstone with whom she identifies live somewhat unhappy lives and dream of something more: her suitor, Ray who sees that Thea is bound for great things which he cannot begin to understand and who's death provides the opportunity for her to leave and begin her studies in earnest; her piano teacher, Professor Wunsch, the once "almost famous" musician who drowns his tortured failings in the bottle; and most of all Dr. Archie, who, hopelessly trapped in a loveless marriage with a "sour" wife see's Thea as the possible vicarious escape in which dreams can be achieved.

There is also Mexican Johnny who teaches her the folk songs from his homeland, which neighbors and even her own family find some disgrace in. Though the film does not delve into race relations - in more than one scene we are shown that those involved in the arts have the opportunity (if not always the inclination) to rise above racism and sexism. 

Though Thea faces some hardships they are given that nice Masterpiece Theatre glow which doesn't necessarily diminish their importance, but rather provides an opportunity to show growth and strength of character.

Director Karen Arthur had a few good tricks up her sleeve - our first image of Thea is in work clothes on a hill, dusty, unkempt - an image she will see herself in at the start of her new life when she visits the Art Institute of Chicago and out of all the treasures there is drawn to Jules Breton's painting "The Song of the Lark." I don't know if it's my bad eyes or if a certain technique was being used, but at key moments - the turn of a head, a look out the window, a glance towards the audience - the film speed seemed to alter, slowing down almost to the quality of a nickelodeon picture, which given the time period of the story was another perfect touch.

Lori Stinson provides the voice of the character and we hear the raw beauty of it in some old Swedish hymns, some Mexican folk songs as it blossoms into youthful maturity in Che faro senza Euridice, Let the Bright Seraphim, a Queen of the Night aria, among other things. Marilyn Horne is credited as the vocal coach.

While I found all of the actors uniformly top quality, the performance that moved me the most was Arliss Howard as Dr. Archie. As played by Howard, here is a man who could easily be tortured by his life's circumstances, but remains a gentleman, through strength of purpose is able to maintain both his dignity perspective. Howard's range of confined respectable emotions vasilate between what must remain a secret tortured love for Thea, a parental tenderness, and the true love and respect of a friend. At her debut in Chicago, it is Dr. Archie that leads the ovation - the years of joy and pain now register in his face through pride. It is not just Thea's debut, it is, in a way, his triumph. 

The film's penultimate scene is his his most moving, as.bidding Thea farewell, for what he realizes will be forever, he fights back his tears and with voice choked tells her "You were three, the first time I saw that little blonde head of yours ... I couldn't imagine all the wonder, all the wonders it contained. There is so little that is truly fine in this world ... Life would have been a pretty bleak stretch for me, if you were left out."

Bravo to Masterpiece Theatre on this fine innaugaral effort of its American Collection.

Why Regietheater Doesn't Work

Why Regietheater Doesn't Work


Hänsel und Gretel - Staatsoper Berlin

Okay, perhaps I got your attention - and you stand on one side of this argument or the other. Yes, the title is a misleading, particularly to those who know me as champion of a lot of regie productions, but the statement is also, unfortunately true. When inspired and when it workk, something not necessarily simultaneous as one might believe, regie can illuminate a familiar opera up to levels we'd not before thought of. It can provoke discussions on works too frequently "ho-hummed" despite their being well-attended, respected works of the lyric theatre. Good regietheater can shake us up, pull us out of the seemingly ordinary and elucidate a work as familiar as your staid, old Aunt Claire who for years has bored you to tears, until your discovering she was a topless dancer at the Folies Bergère and had a lesbian affair with Josephine Baker. Huh? What? Exactly.

Pelléas et Mélisande - Salzburg

Unfortunately, a good chunk of Regie fails for a number of reasons, but chiefly two: First, the director does not know enough about and/or truly respect the work entrusted to her or his care; and second, opera singers are not good enough actors to pull off the stunts required by those untrusting directors. I have a lot of opera singer friends who may get upset about that, and believe me, as a former (though never made it to the pros) opera singer, I mean that not as a slam in any way. I'll explain.

