In the Autumn of 1969, I spent almost ten weeks in New York City. I had taken a room at the Henry Hudson Hotel, and was supposed to be job-hunting. But instead, I spent all my time (and limited money) going to the opera. The Met was closed due to a strike, but the New York City Opera was going strong. I think I went to every single performance they gave during those weeks, always in the 4th Ring standing room.
One opera the NYCO were offering that Fall was Borodin’s PRINCE IGOR, in English; this Russian masterpiece was brand new to me. I saw it five times, the last performance bringing together three singers I especially admired: Maralin Niska (Yaroslavna), Edward Pierson (Igor), and William Chapman (Khan Konchak). Gustav Meier was the conductor.
With my money running low, I recorded only about 20 minutes from the performance in order to save cassette space:
First, as Prince Igor is about to lead his troops out to meet the attacking Polovtsians, a solar eclipse develops. His wife, Yaroslavna, sees this as a bad omen and begs her husband not to leave, but he is adamant. Maralin Niska, as Yaroslavna, bids him farewell on a sustained top note. (In this ensemble, you briefly hear tenor James McCray as Igor’s son, Vladimir.)
Later, awaiting her spouse’s return, Yaroslavna sings a wistful lament. Ms. Niska’s soft singing was always so affecting.
When her city is attacked by the hoards of Polovtsians, Princess Yaroslavna and the boyars barricade themselves in the great hall as the palace is set aflame. Ms. Niska took an exciting high option to cap the ensemble.
Captured by Khan Konchak, Prince Igor sings of his despair over his defeat, and of his beloved wife far away. Edward Pierson had such an expressive voice, and excellent diction.
Khan Kochak wants to befriend his prisoner; he suggests that he and Igor should join forces. William Chapman wowed the audience with his vivid singing here.
How does the story end, you may ask: Prince Igor at last returns home, broken by defeat…and by the loss of his son Vladimir in battle.
And how did my plan to work and live in the Big Apple work out? Not well, though not as sadly as the defeated Prince Igor’s. Broke, I went back to the little town, where I lived until moving to Hartford, Connecticut, in 1975. I finally made it to my Dream City in 1998, shortly before turning 50.
~ Author: Mark Anthony Martinez II; performance photos by Chris Lee
Saturday October 4th, 2025 – The New York Philharmonic had a fascinating program of Boulez and Debussy pieces for this all-French concert. It was a beautiful early Fall night, and I was coming with two friends to see the show. I looked at the program before the concert and realized that I had only heard La Mer, and all of the other pieces were totally new to me.
I love French music for its unique tonal world. The impressionists like Debussy, in particular, encapsulate that flowy, ethereal quality that is the sonic equivalent of paintings by Monet and the other visual impressionists.
It was an almost perfect early Autumn evening, still warm but not hot. When entering David Geffen Hall, there was a buzz from all of the people already there. We came close to the start of the concert, so we quickly went to our seats.
Esa-Pekka Salonen was guest conducting the New York Philharmonic, and I was excited to see his handling of the orchestra. He had just recently finished a tenure as the principal conductor of the San Francisco Symphony.
The lights dimmed, and then a single spotlight shone on the piano in the back of the orchestra. I thought this was odd and was a bit perplexed as to what was going to happen. I was also confused by the placement of the piano. I thought, if the piano was so important as to warrant a spotlight, then it should surely be placed closer to center stage. The lit-up piano played the first Boulez piece, Notation IV, Rhythmique (for solo piano). It was certainly a more modern-sounding piece (even though it was written in 1945). Boulez was a composer in the twelve-tone school of composition. The most famous of those composers was Schoenberg, and you could definitely hear some echoes of Schoenberg in Boulez.
Above: Maestro Salonen with Pierre-Laurent Aimard at the piano; photo by Chris Lee
After the piano had finished, the spotlight disappeared, and the orchestra erupted into the full orchestral version of the same piece. It was a fascinating treat to see truly a fragment, or dare I say, a notation, become fully realized as an orchestral piece. Boulez wrote the orchestral version of his Notations starting in 1978, with revisions going up until 1987. The orchestral version definitely sounded more complete and somehow more full of menace. The orchestral version, in particular, sounded like something that would be in an early black-and-white film or perhaps a modern horror movie.
