A Grand Night For Aida

Opera Maine - The Little Opera Company That Could  just did.  "Did what, you may ask?  Enter into the world of Grand Opera in a way only they could. Over the years, Boheme, Tosca, Butterfly, Carmen, Don Giovanni, Figaro (both of them) Traviata, and everything else . . . even the Dutchman, all fit and felt perfectly suited to the shallow stage of Merrill Auditorium, but how would something considered as grand as Aida fit?  Quite comfortably. And spectacularly, actually.  And to a packed house, as well. Not something you read about a lot these days.

For the 29th production by the company, Director Dona D. Vaughn re-enlisted the service of Mexican set designer  Germán Cárdenas-Alaminos who had given us 2022's splendid  Der fliegende Holländer. A unit set comprised of a pair of platforms flanking a sort of central tiered "altar" with a staircase ascending to a larger platform served perfectly for all of the action scenes ,adapting easily for all seven scenes. A bonus was that each of the side borders of the proscenium, as well as the boarders going all the way back, were decorated with hieroglyphicss, adding to the sense of Egyptology.  

Scene locations achieved by a series of shifting, stunning, vivid 3-D rear projections by Camilla Tassi. Tassi created a sort of 21st century version of old fashioned painted scrims and flats that respected tradition, but also pushed it forward.  Beautifully lit by Jimmy Lawlor, a number of moments stood out spectacularly. My favorite of the night was the Nile Scene, as an Egyptian byblos boat floated up the river in the moonlight. The effect was stunning.  

One can't help jump to the obvious question: What about the Triumphal Scene?  It naturally had to be scaled down when one compares it to La Scala, the Met, Verona, but there's the funny thing: one needn't (and shouldn't) compare it. It's unnecessary. What was achieved was a marvelous synthesis of space, illusion, and the ability to stir excitement both onstage and in the house. The company may not be able to accommodate a cast of thousands, but dozens, they can field, and that was plenty enough to make it work. This was especially evident during the Triumphal March where a new level of endearing operatic kitsch was welcomed, as a giant blue, mechanical wooden elephant strode 'cross the stage bearing a lovely celebrant waving at the crowd. The effect was electric, causing an instant ovation of applause and cheers, proving opera can fun, too!  Of course, none of this would have meant a thing without a deeply satisfying musical presence and on that front, Israel Gursky, in his seventh production as conductor had as firm, authentic a grip on Verdi's score freading of the score as one is likely to encounter today. 

Maestro Gursky shaped the opera in an arc that mirrored perfectly the 360° feeling Verdi gave to this story. Verdi has packed Aida with every kind of emotion and situation in the human panoply: war, love, honor, religion, patriotism, betrayal, pageantry, duty, family, despair all bookended by music of a delicate, gauzy intimacy that transported us into another world: a romanticized ancient Egypt, and what a fun place to spend a few hours.

Opera Maine assembled a cast that I can't imagine being bettered at this point, notably in its three big roles. Courtney Johnson met every musical challenge of the title role with a sense of ease and confidence, while maintaining the character of the anxious Ethiopian princess in a strange land. The voice is, in a word, gorgeous. Bright and warm, with a quick but smooth vibrato it was a thrill to hear this role sung without the unnecessary heft too often heard in Aida performances today. Ritorna vincitor, with its exquisite pianissimo at "numi pieta ..." was ear ravishing and caused the first major ovation of the night. The kind a singer will never forget, nor will its audience.  An even bigger ovation was to follow at the end of O patria mia, with its killer ascent to one of opera's most notoriously difficult and frequently botched High C's. Ms. Johnson nailed the moment in a way I've heard very few sopranos get up and stay there.  In fact, throughout the night this maintained that same level of beauty and power that puts her on a list of young singers to watch out for - and listen to.  I look forward to hearing more from her.

Radames was Taylor Comstock and for beauty of sound he was a perfect match for his Aida. Comstock's big, bright voice easily sailed over the orchestra and chorus, was clear throughout  the ensembles, but also capable of scaling back, which he did to end Celeste Aida. Whereas today most tenors blast the final B flat on "vicino al sol" - Verdi clearly indicates it is to be sung pianissimo with an added "morendo" - or dying off quality. Comstock did precisely that, landing squarely on the note so gently, then softening it even more. My heart may have skipped a beat hearing it as written. 

A perfect foil to Aida and Radames, Hyona Kim's Amneris was incendiary, lighting up every moment she is onstage with fiery passion right up until her too late epiphany at the end. The voice is not large in weight, but is powerful in a way that made everyone sit up and take notice, and with a penetrating volume that could pin you to the back of your seat. As an actor, she combines a sense of of classic old-school operatic style with the abandonment of say, Theda Bara in Salome. This Amneris grasped, clawed, shoved, and threw herself across the floor, climbed up the steps on her belly . . . it was gloriously over the top in a way we just don't get to see anymore. The audience loved every bit of it.  The Judgement Scene gives Amneris a chance to shine in the best possible Verdian way, and with Gursky's support, urging the orchestra through that violently insane music with its exaggerated rhythms and punches, Kim made th is one of the finest highlights in a night filled with them.  Happy news than t hat Ms. Kim is the scheduled cover for Elīna Garanča's Amneris in the Met's upcoming new Aida.  I certainly hope she gets the opportunity for at least one performance. One I'd love to be at. 

Brian Major (Amonasro),  Daniel Sumegi (Ramfis), Matthew Anchel (Pharaoh), Peter Drackley (Messenger) and Alaysha Fox (High Priestess) were all vocally superb and theatrically each at the top of their respective game, turning in performances that contributed to the truest sense of ensemble work Aida must have to be effective. . 

Virgil Bozeman's chorus grounded this Aida throughout the many choral scenes with beauty, energy volume and presence both on and offstage. The chorus contribution - exciting in every scene - cannot be overestimated. They were a joy to watch and listen to.

