Author: Philip Gardner

​

---

Above: Asmik Grigorian and Iurri Samoilov as Tatiana and Onegin; a MET Opera photo

~ Author: Oberon 

Saturday May 2nd, 2026 matinee – The Met put together an impressive cast for their revival of Tchaikovsky’s EUGENE ONEGIN this season. The Russian conductor Timur Zangiev was making his Met debut with these performances, and he and the orchestra forged this into the outstanding sonic experience of the season – one in which the singing onstage was never swamped by the sounds emerging from the pit. 

Over the years, I have been fortunate to see a number of sopranos in the role of Tatyana, starting with Raina Kabaivanksa at The Met in 1979 (opposite Yuri Mazurok’s Onegin). Since then, my Tatyanas have been Teresa Zylis-Gara, Ileana Cotrubas, Kay Griffel, Edith Davis (in the opening production of the Glimmerglass Opera House), Mirella Freni, Lyubov Kazarnovskaya, Solveig Kringelborn, Hanan Alattar (especially lovely…at Juilliard), Tatiana Pavlovskaya, and Anna Netrebko. Each has been special in her own way. This afternoon, Asmik Grigorian joined the list.

I remember well first hearing the voice of Iurri Samoilov when he was a finalist at the 2017 BBC Cardiff Singer of the World. His only previous Met role has been Schaunard back in 2022. Joining in the cast’s principals were French tenor Stanislas de Barbeyrac as Lenski, the monumental voice of Alexander Tsymbalyuk as Prince Gremin, and the comely Russian mezzo Maria Barakova as Olga.

The pensive prelude (with a jangling cellphone distraction) immediately assured us that the opera was in good hands with Maestro Zangiev in charge . Mlles. Grigorian and Barakova sang their folk-song dreamily, whilst Elena Zaremba as Madame Larina and the remarkable Larissa Diadkova traded chesty resonances as they recalled days gone by. (Ms. Diadkova had joined the cast after Stephanie Blythe withdrew.). The field workers sang their exhilarating folk song, and Ms. Barakova made a lovely impression with Olga’s aria, her expressive, velvety mezzo very forward and well placed, and finishing off with a gorgeous low line, laced with a sultry nuances.

We now meet Olga’s lover, Lenski, and his friend Onegin. Mr. de Barbeyrac displayed beautiful softness of tone in his song to his beloved, leading to a passionate declaration of love…his voice and Ms. Barakova’s blend poetically. Onegin’s little arietta was superbly sung by Mr. Samoilov, with Ms. Diadkova keeping a watchful eye on these young people. We hear, for the first time, the heart-throbbing melody that will soon open the famous Letter Scene. 

Alone with her Nurse, Tatyana is uncharacteristically nervous. Ms. Diadkova tries to calm the girl with a touching narrative from her own past; the nurse leaves, and the passionate theme bursts forth from the celloes. The soprano’s voice bursts into an almost demented excitement, leading to a stunningly-sustained A-flat. As her monolog commences, winds, harp, and horn weaving restless underlying themes. Ms. Grigorian’s voice moved splendidly between lyricism and power; she has so many colours in her palette, making emotions ebb and flow with astonishing control. After her great outpouring, shimmering top notes sink into probing depths of tone. The orchestra plays sensationally as Tatyana hastily scribbles out the end of her letter. Her aria’s final lines are thrillingly voiced. The show then came to a halt as a hearty, porlonged ovation embraced the soprano.

Then the dawn music heralds the nurse’s return; the Grigorian voice is aglow with anticipation. Ms. Diadkova (bless her heart) gets very chesty as the two banter. The letter is sent; torn between hope and fear, Tatyana now awaits her fate. The orchestra and conducting have been sensational during this memorable scene. And Asmik has been spectacular.

In the next scene, the prelude and maidens’ chorus are wunderbar. Tatyana’s hopes are dashed by Onegin’s heartless response to her “juvenile” letter. Mr. Samoilov’s condescending – and eventually cruel – lecture is handsomely sung, taking the written ending to fine affecting.

After a long intermission, Maestro Zangiev is very warmly greeted as he returns to the podium. So far, he and the marvelous Met musicians been magnificent, and every note and nuance from the singers has been heard…and savoured. This is a very welcome change from the usual “fast and loud” atmosphere generated by most Met conductors these days. The Act II prelude is grandly played, with a special nod to the flautist. The beloved waltz commences, orchestra and chorus vivid at every moment.  A bravo! from me to Ben Brady, who made the most of the Captain’s brief lines. 

At his ball, Lensky and Olga argue…they do not know that their fate will soon be determined. Mr. de Barbeyrac’s plea is so touching, with a gorgeous diminuendo especially impressive. Tony Stevenson now takes the stage as Monsieur Triquet; in the past I have often thought that this vignette is tedious and delays the unfolding drama, but Tony made a masterpiece of it with his lyrical singing, avoiding character-tenor “nuances” and maintaining a melodious approach… Bravo!

The exchange between the friends Lenski and Onegin gets prickly.  Mssr. de Barbeyrac as Lenski pours out his memories of the many happy hours he has spent at Madame Larina’s house with his beloved Olga; his singing is incredibly touching, with achingly beautiful piani effects and tender phrasing. In the big finale, the orchestra is loud, but the Maestro makes sure the singers are always heard. Madness takes over, with the tenor’s desperate farewell wrenchingly uttered. Kudos to all – and especially for the conductor – for such a thrilling scene. 

