Category: Opera

AIDA @ The Met: First of Two

Monday December 29th, 2014 – A chance to hear two new-to-The-Met sopranos in the title-role of Verdi’s AIDA within the space of five days. Tamara Wilson (above) made an auspicious House debut last week; I caught up with her tonight. On Saturday, another soprano, Marjorie Owens, is scheduled for a single performance as the Ethopian princess. Score desks were the solution for this thrice-familiar production, the $12 price tag meaning I needn’t feel I’m throwing money away if I decide not to stay for the whole thing. Despite numerous distractions and some sub-par singing from other cast members, I was determined to hear Tamara’s “O patria mia”, so I stuck with it…and it was worth the wait.

Tamara Wilson made an excellent impression earlier this year in a performance of Max Bruch’s oratorio MOSES at Carnegie Hall. Her Met debut came about when she was called upon to replace Latonia Moore in this series of AIDAs, Ms. Moore being pregnant. I was very glad to hear Ms. Wilson again so soon, and her performance overall was truly impressive.

The house seemed fuller than on many recent evenings, and the performance begain auspiciously with an evocative playing of the prelude. Marco Armiliato, both here and in last week’s TRAVIATA, seemed to be taking a more thoughtful approach to these two operas he’s conducted so often; in the past his Verdi has often felt perfunctory and over-emphatic. This season he seems more tuned-in to the niceties of the scores.

Marcello Giordani’s voice sounded wobbly and unsuppported as the opera began. He has absolutely no resonance in the lower range now, tending to ‘speak’ the words rather than sing them. In the past, his powerful upper-middle and high registers have managed to compensate for this fault, but tonight the top notes had a steady beat and a glare that was unpleasant. “Celeste Aida”, a tenor test-piece that can defeat even singers on top form, was touch-and-go tonight as Giordani tried to a get a line going with little success. The climactic B-flat veered sharp. Two shouts of ‘bravo‘ and tepid applause.

Violeta Urmana, after several seasons of singing soprano repertoire with variable success, has reverted to singing Amneris. Her tone was unsteady, with an unpleasantly wide vibrato. The voice is unrecognizable as belonging to the same woman who was a thrilling, contralto-rich Kundry in her Met debut in 2001. The wear and tear of such demanding roles as Isolde, Aida, Gioconda, and Odabella have worn the velvet off the tone and it was sad to hear her unpleasant singing tonight. She has power, and all the right instincts, but the voice just won’t cooperate.

At last some balm for the ear as Ms. Wilson arrived onstage; it’s a pleasing sound, a full-lyric-to-spinto voice with Met-filling amplitude and clarity. Her phrasing and dramatic nuances served the music very well, and I very much anticipated her “Ritorna vincitor” which she began excitingly by seizing the opening phrase the moment the preceding ensemble had ended. With this impetus, she was making a fine expressive effect with the music when suddenly the sound of loud talking from the lighting bay in the auditorium ceiling broke the spell. This problem has cropped up many times at the Met over the years, but this was by far the most blatant and disruptive incident. People around me began to mutter and whisper; one man went in search of an usher to complain. Meanwhile the soprano’s “Numi pieta…” went for nought.

The talking continued throughout the quiet opening of the Temple scene – maring Jennifer Check’s attractive voicing of the chant of the Priestess – and throughout the ballet interlude. At last the strong-voiced Ramfis of Dmitry Belosselskiy re-captured our attention: the light in the bay was extinguished and the music again became our focus. Mr. Giordani was in such pallid voice in this scene that I truly expected him to withdraw at the interval.

After a coma-inducing forty-minute intermission, the house lights dimmed very slowly and I was sure an announcement of a new tenor was forthcoming. But no, the show went on with Giordani.

Ms. Urmana managed by hook or by crook to sing Amneris’s tricky “Ah, vieni…vien amor mio” entrances, but it was Ms. Wilson who carried the scene between the rivals. Ms. Urmana’s voice, which has shrunk in size, was sometimes covered by the orchestra; a few of her dramatic interjections showed the desired spark, but mostly she seemed to be just getting by in parlous voice. Ms. Wilson’s “Pieta ti prenda del mio dolor..” was beautifully voiced, but Urmana’s spreading tops really deterred from their duet. Once Urmana made her exit we could finally savour Ms. Wilson’s heartfelt, dynamically poised reprise of “Numi pieta…”

For the Triumphal Scene ballet I stood up to see if I could spot any of my dancer-friends doing the very animated Ratmansky choreography. The wigs and makeup are very disguising, but I did find Emery LeCrone at last, which made me smile.

Once the dust had settled after the ballet and parade, the tensions and inter-play of the ensuing ensemble were quite vivid. Giordani was at sea, talking his lines, but the two bassos (Mr. Belosselskiy and Soloman Howard as the King) were nicely sonorous. The entrance of Amonasro showed off George Gagnidze’s power and dramatic word-colouring, whilst Ms. Wilson was able to sail nicely over the orchestra and massed chorus, taking a shining top-C at the climax of the great concertato. After Amneris has been awarded to Radames, the concluding ensemble went forward with a real swing to it and here Mr. Giordani’s voice perked up and he hurled forth some stentorian B-flats. Ms. Wilson was not to be out-sung, and Ms. Urmana and Mr. Gagnidze and the bassos all got into it, with an exciting result.

I managed to survive the second intermission by chatting up a nearby Chinese boy who proved both knowledgeable and charming. It’s so nice to find a young person with a genuine interest in this dying art form.

At last the gentle introduction to the Nile scene was heard (the orchestra doing a fine job all evening) and we were treated to a poised rendering of “O patria mia” with Ms. Wilson very attentive to the markings in the score (which I was following closely); she took an unusually powerful approach to the low-range phrase “No…no..mai piu, mai piu…” and moments later made a shining ascent to a silvery and sustained high-C; it’s been a while since I’ve heard a soprano carry this off so well. Then a wonderful swelling tone on the high-A reprise of ‘O…patria mia…” and then the final float tapering off. Excellent!

George Gagnidze brought crisp dramatic accents to Amonasro’s attempts to ensnare his daughter in his plan for revenge; Ms. Wilson, nicely lyrical at first, became more intense as she realized what her father’s intentions were. The baritone rose to an excitingly loud and sustained “…dei Faraoni tu sei la schiava!” and then summoned up a persuasive legato for “Pensa che un popolo…vinto…straziato.”

Arriving to meet his beloved, Giordani did his best singing of the evening, perhaps inspired by the soprano in their duet. Tamara’s spun-silk phrasing of “La tra le foreste vergine…” had a seductive glow and the tenor tried hard to match her for phrasing and nuance, doing the best he could with a fractured instrument. And then Ms. Wilson floated up to a dreamy high B-flat.

After their well-voiced stretta, the drama quickly built with Gagnidze’s revelation and his urgent plea that they should flee. Giordani belted out “Sacerdote! Io resto a te!” with as much authority as he could summon, but it wasn’t enough.

Much as I wished to hear Tamara Wilson in the Tomb Scene, the thought of Urmana and Giordani slugging it out in the Judgement Scene (my favorite scene in all Verdi) proved too daunting, so I snuck out and headed home. I hope the soprano got the ovation she so truly deserved.

Note: I sent a message of complaint to The Met early the next morning about the disruption from the lighting bay and received almost immediately a reply that there had been a “flood” which caused emergency repairs to be made during the opera and the workmen had been talking. A flood, in the lighting bay, next to the chandeliers in the ceiling of the opera house? OK, if you say so. But the sound of talking from that location has spoiled several Met performances over time and I find it hard to believe that this wasn’t just another incident of someone working in the bay, babbling away to a colleague or on his cell-phone.

