Author: Philip Gardner

“Lydia Sokolova Triumph!”

“Lydia Sokolova Triumph – Famous Dancer’s Ovation at Covent Garden!” Thus ran the headline in London’s Daily Express following a 1929 performance of LE SACRE DU PRINTEMPS by Diaghilev’s troupe at the venerable London opera house. The ballerina, having recently recovered from a horrendous illness, had taken a chance and re-created her role of the Chosen One in the Massine setting of the Stravinsky ballet. It was reported that her ovation equaled that of the great operatic soprano Rosa Ponselle, two months earlier in the same theatre.

Born Hilda Munnings in suburban London in 1896, Lydia Sokolova was to become one of Diaghilev’s principal artists; it was the impresario’s idea to Russianize her name. She wrote a memoir, DANCING FOR DIAGHILEV which I recently very much enjoyed reading. In this 100th anniversary celebration year of Diaghilev’s first saison Russe (at Paris 1909) her stories left an especially touching impression.

The book tells of her formative years as a dancer and of the many personalities who played a part in the Ballets Russes story, from Massine to Dolin, from Karsavina to Danilova. She gives details of the creation of several of the ballets in the Company repertoire and of her participation in their premieres.

Sokolova’s life as a member of Diaghilev’s nomadic troupe was a rich one, crammed with incidents which she relates with modest charm. She was, for example, aboard the ship headed for South America where Romola de Pulszky and Vaslav Nijinsky shocked the entire Company (and the dance world at large) by falling in love. Their wedding in Buenos Aires, which Sokolova attended, caused a monumental rift between Nijinsky and Diaghilev and eventually contributed to Nijinsky’s decline into madness.

Trapped with the Company in Lisbon during the war, Sokolova watched helplessly as her baby daughter’s health declined from lack of food and medicine to a point where she gave the child up for dead. Diaghilev, nearly penniless himself, came to her one night and gave her a few of his last coins to obtain a doctor’s treatment. Sokolova relates how on those long, hopeless days Diaghilev would sit in the park with her baby on his lap, allowing the girl to play with his monocle. The dancer had seen the human side of the great impresario and felt that their mutual despair had created a personal bond between them. After much trouble, the ballerina and the director escaped separately to London. Meeting again on the stage of the Coliseum, Sokolova was shocked to find Diaghilev back entirely in his cool, detached impresario mode. She realized that their brief closeness in dire circumstances was not to have any effect on their professional relationship.

Lydia Sokolova and Leon Woizikovsky in LE TRAIN BLEU. The story of Lydia’s love life gave me special pleasure. Since in her photos she looks rather staid, I was delighted to read that she was a passionate woman; her affair with Woizikovsky began while both of them were married to others in the Company. There was a big scene when Leon’s wife found out the truth, and Lydia and Leon were forced to cool it. But things continued to smoulder and eventually their mutual passion won out. Freeing themselves from their spouses, they wed and – despite Leon’s penchant for gambling – their marriage was long-lasting.

A terrible bout of illness and injury led Sokolova to curtail her activities in the late 1920s. For months she was unable to dance or even to be mobile at all. She tried everything – from freakish medical treatments to prayer – but nothing helped. Slowly, slowly she rejoined the world of the living and the story of her 1929 triumph in RITE OF SPRING in London was in a way a triumph of her will to dance again.

Above: Serge de Diaghilev. Sokolova’s book ends abruptly with the death of Diaghilev; she and Leon were on a beach on the French coast when the newspaper was brought down to them bearing the tidings of the impresario’s death in Venice. Their lives were altered in that moment; Sokolova went on to teach and coach and even to perform on occasion: she danced for the very last time in London in 1962 and died in 1974.

My favorite story from the book revolves around flowers. Sokolova, by then a well-established principal dancer, was incensed one day to find herself cast as one of the twelve maidens in FIREBIRD. She went to Diaghilev to protest; his reply was that it was an honor to dance in his corps de ballet. Sokolova stewed and fumed helplessly in the days leading up to the performance and even considered leaving the Company. Warming up backstage on the dreaded night, Sokolova stopped by the large table in the wings where bouquets to be handed the artists during the performance were laid out. She saw a magnificent spray with a card that said “Lydia Sokolova…after FIREBIRD” Since she had a lead role in one of the other ballets that night, she went to the stage manager and asked that she be given the flowers after that piece rather than FIREBIRD; she did not want to be singled out of a group of twelve with a floral offering. “Diaghilev’s order!” the stage manager told her. Her pleading fell on deaf ears.

And so, during the FIREBIRD curtain calls, Lydia Sokolova was called forward from the corps to receive the enormous bouquet. Diaghilev knew how to make amends.

{Reviving this article from 2009 as I am re-reading the book for the eighth or ninth time. It’s great!}

~ Oberon

January 26, 2019
“Lydia Sokolova Triumph!”

“Lydia Sokolova Triumph – Famous Dancer’s Ovation at Covent Garden!” Thus ran the headline in London’s Daily Express following a 1929 performance of LE SACRE DU PRINTEMPS by Diaghilev’s troupe at the venerable London opera house. The ballerina, having recently recovered from a horrendous illness, had taken a chance and re-created her role of the Chosen One in the Massine setting of the Stravinsky ballet. It was reported that her ovation equaled that of the great operatic soprano Rosa Ponselle, two months earlier in the same theatre.

Born Hilda Munnings in suburban London in 1896, Lydia Sokolova was to become one of Diaghilev’s principal artists; it was the impresario’s idea to Russianize her name. She wrote a memoir, DANCING FOR DIAGHILEV which I recently very much enjoyed reading. In this 100th anniversary celebration year of Diaghilev’s first saison Russe (at Paris 1909) her stories left an especially touching impression.

The book tells of her formative years as a dancer and of the many personalities who played a part in the Ballets Russes story, from Massine to Dolin, from Karsavina to Danilova. She gives details of the creation of several of the ballets in the Company repertoire and of her participation in their premieres.