In her eleventh season, Millie Hiibel designed the seemingly countless costumes required for Aida. From the uniformity of the priest's robes, to Amneris sparkling (almost 1930's style) gowns, Aida's softly flowing pastel robes, to the military costumes and defeated Ethiopians, Hilbel's costumes aided enormously in the telling of this marvelous story.

The strong hand of Ms. Vaughn's clear, balanced direction was felt throughout the evening, propeling the story in a manner that made the time seem to fly by in an instant.  There were no awkward moments or scenes, nor indeed any of the other myriad components that can go wrong in a live performance. Instead, what we partook in last night felt natural, and magical, and . . . all of the things we want in opera. It's the reason we go.   

One would be hard pressed to experience a finer Aida right now.  A point made clear to me as in the weeks leading up to last night, I watched three recent major productions, and truth be told, this was, overall, my favorite both musically and dramatically.  

Opera Main proved yet again that good things really do come in small packages. And now, grand things as well. 

Stunning Verdi from Currentzis and Musica Aeterna

(review from September 2022)

I just finished one of the greatest performances I've ever experienced of the Verdi Requiem, Perhaps part of that was that it was filmed live on 12 April 2019 at the Church of San Marco in Milan, the same venue Verdi conducted the premiere 145 years before. The acoustics of the baroque church are lively, reverberant and in it, Teodor Currentzis and Musica Aeterna give a performance quite unlike any I've heard, shaping the music and filling the space with something as vital as the air within it.  

The unconventional (and still somewhat controversial) conductor and his band of young players and singers pour everything into the score and one senses musicmaking coming from the very depth of their souls.  All of this adds into an experience that is among the most spiritual encounters with this music one is likely to hear.  The mass is never treated operatically - a tough feat since the music is some of the best "opera" Verdi gave us.  Currentzis can be tough to watch at times, over-emotive, batonless hands floating into space, his odd attire, but then the camera catches him transcendent . . . we sense the itensity of the communication between he and his musicians and, it is something beautiful to behold.  

Interesting also to see, instead of the standard "stand and deliver" (and there's not a thing wrong with that) performances we're used to, watching a 100 piece orchestra and 80 voice chorus swaying, moving and not holding back the physicality of their playing and singing.  At times, such as moments of the Dies Irae and Libera Me, the sound AND appearance is as one of watching people trying to escape the very fires of hell - entreating . . . imploring from the depths of their soul - to be freed, to be saved from damnation.  It's impossible not to feel this.

I've heard of none of the soloists before, but a better quartet today one would be hard pressed to think of.   Soprano, Zarina Abaeva; Mezzo, Ève-Maud Hubeaux; Tenor, Dmytro Popov, and Bass, Tareq Nazmi all shine beautifully, emotions pouring from them, the texts delivered like Shakespearean monologues.  

Popov has a slightly covered sound without the squillo or ping we often hear (and want) from Italian tenors - or who sound like Italian tenors, but it is a beautiful, mellower sound.  Ms. Hubeaux (with enormous earrings that look like those worn by the young Callas) has a depth of sound that is formidable and her delivery of the Liber Scriptus is perfection.  Formidable is also the word I'd use to describe Mr. Nazmi, whose voice fairly thunders in his music. 

Zarina Abaeva is a soprano we could use a lot more of these days.  A big, but clean/pure sound she can pump out the volume, color the voice with a sweetness in the delicate higher sections, but is lacking nothing at the bottom of the range.  For the Libera Me, Currentzis has her moved from the front where the soloists had been, to the middle of the chorus and the effect, again both musically and visually, adds something extra. 

The Requiem ends and Currentzis remains motionless, transfixed, as do the 180 musicians he's just led.  One  - or at least I - expects a thunderous ovation, but instead, the audience sits in reverence as the musicians process out of the sanctuary as silently as they had entered.  I was, and not for the first time, in tears.

Defending Trovatore

Whenever I read complaints about operatic plots or libretti as being unbelievable I just want to shake my head, scream or both. This insistence of "realism" by some is something that has absolutely nothing to do with the art form of opera and, frankly, does not belong there. For starters, we're talking about an art form where everything is sung, so, immediately, right off the bat, we are entering into a dramatic art form (or entertainment if you will) which is in an entirely different realm than any other.

These criticisms, and ignorant rantings, are, more than any work I can think of, most frequently laid at the feet of one of the greatest Italian works in the repertoire, Verdi's Il Trovatore.

Verdi was consumed by Gutierrez's early 19th century Spanish drama, El Trovador, which had been translated for him into Italian by then girlfriend, Giuseppina Strepponi, and he turned immediately to one of the greatest librettists, Salvadore Cammarano for a treatment to begin his opera.

Cammarano was a man of impeccable taste, theatrical wisdom (Budden refers to him as "the born operatic poet") and Verdi understood right away, he was he was right the man for the job. Cammarano was born into a theatrical family, his father being a highly respected set designer and scenery painter. And, lest we forget, Cammarano was the genius who gave us Lucia, Poliuto, L'assidio di Calais, Roberto Devereux, Maria di Rohan, Luisa Miller, and much more. Still, there seemed to be some uneasiness between composer and librettist, Verdi asking for more bizarre and bold elements of the Spanish drama while Cammarano was infusing the work with more poetry than passion for Verdi's taste. During most of their work together they were in constant communication, but then there became stretches Verdi went without hearing from Cammarano. All of this was, of course, further complicated by Cammarano's death before they could complete the project. Eventually, Leone Emanuele Badare made additions to Cammarano's libretto before the prima.

As to the original source, Gutierrez's play, it was viewed by critics and public alike as a revelation and enjoyed wild success, which (not unlike some of his other works) brought a source of inspirational genius to Verdi who "had to have it." What's remarkable is that, even today, scholars still consider El Trovador to be among the first and greatest of modern works commentating upon the corrupt irrationality of rival political and social factions seeking complete control of their worlds. Also, just to up the dramatic ante, the play remains a harsh commentary upon the blind rage vendettas that needlessly took so many lives for centuries. Sound familiar to anyone?