And full of more surprises, the orchestra seamlessly moved into Debussy’s Gigues from Images for Orchestra. There was no applause break; the musicians simply charged on into a completely different tonal world. What was so interesting was how traditional the Debussy felt in comparison to the Boulez, which is particularly funny because Debussy truly was very avant-garde when his music first came out.
Gigue (which is a type of dance) had a lovely lilting quality, very reminiscent of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade in parts. I loved the orchestra’s handling of the piece as it swayed and danced its way to completion.
Even though Boulez and Debussy’s pieces were written decades apart, in some ways, I could hear the connection between the two pieces back to back. The Debussy had some moments that came out of nowhere, that sounded almost jarring. It was almost as if Boulez took those jarring moments and made an entire piece out of them.
The orchestra masterfully played the pieces, even though they were so different in nature. Salonen was certainly a very dramatic conductor, with big swooping gestures and cutoffs. As a musician, I think I might have a difficult time following, but the Phil were perfect in how they executed the music.
The next set of pieces was once again kicked off by solo piano, with the spotlight shining on it. The piece Notation VII, Hiératique was far more contemplative and minimal than the first piece. When it got to the orchestral version, instead of a wall of sound, the music was much more subtle at first. The strings jumped in at times with violent fervor, then went back to the calmer nature. As the piece progressed, the more maniacal-sounding sforzandos took over, and the piece became more and more sinister. This one, in particular, reminded me a great deal of The Rite of Spring by Stravinsky in some ways.
The piece ended and directly led into Rondes de printemps by Debussy. What was striking was how similar the beginning of the Debussy sounded to the just-finished Boulez. The pieces were exquisitely paired, sort of like wine and chocolate (though the Boulez felt more like taking a shot than drinking wine). The Debussy reminded me a bit of his Afternoon of a Faun. It had a pastoral sense to it as the music romped around.
After the springtime ushered in by Debussy faded away, the final piece of the first half of the concert commenced stridently. The piece, Notation II, Très vif (which means “very lively”), really went all out with the entire orchestra. Everyone was playing in what sounded sort of like a train almost coming off its tracks. Then the piece ended as abruptly as it started.
Everyone took well-deserved bows, and when Salonen came back, he made a cute gesture to the percussion section, as if he were playing percussion himself, and they stood up and took bows.
The intermission felt short, perhaps because the weather outside was so nice as I went onto the balcony with my friends. When we came back, a piano was set center stage for another piece I had never heard before. The latter half of the concert was Debussy only. The piece that started the second half was Fantaisie for Piano and Orchestra.
The pianist, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, wore a full black outfit and walked up to the piano, shook Salonen’s hand, then sat down at his instrument.
This piece was the closest thing to a concerto that Debussy wrote. It was very much a showpiece, in line with a lot of similar concertos written in that era. It sounded a lot like Rachmaninoff’s piano concertos in some regards, but the entire piece sounded very much like Debussy.
It was interesting to hear Debussy writing for a virtuoso performer because I feel like his music (though difficult to play) was normally never intended to be showy like that of some of his other contemporaries.
The music was truly some of the most sublime I’d heard in a while. I used to be a pianist myself, so it is always great to hear some fantastic piano playing. The Fantaisie was very playful and again reminded me of his other orchestral pieces like his Faun. The first movement had the piano gliding up and down the keyboard, fluttering along almost. The piano’s light touch actually reminded me a lot of Saint-Saëns’s piano concertos, the effortless scales and arpeggios that made the piano almost sound like a harp. The two composers were said to have hated each other in real life, so I’m not sure if Debussy willingly took influence or if it was something just in the French musical world at the time.
The music was gorgeous but did have one downside. Debussy really lives in his own soundscape in a sense, and he never really leaves it. Unlike more traditional concertos where there is a stark contrast between movements, or even within movements, the Debussy all sounded like the same world, in a sense.
The piece ended in a flurry of notes from the piano and a rounding fanfare of brass rather beautifully. Aimard took three curtain calls, and some people in the audience expected to hear an encore, but he just left the stage afterward.
Above: conductor and pianist take a bow; photo by Chris Lee
The concert’s selling point was now ready to unfold, and the orchestra readied itself to play La Mer. The symphonic suite, for being so beloved now, was not well received when it first premiered. The piece was broken down into three movements: From Dawn till Noon on the Sea, The Play of the Waves, and Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea.
