Category: Music

Brahms & Fauré @ Chamber Music Society
Above: cellist Paul Watkins

Sunday January 29th, 2017 – Following an unsettling week, it was particularly reassuring to settle into the embracing space of Alice Tully Hall this evening and be serenaded by four estimable musicians in Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center‘s program of works by Johannes Brahms and Gabriel Fauré.

In 1853, Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms teamed up with Schumann’s student, Albert Dietrich, to write a “welcome home” sonata for violinist/composer Joseph Joachim, whose travels had kept him away from Düsseldorf for several weeks. The music was set around the notes F-A-E, which stood for Joachim’s personal motto, “Frei, aber einsam” (‘Free, but lonely’). Dietrich wrote the first movement, with Schumann taking on the second and fourth, leaving Brahms with the third.

Joachim retained the sole copy of the score after performing it; he had the Brahms Scherzo published in 1906, after the composer’s death; the full sonata was not published until much later.

The complete ‘FAE Sonata‘ is rarely heard these days, but the Brahms Scherzo has become a popular stand-alone work in the chamber music repertoire. It commences in a brisk, passionate mode which returns following an affettuoso interlude. Tonight, violinist Ani Kavafian and pianist Alessio Bax brought great energy to the opening paragraph, subsiding to a gently rhapsodic state in the calm of the central section before setting up a spirited drive to the finish.

Violist Yura Lee and cellist Paul Watkins then joined Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Bax for the Fauré. A unison string theme opens the quartet, with the entrance of the piano filling out the sonic texture that will keep us enchanted for the next half-hour. Ms. Lee’s wonderfully sensitive playing – a hallmark of the evening – meshed lyrically with the sweetness of Ms. Kavafian’s violin, the quiet rapture of Mr. Watkins’ cello, and the elegant romance of Mr. Bax’s phrasing from the Steinway. The music veers briefly to the dramatic before subsiding into a cushioning warmth from viola and cello whilst the violin wafts on high.

Plucking strings and a rolling theme from Mr. Bax open the second movement. Later, the piano comments ironically as the strings try to revive the first movement’s main theme in a rather off-kilter manner; the music slows, and then steals away.

In the Adagio third movement, Yura Lee’s dreamy playing had a transportive quality; Fauré’s student Charles Koechlin has written that “…the viola would have to be invented for this Adagio if it did not already exist…”, and Ms. Lee’s playing underlined the truth of that notion. Moving forward, violin and piano achieve a lovely blend and the music begins to turn passionate; Fauré manages a balance of intensity and calm in this movement that is quite unique.

A darker and somewhat turbulent mood is created at the start of the quartet’s concluding Allegro molto: Ms. Lee and Mr. Watkins sing a deep theme together before a more lilting quality begins to rise. Mr. Bax commences a dance, drawing the string players in with his rhythmic emphasis as the music builds and dances on to an exuberant end.

Following the interval, the performance of the Brahms second quartet was somewhat compromised by the high-pitched sound of a faltering hearing-aid battery. After the quartet’s first movement, Ms. Kavafian asked the audience if they were hearing it too, and several people replied in the affirmative. The players took a moment to gather their concentration before proceeding. Annoying as such disruptive sounds are to the audience, it must be doubly difficult to play in such circumstances as the musicians are always listening for one another and the extraneous sound must be particularly jarring. They played on, admirably, and the noise seemed to subside as the performance evolved.

It was in the Brahms quartet that Mr. Bax seized upon the prominence the composer assigned to the piano’s role and delighted us with truly gorgeous playing; my notes are full of little stars and exclamation marks, and scrawls of “Bax…Bax…Bax!”

Rhythmic distinctiveness marks the first movement, the four players ever-alert to nuance as cello and violin each have a passage of stepping forward. And then, it’s in the Adagio that we get to the heart of the matter: commencing as a lullaby, the piano’s tranquil, song-like theme was an outstanding Bax passage. The string voices murmur deeply and the piano replies; passions ebb and flow, and the strings unite in a brief trio. Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Watkins play in unison, leading to the development of a big song from which the violinist eventually shimmers upward; a hushed coda aptly rounds out this Adagio dream.

A simple song opens the Scherzo, which moves on thru various permutations. A transition to a more energetic passage leads to more animated playing, with a Hungarian lilt. This gypsy colouring extends into the quartet’s concluding Allegro, with Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Bax leading the way. The folksy dance motifs, however, are tempered by an unhurried feeling. The music becomes almost gentle at times, before a final build-up.

We emerged into the cold chill of impending February, jolted back to the realities of life. Now – more than ever – we will seek solace in great music, art, poetry, and dance, looking to concert halls and museums as sanctuaries of reason and compassion.
- Brahms Scherzo, WoO 2, from “F-A-E” Sonata for Violin and Piano (1853)
- Fauré Quartet No. 2 in G minor for Piano, Violin, Viola, and Cello, Op. 45 (1885-86)
- Brahms Quartet No. 2 in A major for Piano, Violin, Viola, and Cello, Op. 26 (1861)
January 30, 2017
Brahms & Fauré @ Chamber Music Society
Above: cellist Paul Watkins

Sunday January 29th, 2017 – Following an unsettling week, it was particularly reassuring to settle into the embracing space of Alice Tully Hall this evening and be serenaded by four estimable musicians in Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center‘s program of works by Johannes Brahms and Gabriel Fauré.