It’s always great to have Richard Bernstein is the cast of any of the operas in his extensive repertoire; today he was Zaretsky, who presides over the fatal duel between Onegin and Lensky. Playing of deep richness came from clarinet and cello in the scene’s prelude. Then Mr. Bernstein took up his duties, annoyed at Onegin’s casual lateness. Mr. de Barbeyrac then gave us Lenski’s tragic aria, his singing full of sorrow and regret. As one beautiful, tormented phrase after another rose up, the bassoon offered its own poetic commentary. Lenski the poet was at his most poetic in what is to be his farewell to life. Ravishing sound, so engrossing…such hushed pianissimi that brought tears to my eyes. The uncanny fading away of the final phrase elicited a heartfelt applause from the crowded house, who had listened intently to such poignant singing. An agonizing duet of fate is voiced by the friends, now estranged beyond redemption. The orchestra plays frantically; the gunshot is fired. “Dead?” asks Onegin…”Dead!” is Zaretsky’s numbing reply. 

Years have passed; Onegin has wandered the world restlessly. Back in St. Petersburg, with nothing better to do, he attends a ball hosted by an old comrade, Prince Gremin. After a simply brilliant polonaise, played gloriously by the Met musicians, Onegin sings – with undercurrents of regret – of his loss of interest in all things worldly. Following a sort of ‘encore’ by the orchestra (a brisk Allegro vivace), Onegin – to his amazement – then spots Tatiana, now the elegant Princess Gremina, across the ballroom. The prince greets his long-lost friend and tells him, in a splendid aria, of his happiness and contentment with his young wife. Alexander Tsymbalyuk, a bass with a voice of gold, simply pours out this magnificent piece with sustained gorgeousness. A more introverted repeat of the aria’s initial phrases creates a feeling of great tenderness; in his penultimate measures, Mr. Tsymbaluk descends to a solemn low note, which some in the audience mistook for the ending. Applause and bravos broke out. When they finally died down, the maestro and basso took up where they had left off, giving the the aria’s concluding low note its full grandeur. After speaking briefly to Tatiana, who politely withdraws, Mr. Samoilov sings excitedly of newfound hope before he rushes away.  

Against her better judgement, Tatiana agrees to meet Onegin. The prelude to this scene found the orchestra at their very finest. Mr. Grigorian voiced Tatiana’s mixture of torment and rapture with marvelous vocal colours. The princess explains that this is to be their last meeting, but Onegin cannot accept her rejection. Things get intense, with Onegin fighting for his life, but Tatiana stands firm. With a sublime floated note, Ms. Grigorian again attempts to dismiss him (and her own feelings). They harmonize, each filled with desire, and at last Tatiana admits she still loves him. But, just as hope fills Onegin’s heart, Tatiana breaks away and, with a searing high note, she rushes off. After what felt like an eternity of silent despair, Mr. Samoilov thrillingly ended the opera with heart-rending cry of anguish.

At the stage door, I met Ms. Grigorian, Mr. Tsymbalyuk, Richard Bernstein, and Maestro Zangiev. The conductor seemed surprised when I told him that his had been best conducting I’d heard at The Met all season. It was not meant as an idle compliment, and I assured him it was true. His respect, not just for the music, but for the singers singing it, was so meaningful to me.

Above: Maestro Timur Zangiev

  ~ Oberon

Above, special guest Stephanie Blythe and winners Magdalena Kuźma, Titus Muzi III, Ben Reisinger, Jennifer Robinson, Finn Sagal, Korin Thomas-Smith, and Anna Thompson. 

~ Author: Oberon

Wednesday April 29th, 2026 – Last year’s Gerda Lissner Foundation winners’ concert was an outstanding evening of singing. Could this year’s winners maintain the high level? The answer was an emphatic “Yes”.

Midge Woolsey greeted the audience and introduced the first of the singers, tenor Ben Reisinger, with Arlene Shrut at the piano. Mr. Reisinger, currently a MET Young Artist,  had already made a vivid first impression on me when he sang the role of the Sailor in the Met’s new production of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE. Of his performance, I wrote: “As the prelude faded away, a fantastic voice beamed out from the Family Circle: Ben Reisinger, a Met Young Artist, filled the darkened hall with his poetic rendering of the Sailor’s song. His voice holds great promise for the Wagnerian rep – and so much more – in the years to come: bravo…bravissimo!” I still get a frisson of emotion when I remember that moment. 

Ben sounded fantastic again tonight in two classic arias from the tenor repertoire: Rodolfo’s narrative from Act I of LA BOHEME and Lensky’s despairing song from EUGENE ONEGIN as he awaits a duel with his friend, Onegin. As Rodolfo, Ben proved to be a fine story-teller, displaying a powerful voice that can be honed down to a poetic softness. His sustained high-C was thrilling; he then brought the aria to a subtle finish. As Lensky, the tenor produced lovely piano tones as he mused on his fate and on his love for Olga. Passion and regret were expressed with intensity as the aria moved towards its heart-breaking finish. 

Ms. Shrut remained at the keyboard to accompany baritone Korin Thomas Smith. This singer knows how to engage an audience; his CENERENTOLA aria was a comedic masterpiece, acting out the story whilst producing voluminous tone. Deft coloratura was at his disposal as Rossini took the music from fast to very fast. Veering from humor to lust, the baritone then took up one of my favorite arias “Vision fugitive” from Massenet’s HERODIADE. Here, his passionate and expressive singing resonated richly in the hall. The aria’s ending was like a vocal knockout punch.  