The piece opened with what sounded like a rising sun over a gently moving sea. Debussy really is a master of tone painting because every second of the piece conveyed how the sea moves and evolves throughout the day.
Part of the reason why people attribute La Mer’s initial lukewarm reception was because it was not played well. As such, one reason why it was possible to hear all the rippling of the waves is because the New York Philharmonic and Salonen brought out the beauty Debussy dreamed up.
The second movement picked up the pace, not so much in tempo, but in terms of what was happening in the music. There was a lot going on, and Salonen conducted the different complex changes in rhythm with great fervor. I was trying to figure out what the time signature was, but it looked complicated nonetheless.
The last movement of the piece settled down a bit compared to the second movement. The music had a more conversational tone as it slowly built up to the climax. Toward the end of the piece, you could hear the cascading water crashing as the orchestra finished with its final grand eruption.
~ Mark Anthony MartinezII
(Performance photos by Chris Lee, courtesy of the NY Philharmonic)
A renowned interpreter of Mahler, Florence Quivar, sings the composer’s Kindertotenlieder from a 1986 concert by the San Francisco Symphony, conducted by Erich Leinsdorf.
I came upon this song cycle, entitled “Mère” completely by chance. The composer, Lily Bienvenu (photo above), was totally unknown to me, but I soon fell under the spell of the music.
The songs are set to nine poems by the Belgian poet Maurice Carême (1899-1978). The singers are mezzo-soprano Jeaninne Collard and baritone Jacques Herbillon, with the Orchestre de Chambre de l’ORTF under the direction of André Girard.
The songs are:
I. Tu t’es levée de grand matin ;II. Ainsi, j’étais au fond de toi; III. Il ne faut qu’un peu de printemps; IV. Te remercierai je jamais assez; V. L’alouette après l’alouette;VI. Depuis le jour où tu es morte; VII. Je ne suis pas dans cette tombe ;VIII. Je te retrouve encore IX. Plus près de moi
Above: Maestro David Robertson, photo by Chris Lee
Tuesday October 30th, 2025 – For two nights only, the New York Philharmonic offered a program of music by Mason Bates, Karol Szymanowski, and Witold Lutosławski to be led by the young conductor Marta Gardolińska in her Philharmonic debut. It was a program clearly meant to showcase music of Gardolińska’s native Poland. Despite the fact that it was sandwiched between pairs of appearances by Gustavo Dudamel and Esa-Pekka Salonen, Gardolińska’s debut had garnered enough hype to appear in New York magazine’s biweekly Approval Matrix (in the highbrow / brilliant quadrant, of course). So I was naturally disappointed to learn that Gardolińska had withdrawn from these performances due to illness and that David Robertson would take her place.
The program opened with Mason Bates’s 2014 Devil’s Radio, a short piece whose title refers to the moralizing maxim that “gossip is the devil’s radio: don’t be a broadcaster”. As far as I could tell, the nine minutes of music that followed had little to do with any of that. They did, however, offer strong rhythmic drive and a varied palette of tone colors.
The piece, which at times brought to mind John Adams’s 1986 Short Ride in a Fast Machine, had no hint of the sinister or the malevolent. Overall the piece had a wholesome character, thanks to the use of celeste and repetitive fast figures in the strings, and only occasionally slunk into a more sly mood brought on by sounds of the drum kit. In a notable passage near the end of the piece, a series of radiant waves of sound crest in the brass and high woodwinds at the culmination of a long-building arc.
Bates, whose expansive The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is currently onstage next door at the Metropolitan Opera, managed in the much smaller-scale Devil’s Radio to craft a highly detailed musical statement.
The Philharmonic was then joined by Leila Josefowicz (photo above by Chris Lee) for Szymanowski’s second violin concerto, first performed in 1933. The first movement begins not with grand statements from the soloist or the orchestra but with an alluring and almost conversational episode of music that Josefowicz led with smoky (almost crooning), glamorous sound.
The urbanity of the first movement eventually gives way to the demonic fiddling of an extended cadenza at the center of the concerto. Josefowicz was undaunted by the pyrotechnic demands of the cadenza, executing each new fingering or bowing challenge flawlessly and giving herself over to the unhinged character of the piece. When sweet melodies return in the third movement, we sense lunacy lurking beneath them.
