Author: Philip Gardner

Lisette Oropesa sings ‘Sempre libera‘ from Verdi’s LA TRAVIATA at the annual Deutsche Oper AIDS Gala in Berlin in 2017.

Peruvian tenor Iván Ayón-Rivas sings Alfredo’s lines.

The ‘wink’ at the start is pure Lisette.

Christa Ludwig and Walter Berry in the Recognition Scene from Richard Strauss’ ELEKTRA. Heinrich Hollreiser conducts.

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

~ Author: Lane Raffaldini Rubin

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 So I was naturally disappointed to learn that Gardolińska had withdrawn from these performances due to illness and that David Robertson would take her place.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.

~ Oberon

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.

Philip aka Oberon

(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.

Above: Mélisande and Pelléas at the fountain; by Edmund Blair Leighton (1852-1922). Click image to enlarge.

(An article that originated on Oberon’s Grove in 2019.)

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday January 19th, 2019 matinee – Despite serious reservations about one member of the cast, I went to this afternoon’s performance of Claude Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande at The Met, determined to stay to the end. I have always loved the Met’s gently updated and incredibly atmospheric production (even though the lighting has gone awry over the years), so I decided on a seat with a view rather than a score desk today. My sister-in-law loaned me a pair of high-power binoculars, and I brought a book with me as a defense against the Met’s interminable intermissions.

Pelléas et Mélisande is a unique opera, and it needs poetic singers and a truly sensitive conductor if it is to properly cast its spell. My first live encounter with the opera came in 1970 at New York City Opera when Patricia Brooks was an unforgettable Mélisande. The performance had a light baritone (who soon became a tenor) as Pelléas – André Jobin – and one of the greatest Golauds ever: Louis Quilico. In 1983, at the Met, Jeannette Pilou was an exquisite Mélisande, opposite baritone Dale Duesing; here the Golaud was the magnificent Jose van Dam.

The Met’s current production opened in 1995, with performances that celebrated Frederica von Stade’s 25th anniversary at the Met; my first mezzo-soprano Mélisande, von Stade gave a sublimely nuanced portrayal. I last saw the opera in 2010, a beautifully-cast revival conducted by Sir Simon Rattle. I very much regret having missed the 1978 Met performances with Teresa Stratas as Mélisande and Gabriel Bacquier as Golaud; and I really should have gone to see Susanne Mentzer’s Mélisande. 

I often use score desks at the Met, and when doing so, am very careful about turning the pages of my score silently so as not to disturb the people next to me. Today, I was one of the people with a view, and the women next to me using score desks were less considerate; it was very distracting, and when opportunity came, I changed seats. They also brought cookies, and chatted loudly during the intermission. No reverie for Debussy.

Overall, it was an engrossing performance. Since I have been going to more symphonic and chamber music concerts in recent years, Debussy’s orchestration – which I have always admired – fascinated me today as I am now far more attuned to what the orchestra is doing; the music takes on a deeper meaning, bringing immersive pleasure.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin was on the podium and, as the musicians played magnificently, all was well. But the mystery and the shadowy softness of the score did not always come thru, and at times the conductor allowed the voices to be covered. To date, Maestro Nézet-Séguin’s most memorable conducting at the Met has been his Parsifal; Pelléas this afternoon came close, without quite reaching an exalted level. (There was a sound of one person booing as the conductor returned to the pit after each intermission: a minority reaction, to be sure. I wonder what the complaint was, whether it had anything to do with the Maestro’s interpretation or was simply an expression of anger that the intermission had been so long.) 

A weak Yniold made the character’s two scenes seem really long today; the ‘dream’ scene, at any rate, seems expendable dramatically, despite the music. In the small roles of the Shepherd and the Physician, Jeremy Galyon and Paul Corona were fine.

Marie-Nicole Lemieux gave a perfect portrayal of Geneviève, her singing clear and warm with a nice glow to the timbre. She looked lovely and was dignified without being overly prim and proper; she also played the character as somewhat younger than we often see or hear. All to the good. Brava!

An announcement was made pre-curtain that both Paul Appleby (Pelléas) and Kyle Ketelsen (Golaud) were suffering from colds but would sing anyway. With ticket prices hovering near a $500 top this afternoon, it seems to me that the audience deserved to hear singers who are in good health. 

In the case of Mr. Ketelsen, he hardly needed an announcement: he sounded glorious, with only a trace of tiring as the long opera neared its end. Mr. Ketelsen’s sound is commanding, house-filling, and vivid in expression. Tall and slender, he looks dapper (and slightly menacing) in his costumes and moves with authority. Regret, that most poignant of emotions, comes too late (doesn’t it always?), and Mr. Keletsen’s singing in the final scene had a heart-rending quality. Golaud is a bit of a thug, and this element too sometimes surfaced in the Ketelsen portrayal; his murder of Pelléas was vicious indeed. 

Mr. Appleby, who reportedly had vocal problems at the prima, sang well all afternoon with only the slightest hints that he was unwell. The voice is handsome, lyrical but masculine of timbre, and expressive of the poetry that fills the libretto. The conductor occasionally allowed the tenor’s voice to be covered. In the scene between the lovers leading up to the murder, Mr. Appleby’s high notes suddenly took on such epic ring that I wondered if amplification was in play. More likely the tenor, nearing the end of his role and having made it successfully thru thus far, simply decided to let loose; the dramatic situation certainly called for it.

