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(Among my reviews which somehow failed to make it from Oberon’s Grove to Oberon’s Glade, this report on a wonderful Handel performance at Carnegie Hall is one I didn’t want to leave behind.)

GIULIO CESARE @ Carnegie Hall

Above: Beth Taylor, who sang Cornelia; photo by Fadi Kheir

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday May 4th, 2025 – The English Concert presenting Handel’s GIULIO CESARE in a concert performance at Carnegie Hall; Harry Bicket was at the harpsichord, with the following cast:

Christophe Dumaux, Giulio Cesare
Louise Alder, Cleopatra
Paula Murrihy, Sesto
Beth Taylor, Cornelia
John Holiday, Tolomeo
Morgan Pearse, Achilla
Meili Li, Nireno
Thomas Chenhall, Curio

My primary reason for attending today’s performance was to hear Beth Taylor, the Scottish mezzo who made such a striking impression at the 2023 Cardiff Singer of the World competition, and who was singing Cornelia this afternoon. Immediately after the Cardiff finals, I had made friends with her on Facebook, and I have kept tabs on her ever since. 

GIULIO CESARE is a long opera, and the seats at Carnegie Hall are notoriously bad for people who have lower back problems. I wasn’t at all sure I would make it thru the whole afternoon, though I knew that much of Cornelia’s music occurs in the first act: her lament “Priva son d’ogniconforto” and – the most moving music Handel ever wrote – “Son nato a lagrimar”, a mother’s poignant duet with her son as both are imprisoned.

My first-ever experience with a Handel opera was at the opening night of the New York City Opera’s GIULIO CESARE in 1966. At that time, the Early Music mania had not yet commenced. The opera was treated like any other opera; I don’t recall any period instruments being used in the pit, though I wouldn’t have known what to look/listen for anyway. It was of course the production that thrust Beverly Sills, who had been singing with the Company for years, into the spotlight with her dazzling singing of Cleopatra. Cesare was sung by the great dramatic basso Norman Treigle. There were no counter-tenors in the cast; the characters of Tolomeo and Nireno were sung by bassos. 

Fast-forward 30+ years and I was working at Tower Records where counter-tenor mania was in full flourish. The Met had given its all-star RINALDO in 1984 – a big hit – and the New York City Opera presented productions of Handel operas that drew enthusiastic crowds. I dutifully attended these, though my true passion was the Wagner/Strauss repertoire. 

So today’s performance of GIULIO CESARE by the English Concert was the first Handel opera I’d attended in many moons. I was expecting a rather formal opera-in-concert presentation, with the singers seated onstage, rising when their characters sang, and using scores. Instead, we had a semi-staged production which included the head of Pompey in a shopping bag, and many comings-and-goings. I found it all rather distracting, and at times overly cute, as when Cesare walked down the aisle and took a seat to watch Cleopatra appear on Monte Parnasso to sing “V’adoro, pupille”.

At any rate, it was a musically pleasing performance, with Maestro Bicket having everything well in-hand, and his orchestra full of virtuosos. There were times when the voices were covered by the musicians. Following the delicious overture, all the singers joined in the opening ‘chorus’, and then the story began to unfold. 

We first meet Cesare in the person of the marvelous Christophe Dumaux, and Achilla (Morgan Pearse), who is toting Pompey’s head: a victory gift to Cesare from Tolomeo. The furious Cesare berates the messenger in the dramatic aria usually translated as “Tyrant, avoid my sight!” This is a brilliant introduction to M. Dumaux’s dazzling artistry.

Scottish mezzo-soprano Beth Taylor (the main reason I was at this performance) as Pompey’s widow Cornelia and her son – the tall, slender Paula Murrihy – are horrified by the treatment of the severed head. Cornelia’s aria “Priva son d’ogni conforto” introduces the mezzo’s unique voice, with a rich lower range and gorgeous moments of straight-tone, and an amazing dynamic range, all woven into the aria’s poignant melody. Ms. Murrihy’s Sesto replies with her own reassuring aria, “Svegliatevi nel core“, with its touching central song and a stunning cadenza.

Louise Alder’s Cleopatra is introduced with “Non disperar“, her singing at once lovely and characterful, with humorous touches in the repeat. Cleopatra is played as rather too silly and juvenile in the early scenes, but this will change as her fate alters from scene to scene. John Holiday’s Tolomeo joins the action, his “Empio, sleale!” is vividly sung, though at times the orchestra covered his voice. In a peaceful, reflective interlude, M. Dumaux’s singing is refined and poignant. Cleopatra is introduced to Cesare (she’s wearing sunglasses) as “Lydia”.

Beth Taylor returns, holding the urn of her husband’s ashes. She has a gorgeous recit, a dramatic monolog in which her multi-hued voice is fascinatingly employed. Introduced by a superb cello solo, Ms. Murrihy again brings her artistry to delight us in “Caro speme“; her subtle ornaments are captivating. Cesare’s ‘hunting’ aria, “Tacito e nascosta” was another Dumaux gem, though the horn playing was not immaculate, and the orchestra was a bit too loud; the counter-tenor’s ravishing cadenza made these concerns irrelevant. Morgan Pearse makes much out of Achilla’s big aria, and then the opera’s most magical moments unfold in the great duet for mother and son, “Son nata a lagrimar“. Mlles. Murrihy and Taylor achieved a miraculous blend of timbres, their singing exquisitely filled with subtleties and emotional shadings as they share their despair; they seemed to live and breathe as one.

I seriously thought of leaving at this point, just to carry this incredible musical experience away in my heart.

