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MANON @ The Met

Above: Lisette Oropesa as Manon in The Met’s production; a Marty Sohl/Met Opera photo

Saturday matinee September 28th, 2019 – After a rather scrappy dress rehearsal on Friday September 20th, the Metropolitan Opera’s revival of their tedious Laurent Pelly production of Massenet’s MANON opened this past Tuesday. For today’s matinee, a group of friends who are admirers of Lisette Oropesa met up in the Family Circle boxes to see and hear the Cuban-American soprano in her latest new role.

Vocally, there are basically two types of Manons: the lyric-coloraturas and the full-fledged (and even slightly…beyond…) lyrics. The role was created by Marie Heilbronn, whose repertory included the coloratura roles of Marie (FILLE DU REGIMENT), Ophélie (HAMLET), Gounod’s Juliette, and Catherine in Meyerbeer’s ETOILE DU NORD. Massenet’s preferred Manon was Sibyl Sanderson, who created the high-flying title-role in his opera ESCLARMONDE. The light-voiced Brazilian soprano Bidu Sayão became a beloved Manon at The Met starting in 1937, and the tradition of coloratura-oriented Manons continued with Beverly Sills (perhaps her greatest role), Patricia Brooks, and Reri Grist.

Sopranos with larger, richer voices have also taken on the role: Lucrezia Bori, Geraldine Farrar, Claudia Muzio (!), Victoria de los Angeles, Eleanor Steber, Anna Moffo, Virginia Zeani, Raina Kabaivanska, Jeannette Pilou, Catherine Malfitano, Carol Vaness, Renee Fleming, and Anna Netrebko. Some of these sopranos had to make adjustments in Manon’s coloratura set-pieces, and in dealing with (or omitting) the score’s high-Ds. And at times, the opera has seemed to take on a verismo tinge in these interpretations, as listening to their various recordings will show.

Lisette Oropesa’s Manon is in the lyric-coloratura vein, and it’s so enchanting to hear her intriguingly perfumed timbre in this music. This is a voice that draws us into the music, covering the wide range with that distinctive sound, rejoicing in the fiorature of the Cours la Reine arias, pinpointing those top-Ds, and seducing both the tenor and the audience with the serpentine vocal line of “N’est-ce plus ma main”: that passage which Beverly Sills knew was the key to the whole character.

To accomplish her success in the music of Manon, Lisette had to overcome a hideous production and an interpretation of the score by an out-of-touch conductor. As the opera progressed, we moved scenically from a dreary grey courtyard – surrounded by perched toy-town houses and cuckoo-clock windows that periodically opened and closed – to an ugly wheeled-out ‘garret’ for the lovers wherein the ‘petite table‘ seemed like an afterthought.

The ridiculous ramps and metal dog-run fencing of the Cours la Reine deprived the setting of its glamour and left the bevy of ballerinas that Guillot had brought to cheer Manon up little space to execute some rather pointless choreography (the girls deserved better!) With the gaslights, Manon clad in a enormous feathered hat, boa, and ruffled gown, and the top-hatted men courting her in-sync, the scene recalled bad productions of HELLO DOLLY.

Seeking out des Grieux at Saint Sulpice, Manon arrives in what looks like a long white slip. There’s a lot of stage business to this seduction, as compared to the Sills Manon who just stood there, enticing her lover with vocal allure until – at the right moment – she let her cape fall to reveal the diva’s legendary décolletage, to which her tenor immediately succumbed. In the Pelly production, a convenient bed (for the altar boys?) is where Lisette and Michael Fabiano end up in a bodice-ripping finale. It’s the tenor’s bodice that gets ripped.

The gambling den in a drab basement room with more ramps, and with card tables wheeled busily on and off; the tension of the game between des Grieux and Guillot is minimized. The scene’s redeeming feature is the vision of Lisette in a stunning magenta gown.

The opera’s final scene is misty and appropriately foreboding. Manon is beaten by the guards who are escorting her to the ship for deportation. She seems to die from this beating rather than from some infection she picked up in prison.

