Above: pianist Matthew Figel, Maestro Crawford, and members of the ACO; photo by Kevin DallaSanta
Tuesday May 5th, 2026 – Continuing their multi-season survey of Beethoven’s nine symphonies, the American Classical Orchestra presented the ‘Eroica’ at Alice Tully Hall, alongside Mozart’s PianoConcerto No. 17, performed by Matthew Figel on fortepiano.
Conducted by Thomas Crawford, the New York-based orchestra pursues historically informed performance, both in instrumentation and in interpretation. The enthusiasm of its musicians was infectious, as their delight in the pieces—and the quirks of their historical instruments—gave fresh perspective on familiar favorites.
Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 17 is associated with his starling, who could purportedly whistle the tune of the final movement, save for one wrong note. Missing none himself, Figel performed on the fortepiano, a keyboard instrument which ironically often appears to modern audiences as lacking broad dynamic range. It is thus a challenge for pianists, who must coax expression out of a limited tonal palette, while dealing with the oddities in balance that emerge.
Figel dispatched these issues with focused and sensitive playing, giving clarity and direction to the melodies without the loss of buoyancy that often accompanies fortepiano performances. The cadenzas were particularly enchanting, as Figel brought out their lyrical and operatic aspects. It is often said that the Eroica ushered in a Romantic era with colorful harmonies and richer emotions; yet Mozart’s language is certainly colorful and emotional.
The fortepiano gives insight into Mozart’s original intent: bass notes resound with surprising volume, and extended trills—which on a modern Steinway drown out the action like a ringtone—become wonderfully delicate and transparent. Numerous cellphones in the audience were initially fortunate to coincide with the work’s key of G. Unfortunately, like the starling, they eventually went out of tune.
The period experience is somewhat different in purely orchestral works, and the historical performance debate typically centers around the symphonic repertoire. Critics highlight the vast uncertainties in how Beethoven originally sounded or what he originally meant. Proponents argue that, similar to the pianoforte, the use of period instruments naturally ground the performance; and that modern ensembles are probably not what Beethoven heard, at least while he could.
For the American Classical Orchestra, period performance evidently involves a number of historical instruments, sparing rubato, and little to no vibrato. Crawford conducted with brisk tempi and a focus on Beethoven’s rhythmic nature, giving liberty to the musicians without over-dictating their movements. His interpretation was careful but not overly conservative, a difficult balance for such a well-known work.
The ‘Eroica’ is often lauded as the giant leap for humankind into the Romantic era. But this comes with the benefit of hindsight: Beethoven’s first two symphonies had their own progressive aspects, and many other works in the repertoire were innovative upon premiere. In some ways, the ‘Eroica’ is a convenient pivot at which to draw a border between eras, all the more because of its enduring popularity among audiences.
A highlight of the period approach to the third symphony was the natural horns, which are stopped with the hand to reach notes outside of the tonic triad. The result is a nuanced and dynamically inflected rendering which particularly shines in the horn trio of the third movement. The “heroic” horn entrance in the first movement recapitulation also seems more striking: its major triad is in the unstopped, loud register.
The performance was characterized throughout by strong string playing, all the more remarkable given their limitations on vibrato. To modern ears, the orchestration can seem somewhat spindly at times. But in many passages, the timbre feels right—suggesting a whiff of authenticity for which historical performance orchestras strive.
The reduced ensemble, small hall, and apparent joy of the musicians further contributed to the feeling of authenticity. In a city with numerous full-time ensembles, and innumerable visiting ones, it is refreshing to hear music made by smaller orchestras with limited performance calendars. Rarely does one get to sit behind the soloist during the second half of the program as they listen intently to Beethoven. If their expertise is any indicator, there is something worthwhile happening onstage.
Tuesday May 5th, 2026 – Lane and I were at Carnegie Hall tonight, celebrating the 50th anniversary of its fabled “Concert of the Century” which took place on May 18th, 1976. Organized by Isaac Stern, that program had featured some of the world’s greatest musicians, joining together to commemorate the anniversary of the Hall’s opening on May 5, 1891.
Tonight’s program, which, on paper, looked likely to be quite lengthy, actually sped by; the finale was reached after about 90 minutes. How cool of Renee Fleming to give a gracious “thank you” to the stage crew, who deftly moved a concert grand about as needed. Renee, in addition to singing luminously in a Mozart piece, was the most congenial hostess imaginable.
The venerable Hall filled up slowly, with gorgeously-gowned ladies and black-clad blokes like us mingling whilst the young musicians of the NYO-USA All-Stars and the singers from the Oratorio Society of New York (director: Kent Tritle) took to the stage.
A fantastical set of projections lit up the space throughout the program: quotes from Andrew Carnegie, photos of great Carnegie concert posters from the past, pictures of musical luminaries who performed there, and scenes from city life all mixed into a montage that might have been a distraction but for the fact it was so skillfully designed.
Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the world’s busiest conductor, presided over the evening, which opened with the spirited overture to Bernstein’s CANDIDE and continued with a dazzling rendition of the Allegro molto vivace from Tchaikovsky’s “Pathétique” symphony.
As the backdrop morphed into heavenly rays of sun peeking thru billowing clouds, the familiar opening theme of Mozart’s Laudate Dominum filled the Hall. Ms. Fleming, backed by the Oratorio Society singers, sang serenely, her voice – as ever – so comforting.
Evgeny Kissin sadly withdrew from the evening due to illness; hopefully he’ll bounce back in time for his ‘trio’ concert with Joshua Bell and Steven Isserlis here on May 31st.
Joyce DiDonato, in a glittering, sequined gown of bright red, was joined by the beloved pianist Emmanuel Ax for two songs from Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder. “Ich atmet’ einen linden Duft” was sung and played with a heavenly softness that drew the audience in. Surpassing themselves, singer and pianist then gave an extraordinarily poignant rendering of the heartfelt “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen“…for me, the most meaningful song in all of the lieder repertoire.
Backed by the orchestra, Daniil Trifonov gave us a wild and wonderful performance of the Allegro agitato from Gershwin’s Piano Concerto in F. Looking very dapper as he strode onto the stage, the pianist was as entertaining to watch as to hear. The climax of the piece is a glorious bang on a gong. Bravissimo, Daniil and the All Stars!