We settled in for Act II, counter-tenor Meili Li making a fine impression as Cleopatra’s help-mate Nireno. Ms. Alder’s Cleopatra was getting a bit annoying in this juvenile characterization (not the singer’s fault, but that of the staging); the soprano would soon find more depth in the character and her singing would become increasingly impressive…and moving. But for now, her “V’adoro pupille” was charmingly rendered…and the best was still to come.

Violin virtuosity from Nadia Zweiner introduced another Dumaux delight, and then Ms. Taylor has another sad song, full of wondrous soft singing. Mr. Holiday’s Tolomeo threatens Cornelia in a florid aria. Sesto prevents his mother from killing herself, and Ms. Murrihy displays her deft coloratura in “An angry serpent never rests…”

Ms. Alder’s “Venere bella” was charmingly sung, Thomas Chenhall’s Curio makes his mark, and M. Dumaux delivers some fabulous fiorature in an allegro aria. Calls for Cesare’s death are heard, and then Ms. Alder comes stunningly into her own with a heartfelt “Se pietà di me non senti”; in leaving behind the whole ‘Lydia’ conceit, the soprano now becomes truly compelling in both her vocalism and her hypnotic acting. 

Another interval…the afternoon is stretching long, and my back sends me alarming signals (I’ll be paying for all this sitting in the proverbial “morning after”) but I persevered. 

Tolomeo continues to court Cornelia, and Sesto tries to murder him. John Holiday’s aria here is most effectively delivered; in his anger, he makes his sister Cleopatra crawl. Ms. Alder’s “Piangerò la sorte mia” is quite magical; she’s very involved in the words and delivers some neat coloratura in the fast section. The da capo is a bit over-decorated, but very finely sung. 

Now Mr. Dumaux brings all his gifts to the recit that precedes “Aure, deh per pietà“; a remarkable note swells from pianissimo to glowing power and then back to a whisper…truly astonishing. He then sings the aria with uncanny control and entrancing subtleties; a magical cadenza is the crowning touch. Cleopatra is on the brink of suicide when good news prompts a brilliant “Da tempeste” from the soprano. Tolomeo again rattles Cornelia, and this time Sesto strikes to kill. (One of the awkward things about the semi-staging is that dead people come back to life, stand up, and walk offstage…) 

One wishes for a grand scena to seal Beth Taylor’s great success as Cornelia, but a rather modest song will have to do. Cleopatra and Cesare sing of their joy in an extended finale.

We met Ms. Murrihy at the stage door, such an elegant and friendly woman. 

We then waited a long time for Beth Taylor to appear, but eventually we found out there was a reception going on, apparently with no end in sight. So I missed my chance to meet this woman with the fascinating voice.

And now for some Fadi Kheir photos from the evening…click on each image to enlarge:

John Holiday as Tolomeo and Louise Alder as Cleopatra

Louise Alder as Cleopatra and Meili Li as Nireno

Christophe Dumaux as Cesare and Louise Alder as Cleopatra

M. Dumaux sings from the audience

Ms. Alder and M. Dumaux

Morgan Pearse as Achilla and Beth Taylor as Cornelia

Ms. Alder as Cleopatra

M. Dumaux and Ms. Alder

Paula Murrihy as Sesto

Christophe Dumaux as Giulio Cesare

The cast takes a bow: Beth Taylor, Paula Murrihy, Louise Alder, Christophe Dumaux, Maestro Harry Bicket, John Holiday, Morgan Pearse, Meili Li, and Thomas Chenhall.

“Let fair joy and pleasure
now return within our hearts;
relieved of all sorrow,
we may rejoice once again.”

~ Oberon

(Performance photos by Fadi Kheir, courtesy of Carnegie Hall.)

(Some articles from Oberon’s Grove did not make the trip to Oberon’s Glade. Here is one about a particularly lovely concert given in January 2024.)

Above, this evening’s artists: Shmuel Katz, Thomas Lausmann, and Eve Gigliotti

Wednesday January 15th, 2024 – A recital at the Manhattan School of Music brought together mezzo-soprano Eve Gigliotti, violist Shmuel Katz, and pianist Thomas Lausmann for a program of works by Shostakovich, Valerie Coleman, Brahms, and Loeffler. The School’s Greenfield Hall is a perfect setting for such chamber concerts; it feels spacious, yet the sense of intimacy is palpable. And the acoustics are wonderfully immediate. I sat in the front row, and all evening could feel the music in a very personal way…like it was being sung and played just for me.

Mssrs. Katz and Lausmann opened the program with the Shostakovich Sonata for Viola and Piano, Op. 147. This was the composer’s final work; he completed it on July 5, 1975, and the next day he entered the hospital where, just over a month later, he passed away from the effects of terminal heart disease and lung cancer.

Shostakovich seems to have considered the Viola Sonata to be his farewell to music, and to life. Each of the sonata’s three  movements conclude with a morendo – a “dying away.” The opening Moderato (the composer had initially called it Novella) commences with a solitary pizzicato line from the viola; the piano then joins with chromatic motifs, in contrast to the viola’s open intervals. A dialogue ensues which has an austere feeling. Mr. Katz’s simply gorgeous tone filled the lamenting theme with a deep sense of yearning; both viola and piano have a great outpouring before the music turns restless and animated. Viola tremelos and brooding passages from Mr. Lausmann’s keyboard give the feel of impending doom. Mr. Katz’s viola takes on an eerie sound as he plays a twisty theme. A burst of passion subsides, and there’s a rather sneaky, sorrowing viola cadenza before the opening pizzicati resume, leading to a fade-out of gossamer pianissimi.

The second movement – marked Allegretto – is in scherzo mode. March-like rhythms veer into folk dances, the two players in perfect alignment. The music combines humor and passion in alternating currents. Mr. Katz’s viola is plucked over a brooding passage from Mr. Lausmann; they then join in a unison dance passage. After a rich-toned viola cadenza, the two players skim onward until the viola commences a slow solo, marvelously played.