Manon is one of the least appealing characters in all opera: selfish, willful, faithless, conniving. And those are her good qualities. But somehow, Lisette managed to be one of the very few Manons to make us feel sorry for her as the life ebbs out of her.

Maurizio Benini on the podium seemed to have no feeling for the distinctive atmosphere of the score, redolent of a time and place that the production has simply glossed over; the large orchestra frequently unleashed Puccinian waves of passion. But the musicians did what they could, bringing forth the desired poetry: of particular appeal was the clarinet solo in the prelude, played with captivating tenderness and nuance by Inn-Hyuck Cho. Mr. Cho also stayed in the pit thru much of the intermission, practicing various themes, much to my delight.

The pairing of Lisette Oropesa and Michael Fabiano as the doomed lovers was not felicitous. They are a vocal mismatch, and though they went thru the motions of romance and seduction, it was only in a theatrical sense that they made it work. The tenor, who would seem better suited to the Puccini rather than the Massenet des Grieux, lacked the heady vocal elegance that Alfredo Kraus, Vinson Cole, and Enrico di Giuseppe have brought to this music. Mr. Fabiano managed his Dream aria nicely enough, seemingly employing falsetto, but a flattish start to “Ah, fuyez, douce image” led to what felt like a struggle thru this demanding aria.

Two excellent baritones enhanced the afternoon: Artur Ruciński as Lescaut and Brett Polegato as de Brétigny. Mr. Ruciński, who sang Enrico to Lisette’s Lucia at the Teatro Real in 2018, Madrid, and who is a very impressive Onegin in a DVD of the Tchaikovsky opera from Valencia, has sung Sharpless and Germont at The Met. He transforms Lescaut into a leading role, making his arias – which can in lesser hands devolve into character pieces – real vocal gems thru the beauty and colour of his timbre, whilst also creating a lively (and – eventually – moving) character. His curtain calls drew enthusiastic and well-deserved bravos.

I first heard Canadian baritone Brett Polegato’s voice on a tape from the Cardiff Competition in 1995. He made a very fine impression, which was subsequently amplified by his wonderful 2001 recording (with Christine Goerke, conducted by Robert Spano) of Vaughan Williams’ A Sea Symphony for Telarc. Hailed upon its release as “…a Sea Symphony for the new century…”, this recording won a Grammy.

It wasn’t until 2012 that I got to hear Mr. Polegato live: he sang Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast with the Atlanta Symphony at Carnegie Hall. I sat in the front row and enjoyed his performance immensely, and I questioned at the time why he was not at The Met. And now here he is in his debut performances at The House, the voice very much at home in the big hall. As de Brétigny today, the baritone made the most of every line, especially in the garret scene quartet, and proved a wonderful support (literally) to Lisette’s Manon at the Cours la Reine. Had Manon only stuck with this well-to-do and dapper gentleman, she might have lived long…and prospered.

Basso Kwangchul Youn brought warm, house-filling sound to the Comte de Grieux’s aria, in which he urges his son to forget about the priesthood and find a nice girl to marry, one worthy of himself and of the family. The Comte, his visit to Saint Sulpice having proved in vain, departs with the wistful farewell to his son – “Adieu … reste à prier!” – which was touchingly spoken by Mr. Youn.

Carlo Bosi, a sensational Nick in FANCIULLA DEL WEST when it was last done at The Met, was equally high-profile this afternoon as Guillot, the man who destroys Manon and, consequently, des Grieux.

In another example of how to make a smallish role resonate, Paul Corona as the Innkeeper was outstanding. He took a bow at the dress rehearsal, and I wish he had done so this afternoon so I could have given him a “bravo!“.

As a tease, the Met has installed Bidu Sayão’s Cours la Reine costume (above) in a glass display case on the Dress Circle level. This cloth-of-gold creation, incredibly detailed, served as a reminder of what MANON is all about. I hope one day that Lisette will have a production of this opera worthy of both herself and of the opera’s long traditions, with charming costumes, with a swing for Manon to sit on in the garden at Amiens for “Voyons, Manon“…and with de Brétigny bringing her an emerald necklace to dazzle her right after the kidnapping of her beloved chevalier.