Monday December 29th, 2014
AIDA Giuseppe Verdi

Aida....................Tamara Wilson Radamès.................Marcello Giordani Amneris.................Violeta Urmana Amonasro................George Gagnidze Ramfis..................Dmitry Belosselskiy King....................Soloman Howard Messenger...............Eduardo Valdes Priestess...............Jennifer Check Dance...................Jennifer Cadden Dance...................Scott Weber
Conductor...............Marco Armiliato

December 29, 2014
Score Desk for TRAVIATA

Above: soprano Marina Rebeka

Saturday December 27th, 2014 matinee – The Met’s lame production of La Traviata – yet another attempt to make opera ‘relevant’ – isn’t worth seeing, but I thought this particular cast might be worth hearing, so I bought a score desk for today’s matinee. In the event, Marina Rebeka (Violetta) and Quinn Kelsey (Germont) made for a particularly exciting afternoon: their singing of the great Act II duet – the heart of the opera – was indeed memorable. And both of them were in fact excellent throughout. It’s good to experience this kind of singing in a standard-rep work at The Met, for there’s no guarantee of it in this day and age.

On the podium, Marco Armiliato seemed more intent than usual on molding a convincing rendering of the score: sometimes he is too hasty, too loud, too provincial. But today he showed great attention to details of tempo and dynamic, and allowed his singers plenty of leeway to linger on favorite notes and pamper beloved phrases. The orchestra played very well.

Aside from Maria Zifchak (Annina) and James Courtney (Dr. Grenvil), the singers in the smaller roles were more serviceable than memorable.

In a role which has been sung in living memory at The Met by such luminaries as Richard Tucker, Alfredo Kraus, Carlo Bergonzi, Nicolai Gedda, Neil Shicoff, Placido Domingo, and Jonas Kaufmann, Stephen Costello – today’s Alfredo – seemed like a case of sending a boy to do a man’s job. A feeling of uncertain pitch pervaded quite a bit of Costello’s singing, and despite a lovely passage here and there, he seemed unsure as the music ventured higher, and his breath-line sometimes didn’t sustain. His offstage serenade in Act I was flat, and he struggled with the cabaletta “O mio rimorso”, sounding tentative and uneasy. It’s sad to hear a young and promising voice in this state; it might be a good idea for him to take a break and address the problems that seem to have cropped up in his singing.

But Marina Rebeka and Quinn Kelsey swept Verdi’s immortal score to triumph with their outstanding vocalism all afternoon. Ms. Rebeka, who has proven vastly pleasing in Rossini’s Moïse et Pharaon at Carnegie Hall and in Don Giovanni at The Met, moved into the upper echelons of the many Violettas I have encountered in-house – more than 60 of them to date – in my many years of opera-going. Her voice has a pearly sheen; she displays impressive dynamic control, appealing turns of phrase, vibrant top notes, agile coloratura; and it’s a voice with a personality behind it. Her singing of the Act I scena was some of the most aurally stimulating I have heard in recent seasons, with plenty of verve in “Sempre libera” and a nicely placed E-flat to polish it off.

In Act II, the soprano met her vocal equal in Quinn Kelsey, who had sung an excellent Marcello in Boheme earlier this season. This vocal duo of Met-sized voices brought to this scene the kind of tonal allure, dramatic nuance, passion, and sheer vocal glamour that made the theatre seem to pulsate with emotion. Trading phrases, each seemed to produce one magical effect after another: the sopranos pppp “Di due figli?”, the baritone’s twinge of heartache at “Deh, non mutate in triboli…” and later his deeply felt “…tai detti a un genitor!” led us to Ms. Rebeka’s superbly delicate “Dite alla giovine…”: the absolute turning point of the opera. Throughout this duet, the two singers gave the kind of involved, emotionally engaging singing that seems often to be missing in performances today. I scrawled the word “Wow!” in my Playbill.

Mr. Kelsey (above) returned for a big-toned, finely-modulated and tender “Di Provenza”, winning a burst of sincere applause from the crowd (who were rather stingy with aria-applause today but went nuts at the end of the opera). I kind of wish they’d left off the baritone’s cabaletta – which Kelsey sang very well but which seems musically trite to me and de-rails the impetus of the drama.

In the scene at Flora’s, Mr. Costello sounded flattish and seemed to lack reserves of power for the denunciation scene, but Mr. Kelsey upbraided his son with some grand singing to which Costello’s response was perhaps his best moment of the evening. Ms. Rebeka sailed over the ensemble with gleaming tone, having sung the opera’s most moving passage – “Alfredo, Alfredo…di questo core…” (where she prays that God will spare her beloved from remorse for his callous behavior) – beautifully.

Moving directly from the country-house to Flora’s party scene to the final scene in succession, without pause, makes for a very long sing for the soprano, but Ms. Rebeka took it all in stride and did some of her most ravishing singing in “Addio del passato” where she worked some piano magic along the way and for once made the second verse seem necessary. Despite Mr. Costello being again off-pitch in “Parigi, o cara” the soprano managed to carry it off, moving on to a pensive “Ma se tornando…” as the reality that Alfredo’s love cannot save her sinks in; she bursts out thrillingly in “Gran dio, morir si giovine”, though the tenor’s response is effortful…and later in an ensemble passage he seems quite taxed by a couple of B-double-flats.

Her chance for happiness has come too late; but with a big build-up of hope, Violetta speaks of her pain having vanished. Rising to a stunning top-A on “O gioia!”, Ms. Rebeka draws the opera to a heart-rending close.

Big ovations for the soprano and baritone at their curtain calls; the House was still resounding with cheers as I left. If my upcoming two performances of Aïda come close to the level of today’s Traviata, I’ll be more than pleased.

Metropolitan Opera House December 27, 2014 matinee
LA TRAVIATA Giuseppe Verdi Violetta.....................Marina Rebeka Alfredo......................Stephen Costello Germont......................Quinn Kelsey Flora........................Maya Lahyani Gastone......................Eduardo Valdes Baron Douphol................Jason Stearns Marquis D'Obigny.............Kyle Pfortmiller Dr. Grenvil..................James Courtney Annina.......................Maria Zifchak Giuseppe.....................Juhwan Lee Messenger....................Joseph Turi Guest........................Athol Farmer Gentleman....................Paul Corona
Conductor....................Marco Armiliato

December 26, 2014
Joy To The World: BRANDENBURGS @ CMS
Tuesday December 16th, 2014 – New York City Ballet have Balanchine’s NUTCRACKER; The Philharmonic offers the MESSIAH; and The Met’s giving holiday performances of HANSEL & GRETEL. But it’s Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center who give us an extra-special gift every year in the run up to Christmas Eve: the complete Brandenburg concertos of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Last year the Society scheduled two performances of this programme, both of which were sold out. This year they have added a third performance, which is the one Dmitry and I attended tonight. And on Thursday they’ll take the Brandenburgs on the road, to the Harris Theater in Chicago.

A large crowd this evenng, with additional rows of seating near the stage. A pair of fidgety neighbors were a bit of a distraction, but at least they were silent. The concertos, played in a different order each year, unfolded magically; each has its own complement of players and the Society assembled a roster of excellent musicians who traded off ‘seatings’ from one concerto to the next. So nice to see principal artists from The New York Philharmonic (Robert Langevin, flute, and Timothy Cobb, double-bass) and The Metropolitan Opera (Julia Pilant, horn) joining CMS from their neighboring home theatres. Mr. Cobb and John Gibbons (immaculate playing at the harpsichord) performed in all six concertos. The programme looks long on paper, but actually the evening flew by with a savourable mixture of virtuosity and expressive poetry.