The sonata’s final movement was composed in just two days. Echoes of the iconic opening measures of Beethoven’s “Moonlight” sonata emerge, conjuring up memories. The whole movement is so poignant, all the more so for Mr. Katz’s infinite depth of tone; his stunning cadenza leads to a sense of darkening; Mr. Lausmann’s piano solo is so evocative of the moonlight. Shostakovich now looks back into the past with ghostly quotes from his earlier works. In the final moments, the composer leaves us with the purity of C-major, with Mr. Katz sustaining an incredibly long tone of impeccable beauty. The audience responded fervently to this spellbinding music, so marvelously played.

Composer Valerie Coleman (above) came to the stage to introduce her Fan Imèn (Human Family), which she had originally composed as a competition piece for flautists; tonight we were hearing the premiere of the viola setting. Ms. Coleman left us with a passage from one of Maya Angelou’s poems: “We are more alike, my friends, than we are un-alike.” If only people could grasp this notion, what a world we might be living in…free from all this chaos and strife.

Mssrs. Katz and Lausmann now did Ms. Coleman proud with a beautifully genial rendering of Fan Imèn. It opens with the pensive viola playing over shining piano motifs; turning lyrical, there is a flow of melody before becoming more animated and – finally – quite grand. After a lull, Mr. Lausmann plays shimmering notes as Mr. Katz’s viola sings eloquently. The pianist instigates a dance, the viola sailing over it. The work’s optimistic, swirling finish is a pure joy. Ms. Coleman returned for a bow and was presented with flowers by a charming a young girl.

Following the interval, Eve Gigliotti appeared in a stunning red frock to sing Johannes Brahms’  lovely Zwei Gesänge, Op. 91, often referred to as “the viola songs”. The first of these, “Gestillte Seihnsucht” (‘Longing at Rest’), is a hymn to nature sung from an unsettled soul that seeks heavenly peace. Beautifully meshing her warm, rich timbre with that of the Katz/Lausmann duo’s perfect blend, Ms. Gigliotti filled the space with her expressive, all-embracing  voice. An animated interlude returns her to the rapturous melody, her singing alive with poetic subtleties and colours. Mr. Katz’s viola maintains the atmosphere in the song’s postlude.

The second song, “Geistliches Wiegenlied” (‘Sacred Lullabye’) is based on a medieval Christmas carol. Mary asks the angels to still the winds so that her child might sleep. The viola opens and closes the song with a gently rocking motif. Ms. Gigliotti brings her distinctive timbre and a sense of passion to the music, catching the poems shifting moods with a mastery of dynamics. Now I want to hear her in the Brahms Alto Rhapsody.

To conclude the evening: Poèmes, Op. 5, by Charles Martin Loeffler. These songs are new to me, and they bring us settings of poems by Baudelaire and Verlaine with an eclectic mix of musical styles.

Published in 1904, the first song is a Charles Baudelaire poem; entitled “La Cloche fêlée” (‘The Broken Bell’), it opens with a somber piano and a lamenting viola. Ms. Gigliotti’s expressive singing – with her opulent vibrato – captures the mood. After an interlude from the viola, her vocal line becomes urgent…and then quite grand.  Rich, smouldering singing fills the last strophe; piano and viola offer a gorgeous postlude, Mr. Katz’s playing exquisitely soft.  

The three remaining songs are to poems by Paul Verlaine. “Dansons la gigue!” (‘Let’s dance the jig!’) is a jolly, rollicking tavern song. The three musicians were clearly having a blast with this, wherein the poem describes the memories of a romance that turns out to be a ‘dead letter’ (I’ve had a few such experiences in my life). The song has an instrumental finish.

“Le son du cor s’afflige vers les bois” (‘The Sound of the Horn Wails in the Woods’) opens with hauntingly beautiful playing from Mr. Lausmann. Eve’s voice is touchingly expressive. The Katz viola takes up a sustained theme, over rapturous sounds from the pianist; the singer produces a flood of tone. The deep viola leads to a wistful finish.

The set ends with “Sérénade“. Mr. Katz strums his viola like a guitar, the music dance-like. Mood swings follow, and a marvelous interlude for viola and piano. Eve’s sense of drama is ever-evident. With some viola plucking, the song reaches a witty finish. The audience’s enthusiastic response drew the artists back for a second bow, whilst two little girls came forward with bouquets.

What an engaging concert…an ideal escape from the woes of the world. 

Above: tonight’s beautiful venue: the Gordon K. and Harriet Greenfield Hall at the Manhattan School of Music.

Adding to this very pleasing evening was a chance meeting with Catherine Malfitano; Catherine’s on the faculty at the Manhattan School of Music, and all day I’d been thinking, “Maybe I’ll run into her!” In this large, sprawling building it seemed unlikely but – mirabile dictu – she was suddenly passing before me. It was so nice to see her again, recalling a long talk we once had when I was working at Tower Records. She looks great – gorgeously dressed, as always – and she was very gracious.

~ Oberon

(In transitioning from Oberon’s Grove to Oberon’s Glade, some articles got left behind. Here is one that I wrote about a memorable weekend at The Met in 1969.)

In the decades since I started going to the opera, I’ve had some spectacular experiences at the Met. But one weekend always stands out: February 21 – 22, 1969 when I saw a perfect cast in my first FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN on Friday; my first RHEINGOLD (and my only Herbert von Karajan performance in the theatre) on Saturday afternoon; and the once-in-a-lifetime combination of Birgit Nilsson and Montserrat Caballe as Turandot and Liu in TURANDOT on Saturday night. It’s pretty incredible to think it was almost 40 years ago – and even more incredible that the performances remain so vivid in my mind.