In 1853, Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms teamed up with Schumann’s student, Albert Dietrich, to write a “welcome home” sonata for violinist/composer Joseph Joachim, whose travels had kept him away from Düsseldorf for several weeks. The music was set around the notes F-A-E, which stood for Joachim’s personal motto, “Frei, aber einsam” (‘Free, but lonely’). Dietrich wrote the first movement, with Schumann taking on the second and fourth, leaving Brahms with the third.

Joachim retained the sole copy of the score after performing it; he had the Brahms Scherzo published in 1906, after the composer’s death; the full sonata was not published until much later.

The complete ‘FAE Sonata‘ is rarely heard these days, but the Brahms Scherzo has become a popular stand-alone work in the chamber music repertoire. It commences in a brisk, passionate mode which returns following an affettuoso interlude. Tonight, violinist Ani Kavafian and pianist Alessio Bax brought great energy to the opening paragraph, subsiding to a gently rhapsodic state in the calm of the central section before setting up a spirited drive to the finish.

Violist Yura Lee and cellist Paul Watkins then joined Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Bax for the Fauré. A unison string theme opens the quartet, with the entrance of the piano filling out the sonic texture that will keep us enchanted for the next half-hour. Ms. Lee’s wonderfully sensitive playing – a hallmark of the evening – meshed lyrically with the sweetness of Ms. Kavafian’s violin, the quiet rapture of Mr. Watkins’ cello, and the elegant romance of Mr. Bax’s phrasing from the Steinway. The music veers briefly to the dramatic before subsiding into a cushioning warmth from viola and cello whilst the violin wafts on high.

Plucking strings and a rolling theme from Mr. Bax open the second movement. Later, the piano comments ironically as the strings try to revive the first movement’s main theme in a rather off-kilter manner; the music slows, and then steals away.

In the Adagio third movement, Yura Lee’s dreamy playing had a transportive quality; Fauré’s student Charles Koechlin has written that “…the viola would have to be invented for this Adagio if it did not already exist…”, and Ms. Lee’s playing underlined the truth of that notion. Moving forward, violin and piano achieve a lovely blend and the music begins to turn passionate; Fauré manages a balance of intensity and calm in this movement that is quite unique.

A darker and somewhat turbulent mood is created at the start of the quartet’s concluding Allegro molto: Ms. Lee and Mr. Watkins sing a deep theme together before a more lilting quality begins to rise. Mr. Bax commences a dance, drawing the string players in with his rhythmic emphasis as the music builds and dances on to an exuberant end.

Following the interval, the performance of the Brahms second quartet was somewhat compromised by the high-pitched sound of a faltering hearing-aid battery. After the quartet’s first movement, Ms. Kavafian asked the audience if they were hearing it too, and several people replied in the affirmative. The players took a moment to gather their concentration before proceeding. Annoying as such disruptive sounds are to the audience, it must be doubly difficult to play in such circumstances as the musicians are always listening for one another and the extraneous sound must be particularly jarring. They played on, admirably, and the noise seemed to subside as the performance evolved.

It was in the Brahms quartet that Mr. Bax seized upon the prominence the composer assigned to the piano’s role and delighted us with truly gorgeous playing; my notes are full of little stars and exclamation marks, and scrawls of “Bax…Bax…Bax!”

Rhythmic distinctiveness marks the first movement, the four players ever-alert to nuance as cello and violin each have a passage of stepping forward. And then, it’s in the Adagio that we get to the heart of the matter: commencing as a lullaby, the piano’s tranquil, song-like theme was an outstanding Bax passage. The string voices murmur deeply and the piano replies; passions ebb and flow, and the strings unite in a brief trio. Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Watkins play in unison, leading to the development of a big song from which the violinist eventually shimmers upward; a hushed coda aptly rounds out this Adagio dream.

A simple song opens the Scherzo, which moves on thru various permutations. A transition to a more energetic passage leads to more animated playing, with a Hungarian lilt. This gypsy colouring extends into the quartet’s concluding Allegro, with Ms. Kavafian and Mr. Bax leading the way. The folksy dance motifs, however, are tempered by an unhurried feeling. The music becomes almost gentle at times, before a final build-up.

We emerged into the cold chill of impending February, jolted back to the realities of life. Now – more than ever – we will seek solace in great music, art, poetry, and dance, looking to concert halls and museums as sanctuaries of reason and compassion.
- Brahms Scherzo, WoO 2, from “F-A-E” Sonata for Violin and Piano (1853)
- Fauré Quartet No. 2 in G minor for Piano, Violin, Viola, and Cello, Op. 45 (1885-86)
- Brahms Quartet No. 2 in A major for Piano, Violin, Viola, and Cello, Op. 26 (1861)
January 29, 2017
Barenboim @ Carnegie: Mozart & Bruckner

Above: Daniel Barenboim and the Staatskapelle Berlin at Carnegie Hall; performance photo by Steve J Sherman

Thursday January 19th, 2017 – The Staatskapalle Berlin in the first of a series of concerts at Carnegie Hall in which Daniel Barenboim appears both as piano soloist and conductor. Each program in the series pairs a Mozart concerto with a Bruckner symphony. Tonight’s was the only performance in the series that I was able to attend, and it proved most valuable as an opportunity to hear not only a great conductor/pianist and orchestra, but also a rare chance to experience Bruckner’s first symphony live.

