Category: Opera

Remembering Hildegard Behrens

(This article appeared on Oberon’s Grove in 2009, following Ms. Behrens’ death at the age of 72.)

“It is so difficult for me to comprehend that Hildegard Behrens has died. She was only 72 and it seems not all that long ago that my friend Bryan and I visited her in her dressing room after what was to be her penultimate Met performance: as Marie in Berg’s WOZZECK.

Hildegard Behrens was one of a half-dozen singers who, in the nearly half-century that I’ve been immersed in the world of opera, made an impression that transcended mere vocalism and acting. Her voice was utterly her own: a ravaged, astringent quality often beset her timbre – the price of having given so unsparingly of her instrument in some of opera’s most taxing roles. And yet she could produce phrases of stupendously haunting beauty, and she could suddenly pull a piano phrase out of mid-air. Her unique mixture of raw steely power, unmatched personal intensity and a deep vein of feminine vulnerability made her performances unforgettable even when the actual sound of the voice was less than ingratiating.

So many memories are flooding back this morning while I am thinking about her: the Wesendonck Lieder she sang at Tanglewood during my ‘Wagner summer’…a rare chance to hear her miscast but oddly moving singing of the Verdi REQUIEM…her televised RING Cycle from the Met…her wildly extravagant ‘mad scene’ in Mozart’s IDOMENEO…her passionate Tosca and Santuzza, cast against the vocal norm…a solo recital at Carnegie Hall…the dress rehearsal of the Met revival of her ELEKTRA where she made up (and how!) for an off-night at the premiere. Hildegard Behrens was also the holder of the Lotte Lehmann Ring, which was left to her by her great colleague Leonie Rysanek upon Rysanek’s untimely death in 1998.

It was in fact the Behrens Elektra, sung in concert at Tanglewood with the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Seiji Ozawa in August 1988 that has always seemed to me the very epitome of what an operatic portrayal can be. In a black gown and violently teased hair, the soprano (announced as being indisposed by allergies) transformed a stand-and-deliver setting into a full-scale assault on the emotions. I’ll never forget that performance and I was fortunate a week later to record it from a delayed broadcast.

In the great scene in which Elektra recognizes her long-lost brother, Behrens transported me right out of this mortal world. Here it is, from her 1994 Met performance with Donald McIntyre.

It’s going to be hard for me now to listen to Hildegard – her Berlioz Nuits d’Ete is my favorite recording of those beloved songs, unconventional as her voice sounds in that music – or to watch her on film as Brunnhilde or Elektra. For a while I will just let the memories play.”

Above: Ms. Behrens as Tosca

Above: the soprano in concert with Daniel Barenboim

August 30, 2025
Raina Kabaivanska ~ In questa reggia

A rare document: the great Bulgarian soprano Raina Kabaivanska singing Turandot’s “In questa reggia” at a concert given at Viareggio in 1978. As far as I know, she never performed the entire role during her long career (though she was an admirable Liu), nor can I find any mention of her singing Turandot’s narrative/aria anywhere else.

Watch and listen here.

August 28, 2025
Verdi REQUIEM ~ BBC Proms

Marin Alsop leads the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment in a performance of the Verdi REQUIEM given at the BBC Proms in 2016.

The soloists are soprano Tamara Wilson (photo above), mezzo-soprano Alisa Kolosolva, tenor Dimitri Pittas, and bass Morris Robinson; recorded live at the Royal Albert Hall.

Watch and listen here.

August 28, 2025
Singers: Jeannette Pilou

(I have imported this story from Oberon’s Grove…it used to include lots of photos, but I just wanted to save what I’d written back in 2007. Here is a photo I took of her that she loved…she was so sweet as signed it for me.)

Around noon on October 7, 1967, I bought a big bunch of yellow chrysanthemums from a street vendor and rushed over to the stage door of the Metropolitan Opera House; the flowers were for one of my idols at the time, the Italian soprano Mirella Freni who was singing Juliette in Gounod’s ROMEO & JULIETTE that afternoon. I bounded up the steps to the Met’s stage door reception area and approached the desk. An indifferent woman was there, talking on the phone. When she finally hung up, she ignored me. “I want to leave these flowers for Miss Freni!” I said. She looked up at me wearily and said, “Miss Freni is ill and is not singing this afternoon.” Walking out, I held the door for a chorister who was coming in; “Want some flowers?” I said to her, handing her the mums. A few hours later I had fallen in love.