Francesco Barfoed took over the Steinway as the three winners of the Art Song Competition appeared in turn. I’d heard this pianist before, and I expected great things from him this evening…and he delivered. Having spoken briefly about the pieces we were about to hear, Mr. Barfoed then took his place at the piano to play a wide-ranging series of nine songs.

Soprano Jennifer Robinson, in a pale rose gown, has a pretty, lyrical voice. Her diction is excellent, her way with words especially effective in Ricky Ian Gordon’s “Will there really be a morning?” in which a sense of developing passion settles into a peaceful finish. In Joseph Marx’s “Nachtgebet“, Ms. Robinson showed off a shimmering high range. Then, with Mr. Barfoed’s plush playing, the soprano launched Strauss’s “Cäcilie” excitedly before taking on a more pensive air; the song ends with a rush of ardor. 

Magdalena Kuźma, clad in a striking black gown, has already sung Giannetta in ELISIR and Mozart’s Papagena at The Met. A lovely woman and an ardent songstress, she opened with Rachmaninoff’s “Son” (Dreams), displaying sensuous shadings and smooth legato. You can really feel a personality behind the voice, and even during the song’s piano postlude, she continued to sustain the mood with her expressive face…and a ballerina’s hands and arms. With Hugo Wolf’s “Bekehrte”, Mr. Barfoed’s magical playing entwined with the soprano’s intriguing voice to truly draw us in; there was both intensity and a sense of wonderment in their performance. Finishing with Jean Sibelius’s surprisingly sensuous “Var det en dröm“, the Kuźma/Barfoed alliance reveled in the rolling restlessness of the piano and the smouldering lusciousness of the voice to carry their set to a big, passionate finish.

Although this was not a competition, Ms. Kuźma had set a high bar, to which baritone Finn Sagal responded with his thoroughly engaging voice and presence. In terms of charisma, this guy is off the charts. Mr. Barfoed played the ominous opening bars of Schubert’s Der Doppelgänger and then the Sagal voice stole eerily into the Hall, darkish and intense. His dynamic control and his measured use of straight-tone were uncanny, his deep notes rich and vividly present. When sheer power was called for, it was his to spend lavishly. His performance gave me the chills. Moving on to Gabriel Fauré’s Automne, Mssrs. Sagal and Barfoed created a poetic atmosphere, the voice so perfectly placed and so responsive to the text, with his resonant sound tapered to enticing softness in all the right places. A different side of Mr. Sagal’s personality shone in Marc Blitzstein’s hilarious The New Suit (‘Zipperfly’), which simply dazzled the crowd. I was happy to read in the playbill that this singer is also active in opera; I can imagine him being marvelous in a host of roles: everything from Wozzeck to Papageno.    

F. Paul Driscoll, editor of OPERA NEWS for two decades, now introduced the great mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe and the renowned pianist Warren Jones. During their amiable chat, Ms. Blythe told a charming story about getting advice from Barbara Bonney; then she and the pianist offered a Brahms song, followed by Cole Porter’s humorous “Tale of the Oyster“, which was grandly done. I am glad to say that the Blythe voice remains awe-inspiring. 

Mr. Shrut now returned to the piano to play for the program’s last two singers: baritone Titus Muzi III and soprano Anna Thompson.

Mr. Muzi impressed in arias from NOZZE DI FIGARO and FALSTAFF. In the former, his sizeable voice and commanding presence evoked the character of Count Almaviva, and he tossed in some cunning little embellishments along the way – something I always like to hear in Mozart’s operas. In Ford’s “jealousy aria” Mr. Muzi’s dramatic treatment of the ‘recit’  felt like a mad scene for male voice. When the melody commenced, the singer’s grandly resonant timbre rang through the Hall, making me wonder how he’d fare in the rest of the Verdi repertoire. From the piano, Ms. Struf offered dramatic accents to underscore the text as the aria reached its grand finish.

Anna Thompson, a striking woman with a sizeable, vibrant voice who is about to join the Merola Program in San Francisco, gave us the ‘mirror aria’ from Massenet’s THAIS and the Czardas from FLEDERMAUS. Both were impressively voiced, up to the high-D at the close of the THAIS aria and a comparable note to end the Czardas. She was vociferously cheered. 

Cheers also for our two pianists, for Ms. Woolsey (ever the perfect hostess), and to all the folks at the Lissner Foundation who find and help develop the young voices that keep the worlds of lieder and opera alive.   

~ Oberon

Above: Lisa Batiashvili and Giorgi Gigashvili; photos by André Josselin and Giorgi Kolbaia respectively.

~ Author: Oberon 

Tuesday April 28th, 2026 – One of my all-time favorite violinists, Lisa Batiashvili,  was joined tonight by pianist Giorgi Gigashvili for a recital at Zankel Hall. Familiar works by Beethoven, Prokofiev, and Franck flanked the US premiere of Josef Bardanashvili’s To Gia Kancheli (P.S.). I have so many beautiful memories of hearing – and watching – Ms. Batiashvili playing with the NY Philharmonic back in the days of Alan Gilbert’s presiding baton. They were so simpatico.   

Looking as beauteous as ever, the radiant violinist took the stage with her towering young pianist. Mr. Gigashvili was rather casually dressed, but it suited his personality; later, as the encores commenced, he revealed another layer that further endeared him to the crowd.   

The Violin Sonata No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 12, No. 3, of Beethoven opened the evening. The piece calls for great virtuosity; it opens grandly, with both players kept busy by the composer’s demands. At times, the piano seemed too prominent, but as the sonata progressed, a better balance emerged. A gorgeous central theme led to a da capo; applause at its end was jolting, though understandable. 