Sokolova’s life as a member of Diaghilev’s nomadic troupe was a rich one, crammed with incidents which she relates with modest charm. She was, for example, aboard the ship headed for South America where Romola de Pulszky and Vaslav Nijinsky shocked the entire Company (and the dance world at large) by falling in love. Their wedding in Buenos Aires, which Sokolova attended, caused a monumental rift between Nijinsky and Diaghilev and eventually contributed to Nijinsky’s decline into madness.

Trapped with the Company in Lisbon during the war, Sokolova watched helplessly as her baby daughter’s health declined from lack of food and medicine to a point where she gave the child up for dead. Diaghilev, nearly penniless himself, came to her one night and gave her a few of his last coins to obtain a doctor’s treatment. Sokolova relates how on those long, hopeless days Diaghilev would sit in the park with her baby on his lap, allowing the girl to play with his monocle. The dancer had seen the human side of the great impresario and felt that their mutual despair had created a personal bond between them. After much trouble, the ballerina and the director escaped separately to London. Meeting again on the stage of the Coliseum, Sokolova was shocked to find Diaghilev back entirely in his cool, detached impresario mode. She realized that their brief closeness in dire circumstances was not to have any effect on their professional relationship.

Lydia Sokolova and Leon Woizikovsky in LE TRAIN BLEU. The story of Lydia’s love life gave me special pleasure. Since in her photos she looks rather staid, I was delighted to read that she was a passionate woman; her affair with Woizikovsky began while both of them were married to others in the Company. There was a big scene when Leon’s wife found out the truth, and Lydia and Leon were forced to cool it. But things continued to smoulder and eventually their mutual passion won out. Freeing themselves from their spouses, they wed and – despite Leon’s penchant for gambling – their marriage was long-lasting.

A terrible bout of illness and injury led Sokolova to curtail her activities in the late 1920s. For months she was unable to dance or even to be mobile at all. She tried everything – from freakish medical treatments to prayer – but nothing helped. Slowly, slowly she rejoined the world of the living and the story of her 1929 triumph in RITE OF SPRING in London was in a way a triumph of her will to dance again.

Above: Serge de Diaghilev. Sokolova’s book ends abruptly with the death of Diaghilev; she and Leon were on a beach on the French coast when the newspaper was brought down to them bearing the tidings of the impresario’s death in Venice. Their lives were altered in that moment; Sokolova went on to teach and coach and even to perform on occasion: she danced for the very last time in London in 1962 and died in 1974.

My favorite story from the book revolves around flowers. Sokolova, by then a well-established principal dancer, was incensed one day to find herself cast as one of the twelve maidens in FIREBIRD. She went to Diaghilev to protest; his reply was that it was an honor to dance in his corps de ballet. Sokolova stewed and fumed helplessly in the days leading up to the performance and even considered leaving the Company. Warming up backstage on the dreaded night, Sokolova stopped by the large table in the wings where bouquets to be handed the artists during the performance were laid out. She saw a magnificent spray with a card that said “Lydia Sokolova…after FIREBIRD” Since she had a lead role in one of the other ballets that night, she went to the stage manager and asked that she be given the flowers after that piece rather than FIREBIRD; she did not want to be singled out of a group of twelve with a floral offering. “Diaghilev’s order!” the stage manager told her. Her pleading fell on deaf ears.

And so, during the FIREBIRD curtain calls, Lydia Sokolova was called forward from the corps to receive the enormous bouquet. Diaghilev knew how to make amends.

{Reviving this article from 2009 as I am re-reading the book for the eighth or ninth time. It’s great!}

~ Oberon

January 25, 2019
Fire in my mouth @ The New York Philharmonic

~ Author: Brad S. Ross

Thursday January 24th, 2019 – Thursday evening at David Geffen Hall was one to behold as music director Jaap van Zweden led The New York Philharmonic in its most exhilarating performance of recent memory and more. The night’s all-American program included the New York premiere of a late master, an American repertory standard, and one of the most hotly anticipated world premieres of the entire U.S. concert season. One to behold, indeed.

The evening began with Elegy, an instrumental interlude from the oratorio August 4, 1964 by the late American composer Steven Stucky. Stucky, who died rather unexpectedly from brain cancer three years ago at the all-too-young age of 66, was one of America’s foremost contemporary composers, having written numerous concerti, one gorgeous symphony, an impressive opera, and two concerti for orchestra, the latter of which won him a long-overdue Pulitzer Prize for Music. As the title suggests, August 4, 1964 details one fateful day during the presidency of Lyndon B. Johnson, including fallout from the Gulf of Tonkin incident and news of the discovered bodies of the murdered civil rights activists Andrew Goodman, Michael Schwerner, and James Chaney in Mississippi. A Dallas Symphony Orchestra commission, the work was given its world premiere under the baton of van Zweden himself in September 2008.

Maestro van Zweden wasted no time at the podium before setting things into motion.

Elegy opened on a great crash—one that was sure to alert the senses of even the most droopy-eyed concert attendee. The piece then descended into more somber territory as a quiet oboe, horns, and strings set its decidedly hymn-like tone. The work possessed an almost filmic sense for drama, often building to thundering crashes followed by slow descents into haunting suspended dissonances. Stucky aptly captured the turmoil of his subject matter, which seemed a prophetic meditation upon much of our current political turmoil. Nevertheless, he ended the piece on a long-held major chord—one that seemed to offer a glimmer of hope in the face of uncertainty. van Zweden milked this finale to tremendous dramatic effect, only lowering his baton after every note had its chance to reverberate throughout the hall several times over.

Up next was Aaron Copland’s Concerto for Clarinet, Strings, and Harp. Originally commissioned and performed by the great jazz clarinetist Benny Goodman, the concerto was one of handful of Copland works that incorporates elements of jazz in its composition. It was written between 1947 and 1949, and went on to become one of the most-programmed clarinet concerti of the entire orchestral repertoire. Performing tonight was Anthony McGill, the Philharmonic’s principal clarinetist.