When I think back now about such monumental portrayals as Leonie Rysanek’s Kaiserin in FRAU (above), I can’t avoid a feeling of regret, both for myself  – that such breath-taking voices and personalities no longer seem to exist – and for the younger generations of opera-goers who only very rarely can experience performances of such majesty and intensity today. What I think possibly it comes down to is: singers like Rysanek, Irene Dalis, Christa Ludwig, Birgit Nilsson and Montserrat Caballe sang with complete generosity; they gave not only of their voices but of their very selves. Coached and supported by conductors like Karl Bohm and Herbert von Karajan, they were secure in what they were doing and unafraid to spend their voices lavishly. However, it was more than just the vocalism: you can listen to live recordings from this era and surely find flaws, but in the house the commitment and sheer passion of these singers swept away any misgivings. There is nothing comparable today to hearing the sound of a Rysanek or a Nilsson pouring out into the big hall. On this weekend, the five ladies mentioned and all their colleagues in all three operas generated the kind of audience fervor that simply is not found in opera houses today.

Moments like the scene above in FRAU, where Rysanek as the Empress dismisses her Nurse (Irene Dalis) have simply emblazoned themselves on the aural memory. In that split second before Leonie came soaring in on “…du taugst nicht zu mir!” (“You are not my kind!”) you simply knew you were going to get hit by a thunderbolt. I can hear it today, forty years on…and more importantly, I can FEEL what it was like to experience it. Irene Dalis put her stamp on the Nurse’s music – and persona – in definitive terms. Rysanek, who sang  this opera with every world-class Nurse during her career, once cited Irene’s as the ideal.

It’s hard to imagine what singers could ever surpass Christa Ludwig and Walter Berry (above) as the Dyer couple.  They cast a spell of rapture over the house with their big duet in Act III, but earlier Christa had reveled in the complete ease and clarity of her own voice as she swept into the soaring phrase “O welt in der welt, O traum in wachen!” (“Oh, world within the world, oh waking dream!”) on first seeing the vision of the Young Man. There was a humanity in Walter Berry’s sound that will always make him the Barak of the imagination.

James King (above), who sang the Emperor on Friday and Calaf in TURANDOT on Saturday night reportedly had to get a dispensation from Dr. Bohm to sing back-to-back performances. He sang with clarity and passion on both nights. I cannot think of a tenor today who could sing these two roles on consecutive evenings and make such a vocal and stylistic impression in very disimilar music.

Above: James King and Leonie Rysanek during the finale of FRAU.

Karajan’s approach to RHEINGOLD was described by some as ‘chamber music’ and it surely had a great intimacy of feeling. I had the Solti recording at home and loved it, but inexperienced as I was in RING performances I could still feel Karajan’s attention to detail in the clarity of the various orchestral voices which was so impressive, and that the singers were able to project easily into the house. The impressive singing and characterizations of Theo Adam (Wotan), Gerhard Stolze (Loge) and the fabulous Zoltan Kelemen (Alberich) would have been enough to guarantee a thrilling afternoon, but look at those names: Edda Moser, Donald Grobe, Talvela, Ridderbusch, Sherrill Milnes!

There was an added feeling of excitement among the fans in standing room (where I was) when Josephine Veasey bowed out as Fricka and was replaced by the then-unknown Anna Reynolds (below) who had been cast originally as a Rhinemaiden. She brought lyric dignity to her music…and a stately presence. A few seasons later I saw her as a sensational WALKURE Fricka.

And then there was the great audience favorite, Lili Chookasian (above) singing Erda. It was her scene with Wotan that perhaps was the most enthralling moment of the afternoon. Using her wonderfully weighted voice, Chookasian along with Theo Adam turned their encounter into one of those time-stands-still episodes. Since this first in-theatre experience with a RING opera, the Cycle has become a cornerstone of my musical world. I don’t claim to begin to comprehend it, but simply to be moved and astonished by it on so many levels. I’m always grateful that my initiation was with such a memorable and satisfying performance.

Of course, there were enormous ovations after both FRAU and RHEINGOLD. In those days we thought nothing of screaming our heads off for twenty minutes at the end of an opera. Between the singers and the two great maestros, the audiences were whipped into a frenzy of acclamation. The performers bowed and bowed but the crowd would not let them go.

For all the magnificence of those Strauss and Wagner performances – and the wild reception accorded the participants – the Nilsson/Caballe TURANDOT possibly elicited an even more passionate response. I always loved Zubin Mehta’s brilliantly colourful account of this score. James King and Bonaldo Giaiotti (Timur) received impressive volleys of applause all evening, but you would have to have been there to comprehend the madness which seized the crowd as Nilsson (above) and Caballe (below) – each in her own way – defined the term DIVA.

We were certainly expecting luminous Caballe pianissimi all evening but I think she surpassed herself, starting with the suspended B-flat on ‘Perche un di…’ in Act I which had the delicacy of moonlight. At the end of ‘Signore ascolta’ she produced a gossamer top B-flat and then swelled it to fortissimo in an unforgettable display of breath control and support.

In Act II, Nilsson was on a double-gold standard; she knew she’d have to give it her all on a night like this. But then, giving her all was what Birgit always did. She effortlessly dispatched her trademark trumpeting top notes that blazed into the house, driving the fans wild.

Finally in Act III came the long-anticipated scene in which princess and slave meet. Tortured to reveal the name of her beloved Prince, the steadfast Liu is silent. “What is the secret of your strength?” Turandot asks her. ‘Principessa, l’amore!’  (“Princess, it is love!”) Caballe replied and on “l’amore” she produced a breathtaking silvery pianissimo like a whisper. Astoundingly, Nilsson responded “L’amore?!” with a delicate pianissimo of her own. A silent thrill – a frisson – passed thru the house.