The evening marked, almost to the day, the 60th anniversary of Daniel Barenboim’s Carnegie Hall debut; on January 20, 1957, he was the piano soloist on a program conducted by Leopold Stokowski. Over the six decades since that momentous night, Maestro Barenboim has maintained his status as a premiere pianist, and has become one of the great conductors of our time.

My personal memories of Barenboim as pianist and as conductor are especially meaningful to me: in November 2008, he and James Levine were the de luxe pianists for a performance of Brahms’ Liebeslieder Waltzes at Weill Hall; the singers were members of the Met Young Artists Program. It was a superbly intimate performance. Shortly after this Liebeslieder evening, Barenboim made his long-awaited debut on the podium at The Met in a splendid series of performances of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE: we went twice, returning for a repeat when Waltraud Meier flew in to rescue one performance and made a striking impression as Isolde.

Above: performance photo by Steve J Sherman

This evening, Maestro Barenboim appeared first as piano soloist for the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat Major. From the opening bars, my friend Dmitry and I were struck by how absolutely lovely the orchestra sounded in the Carnegie setting. After the interval, when the much larger contingent of players required by the Bruckner took the stage, the sonic effect remained particularly cordial. It’s a stellar orchestra, and within moments I was regretting that I hadn’t made arrangements to hear them in more concerts from this impressive series.

In 1791, the final year of Mozart’s life, the composer was at a low point. Poor health (his own, and his wife’s) and financial worries bore down on him, and he felt the Viennese musical public had somewhat lost interest in him. At the time he was composing his last piano concerto, #27, he wrote to his wife: “I can’t explain to you how I feel…there’s a kind of emptiness which just hurts me: a kind of longing that is never stilled…” His despair shows thru in the 27th concerto, although light still manages to pierce the clouds often enough. First performed on March 4, 1791, it marked Mozart’s last public appearance as a piano soloist.

With a smallish ensemble – no trumpets, drums, or clarinets – this concerto feels intimate, even in the spaciousness of Carnegie Hall. This impression was sustained by the marvelous subtlety of Maestro Barenboim’s playing, particularly in the cadenzas, where he could fine the tone down to a silken whisper.

In the melody-rich first movement, the orchestra cushioned the piano line to gorgeous effect, with the solo flute and bassoon displaying great finesse. The flautist continued to impress in the Larghetto which follows. Maestro Barenboim’s playing here was beautifully sustained and thoughtful, and an atmosphere of tranquility laced with gentle melancholy settled over the Hall. Barenboim’s exquisite tapering of the final phrase hung on the air, but an enormous, ill-timed sneeze from an audience member destroyed this magical moment.

Pianist and orchestra bounced back from this unfortunate intrusion for a perfect rendering of the concerto’s concluding Allegro; Barenboim’s playing here had ample spirit and polish, and the musicians did him proud. This is a somewhat darker finale than Mozart’s usually wrote for his concerti, but it does feature the melody of a little song Mozart was working on: “Sehnsucht nach dem Frühling” (“Longing for Spring“). By late 1791, the composer was fighting for his life; he never saw another Spring, dying on December 5th and thus sadly depriving the world of three or four more decades-worth of magnificent music.

Above: performance photo by Steve J Sherman

Anton Bruckner’s 1st symphony languished in obscurity for over twenty years. Following a single performance in Linz, Austria, in 1868, it was not heard again until 1891 when it was given in a heavily revised version. Its Carnegie Hall premiere didn’t take place – incredibly enough – until 1985, and performances of it remain comparatively rare. After hearing tonight’s excellent performance, I feel its neglect is unjustified; in fact, I look forward to hearing it again…the sooner, the better.

Maestro Barenboim’s fondness for this music was evident from start to finish, and the Staatskapelle Berlin gave it a performance by turns lush, subtle, and vigorous. How thrilling to hear (and watch) the orchestra’s eight double-basses playing in unison; and the timpanist was having a field day – I was mesmerized by him throughout the third and fourth movements.

A march-like cadence sets the opening Allegro on its way; starting almost whimsically, this soon becomes more emphatic. A lull comes as the woodwinds gently introduce a free-flowing violin melody. Suddenly the trombones take control with a mighty fanfare. Distant thunder from the timpani, and the march motif resumes; the movement carries on with an ebb and flow of what feel like climaxes but which subside just short of peaking. Then, after a final rush, we come to an abrupt end. The players’ keen response to Barenboim’s often understated gestures spoke of the natural affinity the maestro and the musicians have established over the years.

The orchestra’s playing of the Adagio was especially moving. This music builds cinematically to a glorious climax, then evaporates into the heavens in an inspired and inspiring coda. Maintaining a perfect balance between the layered voices, Barenboim again showed that this music is in his very blood.

The lively Scherzo is particularly engaging: it has the feel of a tribal dance – by turns throbbing and evocative – reminding me a bit of the well-known Scherzo from the Dvořák 6th. The whirlwind subsides for a gentle interlude before the dance springs up again, stomping on to a quick stop.