The performance opened with the #1 concerto in F-major, which sounds so Handelian to me. This is the concerto with two horns and a trio of oboes. Ms. Pilant and Julie Landsman sounded the brightly-harmonized horn calls with assurance, whilst Stephen Taylor, Randall Ellis, and James Austin Smith piped up delightfully with their oboes, joined by Marc Goldberg on bassoon. Oboe, violin, bassoon and bass sound the poignant adagio, then the high horns ring out briskly in the allegro. You think it’s over, but there’s a surprise fourth movement – it veers from minuet to polonaise – in which separate choirs of winds and strings summon up the rhythms of the dance.

In concerto #6 (B-flat major) which follows, a trio of cellos (Pauk Watkins, Eileen Moon, Timothy Eddy) bring a particular resonance to the score. The adagio – one of Bach’s most movingly melodious inventions – opens with the solo viola (Lily Francis) who passes the theme to violinist Lawrence Dutton. This is a passage that one wants to go on and on. But the closing allegro sweeps us inexorably forward.

Violinist Benjamin Beilman took the lead in the 4th concerto (in G-major); the satiny sheen of his sustained tones and his very deft management of the coloratura passages were indeed impressive, and he is an animated, deeply involved musician. The duo flautists Sooyun Kim and Robert Langevin warbled with silvery sweetness in the fleet phrases of the outer movements and blendied serenely in the central andante. Ben Beilman’s striking virtuosity and his elegant lyricism marked a high point in an evening loaded with superb playing.

After the interval, in the 5th concerto (D-major), John Gibbons’ harpsichord artistry was to the fore, giving great pleasure in a long, complex and brilliantly etched ‘mega-cadenza’ at close of the first movement. The central affetuoso movement brings the sterling flute of Mr. Langevin and the poised violin phrasing of Sean Lee, mingling their ‘voices’ with the keyboard textures Mr. Gibbons so impressively evoked. Yet again, we feel Bach’s genius being transmitted to us in all its poignant clarity. The mood and pace then bounce back emphatically with a brisk final allegro.

The 3rd concerto, in G-major, is unique in that the expected central slow movement is replaced by a mere couple of chords before going immediately into allegro overdrive. Thus the entire piece simply rushes forward in a whirlwind of animated playing. The all-strings setting (plus harpsichord, of course) features a large ensemble and much rhythmic and melodic variety whilst always sailing onward.

The evening’s final work, the 2nd concerto (in F-major), arrived far to soon. In flourishing flights to the upper range, David Washburn’s Baroque trumpet gave the arcangel Gabriel a run for his money. Equally scintllating to the ear was Sooyun Kim’s limpid flute playing: both in agility and in sustained, luminous tone, she made a wonderful impression. In the andante, a particularly fine blend of timbres from Ms. Kim, Stephen Taylor (oboe), Lawrence Dutton (violin) and Paul Watkins (cello) made me again want to linger; but the trumpeter’s silvery calls in the final allegro assai swept us on to the evening’s celebratory conclusion.

The young violinist Sean Lee, playing the concertos with CMS for the first time, wrote movingly of the experience in a Playbill note: “I cannot think of a more joyous, warm, celebratory set of pieces to revel to, as if gathering around a fire during these winter months.” Amen to that!

The participating artists:
John Gibbons , harpsichord

Aaron Boyd , violin

Sean Lee , violin

Daniel Phillips , violin

Benjamin Beilman , violin

Lawrence Dutton , viola

Lily Francis , violin

Timothy Eddy , cello

Eileen Moon , cello

Paul Watkins , cello
Timothy Cobb , double bass

Sooyun Kim , flute

Robert Langevin , flute

Randall Ellis , oboe

James Austin Smith , oboe

Stephen Taylor , oboe

Marc Goldberg , bassoon

Julie Landsman , horn

Julia Pilant , horn

David Washburn , trumpet
December 16, 2014
Janis Martin Has Passed Away

Above: Claudio Abbado and soprano Janis Martin prior to a performance of Schoenberg’s ERWARTUNG at La Scala, 1980

Following yesterday’s news of the death of Irene Dalis, more sad tidings in the opera world today with the passing of Janis Martin, the American mezzo-turned-soprano, a singer who loomed large in my opera-going career. A Met Auditions winner in 1962 (she sang Dalila’s “Mon coeur s’ouvre a ta voix” at the Winners’ Concert), Martin sang nearly 150 performances at the Metropolitan Opera, commencing in 1962 as Flora Bervoix in TRAVIATA. As a young opera-lover, I heard her many times on the Texaco broadcasts. She eventually progressed to “medium-sized” roles: Siebel, Nicklausse, Lola in CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA. Martin left The Met in 1965 and built a career abroad, moving into soprano territory. She returned to The Met and from 1974 thru 1977; during these seasons, she was my first in-house Kundry, Marie in WOZZECK, and Sieglinde. Another hiatus, and then she was back at Lincoln Center from 1988-1992, singing the Witch in HANSEL & GRETEL, the Dyer’s Wife in FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN, Senta, the Foreign Princess in RUSALKA, and two performances of TOSCA.

In the past couple of months, I’ve taken a renewed interest in Janis Martin’s singing, after first hearing her as Gutrune in a recording of a tremendous GOTTERDAMMERUNG from Bayreuth 1975. This prompted me to pursue her further, acquiring her Senta in a 1972 Vienna HOLLANDER. Waiting in my pile of “to-listen-to” CDs is her WALKURE Fricka, from Bayreuth 1968. I also searched out my old cassettes of her Met broadcast as the Dyer’s Wife (she sings tirelessly, and with great vocal thrust and considerable beauty of tone) and I purchased her commercial recording of ERWARTUNG with Pierre Boulez conducting, which is very impressive.

Janis Martin sings two songs from Hindemith’s Drei Gesänge op.9 here. The songs are “Meine Nächte sind heiser zerschrien” (text by Ernst Wilhelm Lotz), and “Weltende” (text by Else Lasker-Schüler).

December 15, 2014
Irene Dalis Has Passed Away

Above: Irene Dalis as Herodias in SALOME

Another of my great idols from my early years of opera-going has passed away: Irene Dalis – who, after a long singing career went on to run Opera San Jose – has died at the age of 89.

In 2007, I wrote an appreciation of Dalis for my blog and a few months afterward she either found it or it was pointed out to her, and she sent me a lovely note of thanks. I still have the Christmas cards she used to send me back in the ’60s and ’70s when she was singing at The Met.

December 14, 2014
LADY MACBETH OF MTSENSK @ The Met

Saturday November 29th, 2014 matinee – My friend Dmitry and I both really like Shostakovich’s LADY MACBETH OF MTSENSK; I remember being bowled over by Catherine Malfitano’s portrayal of Katerina Ismailova back in 2000. The chance to see this season’s revival caused us to weigh the pros and cons: basically we were not sure of what to expect from Eva-Maria Westbroek – who plays Katerina this season – having not been especially thrilled with what we’d seen her do to date: a solid but un-illuminating Sieglinde and a seriously miscast Francesca da Rimini. But in the end Shostakovich won out, and we were rewarded with one of the greatest Met experiences in the past decade.

As Katerina this afternoon, Ms. Westbroek sounded rather wobbly and edgy at first, but as the performance progressed the voice became steadier (though never truly steady) and her control of it was increasingly impressive. It’s a generous voice, and in addition to some rich spinto outpourings she was able to hone the voice down to a whisper at times. As an actress, she surely threw herself unsparingly into the role, winning a roar from the crowd as she took her curtain calls.

Brandon Jovanovich was the passionate, randy, and ultimately heartless Sergei. His voice is Met-sized, warm and vigorous. Tall and handsome of physique, he tackled the physical requirements of the production with gusto, including being hoisted aloft whilst humping the cook (Holli Harrison is a spirited yet hapless portrayal). Mr. Jovanovich sings the Verdi REQUIEM with the New York Philharmonic in January: something to look forward to even more eagerly after his big success today.