Dementia reigned at curtain call. Time and again the singers came forth. Many, many sets of solo bows. Each group call produced the delightful game of ‘after you!’ between the two sopranos, each offering to give precedence to the other.  At long last Nilsson and Caballe came out together, just the two of them. You’d have thought the house was going to simply cave in. Complete delirium. They embraced, and waved to the crowd; then they started to walk off. Suddenly the sound of the applause and screaming re-doubled. Nilsson and Caballe halted in their tracks, bowed deeply again to the house and to one another, then threw their arms around each other and walked off the stage.

Cecil Beaton costume sketch above. It just happened to be the 100th performance of Puccini’s final opera by the Met:

Metropolitan Opera House
February 22, 1969

TURANDOT {100}

Turandot................Birgit Nilsson
Calàf...................James King
Liù.....................Montserrat Caballé
Timur...................Bonaldo Giaiotti
Ping....................Theodor Uppman
Pang....................Andrea Velis
Pong....................Charles Anthony
Emporer Altoum..........Mariano Caruso
Mandarin................Robert Goodloe
Prince of Persia........David Milnes [Last performance]
Servant.................Lance Westergard
Servant.................Lawrence Eddington
Servant.................Harry Jones
Executioner.............Phillip Rice
Executioner.............Donald Mahler
Executioner.............Howard Sayette

Conductor...............Zubin Mehta

(In moving content from Oberon’s Grove to Oberon’s Glade, some articles proved resistant to being re-located. This is one of them, from an evening I especially enjoyed.)

Wednesday April 30th, 2025 – The annual Gerda Lissner Foundation Winners Concert took place this evening at Zankel Hall. Female voices well out-numbered the male contingent (just two tenors, no baritones nor bassos), and – as a special treat – the marvelous Sasha Cooke flew in from Houston where she is singing Venus in TANNHAUSER to make beautiful music together with the iconic pianist Warren Jones. Midge Woolsey was the host

The first half of the concert was given over to lieder. Pianist Francesco Barfoed, whose playing for Joseph Parrish’s Merkin Hall recital earlier this year was so impressive, supported the singers with his attentive, nuanced playing.

Soprano Ashlyn Rock opened the concert with well-contrasted songs by Jean Sibelius and Libby Larsen. A striking blonde woman, Ms. Rock is already a fully-formed artist; her presence and presentation were engaging, and the voice is clear and effortlessly hall-filling. Mr. Barfoed’s piano introduction to the Sibelius was grand indeed, and the soprano delivered a great outpouring of tone. In the Larsen song, the doomed Anne Boleyn veers from explosive to prayerful, Ms. Rock was in command at every moment, her diction outstandingly keen. Though now a lyric soprano, I can hear a future Elsa and Sieglinde in that voice: a stunning opener to the program.

Bridget Esler, in a peach-coulored frock, teamed up with Mr. Barfoed’s inspired playing for Schumann’s Requiem, the pianist veering from gentleness to rhapsodic, the soprano’s lovely timbre and dynamic variety impressive at every moment. Messiaen’s Resurrection opens with some banging on the Steinway; the singer then commences an Alleluia, her voice vivid as she moves between dramatic passages and moments when coloratura comes into play.

Tenor Michael John Butler, a sturdy, youthful fellow, has a distinctive timbre and is wonderfully word-conscious. In Poulenc’s C, a setting of a Louis Aragon poem, he and Mr. Barfoed made a most congenial effect, the tenor’s singing at once masculine and elegant. Rippling piano motifs open Strauss’ Heimlich Aufforderung  wherein Mr. Butler’s powerful sound and very appealing personality held us under a musical spell: passion was the watch-word as tenor and pianist regaled us with their artistry.

Mezzo-soprano Erin Wagner then took the stage; in a velvety blue gown, she and Mr. Barfoed opened with Dominick Argento’s The Diary from the composer’s Virginia Woolf cycle. From a rambling piano introduction, Ms. Wagner offered lovely, expressive singing, her mastery of a vast dynamic range (honed down to an exquisite, lingering pianissimo on the song’s final note), was ideally merged with her making every word of the text count. In Hugo Wolf’s thrilling Kennst du das land, Mr. Barfoed’s immaculate piano introduction set the tone for a spectacular performance in which voice and piano entwined to ravishing effect. Both artists caught every nuance of the music and text; in the passionate passages, Ms. Wagner’s outpouring of sound was riveting, standing in contrast to the more pensive phrases…and an undercurrent of restlessness. The pianist was simply marvelous, from first note to last. The song ends with a sustained, delicate note, and in that moment the singer appeared to be gently weeping.

Sasha Cooke and Warren Jones were warmly welcomed; Sasha, in a forest-green gown, looks more beautiful than ever, and the voice has a charismatic radiance that casts a spell over listeners – a spell that tonight was palpable. Honoring Michael Tilson Thomas, in whose farewell performance at San Francisco Sasha has just taken part, she and Mr. Jones (stepping out of retirement this evening) offered Grace, a joyous song of giving thanks by the conductor/composer that opens with a long piano intro and was then was deliciously voiced by Ms. Cooke. For a moment I thought that the mood-swing from that extroverted song into Mahler’s sublime “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” wouldn’t work, but leave it to Sasha to prove me wrong. Her incandescent voice and her deep connection with the text, combined with Mr. Jones’s poetic playing, created an incredible atmosphere of peace; as the music faded away, a sublime silence fell over the hall. Time stood still. 

After an overly-long intermission, the opera singing commenced. A pair of chatterboxes had settled in behind us, and they talked openly through much of the concert’s second half. I’m sure there were times when the singers onstage could hear them (we were in the second row); it really put a blot on the proceedings.