~ Oberon

September 28, 2019
20th Century Masterworks @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: Katarina Karnéus in ERWARTUNG at The New York Philharmonic; photo by Chris Lee

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday September 26th, 2019 – This long-awaited program by The New York Philharmonic paired Arnold Schoenberg’s monodrama ERWARTUNG with Béla Bartók’s expressionist opera BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE. The Philharmonic’s music director, Jaap van Zweden was on the podium, and a trio of esteemed singers took on the demanding vocal roles. The orchestra was simply splendid, from first note to last.

In 1989, the Metropolitan Opera presented these two works on a double bill, conducted by James Levine. Jessye Norman sang both The Woman in the Schoenberg and Judith in the Bartók; Bluebeard was sung by Samuel Ramey. It was a magnificent evening musically, though the setting and direction for the Bartók left a lot to be desired. But the staging of the Schoenberg was unforgettable: just a grand piano, hundreds of white candles, and Ms. Norman. How I would love to see it again!

The idea of presenting these two works in a semi-staged concert setting at Geffen Hall seemed intriguing on paper but was less successful in practice. The singers performed on a raised platform behind the musicians, who were seated in near darkness. The addition of silent actors – portraying medical staff and a crime-scene photographer in ERWARTUNG, and Bluebeard’s previous wives in the Bartók – neither added to nor distracted from the flow of the two works. From where we were sitting, we could not discern what was under the sheet of that autopsy table, which was revealed when they came to take The Woman away. One small screen sufficed for the projections, which were neither here nor there. The lighting effects, however, were well-integrated into the music, especially a blood-red drenching at one point.

The monodrama and the opera were linked theatrically by having Katarina Karnéus, who had just given a phenomenal performance in the Schoenberg, re-appear as the prologue to BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE. Here, Ms. Karnéus (using a megaphone) proved to be every bit as engaging as a speaker as she has been in her singing of The Woman. And while, in the end, the evening could have just as thrillingly been presented in straight-up concert form, that would have deprived us of Ms. Karnéus’s inspired acting of her role.

The concert opened with a performance of the song Erwartung, from Schoenberg’s Vier Lieder, his opus #2, composed in 1899. This gorgeous piece of music, which I had never heard before, was originally written for voice and piano but was tonight performed in a setting for voice and harp. The Philharmonic’s harpist Nancy Allen played divinely, creating a poetic atmosphere. In a black gown shot with silver and holding a large bouquet, soprano Nina Stemme’s voice seemed beset by a wide tonal beat or fluctuation which rather undermined the strange beauty of the song. Ms. Stemme fared much better in BLUEBEARD, where she was fully warmed-up and with the voice profiting from the cushioning orchestra.

Katarina Karnéus was the Cardiff Singer of the Year in 1995 and from there went on to a grand worldwide career. She came to The Met in 1999, debuting as Varvara in KATA KABANOVA and also appearing as Siebel, Olga in EUGEN ONEGIN, as Rossini’s Rosina, and as Cherubino. I had the pleasure of meeting her while I was working at Tower Records, and of attending a lovely recital she gave in 2001 with pianist Brian Zeger. She last sang at The Met in 2005; in the interim she has developed into a fascinating singing-actress.

Above: Katarina Karnéus as The Woman in ERWARTUNG; photo by Chris Lee

What a performance of ERWARTUNG Ms. Karnéus gave tonight! The voice encompasses an impressive vocal span, with a silvery sheen on the high notes and a dusky, dramatic throb in the lower range. Her wide-ranging singing is pointed and subtle in terms of word colourings, has a lovely vein of lyricism running thru it, and is possessed of striking power in the climactic moments. It’s an expressive, even bewitching, instrument. Beyond this, Ms. Karnéus is a compelling physical presence, and she captured the emotional state of The Woman with her vibrant and detailed physicality; at one point her entire body was overcome with trembling agitation. Mixed in with the madness were passages that were extraordinarily moving, as in the moment she tells her absent lover that he has “…not even the grace to let me die with you.”

In recent years, only a handful of operatic performances have captivated me in the way Katarina Karnéus did tonight in ERWARTUNG. She is truly one of a kind.