As the cuckolded Zinovy, tenor Raymomd Very gave a strong vocal performance; dramatically he seemed to be thoroughly under his father’s thumb and unable to comprehend the needs and desires of his slowly-smouldering wife.

In LADY MACBETH Shostakovich provides a number of finely-crafted roles which today were seized upon by a wonderful coterie of singing actors/actresses. In particular, we had a veritable parade of bassos who plumbed the vocal depths so beloved in Russian music whilst constructing their characters with juicy, scene-grabbing theatrics. In a pair of towering characterizations, Anatoli Kotscherga as Boris and Vladimir Ognovenko (the Police Sergeant) gave object lessons in the art of operatic performing. Mr. Kortsherga was the oily, lazy, hypocritical father figure to a T; his singing had delightful tinges of liquor and sleaze, his tone ample and with a dark vibrance. Mr. Ognovenko, who for over two decades has given us great portrayals at The Met, was in thunderous voice and threw himself into the staging with great gusto. His was a major triumph today. More basso brilliance from Mikhail Kolelishvili (the ample-voiced, dancing priest), Dmitry Belosselskiy (with his deep lamenting sound in the final ‘hymn’ of the doomed prisoners); and Ricardo Lugo (making his mark as a Prison Guard).

Back in August 1982 I saw a breathtaking Beni Montresor-designed production of Cavalli’s L’ORMINDO given by Chamber Opera Theatre of New York. The two male leads were tenor Ronald Naldi and (then-) baritone Allan Glassman. Both went on to appear in many Met productions. Mr. Glassman made the transition to tenor and has sung both character and leading roles at The Met, including Herod in SALOME and Bégearss in GHOSTS OF VERSAILLES. Today he was cast as the Shabby Peasant, the man who discovers the dead body of Zinovy, setting up the arrest of Katerina and Sergei. Mr. Glassman’s singing was stentorian and superbly characterized, his stage portrayal at once manic and furtive. His scene was a highlight of the afternoon.

Oksana Volkova, an outstanding Olga in ONEGIN last season, was rich-toned as Sonyetka – how gross that she and Katerina drowned in a vat of dumped human waste! – and Kelly Cae Hogan’s clear, pointed soprano rang out nicely in her few phrases as a Convict. Tyler Duncan (Millhand) and John McVeigh (Teacher) stood out among the supporting cast.

The hero of the afternoon was conductor James Conlon (above). With both the Met orchestra and chorus on absolute peak form, Conlon shaped the spectacular Shostakovch score with extraordinary commitment, summoning forth the vast colour-range of the music and evoking stellar playing in the featured instrumental solo passages that crop up quite frequently. Conlon gave his singers ideal support, and it was his musical vision that made the performance the thrilling event that it was. After the final chord, the Maestro remained in the pit, shaking hands with many of the players.

The Graham Vick production is one of The Met’s finest, making very inventive use of the stage area (especially the trap doors!) and with countless touches to lure the eye: the disco ball in particular casts brilliant shards of light into the auditorium. Elements of the Orthodox faith are incorporated (the over-the-top grieving widows clambering up a towering pile of garbage to plant crosses whilst flagellating themselves or beating their breasts); then there are the comic-opera police force, the roistering peasants, the shirtess hunks who work for Boris. It’s a vulgar, boozy, ironic and – in the end – moving production. This afternoon’s large audience seemed mesmerized throughout, and there were very few defections at intermission. The ovation at the end was hearty (though more was really deserved) and the orchestra players remained in the pit to be hailed lustily along with James Conlon during the bows. After the final curtain fell, there were loud sounds of celebration from the stage as the cast, chorus, and crew shared in the mutual admiration of their work at the end of a successful run.

Note: The performance started about 15 minutes late due to some lighting malfunction in the pit.

Metropolitan Opera House November 29, 2014 (matinee)
LADY MACBETH OF MTSENSK Dmitri Shostakovich Katerina Ismailova......Eva-Maria Westbroek Sergei..................Brandon Jovanovich Zinovy..................Raymond Very Boris...................Anatoli Kotscherga Aksinya.................Holli Harrison Millhand................Tyler Duncan Coachman................Dustin Lucas Peasant.................Allan Glassman Steward.................Rod Nelman Porter..................Brandon Cedel First Foreman...........Kurt Phinney Second Foreman..........Daniel Clark Smith Third Foreman...........David Lowe Priest..................Mikhail Kolelishvili Chief of Police.........Vladimir Ognovenko Policeman...............Earle Patriarco Teacher.................John McVeigh Old Convict.............Dmitry Belosselskiy Sentry..................Ricardo Lugo Sonyetka................Oksana Volkova Convict.................Kelly Cae Hogan Prison Officer..........Paul Corona
Conductor...............James Conlon

November 29, 2014
At Home With Wagner VII

As Summer began to transition into Autumn, I found myself with less time for my favorite solitary pastime: listening to recordings of live performances of the operas of Richard Wagner. But I spent a long time with a 1975 Bayreuth GOTTERDAMMERUNG, re-playing certain scenes repeatedly. It’s one of the most exciting performances of that opera I’ve ever heard.

The overall majesty of this GOTTERDAMMERUNG owes a great deal to the masterful conducting of Horst Stein (above). Under his remarkable leadership, the performance drew me in from the opening chord. Not only is the great span of the work honored in all its epic magnificence, but time and again Maestro Stein illuminated what I thought were familiar passages with fresh nuances of colour or dynamic.

As the First Norn, Marga Höffgen’s voice wells up from the mysterious glow of the prelude. Höffgen (pictured above) is authoritative and she sent a shiver up my spine with the line “Die nacht weicht…” (“The night wanes…”) sung with such a prophetically gloomy resonance. Wendy Fine as the Third Norn has a strong sense of urgency in her singing, and Anna Reynolds as the Second Norn is simply superb: in voice, diction and expression she brings a thrilling dimension to this music.

Horst Stein’s spacious reading of the Dawn Music has a triumphant ring, heralding the only truly happy scene in the entire opera. Catarina Ligendza and Jean Cox as Brunnhilde and Siegfried are splendidly matched, she showing a full-bodied sense of lyricism whilst the tenor’s strong, sustained singing will be a boon to the entire performance. Stein builds the rapture of their duet exctingly, a big vocal outpouring worthy of the passions they express…passions soon doomed to betray them.

Above: Jean Cox rehearsing at Bayreuth with Wolfgang Wagner

A wonderful rocking feeling pervades Stein’s reading of the Rhne Journey; we feel like we’re in Siegfried’s boat, along for the joyride. The threesome we meet at the Gibichung Hall are as strong a trio as one could hope for: power and pride of voice from Franz Mazura (Gunther), rich lyricism from Janis Martin (Gutrune), and the start of a masterful performance of Hagen from Karl Ridderbusch.

Ms. Martin (above, with Claudio Abbado) started out singing smallish roles at The Met, eventually having a major career as a Wagnerian soprano. She was my first Sieglinde, Kundry, and Marie in WOZZECK, and she really makes her mark here as Gutrune. She, Mazura, and Ridderbusch share a strong sense of verbal detailing, keeping the dramatic situation in sizzling high-profile; Cox and Mazura are very powerful in the Blood Brotherhood scene; they sail off to the Valkyrie Rock, leaving Ridderbusch to deliver a simply magnificent rendering of Hagen’s Watch, thrillingly abetted by Maestro Stein.