The restful air of the Adagio was introduced by the pianist, with Ms. Batiashvili’s violin commenting; the players then reverse roles. The violin sings poetically over rippling piano figurations; a rise of passion subsides. At times, the music feels improvisational. The concluding Rondo dashes onward, with some melodramatic inserts. Rambling scales from the keyboard lead to a virtuoso conclusion, with both players reveling in the composer’s demands.

Prokofiev’s Violin Sonata No. 1, penned over a span of years from 1938 to 1946, was said by the composer to have been inspired by Handel’s violin sonatas, with their slow-fast-slow-fast structure. Deep, darkish sounds from the piano and a series of suspenseful trills from the violin create a rather bleak atmosphere. There is a sense of longing, and then a passage of great power; imminent danger is suggested in the piano’s wanderings in the low register. Mr. Gigashvili produces massive sounds before subsiding into more scalework, which slowly fades away. 

The second movement, marked Allegro brusco, brings a vigorous debate between the two players: banging on the keyboard, and slashing strokes from the violin strings. Things settle into a melodic flow,  but then an emergency is signaled, and the music gets big and crazy. Peace is restored as Ms. Batiashvili soars on high, but the ending has a bustling feeling.  

The Andante brings piano passages that are echoed by the violin. The music gets gorgeous, then ethereal. Haunting memories arise, and – after a unison passage – a chilling darkness settles over us. The sonata’s finale is a folk dance with an emphatic start which calms into a sweet tune, and then sails melodiously onward, with cunning little detours along the way. Ms. Batiashvili’s rapid plucking and Mr. Gigashvili’s restless pounding of the keyboard seem to herald a fiery finish; but instead, slithering scales lend a poignant air. This monumental performance by the two artists drew an excited response from the crowd.  

Following the interval, Ms. Batiashvili returned to the stage: a vision in a vivid red gown, slit to the thigh, with red stiletto heels. 

The new Bardanashvili work, To Gia Kancheli (P.S.), was having its US premiere this evening. It is a lovely memorial from one composer to another. Lasting only five minutes, the piece speaks of a multi-faceted friendship between the two composers; it was written especially for Ms. Batiashvili and Mr. Gigashvili. The opening mood is of loneliness: a touching elegy that springs from memories shared by two friends. But then, in a stroke of brilliance, the music turns jazzy – even sultry – with enticing bits of rubato thrown in. Played to perfection by Lisa and Giorgi, the short work made me want to explore more of Mr. Bardanashvili’s music.

César Franck’s Violin Sonata was the concert’s closing work. This wonderfully familiar piece draws mainly on two themes that are – once heard – forever etched on the memory. As so often when a beloved work closes an evening, I stopped taking notes and simply let the musical experience thrill me. Ms. Batiashvili and Mr. Gigashvili gave a perfect performance, exploring the music that veers from passionate power to heavenly quietude whilst bringing forth nuances that were new to me. What a revelation…!

The audience’s vociferous response guaranteed that there would be encores; when the players emerged for their bows, the pianist was sporting an I LOVE NEW YORK t-shirt, setting off more shouts of approval. The duo gave us three encores – each ravishingly played – which neither myself nor my companion recognized. Had they continued playing til the witching hour, we’d have stayed on…and on…  

~ Oberon

Update: The encores were:

AZARASHWILI Nocturne (arr. for violin and piano)

DEBUSSY “Beau soir” (arr. for violin and piano)

KANCHELI “When Almonds Blossomed” (arr. for violin and piano) 

Conductor Christophe Rousset and Les Talens Lyriques in a recording session for their disc entitled A Tribute to Pauline Viardot.

Among the numbers included is the great aria “Ô ma lyre immortelle” from Gounod’s nearly-forgotten opera SAPHO. The Swiss-born mezzo-soprano Marina Viotti makes a striking impression with this rarity.

Watch and listen here.

The painting above, by Miguel Carbonell i Selva, dates from 1881.

Above, this afternoon’s BOHEME cast at The Met: Giorgi Manoshvili, Heidi Stober, Aleksandra Kurzak, Long Long, Alexander Birch Elliott, and Anthony Clark Evans

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday April 25th, 2026 matinee – Taking on her second Puccini role of the Met season – Mimi in LA BOHEME – the Polish soprano Aleksandra Kurzak confirmed her success as an outstanding interpreter of the great composer’s fascinating female characters. Earlier this year, she was a captivating Butterfly, and in prior seasons, she has played Tosca with equal conviction and vocal authority. Her Mimi today was as impressively sung as one could ask; joined by a very appealing group of colleagues, the performance took flight…despite some intrusions of too much volume from the pit: a chronic annoyance in the House these days.

I’m always at my score desk as soon as the House opens, and today I had an unexpected pleasure in hearing the English Horn player practicing the theme of Mahler’s timeless masterpiece, “Ich bin der welt abhanden gekommen…” …my chosen epitaph.

Baritone Anthony Clark Evans as Marcello was the first voice to be heard today: a handsome, house-filling sound with an appealing sense of lyricism. He is soon joined by Chinese tenor Long Long, a passionate Rodolfo with a finely-utilized dynamic range, and a tenderness of expression that would become increasingly valuable as the afternoon progressed.  The painter and poet are soon joined by a marvelous Georgian basso, Giorgi Manoshvili, as Colline, and Alexander Birch Elliott’s Schaunard in a polished and verbally detailed delivery of the musician’s music. In the dual roles of Benoit and Alcindoro, it was a pleasure to hear John Hancock, whose performances at the once-vital New York City Opera are clear in my memory.