Above, Audra McDonald with pianist Andy Einhorn; photo by Chris Lee.
I had never heard Audra McDonald nor Michael Feinstein “live” before, though I’ve very much enjoyed Audra in her television appearances as an actress (especially in “The Gilded Age” and “The Good Wife”/”The Good Fight”). Looking svelte and lovely in a blue gown, she and pianist Andy Einhorn gave us Ellington’s “Sophisticated Lady” and Gershwin’s “Fascinating Rhythm”, sung and played with fabulous flair. Audra dedicated her set to the memory of the late, lamented Michael Tilson Thomas. Between songs, she had some charming by-play with her reading glasses. During the applause, I was wondering: why do I feel some strange connection to this woman? Answer: we share a birthday.
How well I remember when Michael Feinstein came of the scene…such a handsome fellow, such a relaxed and congenial personality. Unfortunately, we sat thru his set listening to an annoying soto voce conversation from the couple behind us (I won’t tell you what language they were speaking, but it’s something that has cropped up many times before in my concert-going career; my pal Dmitry would have known how to silence them…). At any rate, Michael charmed and delighted the crowd with Arthur Schwartz’s “That’s Entertainment” in an arrangement by Jerry Herman which changes the lyrics to “That’s JudyGarland!” He then followed up with a salute to Tony Bennett with Michel Legrand’s “How Do You Keep the Music Playing”. Mr. Feinstein looks (and sounds) as handsome as ever, with his trademark gift for making you feel that he is singing just for you.
Speaking of musicians I’d never seen “live” before, tonight Lang Lang – performing Tchaikovsky’s Allegro con fuoco from Piano Concerto No. 1 – dazzled the crowd with his spectacular playing. Alternating sublimely soft passages with thunderous displays of speed and dexterity, he brought down the house. His melodramatic stage presence is kind of off-putting, but apparently it’s part of the package.
Isabel Leonard, dressed in pale violet, tossed off the brilliant finale from Rossini’s CENERENTOLA. Aided and abetted by monsieur Nézet-Séguin and his All-Stars, Ms. Leonard sang sweetly as she attempted to console her disappointed father and step-sisters – who had always treated her badly – before celebrating her new-found happiness with the scales and roulades of the brilliant “Non piu mesta“, dispatched with flair. The comely mezzo, much admired by my companion, seems wonderfully at home in the Carnegie acoustic, which suits her to a T.
The pandemic was recalled by a performance of Valerie Coleman’s “Seven O’Clock Shout“, amiable music which includes an actual shout from everyone onstage.
And then, the evening’s grand finale loomed before us, ending – as it had started – with music from Leonard Bernstein’s CANDIDE: “Make Our Garden Grow“, with everyone onstage participating. It was especially fun watching Ms. Leonard sharing a songbook with Lang Lang.
Performance photos by Chris Lee, courtesy of Carnegie Hall.
Thursday April 30, 2026 – On Thursday night I went to hear Midori play Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. It was really as simple as that: she is one of the most meaningful musicians in my life and the concerto is one of the most beloved pieces of my twenty-five years of classical music listening.
Midori is noted not only for her transformation from child prodigy into sterling professional but also for her dedication to pedagogy and the generous, ambassadorial spirit she brings to her projects around the world.
One of those projects was a series of weeklong residences with orchestras in small American cities that involved workshops in schools, lunches and other social gatherings, masterclasses and performances with the local youth orchestras, and a concerto performance with the professional orchestra.
In April of 2008 Midori came to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where I was a Lincoln High School junior, to perform with the South Dakota Symphony and hold one of these residences. For me it was a full week of practicing and going to rehearsals. I played in the two competing youth orchestras (the Sioux Empire Youth Orchestra and Dakota Academy of Performing Arts) and had been selected to play at Midori’s masterclass near the end of the week.
I played Fritz Kreisler’s Variations on a Theme of Corelli, a bravura encore piece without much musical substance. I did a decent job but always struggled with intonation. I don’t remember much of Midori’s specific feedback to me besides her encouragement of my lyrical phrasing and warm vibrato. What I remember well was that, despite the sense of gravity that I felt playing while Midori stood on the stage nearby, I felt something totally different from the usual pit in my stomach that audiences and solo recitals induced. What I felt emanating from Midori was an overwhelmingly positive energy, perhaps a combination of general pride for the younger generation of violinists and a broad joy in the chance to play and discuss music together.
Midori wasn’t just modeling the technical prowess of a great violinist, she was modeling the kind of person a great artist could be.
The next day, a photo of Midori demonstrating for me (with me seen out of focus, from behind) graced the front page of the local paper, captioned with an absurd misspelling of my name.
Fast forward to this Thursday, when I brought a dear friend to hear Midori play Beethoven. An early point of bonding between my friend and me was the discovery that we had played masterclasses for Midori mere weeks apart (He played the much more substantive first movement of the Mendelssohn concerto in Great Falls, Montana).
At the solo violin’s first entrance—more than three minutes into the first movement—we hear Midori at her most Midori. Beethoven’s material here has an almost pedagogical quality with scales and intervals wending up and down the range of the violin. Midori gives each note light and air and we hear the deliberate action of every single pitch on the fingerboard almost like keystrokes. Her sound favors refinement over power and her readings are lyrical but understated.
The Orchestra of St. Luke’s, led by Masaaki Suzuki (the founder and director of the Bach Collegium Japan), matched Midori’s congeniality and buoyancy although there were many moments in each movement when her subtle effects were covered by the ensemble.
The second movement—which I will always associate with the music from the children’s dinosaur film The Land Before Time—had a beautifully veiled sublimity and reached a pinnacle of intensity (that drew clear connections to the overture to Don Giovanni on the program before the Beethoven concerto)in the moments before the attaca to the final movement.
In the Rondo Midori and the OSL relished the joyful, amiable, yet heroic quality of this Middle-Beethoven. Midori’s focused, introverted presence never prevents her from fully embracing the rollicking joy of music like this. The cadenzas (also by Fritz Kreisler) became perpetuum mobile exercises in brilliance and flawless left- and right-hand technique.