Here’s a sampling of the Karnéus voice:

Katarina Karneus – Mahler ~ Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen

Above: Katarina Karnéus in the spoken prologue to BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE at The New York Philharmonic; photo by Chris Lee

After the interval, BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE commenced with a re-appearance of Ms. Karnéus in a speaking role; I must admit that I found myself wishing she was also singing Judith, for while there is no denying the power and commitment of Nina Stemme’s performance in that role, hers is a voice that has never reached me on a deeper level. That said, the soprano was in full-tilt form for the Bartók tonight and was much admired by the audience.

In the role of Bluebeard himself, it gave me great pleasure to see onstage again the excellent baritone Johannes Martin Kränzle who, in 2014, was an ideal Beckmesser in his (to date) only Met appearances. We simply must have this man back at The Met, for he is a singing-actor (and an acting-singer) of the highest calibre.

Above: Johannes Martin Kränzle and Nina Stemme in BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE; photo by Chris Lee

Ms. Stemme and Mr. Kränzle made the Bartók glow in all its dark radiance with their powerful vocalism and intense acting. They played beautifully off one another, seeming to feed off each others energy as well as off the astonishing sounds being produced by the artists of the Philharmonic.

It was a performance to immerse oneself in totally, and by the time the harp and horns marvelously underscored Mr. Kränzle’s spectacular vocalism at the opening of the fourth door, I was thoroughly enthralled. Ms. Stemme’s blockbuster high-C at the opening of the fifth door was followed by simply mind-bogglingly impressivel singing from the baritone. Ever a compelling mover, Mr. Kränzle even executed a little dance, and then led his soprano is a waltz.

Responding to Judith’s questions about the mysterious white lake, Mr. Kränzle was hauntingly moving as he replied: “…tears, Judith…tears!” And then – incredibly – he took his performance to an even higher level with his gorgeous singing of the passage where Bluebeard describes how he met his previous wives and what they mean to him: morning, noon, and evening have been personified for him by these women, and with Judith joining them, his world is complete. “Now it will be night forever!”

Above: from BLUEBEARD’S CASTLE, photo by Chris Lee

Throughout the evening, the playing of The New York Philharmonic was darkly dazzling, glorious, sublime. Maestro van Zweden reigned over the music with a sure sense of its enormous emotional range, from eerie piani to unfettered, magnificent fortes. The musicians played their hearts out, creating sonic textures that sent chills thru me time and again, and the numerous solo passages were given extraordinary clarity by these remarkable artists.

~ Oberon

September 26, 2019
GrahamDeconstructed: Steps in the Street

Above: Anne Souder of the Martha Graham Dance Company in Graham’s Steps in the Street; photo by Elisabeth Atjay

~ Oberon

Tuesday September 24th, 2019 – Kicking off their season of studio presentations, the Martha Graham Dance Company tonight gave us an up-close look at Steps in the Street, the second movement of Graham’s powerful and thrilling larger work, Chronicle. It was premiered in New York City on December 20th, 1936, and stands as the choreographer’s glorious response to the rise of Facism. As such, it resonates today when democracy is under threat from forces within our beloved country.

It was in 2012, at an invitation-only studio rehearsal of Chronicle at Joyce SoHo, that I fell under the spell of Martha Graham. I was only slightly familiar with her work at that time, but on that afternoon, I fell in love with not only the choreography but with the dancers, both as a collective and as individuals. Over the ensuing years, the roster of artists has inevitably changed; but my feelings have not. The current Graham ensemble fascinates me every time I see them.

Steps in the Street, which was considered a “lost” work for several years, was reconstructed in 1989 by Yuriko and Martha Graham, relying on a miraculously-discovered Julian Bryan film as a starting point.

On this absolutely beautiful end-of-Summer evening, my choreographer-friend Claudia Schreier and I went down to the Graham homespace on the 11th floor of 55 Bethune Street for Steps in the Street. We were totally prepared to be blown away, and that’s exactly what happened.