If someone finds Trovatore to be too far-fetched or unbelievable, well, that's their problem, isn't it. It sure is not mine, and it sure was not Verdi's.

In Trovatore, Verdi, (and other composers similarly in other works), were able to see not only beyond any perceived deficiencies of the art form, but, if they saw them at all, then only as challenges to be faced head on, and without apology. In so doing, the composer cuts out . . . designs and creates a world he believed in, and presents us with an invitation to enter into it and escape from reality. To complain "it's not real enough for me" is . . . well, frankly stupid.

Sadly, more so than in Verdi's time, we find ourselves living in an age where people are too comfortable . . . too limited, and tend to apply their own modern sensibilities and logic separate from the characters' and to me, that's just a lousy way to enjoy opera . . . as well as calling into question the nature of enjoyment.

To question, Azucena's motives, or Di Luna and Manrico's actions and contemplate them with "Well, I'd never have done that" is to miss the point entirely. To complain about Leonore's motives and behavior is, unless you're a teenage noble woman living in fictional 15th century Spain, idiotic.

It becomes all the more frustrating to witness how, as far as entertainment goes, we as a society are accepting of more "far out" occurrences in our other entertainments, e.g., movies where men can fly, spin spider webs out of their wrists, stop time, science fiction and super heroes who defy both death and gravity, yet we have great difficulty buying into the tales of gypsies and curses. It's puzzling to me, particularly, as the time when people actually believed such things, behaved similarly to these characters, are not only not far removed from our own era - but, in many instances, still with us. Add to all of this Verdi's impeccable, tuneful, passionate, hit laden score, and arguments against it - any and all of them- are laid to rest and ultimately meaningless.

Long Live The Troubadour!

Rockin' the Opera: A Traviata Memory

During the summer of 1996, I attended a performance of Verdi's La Traviata at Wolf Trap. I went because Traviata is a favorite opera of mine, and I'd previously seen this New York City Opera production, beautifully designed by Thierry Bosquet and sensitively directed by Renata Scotto. I was not expecting to be as moved by the experience as I was by Verdi's classic tear jerker and it became one of the most moving participatory experiences of my life to date.

The audience was the most non-traditional I'd ever been a part of . . . even for Wolf Trap. Hundreds of multi-colored, broadly knit skull caps, clothing made from hemp, men and women in swirled, tie-dyed cotton skirts over bare legs and feet, ponytails on the men (including moi), boys and girls with unkempt dreadlocks. The scent of weed and patchouli filled the air more than Channel No. 5. I half expected Jerry Garcia to make an appearance, and in some ways, he did by the sheer number of Deadheads present.

Also large in number which made my blood pumper swell with pride; a strong presence of headbangers donned in black on black, Metallica and Slayer tee-shirts, ripped up jeans, combat boots. I stood up and looked around, taking it all in and could not suppress an enormous shit eating grin. Scattered liberally throughout were plenty of older folk, comfortably sipping wine in their lawn chairs, and while some appeared a little nervous, most didn't seem to mind or notice. This was an audience I had dreamed of.

At intermission I excused myself from my friends, moved up the hill to speak with one a young man wearing a Metallica-shirt, but whose girlfriend was more "appropriately" attired for the opera. These young 20-somethings told me that though they often attended and listened to Wagner (his favorite was Tristan, hers, Lohengrin), they came for an opera "fix" and were being won over by the charm and potential heartbreak of this, their first Italian opera.

We ended up talking for a bit about Tristan and then the topic of the tee shirt came up: "Metallica" and all shared a good laugh about what could be, until recently, deemed an implausible situation: discussing heavy metal during the intermission of an Italian opera. He stated he always wears his Metallica tee to the opera, putting up with glares and stares, because usually "
someone finds me and strikes up a conversation" but at Wolf Trap don't feel out of place, and had already met quite a few interesting people before the opera even began. Tres cool.

Seconds after Violetta expired, as the house lights came up, the row of Deadheads in front of us rose immediately to their feet. My friend Kathy poked me in the arm pointed at them, smiling, all these kids were in tears, standing and cheering long before anyone else rose or a single curtain call had begun. Normally I'm loathed to stand (unless it's truly warranted) but Kathy and I stood in solidarity, nodding our heads, and smiling could taste my own salty tears. When the Violetta came (a then young, quite remarkable soprano from Ukraine) there was a roar more typical to a rock concert. I wouldn't have been surprised to see the gentle blaze of
cigarette lighters extended skywards. I was as moved by the reaction of this youthful mass as I was by the wonderful Violetta.

They may have been metalheads, punks and hippies, but they came because they wanted to experience real opera. That's exactly what they got.

Don Carlos: As It Should Be (mostly)

Verdi: Don Carlos
Theatre du Chatelet
Antonio Pappano, Conductor/Luc Bondy, Director
Roberto Alagna, Karita Mattila, Jose van Dam, Thomas Hampson, Waltraud Meier

Pappano leads an almost achingly beautiful effort from his soloists and the Chatelet orchestra and chorus. Perhaps my favorite Verdi opera, this is also regarded as one of his most unusual and problematic scores - often sounding simultaneously traditional yet somehow remarkably modern for its time. Pappano brings out all of these elements and his pacing of the entire long evening is beautiful, near perfection never once feeling either dragged out or rushed.

I've had ups and downs in my listening experiences with Roberto Alagna, but here, vocally and dramatically he perfectly captures every nuance, and every heartbreaking weakness of this character, taking a weak, problematic "starring role" and somehow turning him into Hamlet. It doesn't hurt that he is in astonishingly beautiful voice, his tone ringing and with a remarkable sheen. His ability to shade the voice in a variety of colors and dynamics made this an uniquely individual portrayal. He is not the "hero" Don Carlos some old-timers may wish for, but I hold this role to be almost the antithesis of heroic.