Ms. Kurzak’s entrance drew a premonition in Long Long’s immediate noting of her “…viso d’ammalata…”, so tenderly voiced. The exchange between the two was lovely and intimate.  In his aria, the tenor’s expressiveness brought a nice diminuendo on “Chi son?” and later, his lyrical outpouring at “Talor dal mio forziere…” was wonderful, carrying him to a vibrant high-C and a most persuasive finish.  In her own narrative, Ms. Kurzak did much with the subtle inflections of her words, and her sweet piano effects. At “Ma quando vien lo sgelo…”, her legato bloomed gorgeously, giving a luscious quality to her singing. Her magical “Il profumo d’un fior…” was exquisite. The orchestra was very dense in its introduction of the love duet, but the voices took over as the couple sang rapturously of their new-found romance. Mimi’s assuring “I’ll stay close beside you…” (something every lover wants to hear) was so touching.  

At Cafe Momus, the little exchanges between Mimi and her new set of Bohemian friends were deftly handled. Tenor Marco Jordão again made his mark as Parpignol, as he had a few weeks ago with a different cast. The orchestra tended to be over-bearing in spots, but Ms. Kurzak’s sweet little tune about the bonnet was prophetic. Heidi Stober, a vibrant Musetta, sang an enticing waltz, prompting droll admonishings from Mr. Hancock’s Alcindoro. The big finale, with Mr. Evans belting out the waltz-theme to fine effect, heralded a very long intermission.

At the Barrière d’Enfer, the orchestra evokes falling snow and the clinking of wine glasses inside the tavern. Ms. Stober sweetly reprises the melody of her waltz. Ms. Kurzak and Mr. Evans match voices in their duet, the soprano covering a vast dynamic palette whilst also using a bit of chest voice effectively; Mr. Evans so simpatico. As Mimi hides, Marcello goads Rodolfo, whose pangs of remorse are palpable, into revealing the truth about Mimi’s health. Ms. Kurzak’s comments are darkly expressive. At “Una terrible tosse…” Long Long’s despair pours forth, leading the trio to a powerful climax. Ms. Kurzak’s  “Addio senza rancor” is so touching, with many sublime pianissimo effects and a heart-breaking finish. My own heart is torn apart by their talk of parting. Ms. Kurzak crushes me with her “Sempre tua per la vita…” and Long Long’s diminuendi are so affecting as the couple resolve to stay together until Spring.

Back in the garret. Mssrs. Long and Evans match voices in their nostalgic duet: they exchange finely-wrought lines, then harmonize to a polished finish. This was a vocal highlight of the afternoon. The four Bohemians re-unite for a boisterous scene, halted by the sudden appearance of Musetta, who has brought the dying Mimi to the very room where she and Rodolfo had first met. Every line and note from here on in is coloured by grief. Mr. Manoshvili’s Coat Aria is superbly sung, so poignant with its sustained finish. Now comes the crushing nostalgia of the final conversation between Mimi and Rodolfo. Long Long’s remorse is hauntingly voiced. The sheer quietude of Ms. Kurzak’s “Sono andati...” demolishes me completely…the colours she summons, her finely-timed use of chest-tone, and the heart-rending, extraordinary delicacy of her singing as she echoes her “Mi chiamano Mimi...” put the finishing touches on her compelling portrait of the doomed seamstress.

At the stage door, I met Ms. Kurzak, and Mssrs. Long, Evans, and Manoshvili.   

~ Oberon 

~ Author: Mark Anthony Martinez II

Wednesday April 22nd, 2026 – Benjamin Bernheim (above) is a world-renowned operatic tenor who has performed frequently at the Metropolitan Opera in productions such as Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette. This evening, he made his New York solo recital debut. It seemed funny to me that such a big name had never done a solo recital in a city where he performs regularly, but I was glad to be a part of this inaugural event.

Benjamin Bernheim is particularly known for his French repertoire, and much of the night’s program consisted of that. The concert, for whatever reason, didn’t provide programs, but aside from most of the pieces Bernheim sang, I was thankfully familiar with the repertoire.

Bernheim and his collaborative pianist, Carrie-Ann Matheson, strode out onto the stage and greeted the audience. Before singing, Bernheim took to the microphone and talked to the audience about the program. Bernheim was quite entertaining on the microphone and had a playful energy that he kept up the entire night. In his introduction, he introduced Ms. Matheson, his longtime collaborator, and the two began with a set of three Duparc songs: “L’Invitation au voyage,” “Chanson triste,” and “Phidylé.”

I’m less familiar with the chanson repertoire, but Bernheim had such good diction that I could understand and follow along. One funny note: one thing that helps with following along with French mélodie is that the general rule is that all French songs are about sex. So it was easy to follow along when the lyrics are comprised of words like “...luxe, calme, et volupté.”

The crowd was hushed, and Bernheim truly showcased a measured, beautiful mezzo piano/mezzo forte in his singing. I had heard Bernheim sing the titular role in Roméo et Juliette, but this singing today was a lot more refined and expressive. What ended up happening was that when the pieces did eventually become forte, the impact was so much greater. Bernheim also had a wonderful hootiness that is so often used in French repertoire. It helps, I guess, to be a native speaker, where the sounds in the music are just a part of the language itself.

What was really beautiful to see was how different members of the audience were affected by Bernheim’s singing. One older gentleman in the same row was silently weeping during several of the songs.