Pelléas et Mélisande - Salzburg

All opera singers are trained in acting and some, naturally gifted, could easily transition to the spoken stage and make a career there - athough why anyone would choose to not sing when one can is something both foreign and incomprehensible to me, not to mention ridiculous. Others not so gifted in the acting department (and that's the majority), can and often do succeed through sheer discipline, dedication to their art and guidance from their teachers, workshops, coaches and directors. These singers cultivate their skills to the highest level, and like any well-practiced skill, are often leave an impact that can be, and frequently is, stronger and more impressive than the so-called "natural." Think about how many performances you've attended where a singer, not particularly known for their acting, uses all of the tools of their trade to suckerpunch your heart and leave you in wide-eyed stun mode by what you've witnessed from them. These are the singers who have learned how to work with the music to serve the composer, how to create an effect that may on some surface level wow us, but even more importantly, dig beneath the surface and can transfuse the composer's music from their soul into our own. This is the magic of opera.

Tannhäuser - BayerischeStaatsoper München
When that connection is not understood by a director, there is a break in the chain between the composer, the singer and us, and this is never a good thing. Never. Ever.

We know a director doesn't trust the material (even if she/he is unaware of that) whenever We see them giving singers "business" to draw our eye to something, all while that something is remains in the mind of the director alone. It is not transferrable to either the singer, or to us, the audience., The singer may execute this business precisely as instructed, even to the satisfaction and delight of the director, but its meaning remains obscured to the point of being not only unnecessary, but actually intrusive.

Don Carlos - Düren, Germany

I recently watched a baroque opera where the director has updated the action and places one scene in a bar where two blokes are downing shots. One of them, the tenor, elaborately struggles to, then succesfully lights a cigarette, which he then waves around in what appear to be meaningless and distracting gestures. We look for some meaning in them, but there ultimately are none. He finishes his smoke, then mid-aria, his friend gestures for a smoke, the tenor offers him one, lights it, then reaches back into his pocket, withdraws and lights another for himself. Throughout the remainder of the aria he continues to perform the awkward gesticulations waving the cigarette about as if punctuating the text of this one sentence, da capo aria. At it's conclusion he tosses the cigarette behind the bar and storms out. What happened? It's anyone's guess.

Smoking onstage is a difficult enough thing to pull off, and is always an audience distraction with nearly everyone wondering: "is that a real cigarette? Is the singer a smoker? Doesn't the smoke bother other singers?" but most of all "why is this character smoking?" Too quickly and all too easily that unnecessary action it becomes the central "thing" to watch, and, instead of furthering the action or our understanding, only further separates us from the actual opera itself. Likewise, the singer, also is distracted by performing this hand ballet so irrelevant to the plot and to what he's singing about, all of it producing an effect wholly unrelated to the opera, and unnatural to the storytelling in every way possible. This is never a good thing. An actor from the spoken stage may be able to pull this off, but this is not the spoken stage, it is opera, and we all know things are wildly different in this world. That's why there's a difference. Of course, there's also the fact that like onstage nudity or unnecessary violence, more often than not, it's a cheap and uninspired gimmick and the lazy way out of putting meaning into a scene.

Too many theatre directors working in opera are or become self-indulgent and, instead of realizing the world in which they've chosen to inhabit, one filled with its own traditions, foibles, blessings and curses, imagine they are, instead at DV8 or La MaMa and working with beings whose bodies are trained for an entirely different kind of magic. We've seen and heard from directors how have even exhibited outright contempt for opera and its sometimes opera-sized singers. Of course there are elements that abound and abide in ALL theatre, which at its heart is nothing more than storytelling, but the manner in which those stories are told differ as widely - and as wildly - as the very art forms by which they're being told and defined by, be it ballet, opera, puppetry, Noh, Kabuki, or African dance.

Parsifal - BayerischeStaatsoper München
The traditions of every type of theatre must be respected and honored. We often witness that respect in every type of theatre, but, increasingly, in the opera house, we see less and less of it, despite the platitudes we may hear from directors who may say otherwise. Too many times I've heard a director say "I embrace the challenge of working with the diverse world of opera, it's vastness, the various shapes and sizes of its singers and history of traditions," only to see the final result being singers awkwardly shoe-horned into costumes and productions they are uncomfortable with and unnatural in.

There are those who will misread what I've written as a diatribe against regietheatre, when nothing could be further from the truth. What I'm against is bad regie, just as I'm against bad traditional productions which do nothing but present works as museum pieces, works that have earned their status as repertory pieces and deserve far more than to be preserved in mothballs.