Brief excerpts from the old black-and-white film of Steps in the Street were being shown as we took our seats. Later, the Graham Company’s Artistic Director Janet Eilber used passages of this film as an introduction to the various movement motifs, which were then performed by the current ensemble of Graham women. Thus does this intriguing ballet grow from an opening passage of individual dancers walking backwards in silent, pensive poses slowly transform itself from a state of “Devastation – Homelessness – Exile” into a community of feminine determination.

During the presentation, projections of drawings being spontaneously created by artist Sohyun Bae were shown; working with ambidextrous haste, the artist produced a series of pictures which did not attempt to literally depict the choreography, but rather to reflect the artist’s emotional response to the dancing and the music.

A complete performance of Steps in the Street was then given. Leading the ensemble, Anne Souder, a lithe dancer of marvelous suppleness and intrinsic mystique, was spellbinding. Each of the ten women of the ‘corps de ballet‘ was able to display her unique gifts as an expressive artist whilst maintaining the stylized unity of the collective. The performance was simply fascinating to behold.

Alongside Ms. Souder, the participating dancers were So Young An, Alyssa Cybulski, Laurel Dalley Smith, Natasha M. Diamond-Walker, Charlotte Landreau, Marzia Memoli, Anne O’Donnell, Aoi Sato, Androniki Vasili, and Leslie Andrea Williams. They left me feeling both elated and hopeful.

Photos by Elisabeth Atjay from this evening’s studio presentation of Steps in the Street:

Anne Souder; in the background, a projection of Sohyun Bae’s spontaneous drawing

Walking in silence: Anne Souder in the foreground

The ensemble, with Ms. Souder in the foreground

The final moments of Steps in the Street

~ Oberon

September 24, 2019
Libre elle est née…et libre elle mourra!

Agnes Baltsa (above) and Placido Domingo in the final confrontation from Bizet’s CARMEN.

Agnes Baltsa and Placido Domingo – CARMEN ~ final scene – Chicago Opera Callas Gala 1983

September 22, 2019
Libre elle est née…et libre elle mourra!

Agnes Baltsa (above) and Placido Domingo in the final confrontation from Bizet’s CARMEN.

Agnes Baltsa and Placido Domingo – CARMEN ~ final scene – Chicago Opera Callas Gala 1983

September 21, 2019
Marion Lippert

Marion Lippert is a soprano I will always remember with affection, as she was my first (and a very lovely) Marschallin in a performance at The Met in 1970, conducted by Karl Böhm; she more than held her own in a stellar cast featuring Christa Ludwig, Reri Grist, and Walter Berry.

Marion Lippert was born in Munich in 1936. Among her voice teachers was Annelies Kupper. Ms. Lippert made her operatic debut as Aida The Hague in 1956, later joining the opera companies of Cologne and Stuttgart, and singing in Berlin, Paris, Barcelona, and Venice. Her repertory included Lady Macbeth, Abigaille, Leonore in FIDELIO, Amelia in BALLO IN MASCHERA, Leonora in FORZA DEL DESTINO, Tosca, Norma, Senta, Elisabeth in TANNHAUSER, and Sieglinde.

The soprano made her Met debut in 1968 as Turandot; she also sang Senta, and Elisabetta in DON CARLO (which I saw) at the House in addition to the Marschallin.

Turandot became a signature role for Ms. Lippert; here is her “In questa reggia” from an unnamed venue, in 1969. Her Calaf is Flaviano Labò.

Marion Lippert – In questa reggia ~ TURANDOT – 1969

Marion Lippert’s ‘Vissi d’arte‘ (though missing the opening line) may be found here.

September 19, 2019
Francesca Todesco ~ Isadora Duncan Classes

Francesca Todesco (above) is offering a series of classes focusing on the technique and repertory of Isadora Duncan, to be held on Fridays from 1:00-3:00 PM at 12 Saint Marks Place, on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. The classes will run from September 20th thru December 20th, 2019. Details below:

Francesca’s dedication to the Duncan legacy – both as a dancer and teacher – makes her an invaluable spokeswoman in all matters Isadora. Francesca recently attended the Isadora Duncan International Symposium in London – an event held every other year in a different city – where an international gathering of performers, instructors, and writers meet to celebrate and honor the Mother of Modern Dance.

