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Friday November 11, 2011 – Above: Caitlin Lynch and Kevin Burdette in the long-awaited premiere performances of Nico Muhly’s DARK SISTERS, given by Gotham Chamber Opera. Photo: Richard Termine. The opera is co-commissioned and co-produced by Gotham Chamber Opera, Music-Theatre Group, and Opera Company of Philadelphia.

Click on Richard Termine’s images to enlarge.

(The article first appeared on Oberon’s Grove immediately after the performance. I’ve brought it forward to the Glade as I truly enjoyed the piece, and would like to see a revival.)

The opera is based on the story of the seizure of the children of the many wives of a polygamist ‘prophet’ of the Church of Latter Day Saints, the appearance of the wives on national television, the return of the children to their mothers, and the choices made by the individual women in the wake of the experience.

Nico Muhly’s score is striking in its clarity and texture; his music doesn’t sound like anyone else’s (always a plus) and he steers clear of Broadway and Americana, avoiding easy accessability by instead favoring the creation of a sound-world particular to his subject matter. In this regard the opera reminds me of PELLEAS ET MELISANDE. Conductor Neal Goren and his thirteen musicians delivered the music, which often shimmers in the upper instrumental voices, with a fine sense of transparency.

The treble-oriented vocal writing keeps the female voices largely in the upper-middle of their respective ranges. This creates the buzzy sensation of community while the under-lying tensions (which eventually boil down to: who gets to sleep with The Prophet on any given night) come to a head during a scene while the man of the house is away. On his return, the wives tend to fall back to complacency.

The opera doesn’t attempt to deal with the larger themes which provide the basis of the story: there’s no judgement passed on whether polygamy is right or wrong; whether the women are beloved wives or simply brain-washed concubines; whether the way they raise their children is good or bad. It is an intimate, domestic story which never reaches the operatic heights of outright conflict and theatrical climax. 

As the opera nears its end, one of the women (the mentally unstable Ruth) commits suicide while another (Eliza) finds the courage to leave the relative security of the extended-family situation despite the fact that her teen-aged daughter chooses to stay behind. The Prophet and his remaining women depart quietly for their ranch-haven as Eliza ponders her choice.  

Kevin Burdette is The Prophet, a zealous and upright Mormon fellow who feels that practicing his beliefs here in a country that Constitutionally embraces freedom of religion extends to his practice of polygamy: this is a man who gets his orders directly from god. I was at Kevin Burdette’s senior recital at Juilliard a decade ago and remember him as a handsome-voiced basso of serious musical intent. That description still holds true today. His dual role as Prophet and ‘Larry King’ was finely sung and vividly enunciated.

In the above photo by Richard Termine, mezzo-soprano Eve Gigliotti as Ruth. Her lonely monolog preceding her suicidal leap was one of the opera’s highlights. At her burial, The Prophet and the other wives intone the hymn ‘Abide With Me‘, a deft touch on composer Muhly’s part.

Caitlin Lynch used her strong lyric soprano to fine effect as the conflicted Eliza while Jennifer Zetlan’s soubrette sound worked perfectly – even to the extent of being annoying – as the ultra-faithful Zina. Mezzo-soprano Margaret Lattimore was superb as she offered some of the evening’s most dramatically urgent singing as Presendia. Kristina Bachrach did very well in the brief role of Lucinda, Eliza’s teen-aged daughter about to be married off to a man in his sixties. 

Soprano Jennifer Check (Almera) in a Stephanie Berger photo. Of all the voices heard in DARK SISTERS, Jennifer’s stood out for beauty of tone and expression, her dynamic control and persuasive turning of phrase a consistent joy to experience.

A disastrous late-seating five minutes into the opera was particularly unfortunate since it broke the spell that the composer was weaving. And in the end it did seem to me that, despite its musical appeal, the opera would have been more effective if delivered in a single one-hour span; the often-repetitive libretto could have been tightened and the intermission replaced by interludes as the action moved from ranch to television studio and back again.

DARK SISTERS is thought-provoking on so many levels, especially as we contemplate the effects of religion on contemporary life. So much of the unrest and mortal conflict which now permeate our world is religion-based. Getting free of these belief patterns is our only hope, but they are so ingrained in each culture. It’s easy to scoff at such notions as Kolob and magical garments, but each religion/cult has its own fantasies and superstitions – virgin births, communion/confession, circumcision, burkas, forbidden foods or activities – that basically serve no purpose but to control thought and behavior. We have to shed these empty and divisive practices and thought-patterns if we are to move forward. And forward is the direction in which time and the universe are ever-flowing.

November 12, 2011

(Souvenir of an operatic rarity; this article is one of the last to be imported to Oberon’s Glade from Oberon’s Grove.)

Tuesday December 14th, 2021 – When I received news that City Lyric Opera would be presenting the New York premiere performances of Pauline Viardot’s CENDRILLON, I knew it was something I’d want to see. But I was already committed on the dates of the performances; luckily, publicist April Thibeault arranged for me to attend the dress rehearsal, which took place two days before the opening night.

Above: Pauline Viardot, painted by Carl Timoleon von Neff

Pauline Viardot‘s is the one voice from the pre-recording era that I most wish I could have heard. After she retired from the stage, Mme. Viardot organized salons at which her students performed. It was for one such salon, in 1904, that Viardot (then 83 years old) presented her final opera, CENDRILLON.

The opera was sung French, with the spoken dialogue given in an English translation by Rachel M. Harris. The production is directed by Rose Freeman, produced by CLO Co-Founder Megan Gillis, and is under the musical direction of Michelle Rofrano (…what a delightfully operatic name!).

The cast: Marie, aka Cinderella: Shaina Martinez-Azzopardi (soprano); Fairy Godmother: Yejin Lee (soprano); Armelinde: Linda Collazo (mezzo-soprano); Maguelonne: Allie Altieri (soprano);  Barigoule: Corey Don (tenor); Le Baron de Pictordu: Joseph Parrish (bass-baritone); The Prince: Nicholas Huff (tenor)

The chorus members are Luxana Zepeda (soprano), Mithuna Savaraman (soprano), Erin Rosales (mezzo-soprano), Brian Jeffers (tenor), Ramon Gabriel Tenefrancia (tenor), and Nathaniel Mattingly (baritone)

Members of the orchestra: Flute: Mitzy Nonaka; Oboe: Alexis Porcaro; Clarinet: Elia Foster; Bassoon: Steven Palacio; Horn: Jessica Santiago; Harp: Tiffany Wu; Violin 1: Aurora Mendez; Violin 2: Lucia Lostumbo; Viola: Kayla Williams; ; Cello: Iva Casian-Lakos; Bass: Camellia Aftahi;.