The piece began on a sorrowful elegy in the strings. Copland’s voice here was its most stubbornly tonal—his broad rhythmic intervals and warm orchestration evoking the great open spaces of North America. A lively and showy cadenza divided the work between its slow opening and an energetic climax, which Mr. McGill played with remarkable precision and zest. The pace was then quickened as the orchestra performed a lovely call and answer in typical Copland fashion. A final ascending glissando in the clarinet and upward rush in the strings brought the work to an animated close. This exuberant finale brought some much appreciated levity to an otherwise solemn musical evening.

If the program had ended here, it still would have easily been a great night at the Philharmonic. What followed, however, transported the merely beautiful to the realm of the sublime. This, of course, was the long-anticipated world premiere of Fire in my mouth by the celebrated American composer Julia Wolfe.

Ms. Wolfe, who co-founded the contemporary classical music organization Bang on a Can in 1987 with the fellow composers David Lang and her husband Michael Gordon, has steadily earned a reputation as one of the world’s finest living composers. Among her notable works are the concerto for string quartet My Beautiful Scream, the chamber/vocal work Steel Hammer, and her Pulitzer Prize for Music-winning oratorio Anthracite Fields. Fire in my mouth, a gargantuan work for girls’ choir, women’s choir, and orchestra, marks her largest composition to date.

A New York Philharmonic commission, the piece is based on the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire that took the lives of 146 New York City garment workers, most of whom were young immigrant women, on March 25th, 1911. The owners had locked the doors factory doors to prevent theft, leaving the workers trapped inside when the fire broke out. They died of burns, smoke inhalation, or jumping to their deaths trying to escape the inferno. The political fallout and public outcry for change that followed was as much an inspiration for Wolfe as the tragedy itself. The work’s title, somewhat to my surprise, comes from a quote by the labor activist Clara Lemlich, who, reflecting on her years of activism, said, “Ah, then I had fire in my mouth.” The text of the piece was compiled from various interviews, speeches, and accounts of the event in addition to folk songs from the era. Spanning roughly one hour, the piece is cast in four movements.

The orchestra was joined in performance by the Philadelphia-based choral ensemble The Crossing (above) and The Young People’s Chorus of New York City (below). The photos are by Chris Lee.

The text of the piece was compiled from various interviews, speeches, and accounts of the event in addition to folk songs from the era. Spanning roughly one hour, the work is cast in four movements.

The first movement “Immigration” began with chilling suspended high strings as the women’s chorus, decked in period regalia, began toning, “Without passports or anything we took a boat…” Blueprints of passenger ships overlaid with footage of foaming ocean waves were projected behind the ensemble as brass swells harkened to the rolling seas of the Atlantic as these young women made their voyage to America. Propulsive percussion and winds shifted under suspended vocal lines as familiar images of the Statue of Liberty and immigrants arriving to the United States were projected above. This built to a great crash and silence fell throughout the hall as the first movement came to a close.

The second movement “Factory” began to the sights and sounds of industry; images of machinery were cast on the screen above while the strings made eerie slaps that echoed the sounds of a sewing machine. A growing menace emerged from the lower voices of the orchestra as the threat of disaster grew. Splatting brass notes and unrelenting tremolo in the strings played on as the chorus mimed the actions of Sisyphean industrial labor. Grainy images of factory workers punching their cards were projected overhead while dissonant vocals, driving bass, and unnerving glissandi rose to a violent and tragic crescendo—the effect was genuinely terrifying. The chorus then used pairs of scissors to create a peculiar, yet distinct percussive beat as the work quietly transitioned into its third movement.

The women’s choir then descended to the front of the stage for the start of the third movement “Protest,” singing, “I want to talk like an American, I want to look like an American.” Rhythmic pulses in the strings played as newspaper headlines of protests and strikes were projected above. Among the cacophony could be hear the whistles of policemen trying to contain the disorder. The girls’ choir then emerged from the back of hall, marching and swaying in choreographed motion down the center aisle, as they sang in protest, “I want to say a few words. I am a working girl. One who is striking against intolerable conditions.” The women’s chorus professed, “Ah—then I had fire in my mouth!” as the girls hauntingly repeated, “fire fire fire”—a harbinger of the tragedy to come.

The girls’ choir joined the rest of the ensemble on stage as the final movement, “Fire”, began. The string players created the haunting sound of breath by swinging their bows through the air. Here Ms. Wolfe played up tragedy over terror as faded photographs of women interlaid with abstract images of smoke, fire, and rubble beamed overhead. Fierce crashes, perhaps the loudest thing I’ve ever heard in David Geffen Hall, deafened the auditorium as musical hellfire consumed the ensemble (“I see them falling, see them falling…”). A somber vocal line emerged, an indictment of social apathy, pronouncing, “I would be a traitor to those poor burned bodies if I were to speak of good fellowship. I have tried you good people of the public and found you wanting.” The chorus then sang the name of every soul who perished that day as Fire in my mouth quietly faded to silence; it was perhaps the greatest musical elegy since John C. Adams’s On the Transmigration of Souls.

The standing ovation that ensued lasted for several curtain calls as Ms. Wolfe, Maestro van Zweden, and company each had a chance to take their bows. No one, save a few wheelchair-bound patrons, was still seated by the time the applause finally died out, something I’ve never seen at David Geffen Hall and don’t expect to see again for some time. Indeed, it was the finest world premiere I’ve yet had the good fortune to attend. I can only hope that many other metropoles may be graced with its performances in the near future. Brava, maestro!

Above, the ovation: the conductor and composer onstage at the end of Fire in my Mouth. Photo by Chris Lee.

~ Brad S. Ross

January 25, 2019
Renata Tebaldi in LA FANCIULLA DEL WEST

Above: the Poker Scene from Puccini’s LA FANCIULLA DEL WEST with Renata Tebaldi and Giangiacomo Guelfi

One of the most memorable operatic experiences of my life was seeing Renata Tebaldi as Minnie in LA FANCIULLA DEL WEST in a Saturday matinee performance at The Met:

Tebaldi was so fascinating that afternoon. Always known as a diva with a great sense of personal dignity, she really let her hair down as Puccini’s Girl of the Golden West. And her voice was huge, with a radiant warmth in the middle register and a chest voice to shame most contraltos, and her characterization of the saintly but sublimely human tavern-keeper who cheats at cards to save her lover’s life was rich in detail and extremely moving in its sincerity and humanity. Phrase after phrase and gesture after gesture from that portrayal are totally etched on the memory: I don’t need to listen to it – every nuance is unforgettable.