Above: Anna Reynolds

The scene is now set for some truly remarkable singing in the confrontation between Brunnhilde and her sister Waltraute, played by Anna Reynolds. Ms. Reynolds is a great favorite of mine; she was my first RHEINGOLD Fricka (conducted by Herbert von Karajan at a Metropolitan Opera matinee…his only Met broadcast), and a few seasons later I had the good fortune to also experience her WALKURE Fricka. All of the things I love about Reynolds’ singing are in ample evidence in this GOTTERDAMMERUNG: her timbre is truly beautiful, her registers even; she is dynamically alert and verbally keen, a very subtle colourist with a sense of majestic authority, later overcome by despair as Brunnhilde refuses to part woth the Ring. The argument between Reynolds and Ligendza is masterfully developed by Maestro Stein, Ligendza standing her ground with firm-voiced dignity. Reynolds concludes the scene on a splendid top A-natural and rushes away.

As the flames surrounding her abode leap up. Ligendza brings great lyric joy to her anticipated reunion with Siegfried; her despair at his betrayal and her realization of his deceit are finely delineated by Stein and his orchestra; the conflict and Siegfried’s brutal seizing of the Ring are excitingly realized by the singers and conductor.

Above: Gustav Neidlinger, a fabulous Alberich

Maestro Stein commences the second act with a throbbingly sinister prelude which leads to the appearance of Alberich (Gustav Neidlinger), manifesting himself in a dream to his son Hagen. This is one of my favorite scenes in the RING Cycle, and Neidlinger and Ridderbusch give it a tremendous impact, their singing and verbal nuances meshing to great expressive effect. Neidlinger (famed for his portrayal Alberich on the classic Georg Solti commercial RING) so vividly captures the restless insistence of the dwarf, desperate of regain the ring and depending on Hagen to achieve it. Throughout the scene, the two singers receive superb support from Stein.

Janis Martin makes the absolute most of every line Wagner gives to Gutrune, and then Karl Ridderbusch unleashes a tremendous “Hoi ho!”, grandly summoning his vassals to celebrate the arrival of Gunther’s bride. The chorus’s excitement seems genuine as they sing “Gross gluck und Heil!”; of course, the festive throng soon fall into epic puzzlement as the downcast Brunnhilde appears, escorted by Gunther. Mazura’s potent singing and rugged sense of nobility will make his downfall all the more tragic. The chorus, amazed by Brunnhilde’s stupor, whisper “Was ist ehr?” (“What ails her?”); the answer comes soon enough.

Catarina Ligendza shows very slight traces of vocal fatigue in this strenuous act, but scarecly enough to be a demerit to the overall impact of her portrayal. Even when somewhat taxed, she plunges bravely onward. The swearing of the oaths – potently underscored by Stein – finds the soprano a bit stressed here and there, and Mr. Cox fudges the brief high-C. But none of this really detracts from the overall thrill of the performance. As Siegfried and Gutrune leave to prepare for the ceremony, Ligendza is back on fine form in expressing Brunnhilde’s uncomprehending woe and then her unbridled fury. Mazura limns Gunther’s shame with disturbing intensity and when Brunnhilde heaps insults in him, he is filled with self-loathing. Ligendza, Mazura, and Ridderbusch then join in the final trio which bristles with dramatic fire, fanned marvelously by Maestro Stein and the orchestra.

The excellence continues with Act III: Horst Stein’s scene-painting is colourful and detailed, and I love his trio of Rhinemaidens: they blend very well, and you can hear each voice distinctly in the harmonies. Elisabeth Volkmann (Woglinde) sings so prettily, and Inger Paustian (Wellgunde) makes a fine impression as she spies the ring on Siegfried’s finger.

I’m particularly happy to have this souvenir of Sylvia Anderson (above), a singer I heard at New York City Opera in the 1970s as Octavian and as Giovanna Seymour in ANNA BOLENA. As Flosshilde, she gives a lovely mellow depth to the Rhinemaidens’ trios; it’s really nice hearing her voice again.

Unlike some Siegfrieds, Jean Cox has plenty of voice left to spend going into Act III. He really sings: no barking or hoarseness. Calling out to the hunting party from which he has wandered, Cox produces a walloping long high-C, a note most Siegfriends can’t even hit at this point in a long evening; it’s not beautiful, but it’s such a heroic touch.

In the ensuing scene, building up to the murder of Siegfried, Ridderbush is simply superb and Mazura remarkably vivid in lines that some baritones throw away. Siegfried’s narrative has a real lilt to it, and Cox is first-rate: yest abother distinctive passage from this imperturbable performer. The orchestral playing continues to shine, movingly supporting the tenor as he regains his senses after Hagen’s spear-thrust has laid him low. This leads to a grand and glorious rendering of the Funeral March by Stein and his tireless players.

Back at the Gibichung Hall, Janis Martin is again very impressive as she awaits the return of the men. The ensuing scene, with her horror at Siegfried’s demise, Hagen’s crude cruelty, and Gunther’s shame and remorse, is filled with tremendous tension: brilliant work from Martin, Mazura and Ridderbusch, ideally underscored by the valiant Maestro.

And now it’s left to Catarina Ligendza (above) to bring this mighty performance to a close with the Immolation Scene. She summons up impressive reserves for this big sing, and although traces of strain are detectable here and there, the overall sweep of the music and the fine support she gets from Stein send her sailing forward. In the great benedictive phrase “Ruhe…ruhe du Gott!” Ligendza is splendid. She then greets Grane with a fabulous top B-flat and finishes very strongly indeed. Maestro Stein brings his masterful interpretation of this epic work to a close with stunning aural vistas of fire, flood, and redemption.

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A performance of DER FLIEGENDE HOLLANDER from Vienna 1972 piqued my curiosity, mainly because of the presence of Cornell MacNeil in the title-role. MacNeil first sang the Dutchman in a series of performamces at the Met in 1968, conducted by Berislav Klobucar. His Sentas were Leonie Rysanek, Regine Crespin, and Ludmila Dvorakova. At the time my opera-going friends and I hoped that this would mark the first of many forays into the German repertoire for the voiceful baritone: we imagined him as Kurwenal, Telramund, Wolfram, Amfortas, Hans Sachs, the Wotans, Barak, Orestes, and Jochanaan. But aside from performances as the Dutchman in Seattle in 1972 and then in Vienna in the same year, MacNeil never again sang a German role to my knowledge.

MacNeil’s a most impressive Dutchman on this Vienna issue; if his monolog lacks the palpable sense of mystery and poetic longing that the greatest interpreters bring to this music, his power is ample and his sense of vocal commitment unerring. He is well-matched in Act I by the Daland of Manfred Schenk who sings strongly; the two men’s long duet here always strikes me as Wagner at his most Verdian; their singing of it is grand yet human. Adolf Dallapozza is a clear-voiced Steersman and the chorus respond heartily to conductor Otmar Suitner’s rollicking tempo for their casting-off chorus which ends the act.

Suitner sets Act II deftly in motion with the whirring of the spinning wheels; the choral voices seem girlish.

In a marvelous bit of casting, Margarita Lilowa (above) is a full-voiced, warm-toned Mary. She brings vocal appeal to a role that is often assigned to ‘character’ singers or aging Wagneriennes.

Janis Martin (above), an American mezzo-turned-soprano, loomed large in my opera-going career. A Met Auditions winner in 1962 (she sang Dalila’s “Mon coeur s’ouvre a ta voix” at the Winners’ Concert), Martin sang nearly 150 performances at the Metropolitan Opera, commencing in 1962 as Flora Bervoix in TRAVIATA. As a young opera-lover, I heard her many times on the Texaco broadcasts. She eventually moved on to “medium-sized” roles: Siebel, Nicklausse, Lola in CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA. She left The Met in 1965 and built a career abroad, moving into soprano territory. She returned to The Met and from 1974 thru 1977; in thse seasons, she was my first in-house Kundry, Marie in WOZZECK, and Sieglinde. Another hiatus, and then she was back at Lincoln Center from 1988-1992, singing the Witch in HANSEL & GRETEL, the Dyer’s Wife in FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN, Senta, the Foreign Princess in RUSALKA, and two performances of TOSCA. An interesiting footnote from her second Met TOSCA:

“Because of an injury sustained at her previous performance of Tosca on 10/20/93, Janis Martin did not leap from the battlement at the end of the opera but committed suicide by stabbing herself with the knife she had retained after killing Scarpia in Act II."