Gay men fall in love with women all the time; of course, it isn’t ‘that kind’ of love. It’s usually an attraction to their beauty and their talent, tinged with a bit of regret that it couldn’t ever be the ‘other kind’ of love. That is exactly how I always felt about Jeannette Pilou. She made her Met debut that afternoon as Juliette and for the next few years she was a singer who intrigued me so often with the delicacy and charm of her singing, her unfailingly fresh dramatic interpretations of some of opera’s most beloved characters, and her modest sincerity and great kindness. The stages at Lincoln Center have been home to so many beauties, from Carol Neblett to Helene Alexopoulos, and Pilou was one of the most memorable of them all.

Jeannette Pilou was born in Egypt and could trace her heritage to the Greeks, but for me she was always a French soprano. Her voice was lyrical with a metallic thread that gave it an easy projection. It was not in itself one of those beautiful instruments that immediately melt the listener; she never had a long breath line and her top register could get an edgy quality. Her appeal vocally was in the way she phrased and used a delicate pastel palette to make music you’d heard a hundred times seem new and alive. Aside from her incredible physical appeal, Pilou’s interpretations invariably brought those little gestures and expressions that you always remember. In the final act of TRAVIATA when the dying Violetta rises from her sickbed to be reunited with her beloved Alfredo, Pilou hastily looked at herself in the mirror before turning to present her ravaged face to her lover. I’ve never forgotten that moment of desperation which spoke so clearly of Violetta’s helpless regret over her fate.

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself, because I must start with that debut Juliette which is where my love affair began. Pilou looked so fetching on her first entry at the Capulet ball, spiraling into her little introductory “Ecoutez, ecoutez!” with a voice that wafted clearly into the big house. Not long after, she won her first big applause at the Met singing Juliette’s waltz, “Je veux vivre” with easy scale-work, pointed diction and youthful vivacity; she even touched on the high-D in the cadenza which Freni had been omitting. Moments later Pilou encountered her handsome Romeo, Franco Corelli, and the chemistry was apparent from the start. Corelli was having quite a success as Romeo at the Met with his passionate vocalism, thrilling the house with a stunning diminuendo on the final B-flat of “Ah, leve-toi soleil!”. He was one of the few tenors at that time who looked good in tights, too. In their love duets, Corelli really seemed smitten with Jeannette and they sounded wonderful together. Corelli drew a thunderous ovation when he took a full-throttle top C upon Romeo’s banishment from Verona. The afternoon ended with a mammoth ovation; the curtain calls had been designed so that the title characters always bowed together and they came out several times until finally Jeannette made the beautiful gesture of withdrawing to let Franco have a solo call. The house exploded and Franco was so gracious when he brought Jeannette out again. In addition to the lovely impression her Juliette had made, Jeannette had endeared herself to the legion of Corelli fans in no uncertain terms. I met her after the performance and she was so lively and sweet, and even more beautiful up close than she had seemed to be onstage. Her speaking voice was so intimate and enchanting; I immediately added her to the list of singers whose performances would be a priority.

Violetta in the Cecil Beaton production of TRAVIATA was my next Pilou role; she looked every bit as striking as Moffo in these costumes. She was paired with the light-voiced tenor Luigi Alva and they made a beautiful blend in the duets. Jeannette was so moving in the great Act II duet with Germont (Robert Merrill) where she struggled valiantly to maintain her composure as her fragile world crumbled around her. Phrase after phrase of wonderfully modulated vocalism wove a spell. A few years later, Pilou stepped in to a broadcast of TRAVIATA replacing Montserrat Caballe; I was in the house enjoying Jeanette’s portrayal and her colleagues Carlo Bergonzi & Sherrill Milnes so much. A downward transposition in “Sempre libera” caused something of a scandal among the fans; I thought it was a rather minor transgression in view of what she was able to convey in the role.