Robertson was a humble and sensitive partner, but there were numerous instances of the soloist’s finer passagework being buried by the orchestra. Josefowicz, despite not producing the most powerful sound to cut through this texture, seemed otherwise almost perfectly matched for this concerto. Her assured technique, tautly concentrated tone, and emanating (perverse?) pleasure are all necessary ingredients to pull off this fiery piece of music—a piece that would more aptly bear the title Devil’s Radio.
David Robertson did not bring the same animating spark to the final piece on the program, Witold Lutosławski’s menacing Concerto for Orchestra of 1954. Robertson—former music director of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, former chief conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, and currently the director of conducting studies at the Juilliard School—commendably took on this quite idiosyncratic program at the very last minute. But his rather refined approach (which suited Bates’s piece and allowed Josefowicz to shine through in the concerto) did not serve the rough expressionism of Lutosławski.
The first movement begins with intricate counterpoint between the various sections of the strings, which Robertson admirably shepherded. In full orchestra passages, the strings and brass did not always cohere, with the strings adopting a darker tone and stronger attacks while the brass were brighter and more rounded. Robertson gave ample breathing room to transitions within each movement, which at times let the momentum drift away.
The highlight was the third movement, featuring strong contrast between the repetitive passacaglia in the basses, flitting perpetual-motion figures in the winds and strings, and the uncanny strangeness of harmonic oddities embedded within ravishing string chords.
It’s a shame that we missed our chance to hear Gardolińska’s take. Lutosławski’s piece is nervous—paranoid—maybe even a bit shabby, hanging as it does under the specter of Soviet repression. In Szymanowski, under Robertson’s baton and with Josefowicz’s impetus, we heard music on edge, pushing its own limits. I would happily have traded some of Robertson’s tameness and refinement in Lutosławski for that kind of bold statement.
~ Lane Raffaldini Rubin
Performance photos by Chris Lee, courtesy of the NY Philharmonic.
Saturday September 27th matinee – Kicking off my 2025-2026 season with one of my favorite operas: TURANDOT. The Met’s Franco Zeffirelli production – which premiered in 1987 – has paid for itself many times over, and inevitably plays to large audiences, no matter who is in the cast.
This season, two popular Met personalities – Angela Meade and Michael Fabiano (above) – were singing Turandot and Calaf for the first time in the House. South African soprano Masabane Cecilia Rangwanasha – the 2021 winner of the Song Prize at the Cardiff Singer of the World Competition – had made her Met debut earlier in the week at the season prima as Liu, and Ukraine-born basso de luxe Vitalij Kowaljow, anchored the cast with his superb Timur.
Off-setting this very promising cast was the conductor, Carlo Rizzi, who followed the current Met trend of fast-and -loud playing from the pit. This produced a surface excitement, but caused the singers to resort to forcing at several key moments.
Vocally, the opera got off to a great start with bass-baritone Le Bu giving a grand rendering of the Mandarin’s opening pronouncements. This singer is so impressive, and there are so many roles I’d love to hear him sing at The Met. The Mandarin has more to sing in Act II, but this is a voice ready for bigger things.
(I’ve admired Le Bu every time I have heard him. Today, I got to meet him and get his autograph.)
In quick succession, we hear Ms. Rangwanasha, Mr. Fabiano, and Mr. Kowaljow: all in fine voice. The soprano gets a gift from Puccini very early on: the famed, floated B-flat on “Perché un dì, nella Reggia, mi hai sorriso!” which was magically sustained.
The chorus has much to do in this act, and “O taciturna” was finely sung, with lovely roulades from the clarinet. Mr. Fabiano brought forth tender softness with his “O meraviglia“upon beholding Turandot for the first time. The trio of ministers – baritone Hansung Yoo, and tenors Tony Stevenson, and Rodell Rosel – now set out to deter Calaf from attempting Turandot’s riddle game.
Above: Vitalji Kowaljov and Masabene Cecilia Rangwanasha as Timur and Liu; a Ken Howard/MET Opera photo
Mr. Kowaljov pleaded movingly with his son, and Ms. Rangwanasha sang a gorgeous “Signore, ascolta“, her tone so appealing, her hushed, sustained B-flat at the end delectable. In response, Mr. Fabiano sings marvelously in “Non piangere, Liu“, though the conductor would later press the tenor as the act moves to its finish. There was hearty applause as the curtain came down, but it had stopped before the bow lights came on; nonetheless, the singers came out…and were warmly cheered. I love the old tradition of watching the bows against the great gold curtain…a tradition that has all but died.