On Singers and Size

I recently had a conversation with a friend on the appearance of opera singers, a conversation prompted by the idiotic remark of a currently popular singer who stated today's singers must be "beautiful and thin, and very fit . . ." Sorry, but I’m calling “bullshit."

Opera is art . . . storytelling on the grandest of scales and has precious little to do with reality. Weight has nothing to do with artistry nor one's ability to relate a story. Regardless of race, weight, body size, a good storyteller must do one thing: conjure a world of intrigue and fantasy that can draw an audience into believing his or her story. Most of us (I hope) have experienced one-man-shows where, with neither set nor costume, someone has pulled us in, and engaged us in a way where what surrounds us is altered completely until the lights come back up and we realize we've been on a remarkable journey. Those uncomfortable with body size that isn't (in their estimation) perfect simply lack imagination or any ability to accept the fact that people come in all sizes, shapes and colors. Over the years I've found it interesting that it isn’t necessarily younger audiences who have a difficult accepting opera-sized opera singers. If one has a problem with fat singers, don't go. It's really that simple. Conversely, I've seen far too many "sexy" singers who are lousy storytellers and who couldn't act their way out of the proverbial paper bag.

In 2010 attending the first Met HD “Aida” our local cineplex sold out several theatres. The one I watched in was filled mostly with Bowdoin college students fulfilling a class requirement, including a large segment of the football team. Violetta Urmana, Johan Botha, Dolora Zajick, and and Jennifer Check were among the plus-sized principals that day. None of the kids, most seeing their first opera, seemed to have any problem getting right into the story and cheering and responding to the goings-on of Verdi's tale taking place near and on the Nile. I was seated next to a couple of the football players and, as the intensity of Amneris’ Judgment Scene began, the one next to me leaned into his buddy and whispered, "Ah, this is my favorite part . . . where the Pharaoh chick loses her shit!” My heart exploded.

Yes, it’s nice to have beautiful gifted singers who can also act, but what’s most important to this opera lover are smart singers, a director both aware and sympathetic to his singers' needs and abilities, and a damned good conductor; the music and my imagination do all the rest of the work. I know, Weird, huh?

Opera Lovers versus Opera Singer Lovers

This is the eternal battle that has been forever waged between these two camps. Which one are you?

There are those for whom opera is the supreme performing art – the gesamkunstwerk to which Herr Wagner and others both before and after him dedicated their art, gifts and lives. Then there are those for whom the singer, not the song, is the thing. At times, serving as the inspiration for composers, singers are necessary, for without them, there simply is no opera. Looking at the myriad components necessary to make up that which we call an opera, one logically concludes that, as important as the singer is, he or she is an integral part of “the thing” but not “the thing” itself.

Nonetheless, due to an host of reasons, excuses and foibles far too numerous for discussion here, the Opera Singer Lover (“OSL”), will frequently view the Opera Singer as “the thing” itself, often resulting in an inability to relate to the world

But, through considerable study, I’ve arrived at the conclusion there are those who respond only to certain sounds or voice types and for whom opera serves merely as the vehicle from whence to obtain their fix. Neither camp is necessarily “wrong” but time has proven that your standard issue OSL tends to be far less tolerant being than the average Opera Lover (“OL”). An otherwise near perfect performance can devolve into a ruined and unsalvageable evening for the OSL merely by the presence of a competent, if less than spectacular, singer. Actually, it need only be a singer the OSL him or herself has deemed less than spectacular, even despite critical acclamation by critics and public at large.

What amazes the OL is how an OSL, may have heard an opera dozens, perhaps even hundreds of times over the decades, yet remains familiar only with the bits involving directly the object of his or her affection. This may include (or exclude, as the case may be), instances of ensembles where said object is only one of several voices, which serve (in the mind of the OSL) only to interfere with the artistry of their beloved.

While an OL may indeed become a fan of a singer, he/she is inclined to worry less about “who” is singing, trusting, with a not unrealistic expectation, that the company has hired singers capable of performing the roles their agents have contracted them for, and that a competent director is on hand to put them through the paces, inspire them to convince a paying audience to believe in the situation at hand, and encourage a strong work ethic while infusing them with an excitement that will, hopefully, become palpable to those on the other side of the curtain. The OL finds that, more often than not, this is precisely what happens.