Only in the final movement did I feel Bruckner might have been losing his grip somewhat. The music here did not have a cohesive feeling; the structure felt somewhat lacking in tautness, with a couple of walkabouts stemming the flow of the piece. Nevertheless, it was played with utter commitment and a sense of triumph at the close.

Aside from the sneeze, a late seating after the piano concerto’s first movement caused an unfortunate break in my concentration. The spectacular performance of the Bruckner helped to set these distractions aside, with Maestro Barenboim and his orchestra basking in a grand ovation at the end of a wonderful evening of music-making.

January 21, 2017
Roberta Peters Has Passed Away

Roberta Peters has passed away at the age of 86. I first heard her voice on the Texaco broadcasts in the early 1960s, when I was in the earliest stages of my lifelong obsession with opera. She was also on the very first opera LP set I ever owned: an RCA aria collection which my parents had given me. Roberta appeared frequently on the Ed Sullivan Show during those years.

I first saw Roberta live at the Old Met; she sang Despina in an English-language production of COSI FAN TUTTE, and her co-stars included Leontyne Price, Rosalind Elias, and Richard Tucker. After the New Met opened at Lincoln Center in 1966, I saw her as Gilda, the Queen of the Night, Oscar in BALLO IN MASCHERA, Adina (with Pavarotti), and Norina.

My parents took me to Saratoga, where Eugene Ormandy conducted a concert FLEDERMAUS in which Roberta sang Adele opposite Hilde Gueden (Rosalinda) and Kitty Carlisle (Prince Orlofsky). While I was living in Houston briefly in 1973, Roberta gave a delightful recital there, singing everything from Donizetti to Debussy. I saw her onstage for the last time at the Met’s 100th Anniversary Gala in 1983; she sang in the sextet from LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR.

Her recordings of Gilda, the Queen of the Night, and Rosina remain favorites of mine, and – even with Sutherland, Scotto, and Sills being among my most memorable Lucias – I still really enjoy Roberta’s recording of the role, opposite Jan Peerce.

Roberta Peters – Spargi d’amaro pianto – LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR

January 18, 2017
Good Knights

Above: Sir Bryn Terfel

Welsh bass-baritone Bryn Terfel’s knighthood was announced in the Queen’s New Year’s Honours List. Bryn had this to say about it: “A month ago, a letter was sent to my agent in Cardiff and I thought it was tickets to the rugby. I was absolutely speechless when I opened it – ashen-white, my heart-rate had tripled, my mouth was completely dry. What an accolade! I was given the CBE in 2003, The Queen’s Medal for Music in 2006 and now this is, without doubt, the icing on the cake. You have to step back and think how things have worked out for this farmer’s son from North Wales.”

Above: Bryn’s leap to fame came at the 1989 Cardiff Singer of the Year competition; it’s remembered as the “Battle of the Baritones” and ended with Dmitri Hvorostovsky being awarded the title Singer of the Year and Bryn taking the Lieder Prize. Within a week after the competition, my English friend Mollie sent me cassettes of the various competition rounds and the finals. In those days before the Internet became an instant way of sharing news and music from throughout the world, I liked to think of myself as the first person in the West to hear these two great voices. Since then, I have enjoyed both of them tremendously – both live and on disc – and am now hoping that Bryn will be asked to bring his newest role, Boris Godunov, to New York City.

Also knighted this New Year is the eminent conductor Jeffrey Tate (above).

Tate is currently chief conductor of the Hamburg Symphony Orchestra. He has endured a lifetime of dealing with spina bifida, and recently said: “The gay world is immensely hung up with physical perfection for some curious reason …therefore, being disabled in that world is harder”.

One sweet memory I have of Maestro Tate’s conducting is this rendering of the Presentation of the Silver Rose from DER ROSENKAVALIER, sung at the Met’s 100th Anniversary Gala by Judith Blegen and Frederica von Stade. The video quality is murky, but the music glows: I know, because I was there.

Everyone who knows me or reads my blog knows I am an avid tennis fan. It therefore pleases me immensely that we can now refer to the World #1 male tennis player as Sir Andy Murray (above). Murray has made great strides in raising the level of his game in recent seasons, and the honor caps off a year in which the Scotsman assumed the #1 ranking.

December 30, 2016
Teresa Stich-Randall

Teresa Stich-Randall (above) sang Donna Anna in DON GIOVANNI in the first performance I ever attended at the Old Met, in 1963. It took place only a few days after the assassination of John F Kennedy, but the plans had been made, the hotel booked, and opera tickets paid for, so my parents decided we should go ahead and make the trip to New York City. On the evening following the DON GIOVANNI, we saw FAUST.

Teresa Stich-Randall was a native of New Hartford, Connecticut. She studied at Columbia University where, in 1947, she created the role of Gertrude Stein in THE MOTHER OF US ALL by Virgil Thomson.

Arturo Toscanini ‘discovered’ Stich-Randall, calling her “the find of the century”. He engaged her for a series of performances with his NBC Symphony Orchestra, including the High Priestess in AIDA and Nannetta in FALSTAFF (1950), both of which remain available commercially. She also sang regularly for him in his last years, as a soprano soloist in many choral works.