Bernheim, as a singer, was quite poised and didn’t need to make histrionic gestures, as I’ve seen other singers do in solo recital. However, he didn’t need to take much space or create a lot of movement to communicate the beauty in the songs. I always feel like art songs are actually more emotional pieces than arias because they are meant more as communication than bombast, and his clear and pretty voice conveyed everything that he needed to.

What was particularly nice was that Bernheim shared the stage almost equally with Matheson. It is very easy to forget the pianist in a collaborative voice recital, but after every applause, the two came out together holding hands.

After the Duparc songs, Bernheim and Matheson briefly left the stage, then came back to do a set of arias.

The aria set started off with Lensky’s aria from Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin. It seemed odd to me that, in an aria set comprised totally of French pieces, it would start with a Russian one. Bernheim sang the song beautifully, adding a particular delicateness to it that I have not frequently seen.

The one minor note that I had was that although, musically, things sounded beautiful, in this particular aria there was a bit of a dissonance when you factor in that the character Lensky knows he’s about to die in a duel, but the performer was smiling happily throughout the song. Nothing major, but just a funny note, because Bernheim’s disposition seems to be very sunny in general, so it might be hard for him to escape that mindset in a song that is otherwise about despair.

In the aria set, the highlight was Bizet’s “Je crois entendre encore.” This tenor aria from the opera Les pêcheurs de perles is notoriously difficult, not because of the high notes, of which there are many, but because of the delicacy required to perform it correctly. It is almost entirely sung in piano, and the B-flat and C in the piece should ideally be done in piano as well. Legendary singers have had issues with this piece and have pitched it down in concert or in performance, but Bernheim navigated the fiendish piece with seeming ease.

He did have to clear his throat afterward and take a small break, which he acknowledged to the audience with a bit of comedic charm.

After several more sets of arias, Bernheim finished with an unusual but lovely set of contemporary French songs, not inherently classical in nature. He sang Charles Trenet’s “Douce France,” Joseph Kosma’s “Les feuilles mortes,” and Jacques Brel’s “Quand on n’a que l’amour.”

What was so lovely about these pieces was that they closed the program with some contemporary flair and made the recital not just about songs from the canon, but about living works that people grew up listening to.

~ Mark Anthony Martinez II

~ Author: Lane Raffaldini Rubin

Wednesday April 22, 2026 – How many things in our lives are over 650 years old?

On Wednesday, Trinity Church (itself a merely 330-year-old institution) hosted the singers of Chanticleer in a program of sacred and secular music by Guillaume de Machaut, the preeminent composer and poet of fourteenth-century France. Despite the fact that the invention of the printing press was still more than a century away at the time of Machaut’s death in 1377, we have a nearly comprehensive record of Machaut’s written work and on Wednesday the all-male, San Francisco-based vocal ensemble Chanticleer offered a revelatory cross-section of that body of work.

The singers entered from the back of the nave and processed down the center aisle while chanting the 10^th-century introit “Dominus illuminatio mea” (the only music of the evening not written by Machaut). It was an impressive entrance for the thirteen-man ensemble, who sang in flawless unison while walking the entire length of the church, without the benefit of the chamber music gestures and eye contact that such rhythmic unity usually demands.

The rest of the evening was dedicated to Machaut’s music, with the Messe de Nostre Dame bookending a series of profane works about courtly love. Machaut’s Messe, likely written for Reims Cathedral in the early 1360s, is believed to be the first cyclic setting of the mass—in other words: prior to Machaut, composers wrote vocal settings of individual portions of the mass’s traditional liturgy (e.g. Credo or Agnus Dei) so that, during any given mass, an assortment of various composers’ liturgical settings would be assembled and sung. Machaut’s Messe provides the entire “Ordinary of the Mass” (the liturgical portions that do not vary based on the calendar) and thus set a new standard for composers of music for the Church.

The Kyrie, the first portion of the Messe, features a spare texture and frequent melismas passed between voices. A cadence falls at the end of each line of text, lending the piece a disjointed character. The singers treat these cadences with canyonlike expansiveness, making the Kyrie like a series of horizons.

Chanticleer brough their immaculate ensemble motion to the Gloria, which was a profusion of uncannily strange modal harmonies. This movement and the Credo that follows end with long melismatic Amens, rendered particularly charming thanks to the French Latin pronunciation that the group adopted for Machaut’s sacred music.

Although the Credo is characterized by the same disjointedness as the Kyrie, Chanticleer imparted varied timbral characters to different sections of the text, as if the ensemble were an organ with varying stops pulled to produce diverse qualities of sound.

The Sanctus had a remote tonal center from the Credo before it. The homophonic textures of its opening lines were like beams of bright light, not unlike the sunny character of Mozart’s own Sanctus written four hundred years later. In the Agnus Dei the floating melodic tracery of the countertenor is joined by the warm sonority of the rest of the four-part choir, leaving the Messe to conclude with an ascending, aerial motion.

Throughout, Chanticleer brought a sense of mystery to this music, creating a sublime but enigmatic atmosphere in Trinity Church.

But between the Gloria and Credo of the mass, Chanticleer offered three extended groupings of Machaut’s courtly secular music. Each cluster was led by a lai, a lengthy monophonic setting of a poem. Machaut’s lais show the limitations of his music’s expressive and dramatic power. The issue in the Messe of the over-frequency of cadences also characterized this music, leaving it not with the vocal floridity or fluidity we associate with poetic songs of subsequent centuries but with a repetitive, even monadic cellularity.