As an encore, Midori did what Midori does: she played a movement from Bach’s sonatas and partitas for solo violin. Here was Midori the teacher offering us restraint, erudition, discipline, and perfection, like asking us to eat our vegetables.
The wonderful contralto Batyah Godfrey Ben-David has passed away at the age of 85. Her voice was unique in its warmth and beauty.
Between 1969 and 1988, Ms. Ben-David sang nearly 600 performances with the Metropolitan Opera. Among her numerous roles were Maddalena in RIGOLETTO, Marthe in FAUST, Mamma Lucia in CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA, the Page in SALOME, Teresa in SONNAMBULA, the 3rd Lady in MAGIC FLUTE, and La Cieca in LA GIOCONDA.
I’ll never forget a performance of CAV in which Ms. Godfrey Ben-David was kneeling next to Martina Arroyo, who was singing Santuzza. During the Easter Hymn, Mamma Lucia’s voice enters a few bars before Santuzza’s. When Martina heard Batyah’s astonishing contralto tones, she beamed a warm smile to her colleague.
In 1974, I tuned in for a Met Opera radio broadcast of GOTTERDAMMERUNG and found that Ms. Godfrey Ben-David was replacing an ailing colleague as the 1st Norn; this is a role that includes quite a bit of solo singing, which Batyah delivered so beautifully. Mignon Dunn and Nell Rankin were her sister Norns that day, and Rafael Kubelik was conducting. You can listen to that Norn Scene here:
And here is a lovely letter that Batyah sent me after I wrote to thank her for her memorable 1st Norn:
Batyah’s was a voice that meant a great deal to me. I never met her in person, but I did meet her son Adam once, to give him a copy of that Norn Scene recording with his mom’s voice shining thru.
Above, curtain call: Lindsay Martin, Amartuvshin Enkhbat, Rosa Feola, Liparit Avetisyan, Ben Reisinger, and Eve Gigliotti.
~ Author: Oberon
Sunday May 3rd, 2026 matinee – Soprano Rosa Feola enjoyed a personal triumph as Violetta in Verdi’s LA TRAVIATA at The Met this afternoon. Sharing the stage with debuting tenor Liparit Avetisyan and the great Mongolian baritone Amartuvshin Enkhbat, the performance benefited from conductor Marco Armiliato being on his best behavior, fully supportive of the singers.
For me, Ms. Feola was the first Italian Violetta to make such a mark on the role since Scotto and Freni sang it back in their heyday. All afternoon, Ms. Feola kept my emotional temperature at the boiling point: I cried, got breathless, and had chills running thru me as she delivered one marvelous moment after another.
I ran “Italian sopranos who sang TRAVIATA from 1950 on” thru AI and was surprised to find that Anna Moffo, Maria Callas, and Virginia Zeani were all Italian! Who knew??! Anita Cerquetti is listed, though she never sang the role. Licia Albanese, who was my first-ever Violetta at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera in 1963 (and who recorded the opera with Toscanini) is not named, nor is the first Violetta I ever heard (on a MET broadcast): Gabriella Tucci. Adriana Maliponte and Elena Mauti-Nunziata (who I saw singing Violetta in Hartford in 1985) are likewise ignored by AI.
What is the point of all this? Well, simply that somehow, when the Violetta is Italian-born, it adds an inexplicable dimension to the story of the famous French courtesan, Marie Duplessis, on whose brief life the Verdi opera is based. Example: Italian sopranos such as Tebaldi, Tucci, and Renata Scotto have stopped the show with their “Amami Alfredo…!” in Act II (Tebaldi was even known to encore the passage…).
Oddly, I hadn’t even thought about any of this until I was at my score desk; I had come simply to hear Ms. Feola again after enjoying her performances in RIGOLETTO and FEDORA. The presence of Mr. Enkhbat in the cast was another attraction.
Settling in, it looked like the House might end up half-empty, but by the time the conductor entered the pit, there was a substantial crowd. The prelude was hauntingly played; when the singing began, I was afraid Maestro Armiliato might be in his “loud-and-fast” mode. Perhaps because his Violetta was a compatriot, he was more thoughtful in his approach today. In the end, it was probably the most pleasing conducting I’ve ever heard from him.
The singing started. From her first lines, it was evident that Ms. Feola had something special to offer. Tenor Ben Reisinger as Gaston introduces Alfredo (Mr. Avetisyan) to Violetta. I have no doubt that – soon – Mr. Reisinger will be singing Alfredo; he cetainly has everything a tenor needs for the role…and for many other roles. Meanwhile, Lindsay Martin, Christopher Job, Brian Major, and Richard Bernstein are all making their marks as party guests. Mr. Avetisyan leads off the Brindisi, his lyrical voice Italianate in sound, with stylish turns of phrase, and an endearing trace of a sob here and there. Ms. Feola immediately established herself with her full lyric sound, her natural flow of the text, and her wonderful feel for subtleties in the music that will make her all the more riveting as the opera moves forward. Her B-flat to end the drinking song rang beautifully into the big hall.
The tenderness of Mr. Avetisyan’s lines after Violetta has experienced a coughing fit led him on to his persuasively voiced “Un di felice...” sung with ardor. Ms. Feola replied with deft coloratura phrases, and a moment of rubato that made me fall in love with her.
Left alone, Ms. Feola commences the great scena that Verdi constructed to end the act: a gift that every soprano who has taken on the role of Violetta has unwrapped in her own unique way. What a pleasure to hear the Italian language so gorgeously rendered by Ms. Feola. Everything is clear and clean: her lingering higher notes enticing, and a marvelous crescendo carrying her into “Ah, qual amor…”. The audience seems entranced: the silence in the Hall is palpable. We are hanging onto every note and word. The ensuing recit takes her into the dazzling “Sempre libera…” with bright top Cs and words filled with magical colourings. After hearing Alfredo’s ardent serenade, Ms. Feola launches the second verse more introspectively, but is soon relishing the flowing scale passages before soaring up to a house-filling E-flat. The crowd went wild; if – as in days of yore – the soprano had taken a solo bow at this point, the ceiling might have collapsed.