By that point in her career, Tebaldi’s highest notes were sounding rather strained and on the flat side. That was a small price to pay for so much beautiful, touchingly expressive singing and such a vivid characterization.

Set in a California mining town during the Gold Rush, the opera tells the story of Minnie, a big-hearted woman living among a rough-and-tumble band of miners. Minnie is a mother figure to these ragtag men, but she is also a woman both passionate and vulnerable. And when the chips are down, she is not above bending her own rules to get the one thing she has ever wanted. In essence, she is Puccini’s most human heroine.

The opera opens as the miners come in to The Polka, Minnie’s saloon, at the end of a day of panning and digging. Each of these men loves Minnie in his own way, and soon she makes a spectacular entrance, firing off her rifle to quell a near-brawl among her admirers; among them is the local sheriff, Jack Rance.

After order is restored, Minnie morphs from barmaid to schoolmarm as she reads to the miners from the Psalms:

^“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.

Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.

Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.

Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.

Deliver me from blood-guilt O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.

O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.”

The point of this lesson, Minnie says, is that every man, even the worst sinner, can be redeemed thru love. This turns out to be the essence of the opera.

Above: Minnie (Renata Tebaldi) greets the sheriff Jack Rance (Anselmo Colzani)

Rance is mad with desire for Minnie. When he offers her a thousand dollars down if she will kiss him, Minnie says she will wait for true love to come along. She sings of being a small girl growing up in her parents’ tavern in Soledad, and of how much her parents loved each other.

A gentleman describing himself as “Johnson from Sacramento” comes in, asking for whiskey and water. This causes much mirth among the miners; “Here at The Polka…” laughs Minnie, …”we drink our whiskey neat.” Rance is suspicious of the stranger, but Minnie vouches for him: she had met him by chance once before, when he came upon her picking wildflowers in a meadow.

What Minnie doesn’t know is that Johnson is really Ramirez, a notorious bandit, who has come to rob the Polka, aided by his gang of thieves; they are stationed outside, waiting for Johnson’s signal. Left alone with him, Minnie tells of her simple life in a cabin on the mountainside. Charmed by her beauty, courage, and modesty, Johnson forgets all thought of the robbery and asks if he may come to visit her that evening. “Don’t expect fancy conversation,” she tells him. “‘I’m a simple girl, obscure and good for nothing.” “No, Minnie…you have a good and pure soul…and the face of an angel.”

Above, Sandor Konya and Renata Tebaldi as Johnson and Minnie. As the Act I curtain falls, Tebaldi as Minnie quietly repeats his words – ” …un viso d’angelo!” with a deep sigh. The audience applauded long and loud for the many curtain calls, with Tebaldi, Konya, and Colzani sharing the ovation.

Act II: At her little cabin, Minnie anticipates her visitor by putting on her finest outfit, including high-heels, which she rarely wears (above)…during this dressing scene, Tebaldi was briefly seen in a corset and pantalettes, her lovely, long legs getting a wolf-whistle from some fan up in standing room.

Minnie and Johnson warily confide in one other, and at last, after much persuasion, he wins a kiss from her: her first kiss. He had been prepared to leave, but a violent snowstorm has swept across the mountain. “Then stay!”, Minnie cries spontaneously.

Minnie assigns Johnson the bed; she will curl up in a bearskin before the fire. The wind whistles outside. Suddenly voices are heard; Johnson hides in the loft while the sheriff and some on the miners enter, certain they have tracked Johnson to Minnie’s door. They tell her that he is in fact the bandit Ramirez; they have had this information from the notorious Nina Micheltorena, a woman of ill-repute and Ramirez’s mistress.

Minnie scoffs at the story, but when the men have left she calls Johnson out and reads him the riot act. She can forgive him the wrongs he has done, but she can’t forgive herself for giving him her first kiss. Angrily, she sends him out into the storm. But the sheriff is watching nearby. A shot rings out; Johnson has been hit; he staggers back into the cabin, and Minnie again hides him in the loft.

Rance now confronts Minnie but she swears Johnson is not there. She and the sheriff tussle briefly, and he is about to leave when, from above, a drop of blood falls on his hand. He orders the wounded Johnson down from his hiding place and is about to haul him off to jail when Minnie makes an offer: she and Rance will play poker. At stake is the life of the man she loves.

Tebaldi had gone to a casino to learn the art of card shuffling and dealing from a professional. In the House, and on recordings of that broadcast the sound of the cards being shuffled and dealt creates a palpable effect as Minnie and the sheriff Jack Rance play the three hands of poker that will decide the fate of the outlaw. One of the best exchanges in the opera comes as Rance, looking at the injured Johnson slumped at the table, asks Minnie: “What do you see in him?”, to which she quietly replies: “What do you see in me?”

Moments later, having been dealt a bad hand in the final game, Minnie feigns a fainting spell. While Rance gets her a glass of water, she pulls out winning cards that she had secretly stashed in her stocking. Rance lays down his cards – three kings – saying: “I know why you’ve fainted: you’ve lost!” But Minnie defiantly stands up and replies: “No! I’ve deceived you! It’s from joy! I have won!!” and there Renata Tebaldi slapped her cards onto the the table and in an adrenalin-charged chest voice shouted: “Tre assi e un paio!!” The furious sheriff stalks out as Tebaldi embraces her wounded lover “He’s mine!!!” she cries out. Then, just as the curtain falls, she flings the entire deck of cards into the air. The ovation was unbelievable, and went on for several minutes.