Micaela in CARMEN followed with Jeannette making a particularly lovely impression in the Act I duet with Nicolai Gedda. This was the infamous Jean-Louis Barrault production set inside the bullring. The cast, led by Grace Bumbry, almost managed to overcome the awkward staging; Jeannette’s big aria was lovingly phrased. Next came Zerlina in DON GIOVANNI in which she presented a very youthful, zesty portrayal of the peasant girl; singing opposite the Don of the young Puerto Rican heartthrob Justino Diaz, Jeannette reveled in the seductive expressiveness of “La ci darem la mano”.

Jeannette & Franco Corelli created an atmosphere of extraordinary romance when they appeared together in BOHEME. This was one of Jeannette’s most moving portrayals, using her mastery of parlando in the Act I narrative and spinning out some fragile piani in her ‘Addio senza rancor’. Franco was in prodigious voice, his singing so passionate and virile but also very tender; he was obviously smitten with his beautiful Mimi and changed the words in the love duet from “Dammi il braccio, mia piccina” to “Dammi il braccio, mia bambina.” In the moving trio where Rodolfo tells Marcello of Mimi’s hopeless ill-health, not knowing that Mimi is listening, Franco tore his heart out and the audience burst into a volley of bravos mid-act. Jeannette & Franco carried the romance of their characters into the curtain calls.

At the dress rehearsal of NOZZE DI FIGARO in February 1972, Jeannette had one of her most attractive roles in Susanna. She gave a portrayal free of soubrette cuteness, utterly natural. Vocally she was in the captivating company of Cesare Siepi, the reigning Figaro of the day, the radiant Pilar Lorengar (Contessa) and the beloved and versatile Evelyn Lear (Cherubino). On the podium the great Karl Bohm served up perfect tempi and ideally supported his singers. The ensembles and gentle comic by-play were a joy. FIGARO soared. The photo shows Jeannette with one of New York’s best-known opera fans, Lois Kirschenbaum.

It was amusing to walk Jeannette out from her dressing room after the rehearsal; when we came to the main reception area it was jammed with singers coming and going from coachings and I very much enjoyed observing the effect Jeannette had on all the men, including some very well-known tenors and baritones. If she was aware of the waves she was causing, it didn’t show; she greeted everyone with easy, modest charm and left them all panting in her wake.

Later in the month, Jeannette took part in a memorable evening when FALSTAFF was revived. Sir Geraint Evans and Regina Resnik trod the boards with grand portrayals of Sir John and Dame Quickly. Renata Tebaldi was singing Alice Ford for the first time at the Met. The orchestra launched the scampering introduction to the second scene and when the curtain rose and the audience caught sight of the great Italian diva, the place erupted. The applause obliterated the music and when it died down the singers had lost their way; “Start over!” someone yelled and that is exactly what Christoph von Dohnanyi (debut) did. Jeannette was a cuddly Nannetta. In a magical moment she arrived at Herne’s Oak dressed as the Queen of the Fairies on a white Shetland pony. Her aria, “Sul fin d’un soffio” was spun out of moonlight. At the end of the romping ensemble which concludes the opera, Jeannette tackled a bright top-C. The curtain calls were so much fun and the audience truly reluctant to let the singers go. I had an aisle seat in the orchestra and sitting two rows ahead of me was Franco Corelli. I thought it was pretty nice of him to come out and support his long-time colleague Tebaldi. After the performance I spent a long time backstage with Jeannette who was in a particularly sociable mood. Everyone else had gone home, but she seemed in no hurry to leave. I said goodnight and came out to find Corelli pacing back-and-forth near the stage door with a limo waiting. Did they have a date? If so, she may have been standing him up.

Jeannette and Nicolai Gedda were reunited in a wonderful performance of Gounod’s FAUST; the Met’s production was rather ugly (though later replaced by an even uglier one) but along with Cesare Siepi’s famed Mephistopheles, the singers carried the day. The role really suited Jeannette to perfection: her clarity of enunciation of the French text added to the sweetness and dexterity of her singing made the long ‘Roi du Thule’ and Jewel Song sequence delightful. Later she and Gedda harmonized rapturously in the ‘Laissez-moi’ duet (the highlight of the score, in my opinion) and Jeannette sang the concluding lines of the Garden Scene (‘Il m’aime!’) with slowly mounting ecstasy. As the tides turned against Marguerite, Jeannette relied on the metallic thread in her voice to project over the orchestra in the Church Scene and in the ascending phrases of the final trio.