Magdalena Kuźma, in a black frock slit to the thigh and amazing red shoes, was my Papagena at the Met a couple of weeks ago. With Arlene Shrut at the Steinway, she opened the operatic half of the program with an arias from Tchaikovsky’s IOLANTA, which commences with a few bars of grand piano playing. Ms. Kuźma has a vibrant voice, and a colorful personality; she is a generous singer, but also capable of subtlety. She would later return to close the program.

Subtlety was lacking in some of the remaining singing of the evening. Amanda Batista, in a lacy gown, has a voice to be reckoned with, impressive in size and colour. She seemed too ‘healthy’ for Mimi’s Act I narrative from LA BOHEME, music which can be so poetic when piano/pianissimisi effects are woven in. Ms. Batista’s personality is quite extroverted; Tosca might be a better match for her in that regard. She sang very well in the ARABELLA aria, though more nuance might make it more magical. The piano postlude was most appealing.

Sofia Gotch looked striking in deep blue; her “Caro nome” was deftly voiced, though again it’s an aria that profits from more subtle colourings. The piano’s setting forth of the main melody was too dotty. Music from Britten’s MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM was then charmingly dispatched by Ms. Gotch, who found beauty in the words as well as the notes. Hers is an impressive young voice, to be sure. 

Shelén Hughes, in a purple gown, reminded me very much of my dear friend, dancer Francesca Todesco. Ms. Hughes opened with the Snow Maiden’s aria from the Rimsky-Korsakov opera. It’s an appealing voice, and she captured the maiden’s mood-swings with lyrical singing, fine dynamic control, and amusing outbursts. Her singing is often delectable, and she gave the aria a big finish. Then she sang one of my favorite arias, “Son pochi fiori” from Mascagni’s L’AMICO FRITZ, in which she captivated me with a sustained, a lovely diminuendo.   

Tatev Baroyan looked truly fabulous in her flared red skirt and black bodice – it’s a look I associate with the great Agnes Baltsa, whose New York debut in a concert version of Mercadante’s IL GIURAMENTO at Lincoln Center many, many moons ago made such a vivid impression. Ms. Baroyan shares the Baltsa gift for dramatic flair and fearless vocalism. Her Song to the Moon from RUSALKA boasted an ideal vocal mixture of passion and wistfulness, whilst her entrancing arms and hands spoke of her longing. Ms. Baroyan followed this with a gypsy song from Kalman’s CSARDASFURSTIN, which features echo effects before getting fast and fun…and then the diva started dancing.

Giorgi Guliashvili, a Georgian tenor, offered two of my favorite tenor arias, both sung with passion and intensity. The haunting piano introduction to Lensky’s aria from EUGEN ONEGIN led to the tender, lamenting air of the young poet about to die in a duel with his best friend; Mr. Guliashvili singing is at once tender and powerful as he resigned himself to his fate. This was followed by the splendid “O souverain, O juge…” from Massenet’s LE CID, which the tenor commenced with a rich-toned recitative that leads to the prayerful aria, which was intensely rendered; there is a delectable hint of a sob in the voice. Very moving!

Ms. Kuźma then returned; at first Susanna’s “Deh vieni non tardar” seemed like merely a nod to the otherwise absent Mozart, but the soprano made something of it with her skilled interpretation. An aria from Moniuszko’s HALKA commenced with a grand piano introduction from Ms. Strut, launching Ms.Kuźma’s big-voiced start. A reflective passage found the soprano capable of lovely softness, but then the drama takes over and propels the aria – and the evening – to its finish. All the participants then joined together for a bow:

Click on the above photo to enlarge.)

On a personal level, two wonderful things happened as we made our way out of the hall: I encountered a friend, Arthur Levy, who I had not seen for nearly 40 years; and I greeted and shook hands with the foremost Wotan, Dutchman, and Hans Sachs of his day (and mine!): the great James Morris, with his dear wife Susan Quittmeyer. 

~ Oberon

On the back steps with Bambi, the neighbors’ dog

(Sometimes in the Summer, when there’s not a lot going on in the classical music world here in Gotham, I write about personal stuff. One episode from my unhappy high school years in the little town has been running thru my mind recently: the day I won the 40-yard dash. This story originated on Oberon’s Grove in July 2025.)

I can’t remember now whether I was in my sophomore or junior year in school…those years were sort of a blur, full of sotto voce name-calling, gay slurs written on my locker and even on my music stand in the band room. A slam book was circulated, in which various students would anonymously write what they thought of their classmates…even my own girlfriend couldn’t think of something nice to say about me. The guys who were my immediate classmates could sometimes be very nice to me in a one-to-one conversation but when their buddies or sports teammates were around, they turned against me. I was never physically attacked; my older siblings were very popular…and my brother would have beat the crap out of anyone who laid a hand on me. 

Anyway, as the school year was winding down, we had some days of phys ed skills tests: there was tumbling, parallel bars, trampoline skills, rope climbing, taking basketball shots, and more…these were done indoors. I didn’t make a fool of myself, but compared to the jocks in my class I felt ridiculous. I actually was doing really well in the rope climb until I got halfway to the ceiling and realized I did not know how to get back down…so I gave up and dropped to the floor, which seemed better than possibly falling from the ceiling to my death. Of course, everyone expected me to fail in all these tests, so I was just affirming my status as a loser.

On the last day of these trials, we went outdoors. The last ‘event’ was the 40-yard dash. I was standing amidst my classmates, some of who were on the track team; I watched them rush to the finish, knowing that anything under 5 seconds was considered excellent; even my nearest rival for class klutz ran it in just over 6 seconds. I didn’t expect to surpass him, but then I had this idea: what if I could imagine my bullies were chasing me, planning to tackle me and rub my face in the dirt? 