Act III: Though Minnie won Johnson’s life, eventually he has to leave the cabin on the mountainside. Rance’s men have taken turns watching nearby, and at last the bandit is caught and hauled off to be hung. Johnson sings a passionate farewell to Minnie, begging the men not to tell her of his fate. The noose is placed around his neck, but suddenly Minnie rides in, firing her gun into the air. There’s a standoff, as none of the miners would ever harm Minnie.

In a great ensemble, Minnie now walks among the men and, one by one, reminds them of all she has done for them; she literally says, “I’ve given you the best years of my life.” Now she asks them to spare Johnson for her sake. She reminds them of the Bible’s lesson of forgiveness and redemption. This is the most moving part of the whole opera.

The men struggle with their emotions, but at last Sonora – the gentle miner who has long loved Minnie without hope – persuades his mates that they must do what she asks: “Minnie, your words come from God…in the name of all, I give this man to you.”

Minnie and Johnson leave, arm in arm, singing “Addio mia California!” as the miners weep.

The curtain calls after the Met matinee were spectacular. Tebaldi received enormous roars of applause and eventually drew her gun and began ‘firing’ it at the audience. Afterwards, she was mobbed at the stage door.

This article is written in honor of Craig Salstein, my longtime friend. It was Tebaldi’s voice that turned Craig into an opera fan at an early age. She had that effect on people, including myself.

~ Oberon

January 24, 2019
Lydia Johnson Dance ~ Retrospective – Part IV

Above: dancers Blake Hennessy-York and Sarah Pon after a rehearsal

The 2016 season marked a transitional period for Lydia Johnson Dance: the roster of the Company was evolving. Their annual New York City performances took place in March rather than June.

The program featured repeats NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES (above: Laura Di Orio and Brynt Beitman)…

…and GIVING WAY (with guest artist Riccardo Battaglia and Blake Hennessy-York), plus a new jazz piece, HINDSIGHT, which quickly disappeared from the repertoire. Performance photos from the 2016 performance by Nir Arieli.

But the sad news was that the 2016 season marked the last performances with the Company of Sarah Pon and Blake Hennessy-York, who had decided to move to California. In their seasons with Lydia Johnson Dance, they made their mark in every ballet they danced in, and for their farewell they encored their outstanding performance in WHAT COUNTS.

Above: Blake and Sarah, rehearsing

The great outdoors: Brynt Beitman and Laura Di Orio in a pas de deux from NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES.

As rehearsals for 2017 began, the Company roster was much changed from when I first connected with Lydia Johnson Dance. But some surprises were in store:

Lisa Iannacito McBride (in black, rehearsing with Laura Di Orio and Katie Lohiya, above ) returned as a guest artist to dance the role she had created in CROSSINGS BY RIVER…

…and, incredibly, Blake and Sarah came in from the West Coast to dance the roles made on them in GIVING WAY.

This was an especially happy time to be part of the extended LJD family, and privy to rehearsals:

It was simply great to have Lisa back in the studio…

…and Chris Bloom, on a break from Ballet Hispanico, popped in…

…to dance with Katie Lohiya.

The partnership of Chazz Fenner-McBride and Min Kim developed in leaps and bounds…

…and they are always in good spirits during rehearsal.

Min Kim and Laura DiOrio in company class…

…and Laura rehearsing with Dona Wiley, who was just joining the Company.

The performances in June 2017 were given at New York Live Arts in Chelsea. The program was especially strong, with two new ballets: TRIO SONATAS, set to Handel, and This, and my heart beside… one of Lydia’s most personal works, to music by Philip Glass. The all-female CROSSINGS BY RIVER made a welcome return to the repertoire, and a repeat of the previous season’s GIVING WAY was handsomely danced.

Photos from the 2017 season by Nir Arieli:

CROSSINGS BY RIVER: Min Kim, Lisa Iannacito McBride, Dona Wiley, Laura Di Orio, Katie Lohiya

CROSSINGS BY RIVER: Katie Lohiya, Laura Di Orio, Lisa Iannacito McBride

GIVING WAY: Brynt Beitman and Blake Hennessy-York

GIVING WAY: Laura Di Orio and Brynt Beitman

TRIO SONATAS: Danny Pigliavento and Katie Lohiya

TRIO SONATAS: Chazz Fenner-McBride and Min Kim

This, and my heart beside…: Sara Spangler and Katie Lohiya. Sara, a young dancer from Lydia Johnson’s school, made a lovely impression in this ballet

This, and my heart beside…: guest artists Mary Beth Hansohn and Peter Chursin were spellbinding

This, and my heart beside…: Danny Pigliavento and Katie Lohiya. Their partnership has a poignant lyricism.

Among the many photos from the rehearsal period for the 2017 season, this is a particular favorite of mine, though it’s not in the studio:

LJD Women: Min Kim, Lisa Iannacito McBride, Laura Di Orio, and Katie Lohiya

~ Oberon

January 24, 2019
Lydia Johnson Dance ~ Retrospective – Part IV

Above: dancers Blake Hennessy-York and Sarah Pon after a rehearsal

The 2016 season marked a transitional period for Lydia Johnson Dance: the roster of the Company was evolving. Their annual New York City performances took place in March rather than June.

The program featured repeats NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES (above: Laura Di Orio and Brynt Beitman)…

…and GIVING WAY (with guest artist Riccardo Battaglia and Blake Hennessy-York), plus a new jazz piece, HINDSIGHT, which quickly disappeared from the repertoire. Performance photos from the 2016 performance by Nir Arieli.

But the sad news was that the 2016 season marked the last performances with the Company of Sarah Pon and Blake Hennessy-York, who had decided to move to California. In their seasons with Lydia Johnson Dance, they made their mark in every ballet they danced in, and for their farewell they encored their outstanding performance in WHAT COUNTS.

Above: Blake and Sarah, rehearsing

The great outdoors: Brynt Beitman and Laura Di Orio in a pas de deux from NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES.

As rehearsals for 2017 began, the Company roster was much changed from when I first connected with Lydia Johnson Dance. But some surprises were in store:

Lisa Iannacito McBride (in black, rehearsing with Laura Di Orio and Katie Lohiya, above ) returned as a guest artist to dance the role she had created in CROSSINGS BY RIVER…

…and, incredibly, Blake and Sarah came in from the West Coast to dance the roles made on them in GIVING WAY.