It was a long time before I saw her onstage again; I spent some time in Houston and she was busy at other opera houses. In fact four years elapsed before I next saw her, again as Marguerite in FAUST, this time opposite the less-than-romantic looking but mellifluous Stuart Burrows in the title role. Jeannette’s interpretation had deepened although the production had deteriorated further with an especially awful ballet now being interpolated. She and Burrows rescued the evening.

There was another very long hiatus before her next – and for me her most memorable – Met role as Melisande in Debussy’s masterpiece in 1983. The production was murky and grim (it has since been replaced by a far more atmospheric one) but musically it was so rewarding both in James Levine’s brooding traversal of the dense score and in the ideal interpretations of the three principal roles: Pilou as Melisande, Dale Duesing as Pelleas and the unforgettable Jose van Dam as Golaud. As the gentle and mysterious Melisande, Jeannette ‘spoke’ her lines with a refined sense of lyricism and she was so moving in her simplicity and deeply feminine vulnerability. The overwhelming sadness of watching Melisande’s life fade away following the birth of her daughter left me feeling bereft.

Two years later I saw Jeannette onstage for the last time, singing Nedda in PAGLIACCI. The tension in her upper register had taken its toll but she had some wonderful lyric passages, most notably in the duet with Silvio, and she mounted a fiery defense in the final moments before Nedda is brutally murdered.

I had long since stopped visiting singers backstage but I did run into her in the Met lobby during her final season of Neddas and Micaelas and she was as lovely and gracious as ever. In the years since I first met Jeannette Pilou, the memories of her portrayals and of her easy kindness to a young and eager fan have stayed with me vividly.

Here is Jeannette singing Juliette’s entrance and Waltz @ The Met.

August 28, 2025
THE PEARL FISHERS ~ Duet

Matthew Polenzani, tenor, and Hyung Yun, baritone, sing the great duet “Au fond du temple saint” from Georges Bizet’s Les Pêcheurs de Perles; Howard Watkins is the pianist.

Watch and listen here.

August 27, 2025
Love & Death

(Having learned that my original blog, Oberon’s Grove, will soon be shutting down, I am bringing forward some of my most-read articles from the Grove to the Glade.)

This story about the joint assisted suicide of British conductor Sir Edward Downes and his wife at a Swiss clinic was both touching and thought-provoking for me. I admire the couple’s courage and am deeply moved that they chose to die together rather than face continuing deteriorating health. Since Dmitry sent the story to me this morning I have not been able to stop thinking about it.

When I was in my darkest days (high school and the three or four years immediately after graduating) I thought often about killing myself. I managed to steal enough sleeping pills from my father’s pharmacy to do the trick, though I lacked the courage to actually take them. I kept the capsules in a place where I knew my mother would never look: in a box of opera cassettes. During the worst days I would think ‘tonight I’ll do it’ but I would come home, isolate myself with my opera recordings and eventually talk myself out of taking the pills. Two things kept me from going thru with it: the thought that either I would not die but somehow be paralyzed or disabled, or that just after I’d swallowed the pills someone would call or come to me with ‘the answer’ and it would be too late.

The other gay boy in town was more courageous; he took his father’s gun and shot himself. It was the talk of the town for days though of course the word ‘queer’ was never mentioned. My mother said the oddest thing to me: “You would never do anything like that, would you?” Well, no…dad doesn’t own a gun for one thing. My plan was to fill the bathtub, light dozens of candles, put on a recording of ‘Casta diva‘ on endless repeat and get in the tub (fully clothed) and drift away, knowing how horrible my parents would feel when they came home and found me.

As I became more withdrawn and sullen, my parents sent me to a shrink. I went once a week and sat in his office, uncommunicative, as he kept saying in a thick German accent: “I vant to understand zee nature of your problem.” Eventually I told my parents they were wasting their money. The sessions stopped. I got more depressed.