She went on to become a beloved star of the Vienna State Opera, where she performed regularly for two decades. In 1963 the Austrian government conferred on Stich-Randall the honorary title of Kammersängerin; she was the first American to be so honored. She was renowned for her Mozart interpretations.

Today, Stich-Randall is perhaps best-known for her participation as Sophie in the classic 1959 recording of DER ROSENKAVALIER conducted by Herbert von Karajan and featuring Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Christa Ludwig.

It was from Stich-Randall’s LP on the Westminster label that I became familiar with the great Mozart soprano arias.

Teresa Stich-Randall – Non mi dir ~ DON GIOVANNI

There is a brief post-script to my Stich-Randall story. In 1980, she returned to Connecticut to care for her aging mother. One Sunday morning, I read in the Hartford Courant a small notice that Stich-Randall was giving a recital that afternoon at a church in New Hartford. It was impossible for me to get there, but I sent her a letter and was surprised to receive a charming reply from the soprano. After her mother passed away, Stich-Randall returned to Vienna where she died in 2007.

December 25, 2016
Met’s Holiday MAGIC FLUTE

Tuesday December 20th, 2016 – Julie Taymor’s inventive production of Mozart’s MAGIC FLUTE (above, in a Marty Sohl/Met Opera photo) is the Metropolitan Opera’s 2016 holiday season offering. In this pared-down version, sung in English, quite a bit of dialogue is cut, but – alas! – so are some of my favorite moments from the score. The overture is reduced to merely the opening chords; half of Tamino’s ‘portrait’ aria is sacrificed; and the loss of the enchanting “Bei Männern” duet and of the divine Chorus of the Priests are the unkindest cuts of all.

The Taymor is the third Met production of FLUTE in my operatic career, following the dazzling Chagall and the vivid David Hockney. Ms. Taymor’s setting is a charmer, with a crew of black-clad deck-hands manipulating giant puppets, a huge pre-historic bird to carry the Three Genii aloft, and a bevy of colorful avian-ballerinas (led by Emery LeCrone) who are enchanted by Papageno’s bells.

Antony Walker led a finely-paced performance, where both the light-hearted and the profound aspects of the score were given due honor. The sound of Érik Gratton’s flute, playing from the pit, fell most graciously on the ear, especially in the Trial Scene.

The Met put forth a very appealing cast this evening. Janai Brugger (above) as Pamina and Ben Bliss as Tamino sang so persuasively that the loss of half of Ben’s aria and of Janai’s duet with Papageno were to be all the more lamented. Mr. Bliss, who gave a lovely recital at Weill Hall earlier this season, was a tall and ardent Prince, his singing clear and stylish.

Ms. Brugger’s Pamina was a revelation: her warm vibrato and delicious turns of phrase captivated me all evening. The voice is very ‘present’ in the big hall; her highest notes, often nuanced to a luminous piano, were exquisite. The great aria was a moving expression of feminine vulnerability wherein Pamina’s mistaken belief that Tamino no longer loves her was movingly conveyed. I’m very sorry now that I missed Ms. Brugger’s Liu at The Met; the role I most want to hear her in – soon – is Mimi in BOHEME.

Morris Robinson (above) was a majestic, vocally grand Sarastro. His voice spans the range with true command – the deep notes wonderfully resonant – and in matters of phrasing and diction he imbues the music with a rich sense of humanity. It’s always a great pleasure to hear Mr. Robinson at the Met, and tonight his performance was particularly impressive.

Christopher Maltman’s Papageno was a genuine joy, his singing robust and sprightly by turns, and his Brit accent adding an extra bit of charm. An agile actor, Mr. Maltman took the production’s pratfalls in stride. He made the birdcatcher a vivacious but never silly character, and we were all rooting for him to win his Papagena, played – with creaky quirkiness when old and blithe perkiness when young – by Dísella Lárusdóttir.

As the Queen of the Night, Jessica Pratt was undaunted by this most difficult of debut roles. In two arias, touching on five high-Fs, the soprano is in a make-or-break situation; Ms. Pratt came thru with flying colours, bringing a striking sense of drama to her spoken instructions to Pamina (to commit murder) and with deft coloratura in the ensuing aria. In her final command: “Swear! Swear! Swear to avenge me!” Ms. Pratt latched onto a brilliantly sustained top note that rang splendidly into the hall.

Shenyang played the all-too-brief role of The Speaker; his scene with Tamino outside the temple is actually my favorite part of the opera, wherein Tamino’s world is turned upside-down. Shenyang and Mr. Bliss were excellent here, and how I was wishing that the bass-baritone sang in New York far more frequently.

Robert Brubaker gave a brilliant performance as the duplicitous Monastatos, his singing strong and his diction clear. Making his exit after being repelled by Pamina, Mr. Brubaker casually tossed the line: “If I can’t have the daughter, I’ll try for the mother!” over his shoulder. I laughed out loud.