Janis Martin sang a single WALKURE Brunnhilde at the Met in 1997, her final performance there. Elsewhere during her career she sang Ariadne, Isolde, and Ortrud.

On this Vienna HOLLANDER, Ms. Martin is thoroughly impressive. She is able to produce a clear, soft lyricism in the more refective passages of Senta’s Ballad and then cut loose with authoritative intensity at the climax.

Like Janis Martin, tenor William Cochran first came to notice as a Met Auditions winner in 1968. At the Winners’ Concert he and co-winner Jessye Norman sang the “Wintersturme” and “Du bist der lenz” from Act I of WALKURE. After singing several performances of Vogelgesang in MEISTERSINGER at The Met in 1968, Cochran went off to build his career and reputation, returning in 1984-1985 for two performances of Bacchus in ARIADNE AUF NAXOS (including a broadcast). You can hear him here in the final scene of Act I of WALKURE with Eileen Farrell. On this Vienna HOLLANDER he’s Erik, the most bel canto of the major Wagnerian tenor roles. He sings clearly and has a feel for the Italianate flow of this two arias.

The scene where Erik describes his nightmare to Senta and she becomes increasingly intense in her reactions – since his nightmare signals her dream come true – is finely played by Cochran and Ms. Martin. And suddenly the object of her obsession appears before her. Mr. Schenk sings his jovial, folkish aria very well – he has no idea where all this is leading. And then Ms. Martin and Mr. MacNeil embark on their great duet, a very taxing piece for both in terms of breath-support, a tessitura that lies high, and the need for expressiveness throughout. MacNeil has a couple off-pitch moments and the soprano is just a trifle tense (but still sucessful) on her highest notes. With Mr. Schenk they drive the trio forward, Ms. Marrtin setting the pace with her high-strung pledge of eternal devotion. There’s no break now leading into the final scene of the opera.

The boisterous chorus and booted dance-steps of Daland’s crew and their call to the Dutchman’s crew to join them are met with eerie silence at first; later when the ghostly sailors begin their hellish chant, the opposing forces mingle violently. Mr. Cochran’s sturdy singing of Erik’s plea cannot dissuade Senta and after hearing Mr. MacNeil’s farewell – laced with heartbreak – and his revelation of his true identity, Ms. Martin sails clearly thru Senta’s high-lying pledge of eternal faithfulness. Maestro Suitner curiously omits the redemption theme from the opera’s closing moments.

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Sheer curiosity prompted me to order this disc of excerpts from DIE WALKURE. From the details provided, this peformance seems to have been a broadcast from the Royal Albert Hall of a concert version of the opera, with the orchestra of the Royal Opera House under the baton of Sir Georg Solti. The excerpts are rather oddly chosen: an excellent rendering of Siegmund’s Sword monolog from Act I finds tenor Ernst Kozub at his considerable best. The appetite is whetted for a continuation of the scene, but instead we jump to the final few minutes of Act I, with Claire Watson an urgent Sieglinde and Mr. Kozub ever-impressive.

Then suddenly we are in Act III, with Ms. Watson being first consoled and then inflamed by the sturdy Brunnhilde of Anita Välkki. Especially fine here are the mezzos and altos among the Valkyries as they warn Brunnhilde that her plan to aid Sieglinde’s escape may falter: Maureen Guy, Monica Sinclair, and Elizabeth Bainbridge are simply super.

The main reason to acquire this disc was to hear Forbes Robinson (above), a Covent Garden stalwart and noted Handelian, as Wotan. Back in the 1960s and 70s when I subscribed to the British magazine OPERA, Robinson’s name was everywhere. I was very curious to hear what sort of Wotan he might have been, and the answer – based on this sampling – is: marvelous! His voice is ample, rich, and warm, and he comes storming on in Act III to chastise his beloved daughter. Once the Valkyries have departed, Miss Välkki and Mr. Robinson give a truly moving performance of the opera’s great final scene, abetted with grandeur by Maestro Solti. If the soprano strays from pitch once or twice, her lovely take on Brunnhilde’s mixture of vulnerability and plucky courage is very finely expressed. The basso’s is surely one of the steadiest and most vocally pleasing Wotans I’ve ever heard, making me wish that the second act, with the god’s great monolog, had also been preserved. Robinson’s performance here amounts to a revelation, actually.

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Above: conductor Eugen Jochum

And now that Autumn is slipping into Winter, I set out to select a complete live performance of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE from the several on offer at Opera Depot. I wanted to delve deeper into this opera, which over the years has somehow managed to elude my thorough devotion; my plan was to choose a recording that would hopefully inspire me, and study the score while listening.

After much weighing of pros and cons (it actually took me a couple weeks to make a final choice) I narrowed the list down to three recordings; then the Depot offered one of their 50%-off sales and I made my purchase: the performance is from the Bayreuth Festival 1953, conducted by Eugen Jochum. Within moments of putting the on the first disc, I knew I’d made a perfect choice. It’s a first-class performance in every regard, and the sound quality is very fine indeed.

Maestro Jochum is the great underlying force of this performance. From the opening measures of the prelude, with their pregnant pauses, Jochum steers a monumental course thru this score. The first voice we hear is that of a young sailor, singing from high in the rigging. The tenor is Eugene Tobin, who recently passed away. He does a beautiful job with this plaintive song: a song with a sting in its tail that rouses Isolde from her state of depressed lethargy. And we are off!

Astrid Varnay (above) is for me a very uneven singer. Aside from her recording of ELEKTRA on the Koch label, I don’t have any of her commercial recordings; but I have started to appreciate her more on these Opera Depot releases. I mulled over whether she was the Isolde I wanted to have, and indeed for the first few moments when she starts to sing, I thought that the ‘matronly’ quality I sometimes hear in her singing would be a detriment. But soon she is warmed up and she goes on to give a thrilling performance in every regard. Her lower and mid-range are on exceptional form, and the top notes trumpet out. Her dynamic control is impressive as is her shading of the text.

Ira Malaniuk (above) makes a superb impression as Brangaene, musically and textually detailed and urgently expressive. Her singing throughout Act I is compelling, and she brings a caressive softness to some passages, drawing us in.

Ramon Vinay (above) is both powerfully masculine and poetic as Tristan. As his faithful friend Kurwenal, Gustav Neidlinger barks a bit as he chides Brangaene; later he will reveal his depth of musicality and a gruff tenderness of tragic stature.

We’ve now met the main characters for Act I: Malaniuk returns from her unsuccessful errand to Tristan, and Varnay, at first subtle and then passionate, prepares to unfold her Narrative. Here the soprano is marvelous, the text vividly coloured and the singing rich and secure. Especially gorgeous is her rendering of “Er sah mir in die Augen…” as she describes the troubling glance of the wounded Tantris. Then onwards to a spear-like top B and a blazing, overwhelming curse.

Malaniuk responds with excelling lyricism and a nice, steady top G: the interchanges between her and Varnay tingle with both vocal inspiration and verbal acuity as they discuss the various potions: here Malaniuk’s singing senses the mystery and peril. It’s all thoroughly absorbing.