The production is simple effectively emphasizing the story telling and Verdi's music. Clearly well rehearsed, Luc Bondy's production has not a false note throughout its considerable length, every detail, every movement flowing with a rare and natural ease. In Gilles Aillaud's sets, Moidele Bickel's costumes and Vincio Cheli's beautiful lighting, every frame looks like a Murillo or El Greco masterpiece coming to life. Two particularly arresting images stand out in the St. Just scene; the first, just before the the entrance of Philip and Elisabeth - Carlos accepts Posa's request to return with him to Flanders, as Carlos kneels, Posa rests his head Carlos's shoulder. The second such moment follows the King and Queen's procession; Carlos extends his right arm out towards the now offstage couple as Posa grabs his other arm preventing his friend from following; creating a canvas of tortured angles: all arms, necks, heads, legs, backs, walls and shadows - all transformed into a tragic tableau of pain and comfort rejected.

The Fontainebleau scene (the opening cut a bit) is remarkably done and should convince any naysayers that it must be included to make the rest of this difficult work make true sense. In a barren forest of white birch, Carlos and Elisabeth draped in deep crimson, become as a single heart beating in this forest of death. Karita Mattila brings a dramatic quality that I've never before encountered in this role; at first coltish, tom-boyish, as Carlos lights the fire in the woods. Then, as he mentions that she will marry the son of Philip, becoming girlishly nervous. In only a few moments she establishes a bewitching and compelling character. In true princess manner, this Elisabeth is slightly vague yet clear she is smitten by and flirts with Carlos, her outward strength a facade - clearly a girl raised at court, aware she is but a pawn and dutifully plays the part she's given. At the news Elisabeth is to marry Philip instead of Carlos , the young lovers are crushed as the chorus, in ghostly white, enters singing her praises, lifting her into the air, placing her on a white horse and led away, knowing she is not leaving behind not only home and family, but any dream or hope of happiness as all turn away from Carlos who, alone, falls onto a rock, utterly destroyed. "Destiny has shattered my dreams." Having seen the Fontainebleau scene scene so staged I can't imagine its being left out of any production again.

Throughout this production Bondy and Pappano have encouraged their singers to live these roles and the electricity between all of the characters is stunning. Here is a theatre director who understands opera, and makes enormous use of music's ability to expand emotions in a unique way. Another example of his vision is the sheer physicality of the scene between Carlos and Elisabeth outside of the convent which takes on a desperate, violent quality that is, to say the least, startling to experience in an opera house.

As Rodrigue, Thomas Hampson gives what one of the best performances of his career. Combining humility, loyalty, compassion, pride and a sense of justice, his Posa is remarkably complex, and by far one of the most interesting good guys in all of Verdi. The voice is never big, but rich, well controlled and his sense of phrasing and attention to detail nothing short of remarkable. He also has a wicked good trill. At times, especially in his big scene with Philip, Hampson's voice seems to take on a tenorial quality - a remarkably lyrical Rodrigue, but with a sure sense of strength of purpose.

Mr. Van Dam's Philip is firm of tone, every word distinct, filled with meaning. The role, at times lies a bit low for him, but for the most part fits him like the proverbial glove. I have always want to despise Philip, but Bondy and Van Dam have made him more pathetic, a mere pawn of the Inquisitor, and Van Dam pulls off this vulnerability without once
sacrificing the strength of his character. A most complex, interesting characterization.

Waltraut Meier couldn't have been anybody's idea of an ideal Eboli, yet, she inhabits the character so fully turns in a magnificent performance, and looks damned stunning in doing so. Her vocalism in the Veil Song was kind of bizarre - it had a "warble" like quality that made it difficult to tell just what pitch she was actually on, yet she was beguiling and pulled it off. Once that was out of the way, everything else came from strength. I do wish that this mezzo would cultivate some chest voice. Her low notes seem to be her weakest and they sound exactly (except nearly inaudible) as her middle voice.

As Elisabeth, Mattila is, quite simply, a wonder. A voice capable of so many colors while retaining a unifying, individual sound. Having previously heard her in so much of her native music and Mozart, it's a tough voice to categorize, capable of riding the orchestra and cutting through it with laser like clarity, yet retaining a youthful sweetness most unusual to the typically "steely" type of voice we associate with that type of singing. Her sustained, high piano singing is nearly miraculous, a thin thread of sound perfectly placed, as clean as can be imagined then producing an effect that sounds as sensuous as silm gauze feels (two examples: her farewell to her lady-in-waiting, and reminding Carlos she is now his mother). It's all sung piano, yet she makes these moments sound entirely different. This is singing rare and refined. And remarkable. Every movement, gesture and sound came directly from this Elisabeth straight into my heart.


With the least amount of stage time, Eric Halfvarson's twisted, crippled Grand Inquisitor truly becomes a dominant central figure; the very physical embodiment of evil setting a tale of corruption, politics and religion already near chaos and spinning it completely out of control.

Nearly every scene in this long work is filled with heartbreaking magic and beauty, making it difficult to single out one scene in particular as standing out from the rest, though Posa's death perhaps takes place of honor in an evening filled with memorable music making and drama.

As one would imagine, the Chatelet audience responds with a thunderous and extended ovation, making me wish, even more, I'd been there.

History of the Metropolitan Opera's Opening Nights

I've been in several recent discussions regarding opening nights at the Metropolitan Opera. I'd mentioned I found this year's choice, "Le Nozze di Figaro" to be an unusual, but lucky one. Several friends disagreed saying it wasn't unusual at all and that it could work. I agreed that it could (and does) work, but still maintain for the Met it's an unusual choice. (The Met has only opened with it one other season, back in 1941).

The history of Met Opening Nights is fascinating, with the most frequent opera appearing to be Aida, the choice for
eleven seasons. Otello opened seven seasons and Faust and Roméo et Juliette each opened six.