OSL’s often find themselves stuck in a self-imposed rut, the OSL being more prone towards statements (which sometimes come off as pronouncements) such as “Callas ruined any other soprano’s Tosca for me.” Such statements, while often earnestly expressed, present a bafflement to the OL who cannot comprehend the possibility of a world where one singer could “ruin” an opera for every other singer coming after him or her. Such statements further perplex the OL who simply cannot fathom or wrap himself around the idea that one may have endured half a century incapable of enjoying Tosca. A tragedy, really.

While neither OSL nor OL need be a musician, able to read a score or comprehend the technical or aesthetic components of musicmaking or opera production, one finds, more often than not, the OL has some training (formal or self-taught) as well a slightly more open and realistic expectation of what an evening at the opera will entail. It is a sad truth that OSL’s often attend the opera because it is the only opportunity afforded them to cheer their champion. Realistically the OL would prefer a concert or recital setting, eradicating all those nasty recitatives, sets, costumes and other singers, getting them all out of the way so as to be able to more properly enjoy an evening with their favorite diva or divo.

While there exists a large gap between these two camps – one seemingly, fundamentally irreconciliable – each has learned (if only out of necessity), to coexist and tolerate each other. In some instances, friendships have been known to evolve between the OSL and OL wherein each has contributed to the elucidation of the other’s enjoyment of the lyric arts.

Confusion surrounds as to which camp one actually belongs to, as many who believe themselves to be OSLs are, in reality, actually OLs merely with proclivities towards particular singers.

I’ve devised the rather simple test which follows, as an aid in discovering the camp to which you belong. You’re welcome.

1. On your birthday you would rather receive:
A – A ticket to your local company’s new production of Don Giovanni.
B – A ticket to a Villazon recital of Schubert and Brahms.
C – A ‘78 of Jeritza singing excerpts from The Bohemian Girl.

2. When visiting New York you are most excited by:
A – Snagging a ticket to a controversial new Handel production at City Opera.
B – Waiting in line for an exhibit of gowns worn by divas of the Belle Epoch era.
C – Attending a luncheon hosted by Licia Albanese featuring unknown young singers.

3. Your immediate reaction to a gifted singer being hailed the “New Callas” is:
A – “Cool! I hope I get to hear her before she disappears from the face of the earth!”
B - Yawn. “Yeah. Right.”
C - “Who do those muther“%#$>$%#* think they are?!!!!”

4. Your favorite opera character is:
A – Don Giovanni
B – Violetta Valéry 
C – Joan Sutherland

5. You see the Onegin Duel Scene as:
A – A tragic but necessary plot device juxtaposing the lyric with the dramatic.
B –Tchaikovsky's painful paean to the heartbreak of friendship’s end.
C –Wunderlich’s greatest moment.

6. Melisande is:
A - Debussy’s difficult, gauzy heroine: a singing symbol of life’s ambivalence.
B – A fascinating study and a challenging opportunity for a gifted singing actress.
C – Something you endured once for another autograph of Victoria de los Angeles.

7. For you, “Ah fors e lui . . . and Sempre Libera” is:
A - The pulse pounding finale to Act I of “La Traviata.”
B – Another brilliant summation by Verdi revealing the heart and essence of a character.
C – Track 6 on Prima Voce’s Tribute to Amelita Galli Curci.

8. A tenor cracks on an exposed high note. You:
A – Boo and depart in disgust vowing never to attend another of his performances.
B – Angrily explain to all it was the fault of the conductor/director/soprano.
C – Weep uncontrollably.

9. “Tombe degli avi miei” is:
A – The propulsive final scene of “Lucia” tying the entire evening’s drama together.
B – Carlo Bergonzi like a house on fire!
C – Excuse me . . . what are you talking about?”

10. When dreaming you tend to dwell in:
A – Marble Halls.
B – La Scala.
C – Vallhalle.

The Little Red Dress . . .

The recent Willy Decker production of La Traviata seen at the Metropolitan Opera generated more online commentary than just about anything I can recall over the past few years. Much was made about Violetta's red dress - and how few sopranos could probably ever wear it. This in turn prompted me to think of a number of glamorous divas who past and present who knew how to fill out a red dress.