A long interval (not an intermission) with the house lights at the half mark caused people to flock to the restrooms only to be told by the ushers “This is not an intermission!” When the opera started up again, the audience remained unsettled for a minute or two, spoiling the intro to Alfredo’s aria. This Mr. Avetisyan sang beautifully, with a tenderly expressive recit and a seductive flair in the aria proper. Armiliato chose a fairly rapid tempo, but the tenor used it to advantage, letting the long phrases meld into one another: very poetic. We briefly meet Annina, Violetta’s faithful servant, in the person of Eve Gigliotti. After her revealing of the facts of Violetta’s finances to the love-struck Alfredo, he sings the cabaletta “O mio rimorso…” (hardly ever heard in my first decade or two of opera-going) with assured coloratura and fluent diction before rushing off to set things right.
We come now to the heart of the opera: the meeting between Violetta and her lover’s father. This scene has always moved me deeply, ever since Ms. Tucci and Robert Merrill captivated me with it on that Texaco broadcast – which now seems like a lifetime ago. Today, Mr. Enkhbat’s incredibly powerful voice made Germont’s angry first lines truly threatening. The baritone, sounding better than ever, is taken aback when Violetta stands up to him. Every line that Ms. Feola sings in this in this scene (well, all afternoon actually…) turns to gold. Her “Piu non esiste…” and “Era felice troppo…” are deeply felt. Taking on a less combative stance, Mr. Enkhbat attempts to explain his family’s situation; with “Pura siccome un angelo...”, so gorgeously sung, so legato, and full of subtleties, he begins to wear down Violetta’s defense. Shattered by Germont’s demands, Ms. Feola brings some anguished chest tones into play. Her “Cosi alla misera…” is heart-breaking, and then comes the turning point of the opera, from which there is no going back: Violetta’s “Dite alla giovine...” was another Feola treasure, answered by the baritone’s attempt to console her with “Piangi, piangi…” The whole duet was so engrossing…so real. Germont has won. Ms. Feola sings the parting line “Non ci vedrem piu forse...” but suddenly voices from the lighting bay at the top of the hall break the mood.
Violetta sends Annina off to accept Flora’s invitation, Ms. Feola dismissing Ms. Gigliotti severely. The haunting clarinet solo as Violetta writes a farewell letter to Alfredo is broken by his sudden return. Ms. Feola sings a moving “Amami, Alfredo…” which Mr. Armiliato underscores with deep, rumbling timpani.
Mr. Enkhbat’s “Di Provenza…” is spectacularly sung, his mellifluous tone filling the hall, with hushed piano effects etched in. In the second verse, so vibrant, touches of anger emerge, filling out the portrait of a father burdened with a wayward son and a beloved daughter. Mr. Enkhbat sings then sings the cabaletta, which I have never liked. TRAVIATA survived for decades without this piece, which delays the flow of the story. Enkhbat sang it sumptuously, though Armiliato drowned out the singer’s final line.
The intermission felt endless, but Flora’s party finally kicked off with a briskly-paced ballet…I’ll never forget the NY City Opera’s production wherein the Galán sisters took turns dancing the lead, castanets blazing away. At her party, Lindsay Martin’s Flora gets a chance to shine, as do Mssrs. Reisinger, Job, Major, and Bernstein. After the ballet, Alfredo arrives, followed shortly by Violetta on the arm of her former protector. Agitato music underscores the drama as Violetta’s two lovers gamble whilst subtly insulting one another. Armiliato takes this scene super-fast; the tension is palpable.
Violetta begs Alfredo to leave as she fears the Baron might assault him. Furious at being spurned and seeing her with the Baron again,. Alfredo flings his winnings at her: Mr. Avetisyan is fiery here. The chorus upbraids him loudly for his treatment of their beloved friend, Violetta; all is silenced by the arrval of Germont. Mr. Enkhbat scolds his son powerfully and then Ms. Feola, in one of the opera’s most poignant passages, attempts to console Alfredo, who has no idea that it’s his own father who has caused Violetta to break with him. The Feola voice sails over the big ensemble, whilst Mr. Enkhbat’s voluminous sound effortlessly rings thru the finale.
Another long pause went on and on; it might as well have been an intermission. At last, the sorrowful prelude to the final scene commences; here Armiliato and his players are at their most expressive. Two of my favorite humans – Eve Gigliotti and Richard Bernstein – are there to ease Violetta’s final hours. Left alone, Ms. Feola reads Germont’s letter rather quickly and quietly, but ends with an anguished cry of “È tardi”. The soprano’s sung recitative is beautifully thought out, and “Addio del passato…” is colored in heartbreak…a gossamer top-A is strikingly beautiful. Usually, I do not think a second verse of the aria is essential, but today Ms. Feola persuaded me otherwise. The applause that followed was long and loud.
Soprano and tenor found a heavenly blend in “Parigi, o cara…“, with Ms. Feola’s delicate piano at “…tutto il futuro…” especially fine. The soprano’s desperation at “…ma se tornando…” as she faces the inevitable was harrowing. Of all the moments for another intrusion from the lighting bay, the voice of a man talking about his doctor’s appointment was clearly audible during the silence before the funereal “Prendi: quest’è l’immagine…” This was inexcusable. Ms. Feola’s “Se una pudica vergine...” was sheer heaven.
The opera ended; after a few moments of total darkness, the curtain rose again and Ms. Feola came forward to a tidal wave of applause and bravas.
Above: Asmik Grigorian and Iurri Samoilov as Tatiana and Onegin; a MET Opera photo
~ Author: Oberon
Saturday May 2nd, 2026 matinee – The Met put together an impressive cast for their revival of Tchaikovsky’s EUGENE ONEGIN this season. The Russian conductor Timur Zangiev was making his Met debut with these performances, and he and the orchestra forged this into the outstanding sonic experience of the season – one in which the singing onstage was never swamped by the sounds emerging from the pit.