I find it odd, and perhaps it's just a personal issue, but I'm not in favor of, as has happened several times in the Met's history using a Gala Concert to open the season in lieu of an actual opera performance. I'm sure, however, others would prefer this kind of evening but I don't call them opera lovers!

Following is a list of the Met's Opening Nights.

1883: Faust
1884: Tannhauser
1885: Lohengrin
1886: Die Königin von Saba
1887: Tristan und Isolde
1888: Les Huguenots
1889: Der Fliegende Holländer
1890: Asrael
1891: Roméo et Juliette
1892: (No Season)
1893: Faust
1894: Roméo et Juliette
1895: Roméo et Juliette
1896: Faust
1897: (No Season)
1898: Tannhäuser
1899: Roméo et Juliette
1900: Roméo et Juliette
1901: Tristan und Isolde
1902: Otello
1903: Rigoletto
1904: Aida
1905: La GIoconda
1906: Roméo et Juliette
1907: Adriana Lecouvreur
1908: Aida
1909: La Gioconda
1910: Armide
1911: Aida
1912: Manon Lescaut
1913: La Gioconda
1914: Un Ballo in Maschera
1915: Samson et Dalila
1916: Les Pêcheurs de Perles
1917: Aida
1918: Samson et Dalila
1919: Tosca
1920: La Juive
1921: La Traviata
1922: Tosca
1923: Thaïs
1924: Aida
1925: La Gioconda
1926: La Vestale
1927: Turandot
1928: L'Amore dei Tre Re
1929: Manon Lescaut
1930: Aida
1931: La Traviata
1932: Simon Boccanegra
1933: Peter Ibbetson
1934: Aida
1935: La Traviata
1936: Die Walküre
1937: Tristan und Isolde
1938: Otello
1939: Simon Boccanegra
1940: Un Ballo in Maschera
1941: Le Nozze di Figaro
1942: La Fille du Régiment
1943: Boris Godunov
1944: Faust
1945: Lohengrin
1946: Lakmé
1947: Un Ballo in Maschera
1948: Otello
1949: Der Rosenkavalier
1950: Don Carlo
1951: Aida
1952: La Forza del Destino
1953: Faust
1954: Gala Concert (Telecast)
1955: Les Contes d'Hoffmann
1956: Norma
1957: Eugene Onegin
1958: Tosca
1959: Il Trovatore
1960: Nabucco
1961: La Fanciulla del West
1962: Andrea Chénier
1963: Aida
1964: Lucia di Lammermoor
1965: Faust
1966: Antony and Cleopatra
1967: La Traviata
1968: Adriana Lecouvreur
1969: Aida
1970: Ernani
1971: Don Carlo
1972: Carmen
1973: Il Trovatore
1974: I Vespri Siciliani
1975: The Seige of Corinth
1976: Il Trovatore
1977: Boris Godunov
1978: Tannhäuser
1979: Otello
1980: Mahler: Symphony No. 2
1981: Norma
1982: Der Rosenkavalier
1983: Les Troyens
1984: Lohengrin
1985: Tosca
1986: Die Walküre
1987: Otello
1988: Il Trovatore
1989: Aida
1990: La Boheme
1991: Gala Concert (25th Lincoln Center Anniversary - Telecast)
1992: Les Contes d'Hoffmann
1993: Gala Concert: 25th Anniversaries of Domingo & Pavarotti
1994: Il Tabarro & Pagliacci (Unheralded 35th Anniversary for Stratas)
1995: Otello
1996: Andrea Chénier
1997: Carmen
1998: Samson et Dalila
1999: Cavalleria Rusticana & Pagliacci
2000: Don Giovanni
2001: Gala: A Celebration of Verdi
2002: Gala: Fedora Act 2; Samson et Dalila Act 2; Otello Act 4
2003: La Traviata
2004: Otello
2005: Gala: Nozze di Figaro Act 1; Tosca Act 2; Samson et Dalila Act 3
2006: Madama Butterfly
2007: Lucia di Lammermoor
2008: Renee Fleming Gala
2009: Tosca
2010: Das Rheingold
2011: Anna Bolena
2012: L'Elisir d'Amore
2013: Eugene Onegin
2014: Le Nozze di Figaro

Difficult Operas and Excellent Performances

.for as difficult a work as "Falstaff" is to perform - and I think it really takes absolutely top class musicians as well as interpreters to pull it off - I'm surprised at how good so many of the recordings are.

A friend made the above observation about Falstaff and it immediately jogged my memory toward a conversation from years ago I'd had with a friend discussing the similar phenomenon of recordings and performances of Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande and Berg's Lulu and Wozzeck.

Adding to the above phenomenon is the fact these works, while known, at least to a certain degree by most operagoers they are, not unlike Falstaff, true "repertoire pieces" with one encountering them with far less frequency the numerous operas making up that class.

We pondered why this is, and a lot of it boiled down to one critical component: the conductor. That the works have failed to take hold with the greater opera going public is not because of some inherent unworthiness on their part . . . to the contrary, many of the greatest musicians place these works at or near the top of their favorite and most respected works, but rather that, for any number of reasons, they do not immediately resonate with, or are perhaps misunderstood by those whose ears are trained to want more obvious (or, if one prefers, "tuneful") melodies and traditional harmonies (to say nothing of the stories themselves or their sources.

In my estimation, whenever a conductor decides to take up performances of one of these (or any one of numerous other challenging) operas), it becomes something of a special case, often feeling like a point is trying to be made. It cannot (or should not), however, prove too obvious a point since the last thing anyone wants - and which the work certainly doesn't need - is a precious performance of something many already find difficult to love. (See "backfired")

Nonetheless, by that same token, even more extraordinary care than usual needs to be taken in the selection of singers and their preparation given these operas, being neither as popular nor as frequently performed as repertory standards cannot run the risk of being given a performance even remotely close to being called "routine" (even when "routine" should be a goal of excellence).