Here is the Company’s program note for CENDRILLON:

“The plot follows roughly that of Rossini’s CENERENTOLA, with some extra twists. Instead of a step-mother, this story has the foolish Baron de Pictordu, with his two vain daughters, Maguelone and Armelinde, who  are both after the Prince. Cinderella reads about a fairy-tale prince at the beginning, and her father is revealed to be a former grocer with a dubious past.“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived punctually for the dress rehearsal, and met the LCO’s wonderful co-founder, Megan Gillis. She advised me that the start time for the rehearsal had been pushed forward one hour. No problem! I got to chat with the beauteous Maestro Rofrano, and hear her take the orchestra thru some passages from the opera; she’s a meticulous musician who knows the score inside out . And what an orchestra! These players are superb, every one of them. In addition to strings and piano, Mme. Viardot’s score calls for a harp (delicious!) and a quintet of winds (horn, flute, oboe, clarinet – doubling on bass clarinet – and bassoon. The bassoonist, Steven Palacio, in particular impressed me with his plush tone and easy agility,

The setting is simple, with glowing electroluminescent rope lights draped in the branches of a central tree. The characters all seem like woodland creatures in human guise. Clever projections depict such events as the transformation of pumpkin, mice, and lizards into coach, horses, and footmen. At the ball, disco globes provided a jolt to memories of my dancing days. The glass slippers here become chunky disco boots in hot pink. Inflatable gremlins join in the fun. At the ball, clear notes from the harp strike midnight. There is a hilarious scene where the women queue up to try on the shoe, and even Baron de Pictordu has a go at it. All’s well that ends well, and of course Cinderella and her Prince live happily ever after.

The cast was impressive; both vocally and physically, with each singer seeming well-suited to his/her role. As the mean step-sisters, Allie Altieri and Linda Collazo were wonderfully lazy, whining, and snobbish. Viardot gives them nice things to sing, and they sang very well. Corey Don as Barigoule, the valet who temporarily becomes Prince, sang strongly, and was especially fine in the scene where he “unmasks” Baron de Pictordu.

In Viardot’s version, the Fairy Godmother assumes the spirit of Marie’s dead mother and turns the girl’s hapless existence to joy in the course of a singe day. In this magical role, soprano Yejin Lee sang with full lyric tone in her mid-range, ascending to shimmering soft-halo high notes..

Above: Shaina Martinez-Azzopardi as Cinderella, photo by Mary Rice

Nicholas Huff as the tall Prince showed a clear, expressive lyrical tenor voice. He and Shaina Martinez-Azzopardi as Cinderella joined in the opera’s love duet, wherein they simply pour out rapturous melody, much as Puccini’s new-found lovers do in BOHEME.  Ms. Martinez-Azzopardi was just perfect in the opera’s title-role; her singing was rich and expressive, and her portrayal embodied Cinderella’s hope and steadfast kindness, for which the girl is rewarded in the end. 

Stealing the show, bass-baritone Joseph Parrish (above, photo by Mary Rice ) as the Baron de Pictordu is a singer who has it all: a handsome face, a lithe and nimble stage presence, clarity of diction and of expression, and a wide-ranging voice of power and warmth. Bravo…bravissimo! .

~ Oberon

Above: Mirella Freni

(Only two days remain for me to locate articles from Oberon’s Grove that did not come thru in the big transfer to Oberon’s Glade. I’m doing my best to locate stories that were especially important to me at the time of writing…such as this one.)

One of the greatest musical experiences of my life took place at Tanglewood on July 11th, 1981: a performance of the Verdi REQUIEM by the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Seiji Ozawa, with soloists Mirella Freni, Shirley Verrett, Ermanno Mauro, and Nicolai Ghiaurov.

Here’s what I wrote in my opera diary the day after the performance:

“A spectacular night at Tanglewood – one of the most thrilling performances of anything I have ever attended. Everything clicked: even the weather was perfect. Orchestra, chorus, and soloists all threw themselves into the music with passion, making this dramatic and beautiful score come to vibrant life.

The day was magnificent, wandering about the lawns with me dear friend Richard. We met up with Andrew and Father Rick, who had driven over from Boston. They’d brought a picnic (this, following a great lunch at Miss Ruby’s). As the bright sky began to fade to evening and the huge crowd moved into the Shed, a great sense of excitement welled up.

Mirella Freni led the soloists on; and then, as the first whispered notes of the music stole through theatre, a palpable hush settled over the crowd, which remained transfixed until the final note faded away and an an enormous ovation was unleashed.

Seiji Ozawa gave a masterful rendering of the score; there were no attempts to make the REQUIEM anything but what it is: a sacred opera. With his luminous orchestra and splendidly fervent chorus responding in the most astute and passionate way to the Maestro’s every command, Ozawa summoned forth all the blood and thunder – and the spine-tingling subtleties – that make this work such a treasure. With the chorus and orchestra providing a glorious tapestry of sound, the four wonderful vocal soloists poured forth their heavenly melodies with true splendour.

Basso Nicolai Ghiaurov ‘s voice may have lost a bit of its plush over the years, but his is still very much a voice to be reckoned with. His upper notes were a bit effortful in places; set against his authority and deep commitment, it didn’t matter much. Time and again he brought the bass line to the fore. A most impressive performance!

Ermanno Mauro sang in a straight-forward manner for the most part; his full-throated, warmly Italianate sound was always a pleasure. When Ozawa was able to coax the tenor into a more refined phrase or note, the result was lovely. Mauro’s singing was less “precious” than we sometimes hear in this music, and was well in keeping with Ozawa’s largely extroverted feel for the music. Not only in his solos but also in his blendings with his colleagues, the tenor made an excellent impression.

Shirley Verrett gave a spell-binding interpretation of the mezzo role, which combined flawless vocalism with the trademark Verrett flame. From the moment this gorgeous woman opened her mouth, she seized upon the imagination, bringing forth her ringing top notes, rich and smouldering chest voice, and her great gift for dynamic control; and underneath every phrase, the fire was burning. Watching her sing is as thrilling as hearing the sound she produces: the intensity and passion of this woman is thrilling beyond words.

Verrett’s “Liber scriptus” was glorious, and her duets with Mirella Freni were extraordinary musical experiences. She launched the “Lux aeterna” with special warmth and beauty of tone, and – like Ghiaurov – she was able to highlight her musical lines in the ensembles. Shirley Verrett remains one of the most exciting singers of our time. Watching and listening to her tonight, with everything in gear and the fire at the blazing point, it’s hard to imagine anything more thrilling. Bravissima!!

It had been twelve years since I last heard Mirella Freni live, and as she led the soloists out this evening, I simply fell in love with her. Time has been more than kind to her, not only vocally but physically: what a tremendously appealing woman she is – so utterly feminine, and having a simple air of dignity that is captivating.

Freni has ventured far from her Susannas and Juliets, and the voice has held up superbly – now a plusher sound, and with a more intense delivery than in her younger days. She gave a performance of great assurance, tonal enchantment, commitment, and poignancy. With the pearly tone, the expressive use of chest notes without pressure, and the urgency of diction and expression at moments of drama, she rendered the music with true authority. And over all she shed her luminous personal beauty.