Looking through some of my diaries from my first years of living in New York City, I find that I heard Isabel Leonard on at least three occasions while she was at Juilliard; she seems not to have captured my imagination then (I left halfway thru her solo recital) and to this day I do not understand why she has such a huge career. Her tone is surely attractive, despite a tendency to thin out and spread a bit higher up. She sang all of the music of Mélisande perfectly well, and evocatively at that, but the sound of her voice does not leave a distinctive imprint. Ms. Leonard’s Mélisande is impeccably gowned and coiffed, and her make-up is Vogue-ready; she even looks gorgeous on her deathbed.

Above: Isabel Leonard as Mélisande and Ferruccio Furlanetto as Arkel, a Karen Almond/MET Opera photo. Click on the image to enlarge.

Along with the excellence of Mlle. Lemieux’s Geneviève and Mr. Ketelsen’s Golaud, it was the great basso Ferruccio Furlanetto’s performance as the old King Arkel that made this afternoon so engrossing. Every word, note, and gesture in Mr. Furlanetto’s portrayal had the marvelous resonance that a great and dedicated singing-actor can bring to a role. Some people found the basso’s singing too “tearful”, but Arkel has every reason to weep as he watches the fabric of his family rent by jealous passions. How moving was Mr. Furlanetto as he sang of the destiny of Mélisande’s daughter; it is moments like these that will endure in my operatic memory until the end.

As this afternoon’s performance unfolded, I decided that I would try to meet Ferruccio Furlanetto after the opera ended. He has, over the years, given me so many wonderful performances to remember, starting with his Zaccaria in Nabucco at Hartford in 1982.

After a short wait, Mr. Furlanetto emerged from the stage door; we shook hands, and he signed my program. He’s had such a great career, and his calendar for 2019 appears to be full. I hope he’ll be back at the Met soon. (Click on the cast page below to enlarge.)

(Still bringing articles forward from Oberon’s Grove to The Glade. I wanted to hold onto the memory of this night full of Rossini treats.)

Wednesday November 30, 2011 – The Collegiate Chorale presented a concert performance of Rossini’s rarely heard MOISE ET PHARAON at Carnegie Hall this evening. A fine and distinctive collection of solo voices – notably tenor Eric Cutler’s (above, in a Werner Kmetitsch photo) – prevented any threat of ennui creeping in. The Collegiate Chorale and the American Symphony Orchestra provided a well-woven tapestry of sound to back Rossini’s flights of bel canto fancy, and conductor James Bagwell had his forces well-in-hand. The composer’s self-borrowings were sometimes evident, and the work ends with an over-extended orchestral postlude which is both melodically and harmonically predictable. But there’s also a lot of really demanding music for the soloists to cope with, which they did – admirably for the most part.

The opera is a classic tale of “my-god’s-bigger-than-your-god” with two cantankerous heterosexual (basso) males – Moses and Pharoah – each trying to keep his cult under firm control by bellowing commands he’s purportedly received directly from his respective deity. To keep things on an operatic keel, a love interest is developed: Egyptian prince meets nice Jewish girl. But heaven forbid (literally) that they should be happy for even a moment as their elders lay one guilt trip after another on their pretty heads. (These mind control games have endured for centuries; my Methodist parents would quietly whine because both the girls I dated in high school were Catholic; I sometimes think being gay was my revenge.) So instead of viewing the young lovers as a bridge between two cultures and belief systems, they are torn apart. The girl reaches the Promised Land; the prince drowns in the Red Sea. The gods have spoken. Yet again.

Anyway, to the singing (which is what Rossini is all about anyway): I really enjoyed hearing Eric Cutler again. He has the clarity and warmth of tone as well as the stylistic nuances of dynamic and colour to make this florid music come alive. Whether in finely tapered long lines or in bursts of fiorature and forays to the top, Eric’s heady voice seemed just right for this music. And his harmonic blends with the other singers were beautiful.

Another major source of aural joy came from basso Kyle Ketelsen as Pharoah. His voluminous and dramatically-edged vocalism and his slender, vivid presence onstage kept us keenly focused on him whenever he stood up to sing.

James Morris, the great Wotan of our age, was in top current vocal form tonight as Moses. His solemn pronunciations were delivered with innate grandeur and he looked like a benevolent prophet, even in his tux. A bit of flatting on higher notes was the only slight detriment to Morris’s vocalism; overall it was a very impressive undertaking.

Soprano Marina Rebeka recently made her Met debut as Donna Anna. Tonight as Anais she revealed a sizeable lyric-to-spinto sound with a lovely sheen on it. A striking beauty, Ms. Rebeka received the evening’s longest applause after her big scena. When she harmonized (superbly) with Eric Cutler, I immediately had thoughts of hearing them together in TRAVIATA or MANON. I’ll keep my eye out for Ms. Rebeka in the future.

On the Egyptian side, soprano Angela Meade as Sinaide made much out of a somewhat limited role. At full sail, her voice could be a bit over-vibrant but she controlled this tendency for the most part and gave us some really lovely piani and phrasing along the way. Ms. Meade already has a following and they were out last night to cheer her on.

Ginger Costa-Jackson (as Miriam, wife of Moses) managed to make a vocal mark despite the brevity of her role, and tenor Michele Angelini lent his clear, Italianate sound to the role of Eliezer. 

I feel certain I’ll never experience this opera in a live setting again; that’s the big plus about concert opera: a chance to hear real rarities without the expensive trappings of a staged production. Of course the endless raising and lowerings of the soloists’ music stands was a distraction. And what would Maria Callas say about all the indiscreet swigging from bottles of Poland Spring?

UPDATE: I have just received some photos from the evening’s performance; these images are by Erin Baiano. Click on each photo to enlarge.

Marina Rebeka & Eric Cutler

Angela Meade & Kyle Ketelsen

Ginger Costa-Jackson & James Morris

December 01, 2011