I had flunked out of State university; I had simply not gone to the classes I had registered for, instead spending the days driving around the countryside while my parents assumed I was in class. In danger of being drafted, I enrolled at a community college. My parents found me a room in a rooming house with maid service and I stayed in the room for days on end listening to opera and going out only to buy cookies and milk. I did sometimes go to class though, because I loved my (female) math and Spanish teachers and my (male) Black Lit teacher.

One day I came out from class and it was pouring. I went into the Student Union – I’d never been in there before – to wait out the storm. A girl from my Black Lit class was there with a couple of her friends. She waved me over. It was Ann(e), the person who changed my life.

From there is was still a long road out of the closet but it was her friendship, her notion that being different was the coolest thing possible, her sense of humour and her beautiful singing voice that got me out of my shell. Thoughts of suicide were swept away. The next time I was home I dissolved the pills in boiling water and poured them down the drain – a symbolic act, since by then they were surely no longer potent.

What the joint suicide in Switzerland set me thinking about is that suicide is not for the young; whatever problems a young person might be facing there is always a path or a person that will lead you out of your darkness. Finding the way may be frustrating and things may seem hopeless but it’s worth it to hold on thru the despair. If I had given in on one of those wretched nights, all the beautiful people I have met since then, all the music I have heard, all the dancing I have seen, books I have read, beaches I have walked along, lovers I have lain with, all the poems and paintings would never have been mine. Life is always worth living for the possibilities it affords.

But for Sir Edward and his wife, suicide seems to me a beautiful ending to their long life together; with their happiness and good health in the past they made a decision to venture into the unknown on their own terms. I wish them a peaceful sleep.

~ Oberon

August 27, 2025
Maria von Ilosvay

The Hungarian mezzo-soprano Maria von Ilosvay won the 1937 International Singing Contest at Vienna. Thereafter she joined a touring opera company for two years – even traveling to America, in performances organized by Sol Hurok – before joining the Hamburg Opera in 1940. She sang at Vienna, Brussels, Amsterdam, and Salzburg,

Ms. von Ilosvay participated in the first post-war Bayreuth Festivals. In her book New Bayreuth, Penelope Turing writes with admiration of the mezzo in such RING Cycle roles as Erda, Waltraute, and the First Norn.

At the Salzburg Festival, Ms. von Ilosvay took part in the first staged performance of LE VIN HERBE by Frank Martin in 1948, and in the premiere of Carl Orf’f”s ANTIGONAE in 1949. With the ensemble of the Hamburg Staatsoper, she was a guest at the Edinburgh Festival, and in 1956 sang Jocasta in Stravinsky’s OEDIPUS REX at the Holland Festival. Also in 1956, she appeared as a guest artist at London’s Royal Opera House.

In 1967, Maria von Ilosvay sang Marcellina in a filmed German-language ‘studio’ performance of Mozart’s NOZZE DI FIGARO. Her scene with the brilliant Susanna of Edith Mathis is a delight.

Ms. von Ilosvay recorded the role of Erda twice, and was the mezzo-soprano soloist on a recording of the Verdi REQUIEM with the Accademia di Santa Cecilia. She is also The Mother on Herbert von Karajan’s recording of HANSEL UND GRETEL. She did a great deal of concert work, and was a noted recitalist.

Maria von Ilosvay passed away at Hamburg in 1987.

August 26, 2025
Rita Gorr ~ Printemps qui commence

The great Belgian mezzo-soprano Rita Gorr sings Dalila’s evocative aria “Printemps qui commence” from Camille Saint-Saëns’ SAMSON ET DALILA.

August 20, 2025
Dame Joan Hammond ~ Vissi d’arte (in English)

Read about the beloved Australian soprano Dame Joan Hammond here.

Listen to her singing Tosca’s “Vissi d’arte” in English:

August 16, 2025
Teatro Nuovo’s MACBETH @ City Center

Above: the chorus of Scottish exiles; photo by Steven Pisano

(Note: click on each image to enlarge)

~ Author: Ryan Vasquez

Wednesday July 23rd, 2025 – This year, Teatro Nuovo staged both Verdi’s Macbeth (the 1874 edition) and Donizetti’s La Sonnambula. Verdi’s Macbeth is a relatively faithful adaptation of Shakespeare’s classic, but the opera could just as well have been titled Lady Macbeth, both because of the impressive music Verdi wrote for the character and because of Alexandra Loutsion’s commanding performance as the (almost) titular villain. The entire principal cast sang beautifully, but the night undoubtedly belonged to Loutsion.