The interminable intermission seemed longer than ever today.
Then the scene of the three ministers was especially delightful today: a highlight of the show, really. How wonderful to find another distinguished baritone, Hansung Yoo, today. His “Ho una casa nel Honan” was so beautifully sung, with fine phrasing and dynamic nuance. Rizzi’s orchestra was again encroaching on the voices here and there, but the baritone and his tenor colleagues (Mssrs. Stevenson and Rodell) really made the scene thoroughly enjoyable.
We move to the grand hall of the imperial palace; after Le Bu’s impressive reprise of his announcement, Thomas Capobiano makes a voicey Emperor…his exchange with Mr. Fabiano was handsomely sung by both. And now, Ms. Meade takes center stage for “In questa reggia” where her vibrant tone – mixing in subtleties and dips into chest voice along the way, plus blazing tops – made a vivid impression, though again Rizzi was a detriment at times.
There was not enough tension in the Riddle Scene, but both soprano and tenor sang very well. Clarinet interjections during the second riddle were superbly etched in. Ms. Meade’s third riddle was chesty and word-conscious, lots of satiny tone…though spoilt by a cell-phone going off. The tenor was tested by the high-C at “..ardente d’amore!” but he held on. Moments later, Mr. Fabiano gave some of his most ravishing singing of the evening with “Il mio nome non sai...”
During the interval, two young ladies – one from Spain and one from Munich – stopped by for a chat, their melodious speaking voices were so charming. Then a Japanese gentleman with snow-white hair came to my desk and asked me if I thought the orchestra was too loud. Yes, sir! That problem is my pet Met peeve nowadays.
Puccini, the master-composer who always turns purely orchestral passages into sonic wonders, gives us the atmospheric prelude to the third act. Mr. Fabiano began “Nessun dorma” perfectly, but the conductor then allowed the orchestra to compete with rather than support the singer. Fab made a noble effort, with his lyrical tapering of tone at “…la luce splendira…” truly gorgeous. The aria’s thrilling conclusion won the tenor a big ovation, but it took a lot of will power to achieve.
Hangsun Yoo had more memorable passages as he tries to plead with Calaf to “take the money” and run. The baritone’s “Straniero, tu non sai...” and then his “Principessa divina...” (to mollify Turandot) were outstandingly sung.
In preparing to face torture, Ms. Rangwanasha as Liu displayed a rich lower range at “…ma chiudetemi la bocca...”; moments later, she was spinning some heavenly high phrases as she addressed Turandot directly. In Liu’s final sacrifice – with her strikingly sung “Tu che di gel sei cinta...” – the soprano sealed her triumph.
Cruelly told by Ping that Liu has died, Vitalij Kowaljow’s initial powerful outburst turns to a poignant lament, so tenderly sung. Bravo, Vitalij!
The brass are already going at it as Mr. Fabiano blasts Ms. Meade’s Turandot for her heartlessness. They exchange powerful phrases and then, with great crushing chords, Calaf kisses the princess. The music calms, Ms. Meade singing so beautifully in “Del primo piano” (with lovely support from the orchestra) before blazing away for a bit before telling Calaf to leave with the mystery of his name intact. The tenor’s cry of “Io son Calaf!” was nearly covered by the trumpets. For a moment, the singers compete with high, urgent phrases, and then depart for the throne room.
There, standing before her father, Turandot says she has learned the stranger’s name: “It is love!“.
One of the great delights of opera-going is discovering a “new” voice. Today I was hearing the Korean baritone Hansung Yoo for the first time. This is a singer whose vocal gifts immediately made a deep impression on me. On returning home, I went in search of him on YouTube and found this beautiful rendering of Strauss’s “Allerseelen“. For me, this is a voice that comes from the heart.
Tuesday September 30th, 2025 – As of today, Oberon’s Grove – my on-line “open diary” for 19 years – is no longer viewable. For the past few weeks, with the help of my co-writer Mark Martinez, I’ve been working to bring more that 2,000 articles from the Grove to this different part of the forest: Oberon’s Glade.
The transfer did not go as smoothly as I had hoped; for technical reasons, certain articles could not be pried from their longtime home in the Grove. I ended doing a copy-and-paste job on several entries that I especially wanted to keep.