Freni showed that she can beam in on those uncanny high piani, demonstrating awesome control. She brought all her gifts to bear in her singing of great “Libera me“, culminating on a suspended B-flat of celestial radiance. The soprano’s passion in the final glorious passages as she soared over the chorus and orchestra was something to hear…and to see. And then, the final hushed plea: “Libera me…” brought the work to a touching close.

Now commenced an ovation of epic proportions. Symphony audiences can be rather staid in showing their appreciation after a concert, but here we had a genuine ‘operatic’ response. Freni, now beaming like an angel on Easter Sunday, led the soloists out; Verrett, more austere but breath-takingly beautiful, stood beside the soprano as fervent cries of brava! rang out. The contrasting physical appeal of Freni and Verrett was fascinating to behold, and I would give anything to have a photo of the two of them during these emotionally super-charged moments. The singers and Maestro were called out repeatedly, the chorus and orchestra reaping deafening roars of cheers whenever they rose to bow. 

With the stage filled with such remarkable musicians, the audience seemed reluctant to let them go. What a gift, to create such sheer beauty…it gave me the chills. An evening I’ll never forget!”

Above: Dame Joan Sutherland as Lucia di Lammermoor; click on the image to enlarge

(In the final days of access to my original blog, Oberon’s Grove, I’m trying to rescue some articles that were left behind in the mass transfer. I wrote this in 2017.)

~ Author: Oberon

I fell in love with opera on January 12th, 1959. I know the exact date because the television program that so captured my imagination was released – many years later – on video. It was a Bell Telephone Hour presentation of Renata Tebaldi singing excerpts from Puccini’s MADAMA BUTTERFLY.

That half-hour mesmerized me: who was this woman in a kimono singing in a language I could not understand? Why was her voice so big and rich? Why were these melodies reaching a depth of feeling in me that I’d never realized existed? Why did she kill herself? To a small, unhappy 11-year-old boy living in a tiny town, this experience opened a portal for me: a gateway into another world where I could be safe, wrapped in music and poetry of uncanny beauty. 

What I didn’t know at the time was that an operatic event took place in London within a month of my Tebaldi-revelation: an Australian soprano named Joan Sutherland, who had been singing Mozart and Wagner for a few years, had a stunning triumph in Donizetti’s LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR at The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, on February 17th, 1959. Sutherland’s break-thru performance would colour my earliest years as an opera-lover.

After that first televised Tebaldi experience, it took a while for me to construct my own operatic world. At that point, I was sadly unaware of the Texaco-Metropolitan Opera Saturday matinee broadcasts; had I known of them, I could have heard some wonderful performances between Spring 1959 and December 1961. Instead, I had to settle for few-and-far-between tidbits on television: any opera singing on the Ed Sullivan Show, the Voice of Firestone, and the Bell Telephone Hour became unmissable opportunities for me.

My parents kindly bought me a two-LP set of RCA Victor artists singing Verdi and Puccini arias. It is not an exaggeration to say I wore the records out with constant playing. The singers were Albanese, Milanov, Peters, Bjoerling, Peerce, Merrill, Warren, and Tozzi. Thus I cut my operatic teeth.

Then, on Friday December 8th, 1961, I chanced to see a small notice in the Syracuse newspaper that the Texaco-Metropolitan Opera Saturday matinee broadcast season would begin the following day, and would continue for twenty consecutive Saturdays. What??? I was of course the only person in my household to care. 

The broadcast was to be LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR featuring Joan Sutherland, who had just a few days earlier made her Met debut. I tuned in a full hour before the broadcast was to start. Radio reception was spotty, but then suddenly the voice of Milton Cross was heard. Oh, my god, someone is actually talking about opera! I was on cloud nine. Milton Cross told us about Sutherland – her leap to fame at Covent Garden and her fresh triumph at The Met. The phrase “high E-flat” was bandied about. I ran to the piano and struck the note and sang it – an easy reach for my pre-pubescent boy soprano.   

Then Milton Cross told the story of the opera’s first act: I was thrilled – thrilled, I tell you! – to hear him speak of a forbidden love, of a ghost in a well, of a secret meeting, and a desperate parting. It was everything! 

The opera finally started, and I was riveted to the old ivory-coloured box radio. Unfortunately my grandmother, who lived with us, had been sick to her stomach all morning and now she was feeling worse. I could hear her moaning and groaning, but I ignored her and clung to the music I was hearing. Such romance and passion! Sutherland had become my idol, and Richard Tucker as Edgardo sang thrillingly.

My mother suddenly announced that we must take my grandmother to the hospital, about ten miles away. I threw my own mad scene, saying I had to stay at the radio until the opera ended. My mother wouldn’t hear of it. I think my hatred of my grandmother started that afternoon. No exaggeration.

At any rate, the Saturday matinee Met broadcasts became my lifeline: nothing could interfere with my Saturday afternoons. I got my parents to buy me a reel-to reel-tape deck and I went back over and over the broadcasts of each succeeding week. I joined the Metropolitan Opera Guild, and devoured each issue of Opera News ravenously. I began to dream of going to The Met, and – in 1963 – my parents took me. I was able to see eight performances at the Old Met, accompanied by my parents or an older family friend. At last, in the late Summer of 1966, having graduated from high-school, I made my first solo trip to New York City and was on the ticket line for the opening weeks of the New Met.

But…back to LUCIA:

When Sutherland returned to the role of Lucia at The Met in 1982, she had a colossal success. I was at the performance that was telecast (!), and the atmosphere in the House was electric. Dame Joan’s Mad Scene literally stopped the show.

Here’s the soprano in Lucia’s final moments:

Above: Sutherland as Lucia at the Met, 1982.

In the years that followed Sutherland’s first Lucias, there were a number of sopranos who made wonderful and vastly different impressions in the role: Roberta Peters, Renata Scotto, Beverly Sills, Patricia Brooks, Patricia Wise, Rita Shane, Gianna Rolandi, June Anderson, Edita Gruberova, and Mariella Devia.

Flash forward nearly 60 years from Sutherland’s first London Lucia, and the reverberations of La Stupenda’s Bride of Lammermoor are still hovering in the operatic air: my beloved friend and lyric-coloratura extraordinaire Lisette Oropesa recently took on the role of Donizetti’s hapless mad-woman on the same stage where Sutherland had triumphed in 1959.

The bloody nightgown is still an iconic symbol of Lucia’s tragic destiny, but of course the Royal Opera production’s director could not resist tampering with the story to try to make it more…whatever…and thus the blood is now the result of a miscarriage, because of course Lucia was pregnant. Odd that Donizetti hadn’t picked up on that.

Be that as it may, Lisette enjoyed an enormous London success with her Lucias: rave reviews, and standing ovations.