Francesca Todesco epitomizes the enduring grace and power of the Duncan style, which has been handed down from generation to generation; she studied here in New York with Catherine Gallant and Loretta Thomas. Thru her classes, Francesca continues the tradition.

Isadora Duncan is one of the most fascinating women of all time. I read her biography once a year, and have found that my interest in her took on a personal resonance when I realized that I am related on my mother’s side to one of Isadora’s pianists – and lovers: Walter Morse Rummel. Their story is but one of so many intriguing episodes in the life of this spellbinding woman.

~ Oberon

September 17, 2019
Enemy of the Fatherland

In Umberto Giordano’s opera, ANDREA CHENIER, there is a powerful aria that could easily be sung in an opera about our current world state. The opera’s story is built on the real-life character of the poet André Chénier, who died on the scaffold in the final days of the Reign of Terror.

During the years of the French revolution, Carlo Gérard, a former servant in an aristocratic household, has risen to a powerful position in the Reign of Terror. As a prosecutor for the Revolutionary Tribunal, he arranges “evidence” against those charged with treason.

Now he must present the case against the poet André Chénier, a man he knows full well is innocent of the charges against him. At this moment, Gérard finds his true heart and soul again. At the trial, he defends Chénier, saying that his accusing document is a fabrication.

Nevertheless, Chénier is condemned to death. He was guillotined on July 25, 1794. Three days later came Robespierre’s fall from power and subsequent execution, ending the Reign of Terror.

The great baritone Giuseppe Taddei sings the aria, “Nemico della patria” here.

Follow the words below; it could be happening today:

“An enemy of the State?!

It’s an old fable

That people are still blissfully swallowing.

Born in Constantinople? A Foreigner!

Studied at Saint-Cyr? A Soldier!

Traitor! Accomplice to Dumouriez!

And a poet? Corrupter of hearts

And morals!

(a pause)

I once lived joyfully,

Without hatred or vengeance

Pure, innocent, and strong;

I thought myself a giant!

But I’m still only a servant…

One who’s changed masters.

An obedient servant to violent passions!

Ah, worse yet: they’ve made me a killer!

And while I kill, I weep!

Me, a son of the Revolution,

One of the first to hear its cry!

For the world, I united that cry to my own.

Have I now lost faith

In that dream of destiny?

Oh, how my path

Shone with glory!

The heart’s conscience,

A reawakening of the people,

Gathering up the tears

Of the vanquished and suffering,

Making the world a Pantheon,

Changing men into gods;

And in one kiss –

In one kiss and one embrace –

To love all mankind!”

September 15, 2019
Gertraud Eckert Sings Klytemnestra

Above: Clytemnestra by English artist John Collier (1850-1931)

There’s very little information to be found regarding mezzo-soprano Gertraud Eckert; not even a photo could I find of this singer, who was born in Vienna in 1941.

Ms. Eckert made her operatic debut in 1964 at Bonn, later appearing at Bregenz, Brussels, Innsbruck, and Graz. It was in the last-named city that she was based thru most of her career. Beyond that, I can find nothing more.

But I do like her Klytemnestra on this live recording of ELEKTRA from Graz 1973; Ludmila Dvořáková was singing the title-role for what seems to be the only time in her career.

Gertraud Eckert as Klytemnestra – ELEKTRA – with Ludmila Dvořáková – Graz 1973

Gertraud Eckert’s singing is both voicy and characterful. I wish I could find out more about her.

~ Oberon

September 12, 2019
Olivia Stapp ~ Griffes Songs

Olivia Stapp sings two songs by Charles Tomlinson Griffes: Le Jardin and La Mer. Diane Richardson is the pianist.

These are settings of poems by Oscar Wilde:

Olivia Stapp – Griffes ~ Le Jardin

“The lily’s withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.

The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, – hour by hour.

Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.”

Olivia Stapp – Griffes ~ La Mer

“A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
A wild moon in this wintry sky
Gleams like an angry lion’s eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.

The muffled steersman at the wheel
Is but a shadow in the gloom; –
And in the throbbing engine-room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.

The shattered storm has left its trace
Upon this huge and heaving dome,
For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.”

September 11, 2019