Fortunately, the results of such herculean efforts seem to pay off in performances and/or recordings that usually serve as conformation for connoisseurs whose works these are the favorites of, and, with any luck at all, win new converts. It doesn't always work, but when it does, oh, boy . . . look out!

Best Trovatore Ever!

Despite the grainy black and white picture, boxy audio (which peaks out at crescendos, varies wildly at times and can really become constricted during large ensembles), painted clouds, sets that range from starkly stagey yet realistic to "huh?", lip-synching that for most of the film is so good it looks as though the singers are really singing then degenerates into hit 'n miss, and some nasty cuts, the performances are simply astonishing. I hadn't planned on watching the entire thing, but once in the video machine I was along for the ride.

Leyla Gencer absolutely amazes me. If this woman were singing today she would be having productions of whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted and cast with whomever she wanted. Verdian style, ease of vocal production, ear ravishing mezzo voces and spot on high notes attacked with precision and clarity that had me doing something I hate to do - rewind whole sections and play them over and over again - so much so that the 2 hour video took me closer to 3 hours to watch. In Tacea la notte she throws in this soft, high Db that may be one of the most beautifully produced single notes I've ever heard.

(Note: I have to say, right here, that listening to Gencer today I was struck for the very first time at how similar a sound she shares with a singer I don't love but is known for her beautiful voice . . . (drum roll, please):  Renee Fleming. I'd never noticed before, but the weight of both voices is similar, especially when Fleming uses chest . . . I know, it sounds crazy, but I hear that for some reason.  BUT, Gencer is, of course, superior and capable of vocal "tricks" from the bel canto training, and the results can be extraordinary.  An example: Gencer seems to sing almost all of  Tu vedrai in chest voice - which blew my mind. I've never once thought of Fleming as a Leonore, and that will remain the case. It simply isn't in her (Desdemona is the extent of her Verdi for me.)

Mario Del Monaco is thrilling both in sound and looks, his acting right on the mark for Manrico. His high note (C?) at the end of  Di Geloso amor  is not nice and almost sounds as though tagged on after the fact . . . and maybe not even his (though I doubt that). But, all of his other high notes are definitely THERE and I was particularly affected by his ensemble work (who said he always had to show off? Del Monaco is here, most definitely a team player and the result is marvelous. The Pira (down a tone) has all the ping and brass one could want. He's just terrific. While his acting is excellent as Manrico, he does, I confess, in Act IV go way over the top. Manrico becomes all flashing dramatic eyes and Bela Lugosi poses, but these are NOT out of place at all here, as they seem to be genuinely Manric-an (yes, I just made that up. Sorry.)

Ettore Bastianini is, as ever for me, commanding, and in excellent - simply outstanding voice as DiLuna.  I simply cannot imagine a better foil to Del Monaco's Manrico.They are the team to beat in these roles and, at least for me, no one has done so yet.  I'll wait though.  

Plinio Clabassi opens the film with a fairly rousing Abbietta zingara,  and the men's chorus act and sing nobly.

There are touches of humour in the direction (notably in the Anvil Chorus) both intentional and seemingly unintentional, such as the gypsy who's mock anvil striking can't help but provoke a grin.

The great Fedora Barbieri in that costume, suffers as the most unfortunate victim of the wardrobe mistress. Despite her protestations in a recent Opera News article, Barbieri employs chest voice and does so splendidly. I remember she called it sometime else, but . . . it's still chest to me.  But never mind, because her Azucena has so much beauty throughout from start to finish. One of her most beautiful moments comes in that little trio toward the end: Gencer sustaining a lower note, Del Monaco buffering the middle as Barbieri enters ravishingly, on a higher sustained note returning to Ai nostri monti" That is the magic of Verdi right there, and it is the magic of singers who know what to do with this ravishing stuff.

Any director worth his salt should look at this and realize that "concept" is irrelevant, unnecessary and can - as we've seen in so many productions - sometimes stand directly in the way of telling a story. The power of the music, and singers who know how to react to it and to each other, are more than enough. The drama comes through in spades here, despite the perceived deficiencies of great visuals or expertly engineered modern sound.

I get more worked up by this film than perhaps any other opera movie I've seen. There are so many moments I jump up to my feet, and yell, cheering at the screen as though they can hear me. The ending, for once, felt as brutal and stomach churning as Verdi must have intended it to.

Oh, to experience a Trovatore like this in a house even once!

Attila & The Nose@ The Met

In less than 24 hours The Met has had two of the season's most exciting broadcasts on Sirius and I, for one, am one deliriously happy man!

Last night I was glued to Shostakovich's "The Nose" - so much so I was two hours late to a party - I didn't care! I'm surprised that an eighty-plus year old work would still meet with "it's too modern" or it's "all wrong notes" type of comments - and that seemingly most or all of the few comments I've so far read have been so negative (though I shouldn't be surprised by that at all).

I found the entire affair - even just over the radio - to be absolutely mesmerizing; a a glorious romp of sound with contrasts of darkness and light that overlapped perpetually in a manner that grabbed on and never let go.

Friends who attended said it was a major event and a "must be seen" live experience. I would gladly have given up half of this years HD transmissions to have had "The Nose" and "From the House of the Dead" on the HD roster. Hopefully one of the companies sharing the production will have it telecast and become available on DVD. Even if it doesn't, I'll cherish and smile at the memories of this score so beautifully - and entertainingly played over the airwaves last night.

The follow up of the Attila of Verdi this afternoon makes it al - to me at least - all the more sensational. The already typically amazing Met band sounded - from the very opening notes of the prelude to the prologue - breathtaking - amazing. The richness of the string sound was particularly lovely.

I feared what might happen when Ms. Urmana was announced as suffering from and struggling through a cold. I was not prepared for the way she hurled her voice out in "Santo di Patria" - it wasn't necessarily "pretty" singing, but it thrilled me right to the core. Later in her Act I aria she nailed a perfectly executed trill and through in a pianissimi that Caballe would have been proud of!