So, as you scroll down, you’ll come upon a number of stories that are not in chronological order; some date back several years, and the subject matter is rather random. After those, you’ll come upon articles from the first half of 2025, running back as far as 2009.
Along the way, you will find links that don’t work and other annoying little errors. In the weeks ahead I will do what I can to find and fix these.
Starting tomorrow – October 1st – chronological order will be restored, and reviews/articles by me and my music-loving friends – Shoshana Klein, Lili Tobias, Ben Weaver, Mark Anthony Martinez II, and Lane Raffaldini Rubin – will appear as the NYC opera/dance/classical music season unfolds.
(Another article about this evocative opera that I have brought over from Oberon’s Grove to the Glade.)
Click on each image to enlarge.
Monday December 20, 2010 – Photo: Mary Garden as Melisande, the role she created in 1902. Claude Debussy’s remarkable opera PELLEAS & MELISANDE is a long evening in the theatre. It can be an immersive experience when staged as hauntingly as the Met’s current production – originally mounted in 1995 as a 25th anniversary gift for the great Frederica von Stade, a performance I attended. Typically of the Peter Gelb era, the Met manages to dilute the atmosphere of this unique masterpiece with over-extended intermissions where we are called back from the mysterious realm of Allemonde to the dulled conversations of opera-goers waiting patiently for another fix of Debussy. Thus the evening stretched from 8:00 PM til midnight.
Sir Simon Rattle is making his belated Met debut with these performances. He and the Met’s excellent musicians painted the music as if on a vast Impressionist canvas. Right from the first chords the sense of being drawn into another world is palpable. Sir Simon took a stately pace all evening, drawing out darkly-luminous orchestral sounds in a performance where the textures of the instrumentation and the expressiveness of individual players cast their spell unforgettably.
Magdalena Kozena and Stephane Degout as the title characters in a Ken Howard photograph. Although my preference in these roles is soprano/tenor (my first Melisande was the utterly unique Patrcia Brooks), the ravishing quality of Ms. Kozena’s mezzo and the clear, expressive vocalism of M. Degout left nothing to be desired. A fine vocal colorist, Ms. Kozena brought an interesting feeling of world-weariness to her instrument as she greeted Pelleas at their final tryst by the fountain.
Gerald Finley as Golaud finds Melisande (Ms. Kozena) lost in the woods. Their opening scene together set the story relentlessly in motion, and their singing was marvelous. Gerald Finley’s voice is darkly lyrical and vividly expressive of both his brooding jealousy and of his uncomfortable attempts at tenderness. Finley’s interpretation of the role and his burnished vocalism set him comfortably in the echelon with my previous great Golauds: Louis Quilico and Jose van Dam.
Willard White as Arkel and Felicity Palmer as Genevieve. These two artists brought their distinctive interpretive experience to bear on their music, their singing powerful but nuanced. They have lived in the mysterious castle in the darkened forests of Allemonde for decades and they now have almost ghostly characteristics, observing the lives of the younger generation seemingly at a remove. Superb vocalism from both these operatic titans.
Paul Corona made a fine vocal impression as the Physician and Neel Ram Nagarajan was excellent as Golaud’s young son Yniold. Neel was stuck with one of the most annoying scenes in all opera where he endlessly refers to Golaud as “Petit Pere“; he worked hard to make it palatable.
The final scene of the opera is the only place where it starts to feel a bit over-long, not so much musically as dramatically. After the deaths of Pelleas and Melisande and Golaud’s heart-rending remorse, the scene extends with Arkel philosophising about life and death as he beholds Melisande’s tiny newborn daughter. His observations are well-meant but irrelevant to the drama, despite the beauty of the music.
As with so many Met productions, the lighting has gone off since the premiere performances and the sets now look flat and lacking in mystery. The production which used to be so evocative has become rather ordinary visually.
It was unpleasant to hear a round of laughter when Melisande dropped the ring into the well; the mood of the scene was marred. The incident shows how uninformed the Met’s ‘new’ audience are, how insensitive and lacking in poetic understanding people have become. There were many empty seats in the house at the start and with each intermission the audience dwindled further: PELLEAS is not an ‘easy’ opera.
As the music faded at the end, I had the unmistakable feeling that I might never witness PELLEAS in the theatre again. (luckily, this was not true.)
Production photos by Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera.
Oberon's Glade 