~ Oberon

Above: Birgit Nilsson as Isolde; click on the image to enlarge

(Another copy-and-paste from Oberon’s Grove, about my first-ever experience seeing TRISTAN UND ISOLDE.) l

Wagner’s TRISTAN UND ISOLDE has always been a somewhat problematic opera for me. I remember a strong sense of anticipation leading up to my first experience of hearing the opera: on a Met broadcast in February 1963. The prestigious cast included Birgit Nilsson, Karl Liebl, Irene Dalis, and Jerome Hines, and the conductor was none other than Sir Georg Solti. The story, which I read over several times in Opera News, sounded like just my cup of tea: vengeance, passion, a love potion, death. I’d already gotten somewhat interested in LOHENGRIN and FLYING DUTCHMAN and had become intrigued with the RING Cycle. I felt confident that hearing TRISTAN would be a life-altering experience.

The prelude was enthralling, but soon after my attention began to waver. The opera flowed on and on, slowly and without anything that particularly grabbed my imagination. I stuck with it for two acts, and then during Tristan’s long monolog in Act III it seemed so tedious that I asked my grandmother if we could play a few hands of honeymoon bridge while I listened. The Liebestod was nice, but overall I felt that TRISTAN was beyond my comprehension.

The next time I encountered TRISTAN was some eight years later. By this point (1971) I had a lot more opera under my belt, both live performances and broadcasts, and had been going to New York City for opera performances frequently. All of my opera-friends thought that the premiere of a new production of TRISTAN was going to be the highlight of the season; I decided to go and give the opera a try, having scrupulously avoided listening to any part of it (aside from the Liebestod) since that 1963 broadcast. I thought that perhaps seeing TRISTAN would make it more appealing to me, just as seeing MEISTERSINGER and PETER GRIMES had given me revelations about those works that simply listening to them on the radio didn’t quite produce.

And in fact seeing TRISTAN did indeed make a vital and lasting impression on me; here’s what I wrote in my diary the morning after:

“TRISTAN UND ISOLDE! First time ever! A magnificent performance in all respects, a great experience and one I will never forget. I’ve been avoiding this opera for years and it’s high time I came to grips with it. This performance went a long way in making the opera appealing to me. It’s uneven and I admit the first 40 minutes of Act III are kind of a trial. But the prelude, the first two acts and the Liebestod are all pretty spectacular.

Erich Leinsdorf returned to The Met tonight and he had a great triumph, very warmly greeted as he took the podium [Leinsdorf had made his Met debut in 1938; he had participated in the 1966 closing night gala of the Old Met and had led some performances of NOZZE DE FIGARO when The Met visited Paris in 1966. This TRISTAN marked his return after five years and his first time conducting at the new house.] He led an impressive performance, with the orchestra playing quite beautifully. The opera flowed forward smoothly, with ample opportunity for the singers to work their magic.

The production is simply beautiful: in Act I, the huge ship with its towering sails looks striking. Act II opens at nightfall in a leafy garden…it looks quite voluptuous. As the love duet begins, Tristan and Isolde are spot-lit; as if in a dream they seem to rise up above life itself, appearing to hover above the Earth’s edge. As the duet comes to an end, they advance down the raked disc, descending from their paradise and forced back to reality and to their fate. A gorgeous late-Autumnal tableau sets the stage for Marke’s monolog, with everyone standing stock-still while the shattered king poured out his despair. The monochrome setting for Act III did not enhance the long scene of Tristan’s ravings, though it aptly suggested his loneliness and nightmarish longing. For the Liebestod, only Isolde’s face is illuminated. As the great aria moves forward, rays of bluish light flood the stage from above. In the postlude, Tristan’s face is slowly illuminated. He raises his hand and clasps Isolde’s in a moving depiction of their life after death.

Throughout the evening the lighting and staging were most effective, and I loved Isolde’s red gown in Act I and her blue one in Act III.

The singers were just great. John Macurdy was a richly dark-toned Marke who made his long monolog perfectly palatabe. Thomas Stewart was an excellent Kurwenal in every respect. Jess Thomas displayed both the power and the poetry needed for Tristan; the voice has aged somewhat but still has passages of expressive beauty, and he looks well onstage. He made the most of that endless scene which opens Act III.

The ladies were simply incredible! Mignon Dunn created a superb Brangaene both vocally and dramatically. She was a warm and sympathetic figure onstage, and was totally in command of all the score’s demands. Above all I will always remember the heart-rending effect of her Tower Watch in Act II as her voice sailed out of the darkness, caressing these phrases with mellow, gorgeous sound which perfectly captured Wagner’s moving idea at this point.

Birgit Nilsson was the jewel in the crown of this glorious production. This sort of interpretation is difficult to describe: a flooding, all-feeling, all-knowing, larger than life yet magnificently human portrayal. Her acting was superb, her feeling for the role absolutely right, her word-colourings and nuances strikinglly effective.  And she really looked beautiful. But the voice!! That incredible instrument was in solid-gold condition for a performance on unequalled excitement and splendour. It retains its huge size but is now rounder, fuller, richer, and warmer than ever before.

Glowing like a rich ruby, Nilsson’s voice encompassed every demand that Wagner placed on it. Her narrative and curse in Act I – especially the sustained passage at the end of the latter – were marvelous, and as she greeted Tristan in Act II, Nilsson really cut loose with the fireworks. She did encounter some pitch problems in the love duet [it was later said that she and Thomas were so far upstage during much of the duet that they could not heard the orchestra] but overall she and Jess Thomas rhapsodized convincingly here. Birgit’s Liebestod was indescribably thrilling, the voice sailing into the House with overwhelming power and beauty. We are so very fortunate to have this paragon of sopranos singing for us.

The performance generated a spectacular standing ovation which lasted about 15 minutes, the stars and the Maestro coming out repeatedly to enormous waves of applause and cheers. A super night! I could not have asked for a better first TRISTAN!”

Metropolitan Opera House
November 18, 1971
Benefit/Sponsored by the Metropolitan Opera Guild
New Production

TRISTAN UND ISOLDE
Wagner

Tristan.................Jess Thomas
Isolde..................Birgit Nilsson
Kurwenal................Thomas Stewart
Brangäne................Mignon Dunn
King Marke..............John Macurdy
Melot...................Rod MacWherter
Sailor's Voice..........Leo Goeke
Shepherd................Nico Castel
Steersman...............Louis Sgarro

Conductor...............Erich Leinsdorf

Director................August Everding [Debut]
Designer................Günther Schneider-Siemssen

And yet, though this performance opened the TRISTAN door for me, I still found myself hesitant for some reason to embrace it fully. I skipped revivals with two of my favorite sopranos – Hildegard Behrens and Dame Gwyneth Jones – and could not bring myself to attend the premiere of a new production in 1999 featuring Jane Eaglen and Ben Heppner, even though by then I was living in New York City.