This was an especially happy time to be part of the extended LJD family, and privy to rehearsals:

It was simply great to have Lisa back in the studio…

…and Chris Bloom, on a break from Ballet Hispanico, popped in…

…to dance with Katie Lohiya.

The partnership of Chazz Fenner-McBride and Min Kim developed in leaps and bounds…

…and they are always in good spirits during rehearsal.

Min Kim and Laura DiOrio in company class…

…and Laura rehearsing with Dona Wiley, who was just joining the Company.

The performances in June 2017 were given at New York Live Arts in Chelsea. The program was especially strong, with two new ballets: TRIO SONATAS, set to Handel, and This, and my heart beside… one of Lydia’s most personal works, to music by Philip Glass. The all-female CROSSINGS BY RIVER made a welcome return to the repertoire, and a repeat of the previous season’s GIVING WAY was handsomely danced.

Photos from the 2017 season by Nir Arieli:

CROSSINGS BY RIVER: Min Kim, Lisa Iannacito McBride, Dona Wiley, Laura Di Orio, Katie Lohiya

CROSSINGS BY RIVER: Katie Lohiya, Laura Di Orio, Lisa Iannacito McBride

GIVING WAY: Brynt Beitman and Blake Hennessy-York

GIVING WAY: Laura Di Orio and Brynt Beitman

TRIO SONATAS: Danny Pigliavento and Katie Lohiya

TRIO SONATAS: Chazz Fenner-McBride and Min Kim

This, and my heart beside…: Sara Spangler and Katie Lohiya. Sara, a young dancer from Lydia Johnson’s school, made a lovely impression in this ballet

This, and my heart beside…: guest artists Mary Beth Hansohn and Peter Chursin were spellbinding

This, and my heart beside…: Danny Pigliavento and Katie Lohiya. Their partnership has a poignant lyricism.

Among the many photos from the rehearsal period for the 2017 season, this is a particular favorite of mine, though it’s not in the studio:

LJD Women: Min Kim, Lisa Iannacito McBride, Laura Di Orio, and Katie Lohiya

~ Oberon

January 23, 2019
Oberlin College Choir and Orchestra @ Carnegie Hall

~ Author: Brad S Ross

Saturday January 19th, 2019 – The Oberlin Conservatory of Music, visiting from Ohio, began 2019 on the proverbial high-note Saturday night at Carnegie Hall’s Isaac Stern Auditorium. The talents of students and educators alike were well-showcased in a concert bifurcated between the Oberlin College Choir and the Oberlin Orchestra. Following brief opening remarks by Oberlin College President Twillie Ambar, things were swiftly under way in what would turn out to be a tremendously satisfying program.

For the first half of the concert, the Ronald O. Perelman Stage belonged to the Oberlin College Choir under the baton of Gregory Ristow (photo, above). They began with Triptych, a mostly tonal choral composition written in 2005 by the British-American composer Tarik O’Regan. Though originally cast for chorus and orchestra (and what a sight to behold that would’ve been!), it was presented here in a more manageable arrangement for percussion and chorus by the percussionist and composer Dave Alcorn. It featured an eclectic text culled from such myriad sources as William Blake, John Milton, William Wordsworth, Muhammad Rajab al-Bayoumi, and the Book of Psalms, among others.

The first movement, “Threnody,” opened on a gripping a cappella statement set to an epigram by William Penn, “When death takes off the mask, we will know one another.” A driving percussion line soon entered and pushed the work forward as languid, otherworldly phrases meandered in call and answer throughout the chorus. The effect was almost primal.

Following a short percussion interlude, the second movement “As We Remember Them” opened on a haunting soprano solo set to the words of the rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn, “In the rising of the sun and at its going down, we remember them.” This was performed with remarkable precision by Risa Beddie, whose voice would be featured occasionally throughout the remainder of the piece. This elegy seemed in many ways the heart and soul of O’Regan’s Triptych, however, as the combined, yet subdued forces of Beddie, chorus, and percussion achieved a hypnotic beauty.

Another short interlude followed and the work was propelled energetically forward into the third and final movement, “From Heaven Distilled a Clemency.” O’Regan’s choral writing here was its most exuberant as the choir toned the words of the great Persian poet Rumi, “So why then should I be afraid? I shall die once again to rise an angel blest.” Beddie’s haunting soprano then returned for one last quiet utterance before the work rose to its climactic finale. Every force was well-utilized in Triptych and it made for excellent way to put the evening into motion.

Next up was Igor Stravinsky’s ballet Les noces (“The Wedding”) for four pianists, percussion, vocal soloists, and chorus from 1923. Like O’Regan’s Triptych, Les noces was also originally conceived for a much larger ensemble, but Stravinsky himself made the decision to scale back its herculean forces to a mere four solo vocalists, chorus, percussion, and four pianos. Indeed, even with this “reduced” compliment, the sight of so many musicians, instruments, and four Steinway pianos gave the stage impressively cluttered look. Its libretto, penned by the composer himself from traditional Russian wedding songs, describes the marriage rite of a young bride and groom.

Les noces begins frighteningly on a solo soprano line accompanied by piano, cymbals, and xylophone effecting somber bell tones. Other unholy voices soon joined the proceedings as the mother and bridesmaids console the young bride-to-be. While the libretto features a deceptively melodramatic narrative, musically Stravinsky seemed to be describing a wedding straight from the gates of hell. There was no hint of saccharine or sentiment to be found amongst the composer’s numerous parallel lines, violent dynamic shifts, and strikingly dissonant harmonies—so much the better.

Les noces followed the marriage of its protagonists right up to the wedding night and showcased exhilarating performances by the soprano Katherine Lerner Lee, mezzo-soprano Perri Di Christina, tenor Nicholas Music, baritone Kyle Miller, and bass Evan Tiapula as various members of the ceremony. Its final eerie bell tone—open octaves throughout the instrumental accompaniments—reverberated for what seemed an eternity before Ristow finally lowered his baton. This was an electrifying way to conclude the first half of the program.