Vargas sounded a bit frantic - but in a good, slightly unhinged way that is not typical of him. He seemed to be - like everyone else - caught up in the fervor and the fever of it all. Even the intermission features today seemed of a higher level, with nice interviews and blurbs from Messrs. Muti, Abdrazakov and Ramey (with some nice clips of Ramey's Met debut in Rinaldo).

I read what seems to be perpetual criticism of Mr. Gelb and The Met - but too little praise for the things that go right. Last night and today show him and
his company doing things very, very right. Two so very different, contrasting works of different eras masterfully performed. Bravi!

The sun is shining bright and the past two days my home has been filled with glorious sounds orchestral and vocal from The Met. What a wonderful world this can be when we let it!

Harteros: My New Violetta!

Having been impressed by hearing her Violetta several times on Sirius, I knew what I was going to do my last night in New York. See Harteros at the Met. Holy moley. Hers is unlike any Violetta I've heard in a long, long time. It's a big voice and she knows exactly what to do and how to do it. Violetta has now no difficulties, no hurdles that Harteros doesn't simply obliterate. To hear a voice of such healthy proportions navigate perfectly through Verdi's bravura ending to Act I is thrilling. I mentioned to a friend that most Violettas (even many i have liked in the past) have a certain phony quality, a kind of "Look at me, I'm playing a courtesan . . . ha, ha ha!" Harteros convinced me from the very first moment she appeared that THIS was Violetta.

I'm embarassed to admit I don't believe I've ever even heard of Paolo Carignani before this run, but I will not forget him and race for tickets to anything he conducts again. His work with the orchestra was exemplary, particularly in the two famous preludes. He begins this music so tenderly I felt as though I'd walked into the middle of a performance already in progress. It was magical. He paces well for his singers, even numbers like "Di Provenza" which can sometimes be milked and dragged out to within an inch of its life, were perfect, allowing the singers to revel in beautiful sound, but never at the sacrifce of the drama at hand.

Speaking of "Di Provenza," what a treat it was to have Zeljko Lucic back at the Met. His Giorgio Germont was very close to as good as it gets in this role. Warm, burnished sound, with as beautiful a middle to the voice as I can recall hearing. The bottom of his voice isn't as strong as it could be, but my God the rest is so beautiful, and he sings with such passion and style that nothing is really missed. While this production doesn't require a lot of Germont dramatically, Lucic had touches that were heartbreaking and toward the end of his scene with Violetta, Lucic made me believe that Germont was going to say, "Never mind" and let his song stay with this wonderful woman. He braced himself on the back of a chair, realizing he was going too far, and when he is reproached by Violetta's "addio!" he quickly leaves before he changes his mind. You could "feel this."

Massimo Giordano is not always vocally perfect as Alfredo - but he's damned close. It's a beautiful sound, with some nice "ping" to it, and he's got a lovely tear in the voice that he doesn't overdo. Additionally, there was something about him which I liked more than many other Alfredi: the believability of youth about him both in both voice and action. This was a teenaged boy Alfredo, his mannerisms, his behavior all resembled a young man in the throws of his first love. When he reads Violetta's letter this kid was positively crushed. His face a silent sob of shock and loneliness. He had all the manic qualities perfectly. His "De’ miei bollenti spiriti” is about as good as one is likely to hear. The cabaletta was good, but I wanted him to be specatcular in it, and it just wasn't. But, considering how many tenors I've heard destroy the aria itself, to have it sung as lovely as we got it tonight - is a blessing. This guy is really good!

And back to the reason for going. Harteros has a dark, tragic beauty to her that, during the first act alternated with Violetta's sparkling qualities that made her instantly both likeable, and unforgettable. Tall, and with a dark, striking beauty (Harteros reminded me at times variously of Callas, Gheorghiu and Balsta - sometimes all three rolled into one) she moves with genuine elegance. When she collapses, faints, falls or otherwise hits the floor she appears to have had all of her bones removed, so perfectly fluid is her movement. If she gave up singing, I think this is one of the few sopranos who could make it onstage as an actress, so convincing were all of her physical gestures and mannerisms. But she DOES sing - and amazingly. To hear a voice of this size voice scale back to a mezzo voce that could make a stone weep is rare enough, but the way she can shift gears, point up the text purely by voice, her lack of "outsized" histrionics - is just amazing. Amazing. Amazing.

Outside at first intermission a man told me he did not like this Violetta and pointed out "she hasn't got high notes and didn't do the High E flat." I told him he was crazy, her top was glorious and besdies, when you've got everything else in spades: perfect diction, style, command of the voice in all of the writing its assigned, an exquisite ability to shade the text and make it believeable, not to mention good trills where they're written, and the ability to pop off 5 high C's with ease, you don't need an E flat for a couple of reasons: Verdi didn't write one; and two, half the time the E flat is included is because the soprano is going to be half inaudible the rest of the opera.

There are so many highlights to discuss and not enough time. "Alfredo, Alfredo, di questo core" in Act II, Scene ii, was just wrenching. Again, the manner in which Harteros can scale back that huge, warm sound down to a sliver of voice, andn still penetrate through through the orchestra and be heard in every corner of the house . . . is pure magic.

Convincing throughout, her third act was even better than I thought it would be (and I was thinking it was going to be really, really good). This was a tragedienne par excellence, knowing how to pace virtually every minute, and yet make it feel as though it were playing out in real time. Thankfully she didn't overdo the letter scene, didn't scream "e tardi" like she was at a college football game, and offered an "Addio del passato" that was absolutely exquisite. A slight catch in her breath in the final
phrase kept her from getting a roaring ovation, but that would come when she returned to the stage for her bows after the final curtain. I didn't time it, but the bravos, cheers and a standing ovation from most of the house went on for a good while.