It wasn’t until 2008 that I saw TRISTAN again: my friend Dmitry assured me that I’d love the production, and he was right. I saw it three times with Deborah Voigt, Katarina Dalayman, and Waltraud Meier as my Isoldes. Now I very much want to see it again, though the Dieter Dorn/Jürgen Rose production that I have enjoyed so much is rumored to soon be discarded (after only having been done 25 times); the next time the opera is given at The Met, it’ll most likely be a new production.

I’ve realized that TRISTAN is an opera I need to experience in-house for full enjoyment. In fact, I still don’t think I’ve ever played thru a complete performance of it at home. Which is curious, since I can listen to the RING operas endlessly.

TRISTAN has been described as being filled with “too much longing.” Now that most of my own longings have been fulfilled, I can perhaps begin to appreciate this undeniably great opera in a new way.

~ Oberon

Above: composer Ellen Taaffe Zwilich

(The last few days of importing articles from Oberon’s Grove onto Oberon’s Glade are here. I especially wanted to keep this story of meeting composer Ellen Taaffe Zwilich.)

Click on each image in this article to enlarge.

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday March 2nd, 2025 – Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center gave us an evening of music for strings – and only strings – at Alice Tully Hall. Nine superb musicians joined together for the program, bringing us works dating back to the early 19th century thru the dawn of the 21st century.

A 1984 Carnegie Hall commission, Ellen Taaffe Zwilich’s Double Quartet for Strings, opened the concert. This was my second experience with a Zwilich score this Winter: in late December, the NY String Orchestra offered her Prologue and Variations at Carnegie Hall. Read about it here.

The two quartets involved in the Zwilich piece were peopled by wonderful artists: Francisco Fullana, Julian Rhee (a violinist new to me), Paul Neubauer, and Dmitri Atapine formed one quartet, and Ani Kavafian, Kristin Lee, James Thompson (playing viola), and Mihai Marica made up the other.

A note is struck by all to open the Allegro moderato, and it is sustained by the violins. A strong unison passage follows. The violins from the two quartets exchange phrases to a vibrant, insistent beat.  Cello animation sets up vivid, searing music; the celli sing on high and Mr. Thompson sounds wonderful in a viola passage. Ms. Lee plays on, to the prevailing accents, and Mr. Fullana commences some bright plucking. The movement fades to silence.

Msrs. Fullana and Rhee harmonize to open the Lento; Ms. Kavafian joins, and the violas and cellos have their say. Mr. Fullana makes a stunning impression, playing over cello chords. Dense harmonies, and a terrific blend of timbres, make the music so alive. There is a pause, and then a repeated note sounds as rich cello phrases are joined by the others, one by one. Mssrs. Fullana and Rhee shine here, but it is Ms. Lee, on a sustained note, who has the final moment.

The Allegro vivo springs up suddenly; there is wonderful energy in this music. Cellos trill, and dynamic variety lures the ear. Mssrs. Fullana and Rhee sustain a note while Ms. Kavafian shimmers on high; violas and cellos add sonic texture. Then there’s a preparation and launch of fresh ideas; more trills, and Mr. Fullana playing passionately in alt. With a long, sustained note, the music vanishes into thin air.

For the concluding Adagio, an ethereal mood emerges, with the four violins sustaining on high while violists Neubauer and Thompson join in a duet, later transformed to a quartet when cellists Atapine and Marica join. Ms. Kavafian plays in the upper range over somber harmonies and sustained tones. A cello duet leads to a unison passage for the four violins. Lower notes sound, and the work reaches its poignant finish.

The composer was warmly greeted as she stood in her box for a bow; meanwhile, she had sent a rose to each of the musicians onstage. What a lovely moment!

While waiting for the concert to start, I had noticed Ms. Zwilich’s presence; I decided I would go up and meet her during the interval. She was very kind and signed my program. While I was there, a friend of hers asked her what she had thought of tonight’s performance of her Double Quartet. “Well, they knocked it out of the ballpark!” was her reply. I couldn’t agree more.

We reach back to 1823 for Louis Spohr’s Double Quartet No. 1 in D minor for Strings, Op. 65. For this, two distinct quartets appeared rather than having all eight musicians in a semi-circle. Stage left, one quartet was led by Ms. Lee with Mssrs. Fulllana, Neubauer, and Atapine, while – stage right – the other was expertly led by Mr. Rhee, with Ms. Kavafian and Mssrs. Thompson and Marica. Since the latter quartet were directly in my line of sight, I tended to pay more attention to them. 

In the opening Allegro, Mr. Rhee (above) made an excellent impression, with a magical dynamic range and persuasive phrasing. Mihai Marica, always a favorite of mine, was most impressive this evening, as was Mr. Thompson, who made the most of a beautiful viola theme, taken up soon after by Mr. Marica. Blending perfectly with their colleagues in the stage-left quartet, they turned the Allegro into a most appealing experience.

The Scherzo has a lively start, and Mr. Rhee continues to delight here; across the stage, Kristin Lee sometimes echoed Mr. Rhee’s phrases. A gallant beat is established as Mssrs. Rhee, Thompson, and Marica have solos, whilst Ms. Kavafian makes the most of every opportunity. In a sort of da capo, Rhee and Marica communicate to fine effect. The music drifts away.

Rhee leads off the Largetto, and Marica plays gorgeously here; sometimes he and his counter-part, Mr. Atapine, join forces.  Meanwhile Ms. Lee and her group have a reprise of their own. Everyone’s playing very well indeed.

A scurrying feeling and amiable harmonies set the concluding Allegro molto on its way. Lively exchanges of themes mean everyone gets a chance to shine. The movement has a bustling feeling, with some brief detours along the way. It’s music that’s melodious…and full of delights.

Above, playing the Spohr: Julian Rhee, Ani Kavafian, Mihai Marica, James Thompson, Paul Neubauer, Dmitri Atapine, Fracisco Fullana, Kristin Lee; photo by Tristan Cook:

Max Bruch’s 1920 Octet for Strings brought the four violinists (Ms. Kavafian taking the lead), and two violists together, with Mr. Marica. But rather than a second cellist, Nina Bernat joined the ensemble with her double bass; this brought fresh colours into the mix. 

Playing the Bruch: Ani Kavafian, Francisco Fullana, Paul Neubauer, Mihai Maruca, Nina Bernat, James Thompson, Julian Rhee, Kristin Lee; photo by Tristan Cook

Bruch’s Octet is in three movements, opening with an Allegro moderato.  Paul Neubauer’s sublime theme is taken up sweetly by Ms. Kavafian. Ms. Bernat’s playing is perfect, Mssrs. Fullana and Marica are splendid, and Kristin Lee, and Mssrs. Rhee and Thompson maintain their high level. There is a big unison passage, then tremelos support Ms. Kafavian’s lyricism….so very appealing. The movement has a grand finish.  