Here then, is a small gallery of those divas - my "Ladies in Red."

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors!

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors.

All one needs to do in circles operatic is utter the word “tenor” and within minutes a more bitter and far bigger argument will arise than any of Callas’s callouses or Battle’s battaglia. One will hear diatribes aplenty: there hasn’t been a decent tenor since Tucker; Giordani is Caruso’s successor; Boccelli is Pavarotti’s heir apparent and even more opinionated and insane squabbles, all argued with conviction, passion and by all manner of lovers of tenorial splendor.

I’m going to mention a few favorites and not so favorites of my own to get the ball rolling, but during the bitter cold arctic blasts I’m certain we’ll generate some heat. Hopefully we won’t start a forest fire! I DO ask that we keep the discussion (at least as much as possible) to the current crop of tenors and not wax reminiscent on our favorites of yesteryear . . . we do enough of that already!

Let me begin by stating how LUCKY we are to have Roberto Alagna singing today. He is, by far, my favorite tenor in (most of) the repertoire he makes his career in. Once again, as example of how differently we all hear, I’ve recently read reports of the same performances I’ve heard where Alagna’s voice is described as “dry . . . tough . . . leathery . . . out-of-tune.” I find his sound, rich, slightly muscular at times, but with a touch of honey. I find him also (ducking here) more consistent in performance than Giordani who, when he’s on is absolutely thrilling but when he’s off – YIKES! Very few times has Alagna disappointed me. I also don’t get the mean spirited comments about his acting or stage presence: I almost always find him to be a compelling actor onstage and think he looks fine, handsome even. His Don Carlos (still a major course of criticism from his detractors) remains one of the finest complete performances I’ve seen – a total, nearly Shakespearean performance that, no matter how many times I watch it, continues to leave me in absolute awe. His Werther does the same thing (and, having heard excerpts, I still anxiously await the DVD release of him and Kate Aldrich in this opera).

It was almost exactly two years ago I got blasted for “sticking up” for Alagna after his unfortunate behavior at La Scala where here, and elsewhere the general consensus seemed almost to be the operatic equivalent of “you’ll never work in this town again.” One lister wrote that just as Callas was, Alagna’s career will forever be defined by his walkout. Another told me that I was, like Mr. Alagna himself, “full of bullshit.” LOL – Oh, c’mon, already! Yes, it WAS an ugly incident, poor judgment on his part – though I remain convinced his health was more of an issue than it was made. We seem to conveniently forget the man had, months before, been hospitalized only months before and in critical condition with highly unusual and severe complications due to hypoglycemia. Typical of some of the nastiness thrown his way I recall someone here writing something like “For Christ’s sake, couldn’t he have just eaten a candy bar?”) He had collapsed onstage, had to cancel a boatload of engagements while he was hospitalized. Angela cancelled her engagements to remain by his side causing further brickbats to be hurled at her. He can be a bit much in his interviews and defenses of his wife (which I understand, even while balking at some of them), but when the man steps onstage: I’m nothing but 100 percent pure fan. I love him.

While Juan Diego Florez gets the lion’s share of tenorial praise these days, I’m one of the few who just doesn’t quite understand his phenomena. To my ears, it’s a pleasant, slightly distinctive, but not particularly beautiful sound, with (again to my ears) very little color or range of dynamics to it. Clearly my ears are out of synch with the rest of the world (and I realize that it is MY problem) but so many of his performances sound the same. When I hear Almaviva, Ramiro, etc., I want a (pardon the expression) ballsier sound. Having heard Richard Croft in Barbiere, Cenerentola, or d’Ory, this is by far the masculine yet “refined” sound I want in this music (likewise Croft’s Handel and Mozart). Of the younger tenors, I find Lawrence Brownlee a far more appealing sound in the similar repertoire as Juan Diego. Trust me, this is no bash of Florez, I’ve enjoyed a number of his performances both live and in recording/DVD, but he’s simply not my favorite type of singer. (I can hear already the thwack of the slings and arrows!)