I will defend some of Zefirelli's production, but the opening of Flora's party, the set still resembles some enormous alien/monster vagina. When those "curtains" finally go up Flora's house looks like a Rococo cathedral taken over by a commedia del ar'te troupe and a gang of whores. Also, I think it is a HUGE mistake to change scenes for Violetta's death. It breaks up Verdi's drama and calls attention to the direction more than it does to Violetta's tragedy and that is unforgiveable. And ghastly. Still, not even that could detract from the magic Harteros brought to this role. I would love to hear her in more Verdi, I'm thinking Luisa Miller, Don Carlos, Ernani . . . and eventually, soon even, I would love to hear an Aida from this voice.

Okay, I've got a new soprano to obsess over!

p.

Met Opening Night Gala: A Wagnerian Length Evening of Scenes

After picking me up early from work, my Met HD Gang and I headed to the Brunswick Regal for the Met Opening Night Gala. Years ago I realized I’m not really an opera gala kinda guy – nights in “three acts” from different works not really being my cup of tea. Much preferable to me are evenings comprised of aria recitals or, even better, entire operas. But there was so much hullaballo surrounding this one there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of missing it. It felt pretty special returning to the sold-out show (as with all of the Met HD offerings here, two or more theatres had to be opened). I must say the chaotic, disorganized hour or so before the gala proper began was a bit of a chore to sit through after a long day at work: a beer and a sandwich would have helped enormously. Still, it was pleasant enough to catch snippets of some celebrity sightings and listen to the unimportant blatherings – as we all agree – these things ain’t all about the music!

First a word on the gowns (and I’m no fashionista – quite the opposite). Renee looked sensational all night, even in that wretched, godawful, tattered Christian Lacroix deconstructed rag for the first Traviata scene. Seriously, it looked like a clown blew up and was then fed into a shredding machine. It was horrific. The next scene’s gown looked considerably better, but so too would have a dirty housedress. The Karl Lagerfeld gown for Manon reminded me nothing so much as something designed for Elsa . . . and I don’t mean von Brabant, but Lanchester - as in “Bride of Frankenstein.” Seriously. It looked particularly drab in comparison to the “lesser lights” of the costumes for the overblown Cours-la-Reine scene (which looked strangely deflated on the big screen in comparison to having seen it a number of times in the house). The final Galliano number for Capriccio was absolutely stunning (though my friends and I got unduly excited thinking Fleming had a snake tattooed on her back . . . she should!). She looked like a million bucks primping, massaging her boobies, and slinking back and forth across the stage like Veronica Lake in a bob (and did anyone get a load of the heels on her? Holy Stiletto, Batman!)

I thought Hampson started off a bit dry and stiff vocally, but my lord, he opened up for the Di Provenza. I found him to be an extremely and uniquely touching, Germont: awkward and thoughtful (and I believe these were choices, not discomfort of being in the role). When Violetta asks “embrace me as a daughter” and throws herself into his arms, this Germont simply didn’t know how to respond, which I felt entirely appropriate. As to complaints about Fleming slowing down the “Amami Alfredo!” – there is a long tradition of Violettas who have done so and I LOVE it when they do. Sills, one of the lightest voiced Violettas ever, could turn, pull and chew those few bars almost into an entire aria. Callas could bring down the pace here, as well. I think it fits the drama perfectly and though Fleming does not necessarily place among my favorite Violettas of all time, I liked what she did with the role (at least for an act) last night. Very much so. (What a drag that Vargas didn’t get his cabaletta, though!)

Throughout the night the singing would be mixed, but mostly good throughout the night, with top vocal honors going easily to Ramon Vargas. My God, I cannot wait to hear him as Des Grieux, a role I find it hard to believe he’s not yet taken on. The “Ah, fuyez” began a bit softer than I like (but hardly inappropriately so) with a slight hesitancy that had me worried he wouldn’t pour everything he had into it. I needn’t have been concerned, as he simply tore the aria up! I really think this is one of the “prettiest” tenor voices in the opera world today, and even if he’s not quite a dynamo actor, he has such appealing, genuine presence that I find myself always routing for this singer (and his Rodolfo last season was exceptional). I loved how he and Fleming kicked it up a couple of notches completely losing all inhibitions and raising the erotic quotient to . . . well, pretty damned high. People in the Cineplex gasped and tittered when Renee literally flung herself backwards over the Prie Dieu, pushing up her girly bits and striking – and holding – a “take me now” pose that was smoking hot! This really is the best scene (and music) of this opera and they did it proud last night.

I really thought Robert Lloyd pulled off Daddy Des Grieux rather nicely (loved the mocking applause and admonishment he gave his son – comical, snide, paternal . . . ). Armiliato got a good reading of the French perfume out of the Met band, moving things along nicely when necessary while still being able to luxuriate in the sound of his singers.

Though Fleming sounded good, involved (and sometimes slightly taxed by the evening) the Strauss was sung with an often refulgent tone that hadn’t been present in anything else all evening. It was a nice capper and what made it especially sweet was seeing Michael Devlin again . . . I’ve always been a fan of his and he seems to be going on forever, good for him! I was startled - pleasantly so - by how many people in our audience were riveted by the Dr. Atomic previews. I can't wait for this one!

It was fun spotting Joe Clark in an early backstage moment (funny how many people recognized him from previous cinecasts, even though he was “out” of the limelight last night) Equally fun was meeting his replacement, (can’t remember his name, but we dubbed him “Little Joe” last night!) who seems like a real charmer. Susan Graham and Deborah Voigt seemed a little odd and stiff last night, both in a sort of "charm the masses" mode that didn't feel natural from either of them.

I think Martha Stewart should've been mixing those cocktails a little earlier in the evening. It WAS funny watching Rufus Wainwright in his sparkly cowboy outfit trying to steal a bit of camera time thought mostly ignored and blocked from view by Martha and Susie. It was a ridiculously long night and not the best showing from from the Met, but as noted already, these evenings ain't all about the music; the buzz is out for the season and I think great, great things are in store for us this year! I can't wait!