Above: Nina Bernat

The only work on the program for more than eight musicians was Olli Mustonen’s Nonet II which adds a bass player to the mix of four violins, two violas, and two cellos. Nina Bernat, a singular bassist, was again very impressive.

The Nonet lists four movements, but I could only discern three; perhaps I missed a transition thanks to the disruptive chatterboxes seated in front in me. At any rate, the music has an itchy start; the cellos and bass add depth whilst the violins slash away. A trudging beat takes over; the music builds excitingly, with repeated chords leading to a sudden stop.

The Adagio was especially fascinating: a 4-note motif repeats endlessly throughout the movement, but, with varying instrumentations and shifting harmonies, it becomes spellbinding. There is a key change, and a rise of emotion…really gorgeous colours emerge.

The concluding movement has the feel of a Mendelssohn scherzo: light-filled and lovely. Brisk bass figurations from Ms. Bernat and a vivid agitato from Mr. Fullana sustain our interest. Intensity rises until the music meets with a sudden halt.

Above, playing the Mustonen: Lee, Rhee, Neubauer, Atapine, Bernat, Marica, Thompson, Kavafian, and Fullana; photo by Tristan Cook.

My thanks to Beverly Greenfield of Kirschbaum Associates for sending the performance photos by Tristan Cook.

Thursday June 4, 2015 – The Bureau of General Services – Queer Division and The LGBT Community Center presenting dancer/choreographer/poet Ian Spencer Bell in a solo performance. The day before the presentation, photographer Nir Arieli and I watched Ian’s dress run where Nir took the photos accompanying this article.

Click on each of Nir’s images to enlarge.

Ian Spencer Bell holds a unique place in the Gotham dance firmament. At a time when so much contemporary dance looks – and sounds – so much alike, Ian’s solo concert was like a breath of fresh air. Performing at the recently-renovated LGBT Community Center in a white room spaced with slender columns, Ian’s fluid and gently athletic movement and his beautifully articulated renderings of his poems combined to hold the standing-room-only crowd in a state of receptive focus.

GEOGRAPHY SOLOS are five rather short danceworks, each set to a poem reflecting on a particular time and place in the poet’s life. These intensely personal vignettes forge a link with the listener, Ian’s narration evoking memories of people and events in our own lives. The word “formica” for instance took me back to my mother’s laundry room. When was the last time anyone mentioned Bobbie Gentry, and who today ever thinks about the Tallahatchie Bridge? (Ironically, Ian’s dress rehearsal took place on June 3rd, the date of Billie Joe McAllister’s mysterious death). Ian’s experience at The Met parallels mine at The Frick.

As these memories loom up, Ian continues to dance; although the choreography is thoughtfully mapped out, it often seems spontaneous. Moving about the space, the dancer’s hands carve the air gracefully or – almost unconsciously – explore his own body. Despite being in constant motion, Ian maintains his breath control, projecting the works at an ideal volume level which keeps the listener engaged.

The final GEOGRAPHY SOLO has transported us to San Francisco; as an interlude, Scott McKenzie’s iconic flower-power hit “San Francisco” is played and there’s another flood of recollections: of getting stoned,  passing around a bottle of Boone’s Farm, and wondering if I should surrender to Meme’s husband: Houston was my San Francisco. As this counter-culture anthem wafts softly thru the space, Ian maintains his limberness with yoga poses.

Stepping out of his trousers, the dancer continues in his black briefs with HOLLER, a poem in which Ian recalls the first time he heard his mother yelling; I had the same jolting experience the night my mother uncharacteristically lashed out at my ‘juvenile delinquent’ older brother. HOLLER eventually turns from narrative into a simple listing of objects, animals, places, and events from the poet’s youth. It seemed to me that with each word, fresh visions sprang up. Meanwhile the slender blonde dancer, now at his most vulnerable, drew us deeper and deeper into an elusive dreamworld.

In conjuring up his own past, Ian Spencer Bell invites us each to experience a similar journey. His words and movement become transportive. Watching and listening to him, I kept thinking of something Zelda Fitzgerald once wrote:  “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.”     

All photos by Nir Arieli.

Above: Ian Spencer Bell in Duet, photo by Kyle Froman

(Another friend from the dance world: Ian Spencer Bell…dancer/choreographer/poet. This article first appeared on Oberon’s Grove in 2018.)

Note: Click on Kyle Froman’s images to enlarge.

~ Author: Oberon

Wednesday May 9th, 2018 – Poet/dancer/choreographer Ian Spencer Bell in an evening of words and movement at the Martha Graham Studio Theater down in the venerable Westbeth Building.

The space was hung with black drapes, the east-facing windows exposed with a view of the skyline in the fading light of a beautiful Spring evening; subtle lighting by Nicholas Houfek blended well with this natural light.

The program opened with Duet which – ironically – is a trio. Set to Temptation by New Order, it’s performed by Ian along with Joshua Tuason and Gary Champi. The dancing is airy and stylized, with two bluejean-clad dancers moving together while the third circles the space; as the piece progresses, they switch places. The couple speak in a gestural dialect whilst the circling dancer varies his speed and gait.

Joshua and Gary take a break while Ian begins to speak. The poem, Duet, is a reflection on the start and development of a relationship between two men; in telling it, the presence of the third dancer is explained. As with so much of Ian’s poetry, it conjures up visions from my own past; in the case of Duet, I began thinking of that first summer on the Cape with TJ, having sex in the ballet studio after everyone else had gone home. It’s that sort of thing that makes me feel a real connection to Ian’s work.    

Finishing, Ian moves to the window and stands looking out on the City and the sky. The other boys soon join him there: the three of them look so beautiful – calm and pensive – creating one of the most moving images of the evening.

This leads directly to Marrow, an Ian Spencer Bell classic. As the voice of Bobbie Gentry sings the still-enigmatic lyrics of Ode to Billie Joe, the dancers – first one, then two, and then all three – re-claim the dance-space. The space is then cleared for Ian’s solo rendering of his poem, Marrow. In movement by turns animated and languid, he recounts episodes from his life – from idle reveries to imminent dangers – as a small boy growing up in the South among people who did not understand him. This could of course be the story of any gay kid facing the realities of a life of being different, but it’s Ian’s personal way with putting memories words, and the shaping of his expressive body, that make it compelling.

Above, from Goldwater; photo by Kyle Froman

For the concluding work, Goldwater, two additional dancers – Vanessa Knouse and Lexie Thrash – joined Joshua and Gary, along with four young poets: Nadra Mabrouk, Francisco Márquez, Vanessa Moody, and Angelo Nikolopoulos.

Goldwater in this instance refers to the NYU Goldwater Fellows Writing Workshop, a program at the Coler-Goldwater Hospital on Roosevelt Island wherein these teaching Fellows work with the Hospital’s severely physically-challenged patients in creative writing workshops for a group of twelve to twenty residents, meet with them in individual tutorials, and assist in transcribing their work. The Fellows also help publish the Golden Writers’ Anthology at the end of each semester. All four of the poets who read tonight are (or have been) NYU Goldwater Fellows, as was Ian Spencer Bell in the past. Ian adapted the poems for tonight’s performance, and dedicated the dancework to the Goldwater Writing Workshop.