After intermission came a high-point in what had already proved to be an exhilarating evening. The conductor Raphael Jiménez (photo, above) and the Oberlin Orchestra next took the stage for the New York premiere of Elizabeth Ogonek’s All These Lighted Things—a set, as the work’s subtitle notes, of “three little dances for orchestra.” It was originally commissioned and premiered by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 2017 while Ogonek served as the ensemble’s composer-in-residence. Ogonek, who teaches composition at Oberlin, has quickly earned a reputation as one of the finest young composers in the United States. Based on All These Lighted Things, I would be hard-pressed to disagree.

The first movement began with quiet textures emanating from the percussion and high strings. A broad sonic spectrum swiftly unfolded from Ogonek’s musical prism, with such varied colors as muted brass, dissonant woodwind runs, and violent strikes in the strings, among many other extended techniques I couldn’t quite decipher from a single hearing. The etherial sound of a rainstick opened and continued to be featured throughout the second movement, soon joined by a full high-voice descending glissandi and a stirring violin solo by concertmaster Jerry Zheyang Xiong.

Animated pizzicato runs in the bass and celli signaled the start of the third movement. Aided with light percussion, swift woodwind runs allude to a growing musical menace. A sumptuous flute line emerged with building woodwind accomplices. Finally, a great, full-ensemble crescendo swelled to a tremendous crash and a few fleeting quiet percussion voices sang the piece to its silent conclusion.

Like many contemporary pieces, All These Lighted Things seemed to be more about shifting sonic textures than any strict adherence to musical form. This will no doubt exhaust some listeners who long for structure, but they should at least take comfort that none of Ogonek’s sonorities ever outstay their welcome, as modern compositions so often do. I, for one, found it a lively and vibrant piece—one that will surely warrant many further hearings.

The evening concluded with a performance of Claude Debussy’s La Mer. Its performance was solid, if not quite on par with what New York audiences have been spoiled to expect of late (the New York Philharmonic programmed it twice last year alone, both times to tremendous effect). Apart from the occasionally muddy entrance and one conspicuously fracked trumpet note, the Oberlin Orchestra played with delicate grace, offering a decidedly above-average rendition of Debussy’s great orchestral tome. For his part, Jiménez’s interpretation was lingering and dynamic, never rushing its dramatic moments. This worked well in its first and second movements where Debussy’s colors should be allowed to frolic and breathe freely. By the third movement, however, this approach seemed a touch overwrought and unfortunately robbed some essential energy from the grand brass chords that announce the work’s finale.

But I quibble. A critic knows he’s heard something truly good when there are only minor details he would change. All in all, this was a successful finale to an indisputably successful concert program—one that will surely signal a prosperous new year for the Oberlin Conservatory’s faculty and students. If the sustained standing ovation that night was any indication, New York audiences will welcome them back as often as they’ll come.

~ Brad S Ross

January 21, 2019
Puccini Per Tutti!

A collection of excerpts from Giacomo Puccini’s operas, to kick off the New Year!

Addio fiorito asil – BUTTERFLY – Richard Leech – Richard Stilwell – Chicago 1991

Adriana Maliponte – MANON LESCAUT – Aria ~ Act IV – Met 1985

BOHEME – Act I scene – Denys Gulyas & Leona Mitchell – Met bcast 1987

Alessandra Marc – TURANDOT aria – Tucker Gala 1995 – with K Johansson

Carlo Bergonzi ~ Donna non vidi mai – MANON LESCAUT

Dorothy Kirsten – Vissi d’arte – TOSCA

Gilda Cruz-Romo – In quelle trine morbide – MANON LESCAUT -Met dress rehearsal 1973

FANCIULLA DEL WEST – aria – Giuseppe Giacomini – Met Gala 1983

Luciano Pavarotti – TOSCA – arias – Met bcast 1986 – w Italo Tajo

Norah Amsellem – Signore ascolta – TURANDOT – Met bcast 2003

Bianca Berini – O mio babbino caro – W Hartford CT 1983

December 30, 2018
Lydia Johnson Dance ~ Retrospective

Above: the studio at Battery Dance where Lydia Johnson Dance rehearsed during the first years of our association; photo by Kokyat

It was on a March evening in 2009 that I first encountered the choreography of Lydia Johnson; a press invitation sent to me by publicist Audrey Ross had piqued my curiosity enough to prompt me to go – with my fellow blogger Evan Namerow – to a studio showing by Lydia Johnson Dance.

What I discovered that night was choreography that successfully melded elements of classical ballet and contemporary dance, that had a keen connection to the music, and that – rarest of all – had an emotional resonance that I had found in only a handful of works by current choreographers of the day.

Above: Tucker Ty Davis and Jessica Sand; photo by Julie Lemberger. Tucker and Jessica were among the dancers who appeared in that first-encounter studio event

I can’t remember now the sequence of correspondence between Lydia and myself that led to my being invited, along with my photographer/friend Kokyat, to a rehearsal of Lydia’s company down at the Battery Dance studios. At that time, Kokyat was a dance photographer in the making; he became a master over time. In the ensuing months, he and I spent many hours in that studio – so steeped in the very essence of dance – and we became friends with all the dancers…and with Lydia herself.