Speaking of Croft, he remains, probably, my favorite tenor working today, period. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve moved away from the warhorse operas (which I still adore, but generally prefer singers no longer available in many of those roles). With Debussy, Handel, and Mozart high among my favorite operatic composers, it’s only natural Mr. Croft who excels in the music of all three, should keep me plenty happy. Also his recent efforts ranging from Gluck to Glass these past few seasons have been a major cause major celebration in my opinion. His Gandhi in last season’s “Satyagraha” was one of the most beautifully, ethereal and spiritual experiences I’ve ever had in an opera house.

Then there is that Maltese fellow: Mr. Calleja. When I first heard his voice I thought I was listening to a cleaned up recording from a century ago – it’s THAT kind of sound. While I’ve thrilled to his Rigoletto Duke several times now, it is in French music that I want to hear him most. The first time I heard his “Ah ! lève-toi, soleil!” I swear the ghost of Vanzo had entered my home. On its heals was a “Pourquoi me réveiller” that put me into a swoon, so fabulous it was. (I rarely use the word “fabulous” but it is entirely appropriate here.) Everything I hear from this singer is infinitely appealing and sung with an almost unlikely mixt of chutzpah and grace. The sound of this tenor is, in my opinion, among the most beautiful before us today and I cannot wait to see and hear more from him.

We have also a whole crop of young/youngish tenors in an almost endless parade of debuts singing major roles like Romeo, Lensky as well as other appropriate works by Handel and Mozart – and they’re singing all over the place: Joseph Kaiser, Sean Panikkar, Gordon Geitz, Brandon Jovanovich, Brad Cooper, Eric Margiore – all of them have star potential and have shown there is a place for them on the world stage. Then there are the major players who don’t get the recording contracts or press coverage and whose names don’t pop up with great frequency here, yet who have garnered fans the world over – tenors like Tom Randle, Garrett Sorenson, Kurt Streit and a host of others who have thrilled and entertained me as much as anyone has in an opera house.

A number of AYT’s (“aging young tenors”) have risen – rather quickly – to superstar status, but whom we can still see (and hear) developing before our eyes and ears. One of these is fast becoming a favorite of mine, the German Jonas Kauffmann. With matinee idol looks and a dark-tinged voice, he keeps proving himself over and over again in a wide-ranging repertoire that almost always seems not tailored to his voice, but which he tailors his voice to. I like this idea of “serving the music” and Kauffmann seems always to do precisely that. Most recently I have enjoyed his Covent Garden Don Jose to the unexpectedly thrilling Carmen of Antonnacci. Kauffmann seems poised at the ready to move into the lighter-fached Wagnerian roles, such as Lohengrin and I think, with his intense, introspective way of approaching roles, will be a marvelous Parsifal before we know it.

Rolando Villazon had one of the most meteoric rises to fame of any singer in recent times, and while it was not entirely undeserved, it thrust him into a dangerous sphere of too much work, tackling roles that are not 100 percent grateful to his still very lyric voice and, along with several other issues, sidelined him for the better part of a season and had fans concerned about his return which has been (wisely) a cautious reentry. Not cookie-cutter tenor handsome, Villazon has an odd exoticism to his look which he makes work for him meaning no lack of female friends and fans. Still, when he first came onto the scene I noted a seemingly strong musical and work ethic that seemed to lapse a smidge once he began filling his engagement book, jet setting ‘round the world when rest and study might have been better friends to him than adulation and praise (which would have come to him regardless). He is an exciting, likeable and immensely convincing stage personality and seems always to be a passionate actor. I cross my fingers that this one will get it all right and be around to enjoy and admire for a long, long time.

I can’t not mention Matthew Polenzani. A smaller-scaled lyric, there is still some nice weight to his sound, but it is not a big sound and I have worried about him in certain roles. A recent run of Traviata was the cause of concern for a number of opera lovers, but personally, while it will probably never be his greatest role, I found myself far more moved than I imagined – not to mention how much beauty and musicality he infused the young Germont with. His Romeos of the past several seasons for Chicago and later, the Met, were never anything less than breathtaking.

Another tenor in the Richard Croft mold is the British born, Toby Spence. Spence has the same flexibility and warm, eternally youthful sound as Croft, along with that amazing facility for coloratura. I have heard him in a number of roles, and seen him in several and he has that relaxed excitement unique to certain British Isle tenors that always straddles the line between careful thrill and throwing all caution to the wind.

I’m going to call this “Part I” – because there are so many more tenors who keep popping into my head. Let the games begin!

p.