Over the years, I have been fortunate to see a number of sopranos in the role of Tatyana, starting with Raina Kabaivanksa at The Met in 1979 (opposite Yuri Mazurok’s Onegin). Since then, my Tatyanas have been Teresa Zylis-Gara, Ileana Cotrubas, Kay Griffel, Edith Davis (in the opening production of the Glimmerglass Opera House), Mirella Freni, Lyubov Kazarnovskaya, Solveig Kringelborn, Hanan Alattar (especially lovely…at Juilliard), Tatiana Pavlovskaya, and Anna Netrebko. Each has been special in her own way. This afternoon, Asmik Grigorian joined the list.
I remember well first hearing the voice of Iurri Samoilov when he was a finalist at the 2017 BBC Cardiff Singer of the World. His only previous Met role has been Schaunard back in 2022. Joining in the cast’s principals were French tenor Stanislas de Barbeyrac as Lenski, the monumental voice of Alexander Tsymbalyuk as Prince Gremin, and the comely Russian mezzo Maria Barakova as Olga.
The pensive prelude (with a jangling cellphone distraction) immediately assured us that the opera was in good hands with Maestro Zangiev in charge . Mlles. Grigorian and Barakova sang their folk-song dreamily, whilst Elena Zaremba as Madame Larina and the remarkable Larissa Diadkova traded chesty resonances as they recalled days gone by. (Ms. Diadkova had joined the cast after Stephanie Blythe withdrew.). The field workers sang their exhilarating folk song, and Ms. Barakova made a lovely impression with Olga’s aria, her expressive, velvety mezzo very forward and well placed, and finishing off with a gorgeous low line, laced with a sultry nuances.
We now meet Olga’s lover, Lenski, and his friend Onegin. Mr. de Barbeyrac displayed beautiful softness of tone in his song to his beloved, leading to a passionate declaration of love…his voice and Ms. Barakova’s blend poetically. Onegin’s little arietta was superbly sung by Mr. Samoilov, with Ms. Diadkova keeping a watchful eye on these young people. We hear, for the first time, the heart-throbbing melody that will soon open the famous Letter Scene.
Alone with her Nurse, Tatyana is uncharacteristically nervous. Ms. Diadkova tries to calm the girl with a touching narrative from her own past; the nurse leaves, and the passionate theme bursts forth from the celloes. The soprano’s voice bursts into an almost demented excitement, leading to a stunningly-sustained A-flat. As her monolog commences, winds, harp, and horn weaving restless underlying themes. Ms. Grigorian’s voice moved splendidly between lyricism and power; she has so many colours in her palette, making emotions ebb and flow with astonishing control. After her great outpouring, shimmering top notes sink into probing depths of tone. The orchestra plays sensationally as Tatyana hastily scribbles out the end of her letter. Her aria’s final lines are thrillingly voiced. The show then came to a halt as a hearty, porlonged ovation embraced the soprano.
Then the dawn music heralds the nurse’s return; the Grigorian voice is aglow with anticipation. Ms. Diadkova (bless her heart) gets very chesty as the two banter. The letter is sent; torn between hope and fear, Tatyana now awaits her fate. The orchestra and conducting have been sensational during this memorable scene. And Asmik has been spectacular.
In the next scene, the prelude and maidens’ chorus are wunderbar. Tatyana’s hopes are dashed by Onegin’s heartless response to her “juvenile” letter. Mr. Samoilov’s condescending – and eventually cruel – lecture is handsomely sung, taking the written ending to fine affecting.
After a long intermission, Maestro Zangiev is very warmly greeted as he returns to the podium. So far, he and the marvelous Met musicians been magnificent, and every note and nuance from the singers has been heard…and savoured. This is a very welcome change from the usual “fast and loud” atmosphere generated by most Met conductors these days. The Act II prelude is grandly played, with a special nod to the flautist. The beloved waltz commences, orchestra and chorus vivid at every moment. A bravo! from me to Ben Brady, who made the most of the Captain’s brief lines.
At his ball, Lensky and Olga argue…they do not know that their fate will soon be determined. Mr. de Barbeyrac’s plea is so touching, with a gorgeous diminuendo especially impressive. Tony Stevenson now takes the stage as Monsieur Triquet; in the past I have often thought that this vignette is tedious and delays the unfolding drama, but Tony made a masterpiece of it with his lyrical singing, avoiding character-tenor “nuances” and maintaining a melodious approach… Bravo!
The exchange between the friends Lenski and Onegin gets prickly. Mssr. de Barbeyrac as Lenski pours out his memories of the many happy hours he has spent at Madame Larina’s house with his beloved Olga; his singing is incredibly touching, with achingly beautiful piani effects and tender phrasing. In the big finale, the orchestra is loud, but the Maestro makes sure the singers are always heard. Madness takes over, with the tenor’s desperate farewell wrenchingly uttered. Kudos to all – and especially for the conductor – for such a thrilling scene.
It’s always great to have Richard Bernstein is the cast of any of the operas in his extensive repertoire; today he was Zaretsky, who presides over the fatal duel between Onegin and Lensky. Playing of deep richness came from clarinet and cello in the scene’s prelude. Then Mr. Bernstein took up his duties, annoyed at Onegin’s casual lateness. Mr. de Barbeyrac then gave us Lenski’s tragic aria, his singing full of sorrow and regret. As one beautiful, tormented phrase after another rose up, the bassoon offered its own poetic commentary. Lenski the poet was at his most poetic in what is to be his farewell to life. Ravishing sound, so engrossing…such hushed pianissimi that brought tears to my eyes. The uncanny fading away of the final phrase elicited a heartfelt applause from the crowded house, who had listened intently to such poignant singing. An agonizing duet of fate is voiced by the friends, now estranged beyond redemption. The orchestra plays frantically; the gunshot is fired. “Dead?” asks Onegin…”Dead!” is Zaretsky’s numbing reply.