Here are some of Kokyat’s photos from those happy days at Battery Dance:

Eric Vlach, Jessica Sand

Lisa Iannacito and Jesse Marks

Jessica Sand

Robert Robinson, Jessica Sand

Jessica Sand

Lisa Iannacito

Laura Di Orio

Kerry Shea

Sean Patrick Mahoney, a guest artist from the Paul Taylor Dance Company, with Jessica Sand

Sarah Pon and Blake Hennessy-York, a young married couple who joined Lydia Johnson Dance and made it their artistic home

Guest artist Sean Patrick Mahoney

Guest artist Max van der Sterre with Kerry Shea

An early rehearsal of SUMMER HOUSE

Laura Di Orio, Kaitlin Accetta

Blake Hennessy-York and the ensemble

A rehearsal of CROSSINGS BY RIVER

Guest artist Max van der Sterre

Celebrating dancer Robert Robinson’s birthday

Lydia Johnson

Now for some of Kokyat’s onstage images of the Lydia Johnson Dance in works we saw in the first two or three seasons of our affiliation:

UNTITLED BACH (Shannon Maynor, Eric Vlach)

SUMMER HOUSE (Laura Di Orio, Robert Robinson)

Dancer Justin Lynch

DREAM SEQUENCE (Jesse Marks, center)

DUSK

END OF THE MOVIE (Erica Schweer, Laura Di Orio)

DUSK (Eric Vlach, Jessica Sand)

UNTITLED BACH (James Hernandez, Laura Di Orio)

IN CONVERSATION (Jessica Sand)

UNTITLED BACH (Robert Robinson, Jesse Marks)

LAMENT

DREAM SEQUENCE (Eric Vlach, Jessica Sand, James Hernandez, Laura Barbee).

IN CONVERSATION (John-Mark Owen, Kerry Shea)

And some studio shots from Oberon:

Robert Robinson, Jessica Sand

SUMMER HOUSE rehearsal: Lisa and Jessica

SUMMER HOUSE rehearsal: Robert, Laura

Lauren Perry

Laura Di Orio

By now, the dancers were used to having Kokyat and I breathing down their necks, so to speak…so much so, that Kokyat was permitted to photograph the Company’s 2011 performance in New York City from backstage.

This first installment covers roughly 2009-2011, with a couple of 2012 images thrown in. I’ll continue this retrospective in a few days – picking up where I left off – when I have had time to gather photos for a second gallery.

~ Oberon

December 29, 2018
Joshua Bell|NY String Orchestra

Above: Joshua Bell

~ Author: Oberon

Friday December 28th, 2018 – Holding forth at Carnegie Hall over the holidays, the New York String Orchestra presented a Christmas Eve concert (which Ben Weaver wrote about here) and then followed up with this evening’s program which brought us Joshua Bell as soloist for the Brahms Violin Concerto, book-ended by George Walker’s Lyric and Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique Symphony.

George Walker‘s Lyric for Strings opened the program. From its very soft opening, this music was drawing us in and clearing our minds of the worries and woes that abound in these troubled times. Guest conductor Karina Canellakis and the young musicians savoured the rich themes, the Romantic Era yet still contemporary-sounding harmonies, the beautiful layering of arching violins and darkish basses. The music quietens, then a new melodic journey commences. After some thoughtful hesitations, the work finds a gentle ending: we are in a tranquil place.

Joshua Bell gave a knockout performance of the Brahms Violin Concerto in D-Major, Op. 77. The concerto’s first movement (Allegro non troppo) is especially rich in themes; following a unison opening passage, the music becomes quite grand. An excellent contingent of wind players joined the ensemble. Joshua Bell’s intense playing – and his feel for the dramatic – found a counterpoise in the ravishing sheen of his highest range, his pinpoint dynamic control, and his pliantly persuasive phrasing.

A recurring theme, which make us think of springtime, found the violinist at his most lyrical, while in the demanding cadenza, Mr. Bell’s masterful dispatching of flurries of notes covering a vast range reached its end with a shimmering trill. The movement’s final measures were sublime.

The winds set the mood of the Adagio. A marvelous oboe solo and – later – an impressive passage of bassoon playing – fell sweetly on the ear. Mr. Bell’s silken sounds in the upper register cast a spell over the hall, his exquisite control giving me chills of delight. In his mixture of passion and refinement, the music seemed so alive. Without pause, Maestro Jaime Laredo took us directly into the final movement; here, in the familiar theme, the rhythmic vitality of the orchestra and Mr. Bell’s bravura playing combined to winning effect.

A full-house standing ovation greeted Joshua Bell’s stunning performance; hopes for an encore had the audience calling him back for repeated bows. But perhaps he felt that nothing really could follow the Brahms, especially after such a thrilling rendition.

Following the interval, several alumni of the New York String Orchestra joined the current ensemble for a tonally lush rendering of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6, Pathétique. Among these alumni were several of today’s finest artists – people like violinist Pamela Frank, violist Steven Tennenbom, cellists Peter Wiley and Nicholas Canellakis, bass player Timothy Cobb, and clarinetist Anthony McGill. These musicians did not take over the principal chairs from the current players, but simply joined the ranks of the orchestra, seated interspersed among their young colleagues. I can only imagine how inspiring it must be for these emerging musicians to be playing alongside David Kim or Kurt Muroki.

Maestro Laredo crafted a rich-hued, passionate performance, and the musicians played their hearts out. As the symphony unfolded – really impressively played – I found the first two movements to be magnificent in every regard. The Allegro molto vivace – which Tchaikovsky seems to have referred to as a ‘scherzo‘ and which one writer described as “a waltz with a limp” – seemed to go on too long. And as affecting as the final Adagio lamentoso is, there are themes in SWAN LAKE, SLEEPING BEAUTY and the Serenade for Strings that I find far more moving.

Over time, people have sometimes felt that the Adagio lamentoso, with its faltering heartbeat at the end, presages the composer’s death. Within nine days after conducting the first performance of his the epic Sixth, Tchaikovsky would in fact be dead. There are various theories about the cause of the composer’s sudden demise: cholera from drinking tainted water, suicide induced by depression, or a sentence of death imposed on him by a ‘Court of Honor’ when his affair/infatuation with a young nobleman, Prince Vladimir Argutinsky (whose father was a high-placed official in the tsar’s court) came to light. In this third scenario, Tchaikovsky took poison after the Court’s verdict was handed down.

Above: Tchaikovsky with Prince Vladimir Argutinsky

Applause between movements somewhat spoiled the atmosphere tonight, even though after the Allegro non troppo of the Brahms it was understandable that the full house wanted to to applaud Mr. Bell. But premature applause at the end of the Tchaikovsky was a more serious mood breaker.

~ Oberon

December 28, 2018