Teatro Nuovo is a summer festival where young singers and budding professionals spend the season working on two bel canto operas. Although Verdi is not typically categorized as a bel canto composer, his early works, Macbeth among them,clearly sit at the tail end of that stylistic era.

The performance took place at New York City Center, just a block from Carnegie Hall. It was my first time attending a show at the venue, and it was fantastic, beautiful and acoustically quite pleasing. I was also glad to see a diverse audience that truly reflected the breadth of NYC’s population and age demographics.

The full orchestra was positioned directly in front of the stage and served as a formidable counterpoint to the otherwise completely bare stage. I was surprised to find there were no set pieces at all, but I chose to be patient and see how things would unfold.

Conductor Jakob Lehmann (photo above by Steven Pisano) walked out and began the overture. The orchestra displayed masterful control, delivering Verdi’s score with both power and delicacy. Their ability to handle the softer passages was especially noteworthy: opera orchestras aren’t always known for subtlety, but this one maintained finesse throughout the entire evening.

I noticed the overture featured prominent use of brass, which I loved for its tone-painting quality. Brass instruments have long been associated with death, and Verdi’s thick brass textures effectively foreshadowed the bloodshed to come.

Above: the chorus of witches; photo by Steven Pisano

The back wall of the stage lit up with a beautiful projection of Scotland, setting the scene for the witches’ chorus. Shakespeare’s version begins with three witches who famously chant, “Double, double, toil and trouble,” but this adaptation featured three groups of singing witches. All dressed in black, these choristers were young artists covering the main roles and performing comprimario parts.

They sang well, and several performers fully embraced their witchy characters. However, a number of them seemed to lack fully developed characterizations. Overall, it was an effective, if slightly static, opening.

Shortly after the choral number concluded, Macbeth, played by Ricardo José Rivera, and Banco, played by Cumhur Görgün, entered. Both were dressed in formal black attire, a costume choice shared by the rest of the male cast.

They sang the duet “Due vaticini compiuti or sono” beautifully. I was particularly struck by Rivera’s smooth legato line. Görgün’s voice had a rich color, and I noted that the upper part of his range had more heft, making me wonder if he might actually be a bass-baritone. Regardless, the duet was a strong introduction to both characters and their voices.

Above: Alexandra Loutsion as Lady Macbeth; photo by Steven Pisano

After the stage cleared, a new projection depicted Macbeth’s castle. Lady Macbeth, portrayed by Ms. Loutsion, entered and delivered lines in wonderful Italian. I was surprised the passage wasn’t sung in recitative form, but soon she transitioned into the recitative section of her aria, “Nel dì della vittoria.”

Ms. Loutsion’s voice initially sounded like a mezzo’s, but given the heights her voice achieved, she was clearly a soprano. She commanded the stage and fully embodied the ambitious Lady Macbeth. The crowd adored her. Her coloratura rang with crystal-clear pitch, an impressive technical feat, and her intonation was impeccable. When she finished her aria, the audience erupted into applause. Well deserved cries of “Brava!” rang out. Loutsion stood in place until the cheers subsided, then exited the stage.

Above, the Macbeths: Mr. Rivera and Ms. Loutsion, photo by Steven Pisano

Rivera’s characterization of Macbeth in the first scene leaned heavily into “anxious,” which worked initially but grew somewhat one-note. Fortunately, more nuance emerged during his duet with Lady Macbeth. The two had excellent chemistry, and Ms. Loutsion appeared more relaxed. If the shift in tone was an intentional choice to reflect Macbeth’s comfort in his wife’s presence, it was an effective one.

They sang well, but I realized midway through their duet that I didn’t fully understand what had just happened to prompt the number. This moment highlighted the production’s biggest weakness: the acting and staging were secondary to the music.