Years have passed; Onegin has wandered the world restlessly. Back in St. Petersburg, with nothing better to do, he attends a ball hosted by an old comrade, Prince Gremin. After a simply brilliant polonaise, played gloriously by the Met musicians, Onegin sings – with undercurrents of regret – of his loss of interest in all things worldly. Following a sort of ‘encore’ by the orchestra (a brisk Allegro vivace), Onegin – to his amazement – then spots Tatiana, now the elegant Princess Gremina, across the ballroom. The prince greets his long-lost friend and tells him, in a splendid aria, of his happiness and contentment with his young wife. Alexander Tsymbalyuk, a bass with a voice of gold, simply pours out this magnificent piece with sustained gorgeousness. A more introverted repeat of the aria’s initial phrases creates a feeling of great tenderness; in his penultimate measures, Mr. Tsymbaluk descends to a solemn low note, which some in the audience mistook for the ending. Applause and bravos broke out. When they finally died down, the maestro and basso took up where they had left off, giving the the aria’s concluding low note its full grandeur. After speaking briefly to Tatiana, who politely withdraws, Mr. Samoilov sings excitedly of newfound hope before he rushes away.
Against her better judgement, Tatiana agrees to meet Onegin. The prelude to this scene found the orchestra at their very finest. Mr. Grigorian voiced Tatiana’s mixture of torment and rapture with marvelous vocal colours. The princess explains that this is to be their last meeting, but Onegin cannot accept her rejection. Things get intense, with Onegin fighting for his life, but Tatiana stands firm. With a sublime floated note, Ms. Grigorian again attempts to dismiss him (and her own feelings). They harmonize, each filled with desire, and at last Tatiana admits she still loves him. But, just as hope fills Onegin’s heart, Tatiana breaks away and, with a searing high note, she rushes off. After what felt like an eternity of silent despair, Mr. Samoilov thrillingly ended the opera with heart-rending cry of anguish.
At the stage door, I met Ms. Grigorian, Mr. Tsymbalyuk, Richard Bernstein, and Maestro Zangiev. The conductor seemed surprised when I told him that his had been best conducting I’d heard at The Met all season. It was not meant as an idle compliment, and I assured him it was true. His respect, not just for the music, but for the singers singing it, was so meaningful to me.
Above, special guest Stephanie Blythe and winners Magdalena Kuźma, Titus Muzi III, Ben Reisinger, Jennifer Robinson, Finn Sagal, Korin Thomas-Smith, and Anna Thompson.
~ Author: Oberon
Wednesday April 29th, 2026 – Last year’s Gerda Lissner Foundation winners’ concert was an outstanding evening of singing. Could this year’s winners maintain the high level? The answer was an emphatic “Yes”.
Midge Woolsey greeted the audience and introduced the first of the singers, tenor Ben Reisinger, with Arlene Shrut at the piano. Mr. Reisinger, currently a MET Young Artist, had already made a vivid first impression on me when he sang the role of the Sailor in the Met’s new production of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE. Of his performance, I wrote: “As the prelude faded away, a fantastic voice beamed out from the Family Circle: Ben Reisinger, a Met Young Artist, filled the darkened hall with his poetic rendering of the Sailor’s song. His voice holds great promise for the Wagnerian rep – and so much more – in the years to come: bravo…bravissimo!” I still get a frisson of emotion when I remember that moment.
Ben sounded fantastic again tonight in two classic arias from the tenor repertoire: Rodolfo’s narrative from Act I of LA BOHEME and Lensky’s despairing song from EUGENE ONEGIN as he awaits a duel with his friend, Onegin. As Rodolfo, Ben proved to be a fine story-teller, displaying a powerful voice that can be honed down to a poetic softness. His sustained high-C was thrilling; he then brought the aria to a subtle finish. As Lensky, the tenor produced lovely piano tones as he mused on his fate and on his love for Olga. Passion and regret were expressed with intensity as the aria moved towards its heart-breaking finish.
Ms. Shrut remained at the keyboard to accompany baritone Korin Thomas Smith. This singer knows how to engage an audience; his CENERENTOLA aria was a comedic masterpiece, acting out the story whilst producing voluminous tone. Deft coloratura was at his disposal as Rossini took the music from fast to very fast. Veering from humor to lust, the baritone then took up one of my favorite arias “Vision fugitive” from Massenet’s HERODIADE. Here, his passionate and expressive singing resonated richly in the hall. The aria’s ending was like a vocal knockout punch.
Francesco Barfoed took over the Steinway as the three winners of the Art Song Competition appeared in turn. I’d heard this pianist before, and I expected great things from him this evening…and he delivered. Having spoken briefly about the pieces we were about to hear, Mr. Barfoed then took his place at the piano to play a wide-ranging series of nine songs.
Soprano Jennifer Robinson, in a pale rose gown, has a pretty, lyrical voice. Her diction is excellent, her way with words especially effective in Ricky Ian Gordon’s “Will there really be a morning?” in which a sense of developing passion settles into a peaceful finish. In Joseph Marx’s “Nachtgebet“, Ms. Robinson showed off a shimmering high range. Then, with Mr. Barfoed’s plush playing, the soprano launched Strauss’s “Cäcilie” excitedly before taking on a more pensive air; the song ends with a rush of ardor.
Magdalena Kuźma, clad in a striking black gown, has already sung Giannetta in ELISIR and Mozart’s Papagena at The Met. A lovely woman and an ardent songstress, she opened with Rachmaninoff’s “Son” (Dreams), displaying sensuous shadings and smooth legato. You can really feel a personality behind the voice, and even during the song’s piano postlude, she continued to sustain the mood with her expressive face…and a ballerina’s hands and arms. With Hugo Wolf’s “Bekehrte”, Mr. Barfoed’s magical playing entwined with the soprano’s intriguing voice to truly draw us in; there was both intensity and a sense of wonderment in their performance. Finishing with Jean Sibelius’s surprisingly sensuous “Var det en dröm“, the Kuźma/Barfoed alliance reveled in the rolling restlessness of the piano and the smouldering lusciousness of the voice to carry their set to a big, passionate finish.