Varnay is imperious, grandiose as she bids Kurwenal obey his future queen and send Tristan to her at once. She then gives her orders to Brangaene, describing the potions with great intensity; their conversation again bristles with foreboding, and Varnay’s low-A at “Todestrank!” is another marvel. Maestro Jochum now draws forth the ominous build-up to the encounter between Isolde and Tristan.

This scene, which begins with a formal exchange, is perfectly underscored by Jochum’s orchestra: the buildup of tension and passion is spine-tingling, and how cunningly Varnay expresses her reasons for not having killed Tristan. As the drinking of the potion looms – with a loud interjection from the sailors – Varnay’s vocal sorcery and Vinay’s moving sense of nobility are captivating. They drink; their doom is sealed: a flood of tenderness followed by the desperate confusion of the ship’s landing and the lovers torn asunder.

As the acronical second act opens, Malaniuk’s continued perfection and Varnay’s successful lightening of the voice as they discuss Melot keep tension high. Then Brangaene/Malaniuk seeks desperately to dissuade her mistress from extinguishing the torch. Jochum’s thrilling impulsiveness as the lovers finally meet – with Varnay striking some big top-Cs – slowly settles down, and the conductor and his players steep the interlude in a misty perfume. In the love duet, the singers become poets; their urgency waxes and wanes, tenderness and rapture build and then evaporate. Malaniuk’s voice floats her warning over Jochum’s dreamy orchestra. A heroic outpouring from Varnay and Vinay…and then fate intervenes.

Ludwig Weber (above) with his huge, inky voice – full of heartbreak – is very impressive as King Marke, with a flood of painful tenderness as his narrative ends. As Tristan invites Isolde to join him in the realm of darkness, Jochum and Vinay blend is a redolent expressiveness. Then Tristan surrenders himself to Melot’s blade and in a flash, the tragedy is fulfilled.

In his doom-ladened rendering of the opening chords of Act III, Jochum again strikes at the soul. The cor anglais solo is gorgeously played. Gerhard Stolze – well-known for his Loge and Herod – shows off his lyrical aspect as the Shepherd. Gustav Neidlinger’s Kurwenal assumes epic vocal proportions here, deeply moving and drenched with humanity. And Neidlinger’s great joy as Tristan awakens is truly touching.

As madness creeps in and overtakes Tristan, Ramon Vinay veers with aching intensity from wild abandoned to fevered calm. Following a stentorian outburst, Tristan collapses; yet again Neidlinger moves us in expressing his fear that his master has died. Vinay intones a gentle “Wie, se selig”. Then the rising ecstacy as Tristan senses the approach of Isolde’s ship. The shepherd pipes up! Incredible optimism and joy: Kurwenal urges Tristan to live. But in vain: with a single rough-tender “Isolde!”, Tristan expires.

The first hints of the Liebestod are heard in the orchestra. As the steersman, a young Theo Adam (later to become an excellent Wotan and Hans Sachs), warns of the approach of another ship. Jochum now marvelously underscores Kurwenal/Neidlnger’s magnificent death. Ludwig Weber and Ira Malaniuk have their final expressions, all awash with futile despair. And then Jochum and Varnay unite for an overwhelming Liebestod.

These recordings are available from Opera Depot.

November 25, 2014
Shostakovich Reflected @ Chamber Music Society
Above: Dmitry Shostakovich

Sunday November 23rd, 2014 – We seem currently to be in the midst of an impromptu Shostakovich Festival at the halls of Lincoln Center. Last night, the New York Philharmonic gave an epic performance of the composer’s 8th symphony under the baton of Jaap van Zweden. This afternoon, Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center offered a very satisfying programme entitled Shostakovich Reflected, with works by Sibelius and Debussy mixed with a Shostakovch song cycle and his Trio #2. At the Metropolitan Opera, the composer’s LADY MACBETH OF MTSENSK is holding forth, conducted by James Conlon (I’ll see it on November 29th). In February, New York City Ballet will jump in with a revival of Christopher Wheeldon’s ballet, MERCURIAL MANOUVRES, set to the Shostakovich piano concerto #1. The Philharmonic meanwhile will offer two more Shostakovich symphones later in their season: the 5th (conducted by Long Yu, from January 22nd-24th, 2015) and the 10th (Alan Gilbert conducting; from April 8th-11th, 2015).

At Alice Tully Hall today, Chamber Music Society‘s Shostakovich Reflected programme again left me searching for adjectives (superlatives, really) to describe the level of music-making by the participating artists: musicians who are rapidly becoming icons for me much as the great opera singers were back in my early days of opera-going in the 1960s and 1970s.

The Sibelius Trio in G minor opened the programme today; this brief, single-movement work has a rather dark-hued, wintry feel. The music evokes a sense of longing but also of resignation. It’s unknown why Sibelius never enlarged upon this work beyond the opening movement, though he apparently made sketches, they were never developed. Yura Lee (violin), Mark Holloway (viola), and Jakob Koranyi gave a deeply-felt performance, establishing the mood so convincingly that one wanted it to go on.

Soprano Dina Kuznetsova then appeared for Shostakovich’s Seven Romances on Poems of Alexander Blok, with Gilbert Kalish at the Steinway, Yura Lee, and Mr. Koranyi. The soprano’s voice at first seemed overwhelming in the hall, but soon the proper balance was found and she and the musicians worked in a fine state of rapport, the vocal line now well-controlled with some very expressive dynamics. Mr. Kalish played with his customary mixture of finesse and passion, and both Ms. Lee and Mr. Koranyi displayed their intrinsic mastery of their instruments in songs where the accompanying voices take a prominent place. The audience reacted with great enthusiasm to this set, calling the artists back three times.

It’s always nice to find links to the ballet on programmes of symphonic or chamber music; this afternoon my friend Monica Wellington and I were especially pleased to hear Claude Debussy’s Six épigraphes antiques for Piano, Four Hands, which we both love in its danced incarnation at New York City Ballet: ANTIQUE EPIGRAPHS, a Jerome Robbins masterpiece with an all-female cast. Gilbert Kalish and Soyean Kate Lee shared keyboard, with much hand-crossing. Their refined playing evoked Nature and the rites and rituals of a long-lost tribe.

The concert concluded with a thrilling performance of Shostakovich’s Trio No. 2 in E minor, composed fifty years after the opening Sibelius trio. This work opens with solo cello playing in the highest register; here Mr. Koranyi displayed incredible control. Violin and piano (the two Ms. Lees) join in a fugue; the underlying feeling is one of pensive melancholy, the playing from all three artists nothing less than ravishing. New themes rise up, and the music flows with much interchange of the three voices.

The brisk and rather jagged scherzo that follows seems alternately joyous and frantic: a lively dancelike theme cascades along, played with marvelous virtuosity by our trio tonight. The piano ripples thru scale passages or emphatic rhythmic motifs; the violin and cello alternately pluck and sing.

Yura Lee’s poignant introduction of the third movement’s lamenting theme set the tone for this Largo, with its heart of darkness. The voices melded in music which seemed to summon up the despairing tread of a funeral procession, the misty veil shot thru with glimpses of burnished light.

The finale sweeps aside this heavy sense of grief, yet proceeds under a threat of returning gloom. The pianist sets the music marching, and there’s more dance-rhythms as well; wit and humor are not forbidden, but are delivered with irony. The song-like theme of the first movement is recalled, setting up a continuum of memory even as the work plunges forward.

I can’t say enough in praise of the three musicians who wrought this superb performance. And the audience clearly shared my sense of deep appreciation: at the end, everyone stood up and cheered as the players were summoned back for repeated bows.