The sound of the lais, as well as the ballades, motets, and other forms we heard, are sounds of pure abstraction—lines, columns, points, and solid fields of color—gorgeously rendered by Chanticleer but intractably foreign to our present-day ears which are accustomed to tension and release, consonance and dissonance, major and minor, narrative arc, and slippages between legible structural forms.

“Riches d’amour” came closest to the dramatic expression I’m describing. The ethereal, planetary motion of two voices (Matthew Mazzola and Tim Keeler) brought aching melancholy to this song about a man’s unrequited love for his mistress and the “bitterness” this brings him. The music ends with a harmonically unresolved cadence, adding to the grasping, unfulfilled longing of the lover.

The entire evening offered a gratifying and rare opportunity to let this 650-year-old sound wash over you. Chanticleer has given us the chance to travel to a time before the codification of common practice music—before major and minor practically became laws of nature in the West. This time travel shows us the extents to which music has evolved and grown from the liturgical and proportional experiments of clergy like Machaut into the most highly developed medium for communicating human emotions in the half-millennium that followed.

For me, this raises fascinating and unanswerable questions about the original perception of Machaut’s music: how did this music sound in the year 1377? Was it radical? natural? easy-listening? thorny and confusing? boundary-pushing?

We have scholarly ways to address those questions but, ultimately, the ear of the fourteenth-century listener—who never heard Bach, Mozart, and the rest, up through our own time—will never be retrievable to us.

~ Lane Raffaldini Rubin

Above: bass-baritone Hermann Udhe

A 1957 radio broadcast of Wagner’s DAS RHEINGOLD from The Met; it’s in surprisingly good sound for the time period.

In the cast are several singers who were Met mainstays at the time: the great Hermann Uhde is Wotan, Blanche Thebom (she of the long tresses) is Fricka, Ramon Vinay (a favored Otello and Tristan) is Loge, the monumental contralto Jean Madeira (Erda), and two formidable bassos – Dezső Ernster and Kurt Böhme – are the giants. The Rhinemaidens are lovely: Heidi Krall (under-utilized by The Met, in my opinion), the luscious Rosalind Elias, and Sandra Warfield (who married our Froh – and a future Otello – James McCracken). Less-familiar names – Mariquita Moll, Norman Kelley, Lawrence Davidson, and Arthur Budney – hold up well in their roles; Mssrs. Davidson and Budney are, in fact, quite impressive as Alberich and Donner.

Listen here.

Above, the artists of the Shanghai Quartet: Honggang Li, Sihao He, Weigang Li, and Angelo Xiang Yu

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday April 19th, 2026 – A nicely-contrasted program from the Shanghai Quartet this evening at Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. I had not heard them for a while, so it was a lovely reunion. Since my last connection, they have taken on a ‘new’ cellist, Sihao He, whose performances at CMS as a ‘free-lancer’ have been especially beautiful. In joining violinists Weigang Li and Angelo Xiang Yu, and violist Honggang Li, Sihao He brings his silken tone and deft technique into the established ‘Shanghai’ sound. His presence has a touch of mystery which makes him all the more intriguing.

I have to admit that, for my first several years of listening to chamber music, I avoided Haydn. I thought that all of his music sounded the same; such an idiotic notion. I would avoid concerts in which his was often an opening work. At some point, luckily, I finally succumbed to his mastery. I now find his music thoroughly engaging, and today’s playing of his Quartet in G-minor for Strings, Hob. III:74, No. 3, “The Rider”, gave a lot of pleasure.

Dating from 1793, the work was so nick-named because of the final movement’s allusion to the sound of galloping horses. It is considered one of the composer’s crowning achievements. While some of the composer’s earlier quartets gave prominence to the first violin, “The Rider” gives equal opportunity to all four players…and the Shanghai artists seized these opportunities, giving an impressive and engrossing performance.   

The opening Allegro has a sneaky start; soon the melodies are flowing freely, with music that calls for ample virtuosity as well as a sense of joy. Dancelike, it sets the evening merrily on its way. The ensuing Largo is a graciously lyrical interlude, its slow tempo giving it a hymn-like feeling. The cellist’s depth of tone lends a sense of grandeur, and the ending is gorgeous. The Minuet is so fresh sounding, the themes veering between major and minor. Urgent pulsing rhythms define the final Allegro con brio, loaded with scalework. A sly, sudden pause – as if the composer is winking at us – leads into a lively finale. This last movement, which has given the piece its “Rider” moniker, provides the first violinist with some brilliant passagework, in which Weigang Li reveled.

Having its CMS premiere today, Tan Dun’s Feng Ya Song  (String Quartet No. 1) was written in 1982 and revised in 2018. Composed during a tense period following China’s Cultural Revolution, it was at first labeled “spiritual pollution”. It is music that filled me with a sense – not of loneliness, but of being alone. Sighs and whispers fill the air, interspersed with dense harmonies. Chills are felt; patches of melody drift by like passing clouds. A driven, unison passage feels almost cinematic.

Following a pause, the music resumes, with certain threads from the opening movement seemingly re-woven; aloneness becomes palpable. Momentarily I fell into a dream. The final movement, a ritual song, opens dramatically. Bringing forth earlier motifs but now treated more expansively, the work reaches an austere ending. 

Following the interval, George Gershwin’s Lullaby for String Quartet (written c. 1919-20) opens delicately; rocking motifs rise from the plucked cello. The familiar melody – some tune my grandmother used to hum – emerges, bringing Sihao He’s cello to the melodic fore. A sudden unison passage feels a bit like waking the baby, but the music ends in the stratosphere, soft and serene.