I stepped up, and the pop gun sounded. I remember how exhilarating it felt to be moving so fast. It was over so quickly, I could not believe it. The guy with the stopwatch called out my time, but I never heard what he’d said; but apparently I was the fastest of the lot. All I knew was that my classmates surrounded me, patting me on the back. “You gotta join the track team!” said Mark Scriber, captain of the team and my secret idol; he’d never, ever said anything against me, despite the peer pressure (he had no peers, actually)…

Anyway, in the cafeteria the word went around and for a couple of hours, I was a hero. It didn’t last very long, and of course one of my meanest detractors came to the conclusion I had not been running, but flying…like a fairy. 

For a while, people were nice to me…but it only lasted a day or two and then things were back to normal. I continued to be verbally abused and laughed-at for months to come. Even onstage at my graduation, as I was returning to my seat with my diploma, someone said “Queer!” under his breath as I passed by.

My unhappiness continued after I’d graduated. It took me another seven years to come to grips with my reality, which I’d known since I was nine. Interestingly, I found something prophetic in my Yearbook while thumbing thru it a few months ago: one classmate knew my destiny even then: 

Now if I could only remember who Beansy was. 

~ Oberon

Maria Slătinaru (above) & Ludovic Spiess sing the Riddle Scene from Puccini’s TURANDOT at a 1970 concert given by the orchestra and chorus of Romanian Television. George Mircea sings the Emperor Altoum, and Teodora Lucaciu is Liu; Carol Litvin conducts.

Watch and listen:

A performance of Benjamin Britten’s WAR REQUIEM given by the NDR Elbphilharmonie Orchestra, conducted by Sir John Eliot Gardiner (photo above), in 1992. The concert took place at St. Marienkirche in Lübeck.

The soloists are Luba Orgonasova, soprano; Anthony Rolfe Johnson, tenor; and Boje Skovhus.

Watch and listen here.

Audio-only of Verdi’s RIGOLETTO as performed at Orange in 2001. The cast is led by Norah Amsellem (above), the late Béatrice Uria-Monzon, Marcelo Alvarez, Carlo Guelfi, and Paata Burchuladze; the conductor is Marco Guidari. 

Listen here. 

(This article first appeared on Oberon’s Grove back in 2007.)

Irene Dalis was one of those opera singers who could drive audiences crazy with her intense vocal and dramatic portrayals. During the late 1960s and early 1970s I was a huge fan of hers and saw her in many roles. Her voice was certainly not conventionally beautiful; if you wanted sumptuous Italianate sound you went for Simionato and later for Cossotto. Christa Ludwig, Shirley Verrett and Grace Bumbry had more attractive voices and easier tops than Dalis. But there was something so passionate and incisive about the way Irene Dalis sang everything from Lady Macbeth to Fricka, from Santuzza to Herodias in SALOME, that caused me to plan trips from Syracuse specifically to see her onstage at the Met.

I heard her on many Met broadcasts before I actually encountered her in the theatre. In broadcasts of AIDA, MACBETH, the RING Cycle, DON CARLO, SAMSON ET DALILA and TRISTAN UND ISOLDE, Irene kept up an unsettling assault on the emotions of a young opera fan with her powerful vocal portrayals; I didn’t need to see her to imagine her stalking about the stage as the relentlessly needling Fricka or turning her scathing disdain on Samson in a fury at the end of Act II when her seductive endeavors have failed.  She did not have a long, seamless vocal line nor was her top totally secure, but she had this way of delving into the colours of her instrument and of putting just the right stress on a word that would make an unforgettable impression.

I first saw Irene Dalis perform at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera as Azucena in TROVATORE. Her singing was  powerful and her acting so passionate; my parents, who really knew nothing about opera, were excited by her performance. Backstage I timidly asked for her autograph and she was very kind as I recall, remarking that it was nice to see young people at the opera. I was 13. Her Leonora was the fledgling spinto Martina Arroyo; my father managed a conversation with the conductor Ottavio Ziino despite the latter’s total incomprehension of English.

My first experience of seeing Irene Dalis on the Met stage was during the 1967 June Festival in a performance of the Wieland Wagner production of LOHENGRIN. When the new house opened, the demand for tickets was so high that the Met extended its season into June with added performances and some of its biggest stars. Irene’s cold-blooded and subtly inflected interpretation of one of opera’s great bad ladies held its own onstage with Sandor Konya, the top interpreter of Lohengrin of the day, and  the legendary Elisabeth Grummer (who rarely signed autographs!)making a wildly successful and greatly belated Met debut at the age of 57. Irene wore a deep green gown, if memory serves, and seemed like some insidious reptile as she cravenly ingratiated herself to the hapless Elsa and then heartlessly turned against the naive maiden. The ovations that night were huge though nothing out of the ordinary during that golden era.

During the next few seasons Irene Dalis was a major reason for me to take the long train trip to Manhattan. I sent her fan letters to which she graciously replied. I saw her in unforgettable performances of AIDA, FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN, DON CARLO, CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA, TROVATORE, BALLO IN MASCHERA, SALOME and a particularly memorable ADRIANA LECOUVREUR at which the young rising-star tenor from NYC Opera, Placido Domingo, substituted for Franco Corelli at the last minute in an exciting Met debut opposite the beloved Renata Tebaldi in her favorite role. Irene’s venom-voiced Princesse and Anselmo Colzani’s poignantly human Michonnet turned the evening into a true classic. I can vividly recall both Tebaldi & Dalis graciously encouraging their young tenor colleague and turning their backs on the audience during duets with him so he could send his tones into the big hall and watch Maestro Cleva. Such generosity.