The motivation behind the duet was that Macbeth had just murdered the king and was now panicking over the bloodied dagger. However, the murder itself wasn’t shown. While the libretto indeed places the murder offstage, the production did little to make that event clear. The action often felt like an inconvenient hurdle rather than a driving force for the music.

This lack of clarity recurred throughout the show. Events that should have been staged were either skipped entirely or summarized in supertitles. The most jarring example came at the end, when Macbeth and Macduff left the stage to fight. A supertitle then informed us that “Macbeth was fatally wounded.” After which the two returned. Macbeth proceeded to lie on the floor. And then die.

Returning to the earlier moment: after the Macbeth/Lady Macbeth duet, the chorus launched into a rousing Verdi finale. It had all the signature hallmarks of Verdi’s brilliance, even in this early work. I was particularly impressed by Martin Luther Clark, who sang the role of Macduff. Though Macduff doesn’t do much until the final act, Clark’s sterling tenor soared clearly above the orchestra.

Above: Cumhur Görgün as Banquo and Olivia Trinchera Citterio as Fleance; photo by Steven Pisano

In the next act, Banco and his child were outside the palace, unaware of the events unfolding within. Görgün sang Banco’s aria beautifully, again showing off his warm tone. Banco then exited the stage and was murdered (again offstage), and the scene shifted back to Macbeth’s castle.

Above: Ricardo José Rivera as Macbeth is haunted by Banquo’s ghost; photo by Steven Pisano

Act II featured more beautiful singing, and Rivera seemed more animated and confident. During the finale, Banco’s ghost appears, visible only to Macbeth, but the staging failed to indicate he was a ghost. Since we never actually saw Banco die, the moment felt muddled. Simple makeup or lighting could have clarified things. Still, the ghost was soon forgotten as the act closed.

Once again, the orchestra impressed. Their dynamic sensitivity, likely thanks to Lehmann’s direction, was a rare treat in opera.

I thoroughly enjoyed the sprite scene in Act 3, where the female chorus returned as witches. The choral numbers throughout were well executed. The staging in this act was more dynamic, with some choreographed movement that added interest.

Macbeth’s aria following the sprites was Rivera’s best of the night. His soft passages were beautifully rendered, showcasing his technique. He ended with a rousing cabaletta and held an extended final note that had the audience in raptures, particularly in the balcony, where the applause outlasted that of the orchestra level.

The scene turned back to Macbeth’s castle. Although I had never seen this opera in person, I knew about the most famous scene that was Verdi’s take on Shakespeare’s famous lines for Lady Macbeth, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” Lady Macbeth’s attendants stood on stage giving the background details on why Lady Macbeth had seemed to have lost her mind. Once the preamble was finished, Ms. Loutsion walked out as if in a trance and started to sing the famous aria “Una macchia è qui tuttora.” As the soprano mimed out washing her hands the audience was transfixed, for the entire scene, waiting with bated breath for the next moment to happen. And as Ms. Loutsion finished she walked off the stage with applause.

Next came a scene featuring Macduff and Malcolm, the prince destined to take the throne Macbeth killed (offstage) to acquire. Romeo Lopez, who sang Malcolm, had a sweet voice but was overpowered by the orchestra. As a young artist, he has time to develop his voice, but for now, he struggled to be heard.

Above: Martin Luther Clark as Macduff; photo by Steven Pisano

Clark’s rendition of Macduff’s aria “Ah, la paterna mano” was a standout moment. Macduff is one of those roles where you don’t have too much to do and learn, but you get a wonderful song that everyone remembers after the show. Clark performed it with tenderness and grief rather than anger, revealing the piece’s emotional depth. His pianissimi were particularly moving, making me appreciate the aria in a new light. The ovation was well earned.

In the final scene, Macbeth and Macduff faced off. Macbeth, emboldened by the witches’ prophecy that no man born of woman could kill him, is shocked when Macduff reveals he was born via cesarean section. They leave the stage, Macbeth is mortally wounded, they walk back onstage, and the show ends.

Musically, this Macbeth was executed beautifully. The orchestra was superb, and the singers brought Verdi’s music to life with skill and passion, thankfully, onstage.

~ Ryan Vasquez

(Performance photos by Steven Pisano)

July 29, 2025