Wendy Bryn Harmer, Sarah Mesko (debut), and Maria Zifchak made a very fine trio of Ladies, vocally well-matched and carrying out all their stage business with aplomb. An especially impressive trio of Genii – Daniel Katzman, Misha Grossman, and Dylan Hansen Hamme – sang firmly and blended very well in music that is often delivered weakly and with unsure pitch. Good work, boys! Mark Schowalter and Scott Scully (Priests) and Noah Baetge and Rod Nelman (Guards) rounded out the evening’s cast.

In the well-sold House were hundreds of children, and for the most part they were silent as mice. Of course the exception had to be sitting right next to us: she did some epic nose-blowing throughout the latter scenes of the evening. Step out to the hallway, dear!

Then, on leaving the theatre, my friend Claudia and I were accosted by a deranged patron who was incensed and righteously offended that the opera had not been given complete and was not sung in German: somehow this became our fault. After a moment of being polite, I was overcome by his severe case of halitosis. He blustered on and on while we ignored him. Finally he rushed away, crashing into the revolving door. What a miserable bloke.

But all’s well as ends better, as the hobbits say. We had a great time at the Met tonight.

December 21, 2016
Met’s Holiday MAGIC FLUTE

Tuesday December 20th, 2016 – Julie Taymor’s inventive production of Mozart’s MAGIC FLUTE (above, in a Marty Sohl/Met Opera photo) is the Metropolitan Opera’s 2016 holiday season offering. In this pared-down version, sung in English, quite a bit of dialogue is cut, but – alas! – so are some of my favorite moments from the score. The overture is reduced to merely the opening chords; half of Tamino’s ‘portrait’ aria is sacrificed; and the loss of the enchanting “Bei Männern” duet and of the divine Chorus of the Priests are the unkindest cuts of all.

The Taymor is the third Met production of FLUTE in my operatic career, following the dazzling Chagall and the vivid David Hockney. Ms. Taymor’s setting is a charmer, with a crew of black-clad deck-hands manipulating giant puppets, a huge pre-historic bird to carry the Three Genii aloft, and a bevy of colorful avian-ballerinas (led by Emery LeCrone) who are enchanted by Papageno’s bells.

Antony Walker led a finely-paced performance, where both the light-hearted and the profound aspects of the score were given due honor. The sound of Érik Gratton’s flute, playing from the pit, fell most graciously on the ear, especially in the Trial Scene.

The Met put forth a very appealing cast this evening. Janai Brugger (above) as Pamina and Ben Bliss as Tamino sang so persuasively that the loss of half of Ben’s aria and of Janai’s duet with Papageno were to be all the more lamented. Mr. Bliss, who gave a lovely recital at Weill Hall earlier this season, was a tall and ardent Prince, his singing clear and stylish.

Ms. Brugger’s Pamina was a revelation: her warm vibrato and delicious turns of phrase captivated me all evening. The voice is very ‘present’ in the big hall; her highest notes, often nuanced to a luminous piano, were exquisite. The great aria was a moving expression of feminine vulnerability wherein Pamina’s mistaken belief that Tamino no longer loves her was movingly conveyed. I’m very sorry now that I missed Ms. Brugger’s Liu at The Met; the role I most want to hear her in – soon – is Mimi in BOHEME.

Morris Robinson (above) was a majestic, vocally grand Sarastro. His voice spans the range with true command – the deep notes wonderfully resonant – and in matters of phrasing and diction he imbues the music with a rich sense of humanity. It’s always a great pleasure to hear Mr. Robinson at the Met, and tonight his performance was particularly impressive.

Christopher Maltman’s Papageno was a genuine joy, his singing robust and sprightly by turns, and his Brit accent adding an extra bit of charm. An agile actor, Mr. Maltman took the production’s pratfalls in stride. He made the birdcatcher a vivacious but never silly character, and we were all rooting for him to win his Papagena, played – with creaky quirkiness when old and blithe perkiness when young – by Dísella Lárusdóttir.

As the Queen of the Night, Jessica Pratt was undaunted by this most difficult of debut roles. In two arias, touching on five high-Fs, the soprano is in a make-or-break situation; Ms. Pratt came thru with flying colours, bringing a striking sense of drama to her spoken instructions to Pamina (to commit murder) and with deft coloratura in the ensuing aria. In her final command: “Swear! Swear! Swear to avenge me!” Ms. Pratt latched onto a brilliantly sustained top note that rang splendidly into the hall.

Shenyang played the all-too-brief role of The Speaker; his scene with Tamino outside the temple is actually my favorite part of the opera, wherein Tamino’s world is turned upside-down. Shenyang and Mr. Bliss were excellent here, and how I was wishing that the bass-baritone sang in New York far more frequently.

Robert Brubaker gave a brilliant performance as the duplicitous Monastatos, his singing strong and his diction clear. Making his exit after being repelled by Pamina, Mr. Brubaker casually tossed the line: “If I can’t have the daughter, I’ll try for the mother!” over his shoulder. I laughed out loud.

Wendy Bryn Harmer, Sarah Mesko (debut), and Maria Zifchak made a very fine trio of Ladies, vocally well-matched and carrying out all their stage business with aplomb. An especially impressive trio of Genii – Daniel Katzman, Misha Grossman, and Dylan Hansen Hamme – sang firmly and blended very well in music that is often delivered weakly and with unsure pitch. Good work, boys! Mark Schowalter and Scott Scully (Priests) and Noah Baetge and Rod Nelman (Guards) rounded out the evening’s cast.