Closing the evening in epic fashion was the Quartet in F-Major, Op. 96, “American”, composed by Antonín Dvořák in 1893. Thru the years since I began wandering from my unshakable operatic obsession into the realms of symphonic and chamber music, this composer has alternately turned me off and on like a light switch; I never know how I will react on a given day. Thanks to the Shanghai’s glorious playing, tonight felt like a Dvořák revelation. 

The ‘American’s’ first movement gives all four musicians a banquet of melody on which to feast; they played it to perfection. In the Lento, Weigang Li’s violin soared rapturously over a swaying rhythm before passing the melody on to Sihao He’s cello; his rich, deep playing was so savourable. The Molto vivace had a vibrancy that felt like awakening to a bright sunrise after a long, cold winter; and then, the players’ speed and brilliance in the final movement brought the audience to its collective feet. I always love gazing around this Hall during a standing ovation: so many happy faces as we unite in the love of great music.

But, there was an added treat to come: as an encore, The Shanghai Quartet gave us the cavatina from Beethoven’s Opus 130. More wonderful, engrossing music-making!

And spending the evening with a new-found friend made it all the more meaningful. 

~ Oberon

Performance photo by Stephanie Berger

~ Author: Lane Raffaldini Rubin

Tuesday April 14, 2025 – Jordi Savall led a head-scratcher of a concert titled “Songs, Battles, and Dances: From the Old World to the New” on the main stage at Carnegie Hall. He was joined by the two ensembles that he leads (Hespèrion XXI and La Capella Reial de Catalunya) as well as the Mexican baroque ensemble Tembembe Ensamble Continuo, the Canadian soprano Neema Bickersteth, and the Guadeloupean-born Franco-Swiss bass-baritone and dancer Yannis François.

It was about as multihyphenate a group of musicians as can be imagined.

The program promised to deliver “a sound journey . . . between the Old and New worlds” that “explores how music served as a tool of faith, resistance, and survival during seven centuries of global transformation.”

Admirably, this aspiration is standard fare for Savall, whose concerts tend to be fascinating curations of music from widely ranging geographies and epochs. His approach is typically archaeological and genealogical, unearthing forgotten works and composers and revealing their affiliations.

Tonight’s program, however, was a flawed collage of musical worlds that failed to communicate that lofty message.

The thread of the program began with a sequence of works nominally dedicated to peace, first among them the ironically martial fanfare “Pax in nomine Domini” that featured a marching drum, tuned bells, and brass.

The first highlight of the evening came when the theme shifted from peace to enslavement, a rather abrupt shift heralded by the darkening of the hall lights. An unaccompanied quartet of male singers, arrayed in a huddle at the side of the stage, presented the traditional Sephardic lamentation “El pan de la aflicción” (“The Bread of Affliction”) based on text from the Latin Passover Haggadah. A plangent, tugging minor-key chorale ravishingly sung by members of the Capella Reial, its text ends with hope: “This year we are slaves/next year we shall be free.”

Incongruous, then, was the choice to follow this chorale with a chivalric and profane drinking song dedicated to St. Martin and then, after that diversion, to return to music of enslavement from four centuries later and an ocean away. The soprano Neema Bickersteth joined members of Hespèrion XXI in the first of three Black spirituals that she presented over the evening.

The first, “Another man done gone” was the most compelling, both musically and thematically. This spiritual features a straightforward, repetitive text (“Another man done gone . . . I don’t know where he’s gone . . . He killed another man . . . I don’t know where he’s gone . . . But boy that man’s done gone”) that suggests the precarity and absence of justice that enslaved Black Americans faced. Bickersteth’s lovely clear tone bloomed into a more sorrowful (if still tame) vibrato at the musical high points of this simple text.

The second spiritual “Look over yonder”, performed later on in the program, began as an alluring plainchant inflected by vocal tone-bending but ossified rather quickly into a standard twelve-bar blues—an unexpected disappointment.

In “You gonna reap what you sow” Bickersteth was joined by Yannis François for a piece that bore no connection to the rest of the program, neither textually, formally, nor vocally. There are many “slave songs” that achingly (yet gorgeously) convey the human tragedy of Black American enslavement, so there is no excuse for Savall to have not identified and selected only those of exceptional musical and thematic quality. This lapse in judgment ultimately has the effect of pandering and condescending to both the audience and the singers.

The evening’s most cringeworthy moment, however, came during François’s performance of “Tonada el Congo”, an anonymous piece from around 1780 preserved in a manuscript found in colonial Peru. Its text offers the perspective of a kidnapped person, stolen and carried down the Congo River to be sold into slavery:

            They are taking me away to the sea,

            although they have no right,

            and my beloved mother

            I must leave behind.

It’s no laughing matter. But the music is celebratory in nature and François, inexplicably, adds jaunty dance steps between verses. Presumably this music was not written by (or meant to be performed by) a real-life enslaved person, but the music’s joyfulness rather than defiance or melancholy is baffling and difficult to receive without highly raised eyebrows.

Savall did offer a redemptive and genuinely moving gesture as an encore at the end of the program. Bringing the evening back to the question of peace—offering, as he called it, “a prayer for peace” in the face of today’s violence and war—the collective of ensembles on the stage presented “Amazing Grace” with Bickersteth and Savall sharing the spotlight. The expressive low register of Savall’s treble viol wove a perfect braid with Bickersteth and the other vocalists. Here, finally, we get the sense that all musics, regardless of their origins, might share the same human impulse for harmony.

~ Lane Raffaldini Rubin