The Program:
- Sibelius Trio in G minor for Violin, Viola, and Cello (1893-94)
- Shostakovich Seven Romances on Poems of Alexander Blok for Soprano, Violin, Cello, and Piano, Op. 127 (1967)
- Debussy Six épigraphes antiques for Piano, Four Hands (1914)
- Shostakovich Trio No. 2 in E minor for Piano, Violin, and Cello, Op. 67 (1944)
The Artists:
Dina Kuznetsova , soprano

Gilbert Kalish , piano

Soyeon Kate Lee , piano
Yura Lee , violin

Mark Holloway , viola

Jakob Koranyi , cello
November 23, 2014
Preview: Ballet Hispanico’s CARMEN.maquia

Above: Ballet Hispanico‘s Chris Bloom and Kimberly van Woesik in rehearsal for CARMEN.maquia Photo: Nir Arieli

Normally I don’t do previews of upcoming dance productions unless I’m planning to see them in performance. Ballet Hispanico‘s premiere presentation of Gustavo Ramirez Sansano’s CARMEN.maquia happens to fall on a night when I have tickets for the New York Philharmonic. But because I admire the Hispanico dancers so much (and their director, Eduardo Vilaro, is such a wonderful guy) I jumped at the chance to see a rehearsal today. I was so impressed with the work – for so many different reasons – that I have to send out the word: this is a must-see dancework. Ticket information for the November 22nd performance at the Apollo Theater here.

Luckily, photographer Nir Arieli was available to meet me and document the rehearsal today, which – as it turned out – was the first ‘costume-run-thru’ of the full work. I’m so grateful to publicist Michelle Tabnick for arranging things and to Ballet Hispanico‘s rehearsal director Michelle Manzanales for welcoming us to the studio.

As a long-time opera-goer (yes, I even went to the Old Met!) Bizet’s CARMEN has been in my blood for over half-a-century, starting with my first experience of hearing the great Rise Stevens singing the ‘Habanera’ on an old LP my parents owned. I know all the music intimately…and 99% of the words, which I found myself singing along today.

I don’t want to give away any secrets, but Mr. Sansano takes a non-literal stance towards the opera’s score for his new ballet, and he even incorporates music from other Bizet works. One interpolation in particular was truly daring, but I’m not going to spoil the surprise. In terms of relating to the story as told in the Bizet opera, we have dancers representing Carmen, Don Jose, Escamillo, and Micaela as well as smugglers, cigarette girls, and soldiers. But the choreographer makes some stunning re-assignments of music normally associated with one scene in the opera to a different situation in his ballet. For example…no, wait…you’ll have to go and find out for yourself!

In fact, I should not really say anything more lest I say too much. But I will mention that the black-and-white costumes are inspired by Picasso’s drawings, and that the personifications of the main characters by the marvelous Hispanico dancers transcend steps, acting, and music to create living, breathing men and women who wear their passions proudly. The work is provocative in so many different ways, from the aforementioned musical placements to the characterizations of the major players (they don’t always fit our stereotyped ideas), and even a bit of nudity.

So, rather than let too many cats out of the proverbial bag at this pre-premiere stage, I’ll share with you some of Nir Arieli’s rehearsal images. I had a terrible time deciding which ones to include, because I wanted to post them all.

Kimberly van Woesik (Carmen)

Kimberly van Woesik and Chris Bloom (Don Jose)

Mario Ismael Espinoza (Escamillo)

Min-Tzu Li (Micaela) and Chris Bloom

Min-Tzu Li and Chris Bloom

Melissa Fernandez

Jessica Alejandra Wyatt

Jamal Rashann Callender

Joshua Winzeler, Johan Rivera Mendez, and Lauren Alzamora

Christopher Hernandez and Marcos Rodriguez

Martina Calcagno

Johan Rivera Mendez and Marcos Rodriguez

The ensemble

Min-Tzu Li and Chris Bloom

The following images are from a duet for Carmen and her toreador: Kimberly van Woesik and Mario Ismael Espinoza:

All photography by Nir Arieli.

November 17, 2014
Bartok & Bruckner @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: Yefim Bronfman

Friday October 24th, 2014 – After experiencing Yefim Bronfman’s magnificent renderings of all the Beethoven piano concertos (and the triple concerto!) in a series of New York Philharmonic concerts last season, my friend Dmitry and I were keen to hear the pianist live again. Tonight, Mr. Bronfman’s playing of the Bartok 3rd marked the first of two concerts we’ll be attending this season which feature the pianist, the second being his performance of the Brahms 2nd concerto with the Chicago Symphony under Riccardo Muti at Carnegie Hall on January 31st, 2015.

Bela Bartok, who had fled Europe for America in 1940 to escape the rise of National Socialism, composed his third piano concerto as a birthday gift for his pianist-wife Ditta Pasztory-Bartok, working on it during the summer of 1945 at Saranac Lake, New York. Already in the final stages of lukemia, the composer returned to New York City where he died on September 26th, 1945, leaving the concerto unfinished. The task of orchestrating the final 17-measures, drawing from Bartók’s notes, eventually fell to the composer’s friend Tibor Serly.

Tonight’s performance found Mr. Bronfman at his finest, his fleetness of technique to the fore as his hands rippled up and down the keyboard, summoning forth one Bartokian marvel after another. He and Maestro Alan Gilbert formed a very simpatico union over this music, and the orchestra were at their best also: their many colourful eddies of sound swirling around the solo piano line. Mr. Bronfman’s dynamic range, his delightful dexterity, and his wonderfully genial personality combined to make this a truly enjoyable half-hour of music-making. The pianist, basking in enthusiastic applause at the end, bowed graciously to his fellow musicians, celebrating their mutual admiration.

Following the intermission, a genuinely thrilling experience for me: hearing the Bruckner 8th live for the first time. Everyone who follows my blog knows that, after decades of devoting myself to opera and dance, I’m now exploring the symphonic and chamber repertories; works that are thrice-familiar to most classical music lovers are new discoveries for me. Of course, having worked at Tower Records for almost a decade before they closed up shop, I did hear a lot of symphonic music day in and day out, some of it subconsciously absorbed; but there was no opportunity to stop and savor anything. So despite the familiarity of many thematic passages in the Bruckner tonight, it was all fresh and fantastic to me.

At a time when performances of Wagner’s music here in New York seem increasingly rare (The Met has only MEISTERSINGER to offer us this season, following on their ‘No Wagner’ season of 2013-2014) tonight’s Bruckner, with its Wagnerian sonorities, was a welcome treat.

Bruckner’s 8th opens murmuringly, but soon the composer begins to expand into marvelous arches of sound. The huge orchestra, resonating in the dense textures of intermingling voices of strings and winds, maintained clarity under Alan Gilbert’s steady baton. The 8th’s opening movement has been described as “simply shattering, destroying every attempt at criticism.” And Bruckner himself referred to the passage where the brass ring out the main theme repeatedly as “the announcement of Death…” This is followed by a surprising silence and the gentle, faltering heartbeat of the timpani.

In the scherzo, a big familiar theme dances forth; and then its in the adagio where I finally lost my heart to this symphony. This incredibe movement, marked in the score as “Solemn and slow, but not dragging”, opens up great vistas of panoramic sonic-painting. The harps are evocative indeed, and the massive waves of sound wash over us, suddenly to evaporate in a delicate waltz-like theme. The horns then blaze forth majestically; the overall sensation is life-encompassing.

Throughout this cinematic symphony, the ear and the soul are equally gratified. In the culminating fourth movement Bruckner’s architecture evokes a great cathedral wherein the listener is alternately overwhelmed by epic grandeur or sinks into a state of reverent contemplation.

In the end, this performance of this massive symphony – surely Wagnerian in its looming grandeur but also at times making me think of Tchaikovsky – gave so much pure satisfaction. I found myself wishing that Bruckner had written operas: what a thrill it would be to hear huge, dramatic voices soaring over his glorious orchestral soundscapes.

October 24, 2014