Irene’s first UIrica in BALLO at the Met was a five star affair.  Her colleagues were Montserrat Caballe, Reri Grist, Placido Domingo and Robert Merrill. These singers gave us a rich evening of vocalism and Irene’s gripping delivery of the fortune-teller’s prophecies was enhanced by eerie contact lenses which gave the illusion of empty sockets. From the depths of her “Silenzio!” to the sailing harmonies in the trio with Caballe & Domingo, Dalis was on fascinating form.

At the June Festival in 1971, Irene had one of her great personal triumphs at the Met with a grand-scaled portrayal of Azucena in TROVATORE which evoked frantic ovations. The Dalis voice was totally ‘on’ throughout the range while she portrayed the demented gypsy with her accustomed fervor. Backstage afterwards, she was mobbed and they opened the greenroom to accommodate all the fans who wanted to meet her.

There were two roles in which Irene Dalis left particularly powerful memories. The first was Amneris in AIDA. In the photo above, Irene is lording it over Leontyne Price in their Act II confrontation. Irene signed the picture for me, though her signature has faded over time.

The Dalis voice, with its potent chest register, left such an indelible impression on so many phrases of this opera that to this day when I think about the music of Amneris, it is her voice I hear.

The Judgment Scene of Act IV of the Verdi opera, in which Amneris seeks to save her beloved Radames from a sentence of death for treason, was the high point of Irene’s interpretation. Here the character of Amneris who has been so proud and manipulative in the earlier acts is brought into acute human focus when her power as Princess of Egypt carries no weight with the condemning priests; she is reduced to begging only to have the implacable judges walk off chanting “Traditor!” In the final moments, Amneris turns on the priests and delivers a fiery curse on them before collapsing in despair.

On June 28, 1969 Irene Dalis sang Amneris with the Met in a concert performance in Central Park. She was in extraordinary voice and had the audience in the palm of her hand from her opening phrase. The massive crowd was so keyed-up by the time Irene came to the Judgment Scene that the excitement was palpable. I don’t think she ever topped this performance and aside from all her incisive dramatic phrases and startlingly vivid declamation of the words, she found the most shattering colours of remorse midway thru the scene when Radames has rejected her help. After the trial, in which Radames utters no word of self-defense, Amneris attempts to bargain with the priests but they will have none of it.  Flinging out her scalding “Anatema su voi!” Irene brought the scene to a heart-pounding climax. The very instant she let go of her final top note the audience at Sheep Meadow erupted in a delirious ovation which went on for several minutes. Irene has to bow again and again.

Having lost everything, the once-proud Amneris appears at the very end of the opera to pray over the tomb where Radames has been buried alive. She does not know that her rival Aida has secretly entered the tomb and is dying in Radames’ arms. The quiet  ending of the opera with Amneris intoning “Pace…pace” was the memorable end of one of Irene’s most exciting performances.

You wouldn’t think there could be anything to top her Amneris, but in 1966 at the Met premiere of DIE FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN Irene Dalis found the role of a lifetime. In one of the richest casts ever assembled – Leonie Rysanek, Christa Ludwig, James King and Walter Berry, conducted by the immortal Karl Bohm – Irene came close to stealing the show. As the Nurse, in whose care the Empress has been placed by her father {the enigmatic Keikobad}, Irene’s singing caught the myriad complexities of her character: maternal, scheming, ironic, tender and brutal by turns. The vocal writing races up and down thru the registers, cascading through demanding turns of phrase into the deepest chest tones and ending the second act on a searing top B. Irene took it all in stride, her acting as  colorful as her singing and burning the words into the listener’s memory where I can still hear them today as if she were singing them directly to me. Leonie Rysanek was THE Empress of her time – of all time, I suggest – and she sang it here and in Europe with every interpreter of the Nurse who was willing to attempt the impossible role. She once said she rated the Irene Dalis interpretation as ideal.

Above, an immortal moment: anyone who ever saw the Met’s FRAU with Rysanek and Dalis as Empress and Nurse will never forget this scene in the third act where the Empress rejects the Nurse and goes to her trial in Keikobad’s temple. The scene, starting with their arrival by boat at the tower gates, contains some of the most brilliant and taxing vocal writing Strauss ever conceived. The Rysanek Kaiserin was stupefying in its vocal  power and intensity and Irene Dalis kept pace with her every step of the way. I once experienced FRAU from the front row of the orchestra, right behind Maestro Bohm’s left shoulder. An unforgettable evening.

It was always a great experience to visit Irene Dalis her backstage; she was so kind and she always remembered me. It was an unfortunate happenstance when she was scheduled to sing Klytamnestra in ELEKTRA at the Met – surely a perfect role for her – and on the day the scheduled Elektra took ill and they were unable to find a replacement. They were forced to change the opera to FIDELIO  and New York never got to experience Irene’s interpretation of opera’s most maniaical mother.

There is only one commercial recording of Dalis to my knowledge: a 1962 PARSIFAL from Bayreuth conducted by Hans Knappertsbusch. But there are pirates of her many Met broadcasts; her 1961 RING roles (Fricka and Waltraute…she was superb!), the 1970 AIDA, and both her FRAUs from the airwaves are among my favorites.      

After retiring from the operatic stage, Irene Dalis returned to San Jose to teach, and there she eventually founded Opera San Jose.

We simply have so few of these larger-than-life operatic performers today and I am thankful to have experienced so many of Irene’s performances…and to have known her. 

Alfred Walker is Telramund and Petra Lang is Ortrud in this concert setting of the opening scene of Act II of Wagner’s LOHENGRIN.

The concert took place at A Coruña, Spain, in 2005; the conductor is Semyon Bychkov.

Watch and listen here.