In the well-sold House were hundreds of children, and for the most part they were silent as mice. Of course the exception had to be sitting right next to us: she did some epic nose-blowing throughout the latter scenes of the evening. Step out to the hallway, dear!

Then, on leaving the theatre, my friend Claudia and I were accosted by a deranged patron who was incensed and righteously offended that the opera had not been given complete and was not sung in German: somehow this became our fault. After a moment of being polite, I was overcome by his severe case of halitosis. He blustered on and on while we ignored him. Finally he rushed away, crashing into the revolving door. What a miserable bloke.

But all’s well as ends better, as the hobbits say. We had a great time at the Met tonight.

December 20, 2016
Cynthia Phelps|Jaap van Zweden|NY Phil

Saturday November 19th, 2016 – Even before I started going to The New York Philharmonic faithfully, I was a fan of Cynthia Phelps (above) from her work with Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. Tonight, Ms. Phelps was center-stage at Geffen Hall, playing a brand new viola concerto by composer Julia Adolphe. The program further featured works by two of my extreme favorite composers – Wagner and Tchaikovsky – and was conducted by the Philharmonic’s Music Director designate, Jaap van Zweden.

It has been ten years since The Metropolitan Opera last performed LOHENGRIN, and I for one have really missed it; I was grateful tonight for the opportunity to hear the opera’s Act I prelude, and – under Maestro van Zweden’s baton – the artists of the Philharmonic gave it a stunning performance.

Wagner wrote of the prelude as being a depiction of the descent of the Holy Grail to Earth; it opens on high, with ethereal violins, and the rapture slowly spreads from one section of the orchestra to another, creating a sonic glow. At the very end, a return to the stratosphere with a pianissimo whisper from the violins leaves us breathless. Maestro van Zweden molded the piece lovingly, controlling the layerings of sound to perfection and creating an organic whole. It is simply an astonishing and unique piece of music.

Cynthia Phelps, gowned in blue, then took the stage to a warm welcome for Julia Adolphe’s viola concerto; entitled Unearth, Release, the concerto is in three movements, each being sub-titled. The first is Captive Voices, and it opens on a mysterious note with the viola playing in the low register. The composer employs a variety of percussion effects, and here the vibraphone sounds eerily. The viola remains unsettled – as if talking to itself – and then rises slowly out of the depths. A brief shimmer in the violins, a gong resonates ominously, and then the music turns big and cinematic; bells sound, the horns give voice, and magically the harp enters the mix: the concerto’s most intriguing passage – for viola and harp in a pinging dialogue – ensues. An odd, probably sub-conscious quote from LA FORZA DEL DESTINO pricked up my ear; deep, sustained notes from Ms. Phelps, and then her line rises to mingle with the harp again as the music fades into air.

The second movement, Surface Tension, begins with an animated, scurrying passage. The viola is kept busy against shifting rhythmic patterns from the orchestra until the movement comes to an abrupt halt. The dreamlike opening of the third movement, Embracing Mist, features Frank Huang’s violin playing on high. The viola rises, and the cabasa makes a somewhat creepy appearance. Trumpet and English horn speak up before the music turns more expansive, over-lain by a brief horn duet. Ms. Phelps’s viola whispers to us one last time.

The concerto has a darkling appeal, and Ms. Phelps’ playing of it is first-rate; it has the potential to become a vehicle for violists worldwide. The composer took a bow, and the Philharmonic audience – always so responsive when a player from the home team takes a soloist role – showered Ms. Phelps with affection.

Maestro van Zweden (above, in a Marco Borggreve portrait) and the Philharmonic players then gave a thrilling rendering of Tchaikovsky’s 4th symphony. From the opening fanfares, the performance was marked by big, passionate playing whilst jewel-like moments from the various solo voices emerged along the way to delight us. During the course of the first movement, my admiration for Maestro van Zweden became unbounded: his very animated podium personality and his brilliant alternation of jabs, lures, and summonses as he cued the various players was simply delightful to behold. Among the most cordial passages were an alternation of violins vs winds over timpani, and big playing from the horns; flute, clarinet, oboe, bassoon, and horn soloists shone forth. The music excited us thru its sense of urgency.

Liang Wang’s evocative playing of the oboe solo that opens the second movement was a high point of the performance; in this Andantino, very much à la Russe, the wind soloists again flourished in each opportunity the composer provides.

The dazzling unison plucking of the strings in the Scherzo was vividly crisp and clear tonight, with the Maestro’s fingertip control of the volume sometimes honed the sound down to a delicate pianissimo whilst maintaining the lively atmosphere. Oboe and flute again sing appealingly.

A grand, wild start to the concluding Allegro con fuoco established immediately the fact that Maestro van Zweden was taking the designation “con fuoco” (“fiery”) very much to heart. The orchestra simply blazed away, a mighty conflagration that dazzled the audience in no uncertain terms. As the symphony reached its fantastical conclusion, the Geffen Hall audience burst into unrestrained shouts of approval and gales of applause: everyone stood up to cheer. Maestro van Zweden returned and signaled the musicians to rise, but instead they remained seated and joined in the applause, giving the conductor a solo bow. The audience loved it.