Although this was not a competition, Ms. Kuźma had set a high bar, to which baritone Finn Sagal responded with his thoroughly engaging voice and presence. In terms of charisma, this guy is off the charts. Mr. Barfoed played the ominous opening bars of Schubert’s Der Doppelgänger and then the Sagal voice stole eerily into the Hall, darkish and intense. His dynamic control and his measured use of straight-tone were uncanny, his deep notes rich and vividly present. When sheer power was called for, it was his to spend lavishly. His performance gave me the chills. Moving on to Gabriel Fauré’s Automne, Mssrs. Sagal and Barfoed created a poetic atmosphere, the voice so perfectly placed and so responsive to the text, with his resonant sound tapered to enticing softness in all the right places. A different side of Mr. Sagal’s personality shone in Marc Blitzstein’s hilarious The New Suit (‘Zipperfly’), which simply dazzled the crowd. I was happy to read in the playbill that this singer is also active in opera; I can imagine him being marvelous in a host of roles: everything from Wozzeck to Papageno.
F. Paul Driscoll, editor of OPERA NEWS for two decades, now introduced the great mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe and the renowned pianist Warren Jones. During their amiable chat, Ms. Blythe told a charming story about getting advice from Barbara Bonney; then she and the pianist offered a Brahms song, followed by Cole Porter’s humorous “Tale of the Oyster“, which was grandly done. I am glad to say that the Blythe voice remains awe-inspiring.
Ms. Shrut now returned to the piano to play for the program’s last two singers: baritone Titus Muzi III and soprano Anna Thompson.
Mr. Muzi impressed in arias from NOZZE DI FIGARO and FALSTAFF. In the former, his sizeable voice and commanding presence evoked the character of Count Almaviva, and he tossed in some cunning little embellishments along the way – something I always like to hear in Mozart’s operas. In Ford’s “jealousy aria” Mr. Muzi’s dramatic treatment of the ‘recit’ felt like a mad scene for male voice. When the melody commenced, the singer’s grandly resonant timbre rang through the Hall, making me wonder how he’d fare in the rest of the Verdi repertoire. From the piano, Ms. Shrut offered dramatic accents to underscore the text as the aria reached its grand finish.
Anna Thompson, a striking woman with a sizeable, vibrant voice who is about to join the Merola Program in San Francisco, gave us the ‘mirror aria’ from Massenet’s THAIS and the Czardas from FLEDERMAUS. Both were impressively voiced, up to the high-D at the close of the THAIS aria and a comparable note to end the Czardas. She was vociferously cheered.
Cheers also for our two pianists, for Ms. Woolsey (ever the perfect hostess), and to all the folks at the Lissner Foundation who find and help develop the young voices that keep the worlds of lieder and opera alive.
Above: Lisa Batiashvili and Giorgi Gigashvili; photos by André Josselin and Giorgi Kolbaia respectively.
~ Author: Oberon
Tuesday April 28th, 2026 – One of my all-time favorite violinists, Lisa Batiashvili, was joined tonight by pianist Giorgi Gigashvili for a recital at Zankel Hall. Familiar works by Beethoven, Prokofiev, and Franck flanked the US premiere of Josef Bardanashvili’s To Gia Kancheli (P.S.). I have so many beautiful memories of hearing – and watching – Ms. Batiashvili playing with the NY Philharmonic back in the days of Alan Gilbert’s presiding baton. They were so simpatico.
Looking as beauteous as ever, the radiant violinist took the stage with her towering young pianist. Mr. Gigashvili was rather casually dressed, but it suited his personality; later, as the encores commenced, he revealed another layer that further endeared him to the crowd.
The Violin Sonata No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 12, No. 3, of Beethoven opened the evening. The piece calls for great virtuosity; it opens grandly, with both players kept busy by the composer’s demands. At times, the piano seemed too prominent, but as the sonata progressed, a better balance emerged. A gorgeous central theme led to a da capo; applause at its end was jolting, though understandable.
The restful air of the Adagio was introduced by the pianist, with Ms. Batiashvili’s violin commenting; the players then reverse roles. The violin sings poetically over rippling piano figurations; a rise of passion subsides. At times, the music feels improvisational. The concluding Rondo dashes onward, with some melodramatic inserts. Rambling scales from the keyboard lead to a virtuoso conclusion, with both players reveling in the composer’s demands.
Prokofiev’s Violin Sonata No. 1, penned over a span of years from 1938 to 1946, was said by the composer to have been inspired by Handel’s violin sonatas, with their slow-fast-slow-fast structure. Deep, darkish sounds from the piano and a series of suspenseful trills from the violin create a rather bleak atmosphere. There is a sense of longing, and then a passage of great power; imminent danger is suggested in the piano’s wanderings in the low register. Mr. Gigashvili produces massive sounds before subsiding into more scalework, which slowly fades away.
The second movement, marked Allegro brusco, brings a vigorous debate between the two players: banging on the keyboard, and slashing strokes from the violin strings. Things settle into a melodic flow, but then an emergency is signaled, and the music gets big and crazy. Peace is restored as Ms. Batiashvili soars on high, but the ending has a bustling feeling.
The Andante brings piano passages that are echoed by the violin. The music gets gorgeous, then ethereal. Haunting memories arise, and – after a unison passage – a chilling darkness settles over us. The sonata’s finale is a folk dance with an emphatic start which calms into a sweet tune, and then sails melodiously onward, with cunning little detours along the way. Ms. Batiashvili’s rapid plucking and Mr. Gigashvili’s restless pounding of the keyboard seem to herald a fiery finish; but instead, slithering scales lend a poignant air. This monumental performance by the two artists drew an excited response from the crowd.
Following the interval, Ms. Batiashvili returned to the stage: a vision in a vivid red gown, slit to the thigh, with red stiletto heels.
The new Bardanashvili work, To Gia Kancheli (P.S.), was having its US premiere this evening. It is a lovely memorial from one composer to another. Lasting only five minutes, the piece speaks of a multi-faceted friendship between the two composers; it was written especially for Ms. Batiashvili and Mr. Gigashvili. The opening mood is of loneliness: a touching elegy that springs from memories shared by two friends. But then, in a stroke of brilliance, the music turns jazzy – even sultry – with enticing bits of rubato thrown in. Played to perfection by Lisa and Giorgi, the short work made me want to explore more of Mr. Bardanashvili’s music.