Moving in almost ritualized stylization, the four dancers fill the space with movement as the poets read parts of the works that were created in their workshops with the patients; fleeting partnering motifs in the dance spoke of the connection between poets and patients. This layered creative concept gave Goldwater a poignant expressive depth. The poets, incidentally, were each attractive in their own particular way, and – though probably not otherwise connected with dance – they joined the movement group in the end, again emphasizing connectedness. 

Among the words spoken, these touched me deeply: 

“I dream I’m a saint, beard long and gray, hiding the crucifix I wear. Then I wake, take my medications,  remember the stories of youth — the paramours, the enemies, the ghosts — and know, This is the only life I could wish for.” ~ Frank 

The sound of the late Nick Drake singing From The Morning then seeped into the space as one by one the dancers and poets walked away. Drake was an English singer and song-writer who was born the same year I was; he committed suicide in 1974, which was the year that I stopped feeling suicidal and began living.

~ Oberon

Above: Ian Spencer Bell and the ensemble in Isadora Duncan’s Schubert’s Symphony #9/Andante; photo by Steven Pisano. Click on the image to enlarge. 

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday May 13th, 2025 – Francesca Todesco’s Dances We Dance presenting works by Isadora Duncan and Rae Ballard at a venue new to me: The Center at West Park. Guest artists Catherine Gallant, Faith Kimberling, and Ian Spencer Bell as well as Ms. Ballard’s troupe Thoughts in Motion joined in this program entitled Echoes by Isadora.

The space, at the West Park Presbyterian Church, is in danger of losing its landmark status; if that happens, Gotham will lose yet another performance space.

I’d been in the building only once previously, a few years ago when Take Ueyama had a rehearsal in a small studio space upstairs; even then, I felt the timeless resonance of being in a hallowed place. This evening, in the sanctuary, the significance was palpable…even though I’d left organized religion behind me at an early age. My up-bringing is so ingrained in me that I immediately felt at home tonight: I felt the spirit of Terpsichore hovering in the air of this venerable space. Sounds hokey? Maybe…but it’s my reality.

Above: Lauren Naslund, Lana Hankinson, and Rae Ballard in Ballard’s Alla Primavera; photo by Steven Pisano

It felt comforting to be “in chiesa“, gazing at a stained-glass panel over the altar whilst listening to songs being sung in French and waiting for the dancing to begin. The house went dark and three muses appeared: Rae Ballard, Lauren Naslund, and Lana Hankinson in soft tunics with flowers in their hair. They moved with poetic grace in Ms. Ballard’s work, Alla Primavera (To Springtime), danced to a Brahms piano intermezzo. This was my first time seeing Rae Ballard dance, though Francesca has spoken of her to me many times; Ms. Ballard  is both powerful and poetic. Ms. Naslund has a special place in my dance-world…

…and Ms. Hankinson’s lovely gaze (photo above by Steven Pisano) immediately endeared herself to me. These three would be back in other guises later in the evening.    

Above: Faith Kimberling and Nira Solene in Schubert’s Symphony #9/Andante; photo by Steven Pisano. Click on the image to enlarge. 

Isadora Duncan now casts her spell as a troop of golden-clad women take the stage for two movements from Franz Schubert’s monumental Symphony #9: the Andante con moto and the Scherzo. This is a ceremonial work in which the raven-haired beauty Faith Kimberling takes a leading role. All shall be named: Jewel Cameron, Camille Constanti, Rosy Gentle, Thandi Nyambose, Nira Solene, Mary Garrett Turner, and Haley Wolfsberger bring their distinctive personalities and a sense of ecstatic commitment to the rituals of the Andante, looking especially radiant when a lyrical central section features a stately procession. Hands and arms expressively speak of the joys of service, and of sisterhood. 

Now a young man appears in the hypnotic person of Ian Spencer Bell (above, photo by Steven Pisano); clad in a red tunic, this youthful-looking poet of the dance joins the rites as all raise their arms heavenward, invoking peace. A solemn air of ecstasy fills the space.

Above: Camile Constanti, Rosy Gentle, Ian Spencer Bell, and Faith Kimberlng in Schubert’s Symphony #9/Andante; photo by Steven Pisano

Above: Rosy Gentle and Haley Wolfersberger in Schubert Symphony #9/Scherzo; photo by Steven Pisano. Click on the image to enlarge.

In the ensuing Scherzo, non-stop movement fills the stage: Kathleen Caragine and Colleen Edwards join Mlles. Gentle and Wolfersberger in dancing that is at once lively and poised. Ms. Kimberling, a flame-orange scarf over her gold tunic, dances a solo that is the epitome of all things Duncan. I loved watching these dancers, so alert to one another and so dedicated to their art. 

Rae Ballard (above, photo by Steven Pisano) now brought forth Passages, to musical pieces by four truly disparate composers. Dancing again with Ms. Naslund and Ms. Hankinson, the choreographer commences with a trio which gives way to solos for each dancer. Red scarves offset the dancers’ black, subtly bejeweled costumes.

The opening pas de trois commences to Luiz Costa’s solemn music as the dancers perform their rituals. Ms. Naslund has the first solo, with music by Craig Armstrong which has a metallic launch followed by solo piano; the dancer has floorwork with a prayerful feeling which becomes a plea. To Max Richter’s lovely music, Ms. Ballard wafts a red cloth behind which she sometimes hides; the dancing is slow and entrancing. Cello music from Fauré illuminates Ms. Hankinson’s solo: a Novice whose poetic movements have a sense of innocence. At the end, she is alone in the fading light. 

Next, two of Isadora’s Scriabin Études were performed. Rae Ballard (above) was spell-binding in Mother; clad in somber maroon, the bereft woman mourns her absent child in a state of inconsolable despair.

Catherine Gallant (above), a dancer whose quiet power belies her petite stature, was mesmerizing in the pensive, questing drama of Revolutionary. In these brief portraits, the two dancers personified the timeless impact of Isadora’s work.

Above: Lauren Naslund, Lara Hankinson, and Rae Ballard in Ballard’s Third Wheel. Photo by Steven Pisano. Click on the image to enlarge.

A comic interlude brought us Ms. Ballard’s ‘ranch-hand’ trio, Third Wheel. Clad in blue jeans, and passing a cowboy hat amongst them, the Ballard-Naslund-Hankinson trio cavorted about the space to a song by Aloe Blacc that had a bouncy beat and curiously meaningful lyrics…like this: “All this time I was finding myself, and I didn’t know I was lost.”