An evening, then, that moved from the spiritual to the exhilarating, superbly played, and with a Maestro from whom, it seems clear, we can expect great things.

November 19, 2016
Recital: Ben Bliss @ Weill Hall

Friday November 18th, 2016 – I first encountered tenor Ben Bliss (above) while he was in the Lindemann Young Artist Development Program at The Met; he was making his Met debut as Vogelgesang in MEISTERSINGER and he stood out for three reasons: tallest man onstage, youngest of the Masters, and a voice of distinctive clarity.

Since then, I have enjoyed listening to several of Mr. Bliss’s YouTube offerings which display a voice capable of incredible beauty (especially in the upper range), a deep sense of poetry in his use of dynamics, and very impressive breath control.

This evening’s program commenced with four songs by Richard Strauss; my initial feeling was that Mr. Bliss was over-singing a bit, and that the piano (even with the lid down) was sometimes too loud. As the songs progressed, the tenor and his pianist Lachlan Glen achieved a more congenial blend, and in “Morgen“, the sensitivity of both artists found truly rewarding expressiveness in a breath-taking performance.

Turning to the French repertoire, Mr. Bliss chose songs from Lili Boulanger‘s “Clarières dans le ciel”; the composer, who died tragically young, left behind a brief catalog of work of which these mélodies hold a particular appeal. Mssrs. Bliss and Glen savoured the perfume of this music in a performance filled with spine-tingling dynamic modulations. The opening “Un poète disait” served to display the tenor’s marvelously heady tones, with an absolutely gorgeous final phrase. Remarkably sustained singing illuminated “Nous nous aimerons tant“, its dreamy quality interrupted by a “noisy” piano interlude. Mr. Bliss managed a fine mix of passion and refinement in “Vous m’avez regardé avec toute votre âme“, where Mr. Glen’s playing was particularly lovely. The pianist’s rippling motif set the mood for the concluding “Les lilas qui avaient fleuri” and the tenor here displayed an intrinsic sense of vocal nuance, with seductively floated upper tones and a final sustained note that was sheer heaven.

Tosti’s “Marechiare” closed the rather brief first half of the program; Mr. Bliss’s voice is not really Italianate in sound, but in this outgoing celebration of a passionate infatuation, he and Mr. Glen took an almost militant stance in favor of romance. I would have liked to have heard some of Tosti’s more caressive tunes from Mr. Bliss, but that will have to wait for another opportunity.

Returning after the interval, the tenor had changed to a white sport coat (no pink carnation, though) for an all-English-language second half. Mr. Bliss described how he came to find the two John Gruen songs – “Spring is like a perhaps hand” and “Lady will you come with me into” – which were never published. With the aid of the composer’s daughter, the manuscripts were located and copies given to the tenor. Musically whimsical, the songs border on cuteness; Mssrs. Bliss and Glen made them perfectly palatable.

Big singing marked Lowell Liebermann’s “The Arrow and The Song” (“I shot an arrow into the air…”): an emphatic and almost grandiose setting. Ned Rorem’s haunting setting of “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” beautifully evokes the quietude of the Winter landscape, and was lovingly sung. Does Theodore Chanler’s “I rise when you enter” have a sexual connotation? It seemed so this evening.

A tenor of Mr. Bliss’s vocal weight and range is of course going to be singing a lot of Britten. Over the years I have come to feel that the composer’s works are best represented by British singers as they seem most persuasive when sung with what we Americans refer to as a “British accent”. That said, Mr. Bliss did very well by the extroverted “The Children and Sir Nameless” whilst Mr. Glen’s introduction to “The Last Rose of Summer” was poetic indeed; as the song progresses, the familiar melody takes on a fresh feeling thru harmonic alterations. Mr. Bliss here again demonstrated his astonishing control in the upper range of his voice.

The final Britten offering, “The Choirmaster’s Burial“, is a touching narrative on the love of music and on a life dedicated to it. Singer and pianist were at their most moving here.

The final three numbers on the printed program – songs associated with Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, and Ray Charles – are pieces Mr. Bliss grew up with. While I know them well, and can even sing two of the three, they are rather outside my musical sphere. But my companion of the evening is a huge devotee of Sinatra and Charles, and she felt that Mr. Bliss’s singing – for all his efforts to the contrary – was too cultivated, and that the rendition of Ray Charles’s “Hallelujah I love Her So” was all wrong.

A very well-known mezzo who was in the vanguard of the crossover phenomenon once asked me why I was put off by her crossover efforts; I replied that thousands of people can sing these Broadway and cabaret numbers to fine effect, but that there are only a half-dozen great Mélisandes in the world. She understood my point, but said she and her audiences took a lot of enjoyment from her less ‘haughty’ recordings. Then I asked her how she would feel if Barbra Streisand decided to sing Idamante; she giggled and rolled her eyes.

At any rate, Ben Bliss was called out for two encores tonight: a sweet “Una furtiva lagrima” and that song with the catchy lyrics from WEST SIDE STORY: “Maria…”

In December I’ll be seeing Ben Bliss as Tamino at The Met and while I wish it wasn’t the pared-down “family” version, I’m really looking forward to it.

November 18, 2016