César Franck’s Violin Sonata was the concert’s closing work. This wonderfully familiar piece draws mainly on two themes that are – once heard – forever etched on the memory. As so often when a beloved work closes an evening, I stopped taking notes and simply let the musical experience thrill me. Ms. Batiashvili and Mr. Gigashvili gave a perfect performance, exploring the music that veers from passionate power to heavenly quietude whilst bringing forth nuances that were new to me. What a revelation…!
The audience’s vociferous response guaranteed that there would be encores; when the players emerged for their bows, the pianist was sporting an I LOVE NEW YORK t-shirt, setting off more shouts of approval. The duo gave us three encores – each ravishingly played – which neither myself nor my companion recognized. Had they continued playing til the witching hour, we’d have stayed on…and on…
~ Oberon
Update:The encores were:
AZARASHWILI Nocturne (arr. for violin and piano)
DEBUSSY “Beau soir” (arr. for violin and piano)
KANCHELI “When Almonds Blossomed” (arr. for violin and piano)
Among the numbers included is the great aria “Ô ma lyre immortelle” from Gounod’s nearly-forgotten opera SAPHO. The Swiss-born mezzo-soprano Marina Viotti makes a striking impression with this rarity.
Above, this afternoon’s BOHEME cast at The Met: Giorgi Manoshvili, Heidi Stober, Aleksandra Kurzak, Long Long, Alexander Birch Elliott, and Anthony Clark Evans
~ Author: Oberon
Saturday April 25th, 2026 matinee – Taking on her second Puccini role of the Met season – Mimi in LA BOHEME – the Polish soprano Aleksandra Kurzak confirmed her success as an outstanding interpreter of the great composer’s fascinating female characters. Earlier this year, she was a captivating Butterfly, and in prior seasons, she has played Tosca with equal conviction and vocal authority. Her Mimi today was as impressively sung as one could ask; joined by a very appealing group of colleagues, the performance took flight…despite some intrusions of too much volume from the pit: a chronic annoyance in the House these days.
I’m always at my score desk as soon as the House opens, and today I had an unexpected pleasure in hearing the English Horn player practicing the theme of Mahler’s timeless masterpiece, “Ich bin der welt abhanden gekommen…” …my chosen epitaph.
Baritone Anthony Clark Evans as Marcello was the first voice to be heard today: a handsome, house-filling sound with an appealing sense of lyricism. He is soon joined by Chinese tenor Long Long, a passionate Rodolfo with a finely-utilized dynamic range, and a tenderness of expression that would become increasingly valuable as the afternoon progressed. The painter and poet are soon joined by a marvelous Georgian basso, Giorgi Manoshvili, as Colline, and Alexander Birch Elliott’s Schaunard in a polished and verbally detailed delivery of the musician’s music. In the dual roles of Benoit and Alcindoro, it was a pleasure to hear John Hancock, whose performances at the once-vital New York City Opera are clear in my memory.
Ms. Kurzak’s entrance drew a premonition in Long Long’s immediate noting of her “…viso d’ammalata…”, so tenderly voiced. The exchange between the two was lovely and intimate. In his aria, the tenor’s expressiveness brought a nice diminuendo on “Chi son?” and later, his lyrical outpouring at “Talor dal mio forziere…” was wonderful, carrying him to a vibrant high-C and a most persuasive finish. In her own narrative, Ms. Kurzak did much with the subtle inflections of her words, and her sweet piano effects. At “Ma quando vien lo sgelo…”, her legato bloomed gorgeously, giving a luscious quality to her singing. Her magical “Il profumo d’un fior…” was exquisite. The orchestra was very dense in its introduction of the love duet, but the voices took over as the couple sang rapturously of their new-found romance. Mimi’s assuring “I’ll stay close beside you…” (something every lover wants to hear) was so touching.
At Cafe Momus, the little exchanges between Mimi and her new set of Bohemian friends were deftly handled. Tenor Marco Jordão again made his mark as Parpignol, as he had a few weeks ago with a different cast. The orchestra tended to be over-bearing in spots, but Ms. Kurzak’s sweet little tune about the bonnet was prophetic. Heidi Stober, a vibrant Musetta, sang an enticing waltz, prompting droll admonishings from Mr. Hancock’s Alcindoro. The big finale, with Mr. Evans belting out the waltz-theme to fine effect, heralded a very long intermission.
At the Barrière d’Enfer, the orchestra evokes falling snow and the clinking of wine glasses inside the tavern. Ms. Stober sweetly reprises the melody of her waltz. Ms. Kurzak and Mr. Evans match voices in their duet, the soprano covering a vast dynamic palette whilst also using a bit of chest voice effectively; Mr. Evans so simpatico. As Mimi hides, Marcello goads Rodolfo, whose pangs of remorse are palpable, into revealing the truth about Mimi’s health. Ms. Kurzak’s comments are darkly expressive. At “Una terrible tosse…” Long Long’s despair pours forth, leading the trio to a powerful climax. Ms. Kurzak’s “Addio senza rancor” is so touching, with many sublime pianissimo effects and a heart-breaking finish. My own heart is torn apart by their talk of parting. Ms. Kurzak crushes me with her “Sempre tua per la vita…” and Long Long’s diminuendi are so affecting as the couple resolve to stay together until Spring.
Back in the garret. Mssrs. Long and Evans match voices in their nostalgic duet: they exchange finely-wrought lines, then harmonize to a polished finish. This was a vocal highlight of the afternoon. The four Bohemians re-unite for a boisterous scene, halted by the sudden appearance of Musetta, who has brought the dying Mimi to the very room where she and Rodolfo had first met. Every line and note from here on in is coloured by grief. Mr. Manoshvili’s Coat Aria is superbly sung, so poignant with its sustained finish. Now comes the crushing nostalgia of the final conversation between Mimi and Rodolfo. Long Long’s remorse is hauntingly voiced. The sheer quietude of Ms. Kurzak’s “Sono andati...” demolishes me completely…the colours she summons, her finely-timed use of chest-tone, and the heart-rending, extraordinary delicacy of her singing as she echoes her “Mi chiamano Mimi...” put the finishing touches on her compelling portrait of the doomed seamstress.
At the stage door, I met Ms. Kurzak, and Mssrs. Long, Evans, and Manoshvili.
Oberon's Glade 