Above: from Dance of the Furies, photo by Steven Pisano

The evening concluded with Francesca Todesco’s arrangement of Isadora’s Dance of the Furies from Gluck’s opera ORFEO ED EURIDICE. Opening with a brief echo of Orfeo’s harp, the insistent chorus accompanies the crawling, writhing Furies: these are goddesses of vengeance and justice, symbolized by snakes in their hair and blood-smeared bodies. Their mission is to punish evildoers, tormenting their souls in the Underworld, whence Orfeo has come to rescue his beloved Euridice following her untimely death. I would love to see this work enlarged, to actually bring Orpheus and his lyre into the action. 

More of Steven Pisano’s images from Isadora Duncan’s Dance of the Furies; click on each one to enlarge. 

All photos by Steven Pisano

~ Oberon

(An article from Oberon’s Grove about a dancer/choreographer who has since become a very dear friend.)

Above: Francesca Todesco in Isadora Duncan’s REVOLUTIONARY; photo by Julie Lemberger

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday November 4th, 2018 matinee – Francesca Todesco, a dancer whose performances in works by Isadora Duncan and Anna Sokolow have moved me in recent seasons, celebrated her twenty-year journey in New York City today with a program of danceworks in which she shared the stage with longtime colleagues in pieces choreographed by Isadora Duncan, Anna Sokolow, Catherine Gallant, Rae Ballard, and Jim May.

The performance took place in Speyer Hall, at University Settlement on Eldridge Street: kind of a long trek for me, but eminently worthwhile in the long run. In a finely-paced production, gorgeously lit and featuring live music from the excellent young pianist Nathaniel LaNasa, the value of seeing dance in an up-close-and-personal setting was again affirmed.

Dancers Rae Ballard, Eleanor Bunker, Ilana Cohen, Daniel Fetecua-Soto, Catherine Gallant, Samantha Geracht, Erika Langmeyer, Lauren Naslund, Loretta Thomas, and Margherita Tisato all participated in Francesca’s fête today. The legendary Jim May appeared as The Poet in Anna Sokolow’s IDEAS OF AN ACROBAT (from MAGRITTE, MAGRITTE).

Solo works by Anna Sokolow and Isadora Duncan opened the performance, with Francesca Todesco dancing the choreography of the two iconic female dancemakers with whom the dancer is closely associated. For Ms. Sokolow’s POEM (1995), composer Bruno Belthoise wrote a new piano score (Poème) which is pensive to begin with, then begins to ripple. The dancer is quite still, her hands and arms slowly becoming animated. As the music rises in passion, she enfolds an empty embrace and then backs away.

Above: Improvisation to Brahms, photo from MeemsImages

While Ms. Todesco changed costumes, Mr. LaNasa played one of Johannes Brahms’ piano solos from Opus 118 whilst all the women dancers filled the space in what seemed like an improvisational dance with sylphlike lightness and gestural language in the Duncan vein. As this interlude progressed, individual dancers would sometimes pause – close enough for me to reach out and touch – making me feel almost a part of the dance.

Above: Francesca Todesco in Isadora Duncan’s HARP; photo by Julie Lemberger

The Isadora Duncan solo HARP (c. 1917) refers to the mythic Aeolian Harp and is danced to a Chopin étude. Now gowned in flowing white, with long draping sleeves, Ms. Todesco moves radiantly to the rippling piano music to and ecstatic ending. Simply gorgeous!

Above: Loretta Thomas and the ensemble rehearsing Isadora Duncan’s POLONAISE MILITAIRE

Loretta Thomas led a quartet of women in Isadora Duncan’s marvelous POLONAISE MILITAIRE (c. 1914), also set to Chopin. Eleanor Bunker, Ilana Cohen, Erika Langmeyer, and Margherita Tisato – all wearing classic Isadora tunic-style frocks – were excellent, and Ms. Thomas danced with distinctive authority. This work is an affirmation of feminine power and sisterhood.

Music of Chopin brought Ms. Todesco forth in two Isadora Duncan solos, NARCISSUS (1904) and MINUTE WALTZ (1905). In the first of these, Ms. Todesco – in a rose-shade over-tunic – moves expressively to the sad, familiar melody. As the tempo accelerates, she executes soft turns in place before taking a series of poses on the floor and finally collapsing.

In MINUTE WALTZ, Ms. Todesco is bathed in warm light; she begins to sway gently, then fills the space with restless, questing movement.

Above: Catherine Gallant, Eleanor Bunker, and Margherita Tisato in Catherine Gallant’s WAVE; photo from MeemsImages

Catherine Gallant’s WAVE (2001) continued in a Chopin mode (his Mazurka #43); from a statuary pose, three women – Ms. Gallant, Eleanor Bunker, and Margherita Tisato – dance a sisterly trio in an homage to Isadora. At its end, they resume their original pose. To all these Chopin works, Mr. LaNasa’s playing brought freshness and verve.

For the piano four-hands pieces by Florent Schmitt used by Isadora Duncan for her 1914 work, REFLETS D’ALLEMAGNE, Isidora Vladic shared the keyboard with Mr. LaNasa. In the first of two excerpts, Lübeck, Eleanor Bunker, Catherine Gallant, and Loretta Thomas display the trademark movement motifs and gestures that define the Isadora style: their dancing has a natural grace and musical affinity. They are joined for Nuremburg by Ms. Tisato; fleeting solo passages here are lovingly communicative. 

Concluding the program’s first half, Ms. Todesco had one of her dreams come true as she danced Jim May’s 1985 duet SLEEPING BOUQUET, which she had first seen some 20 years ago and always wanted to dance. The only work today performed to recorded music (the familiarly romantic Adagio from the Rachmaninoff second piano concert), Ms. Todesco was partnered here by Daniel Fecetua-Soto, former Limón principal.

After the interval, there was a piano four-hands prelude to the program’s second half: Mr. LaNasa and Ms. Vladic played Brahms’ Hungarian Dance #8 in such a lively manner that I half-expected audience members to rise and kick up their heels.

Above: Jim May as the Poet in IDEAS OF AN ACROBAT; photo by Meemsimages

Anna Sokolow’s IDEAS OF AN ACROBAT (from MAGRITTE, MAGRITTE) is performed to a specially-composed piano work by Haziel Masiello. Jim May, standing directly before me in a suit and bowler à la Magritte, intones poetry by Paul Eluard with his hauntingly inflected voice as dancers Eleanor Bunker, Samantha Geracht, and Lauren Naslund perform a stylized, ritualistic dance. Spotlit, the women’s shadows become part of the movement. The dancers become more animated, yet remain stationary for the most part. This atmospheric work ends in fading light.

Above: Daniel Fetecua-Soto and Francesca Todesco in Rae Ballard’s FADOS DOS AMANTES; photo by Julie Lemberger

Two premieres with a Portuguese flavour are next, both choreographed by Rae Ballard – a name new to me. These were commissioned by Ms. Tedesco. In the first, FADOS DOS AMANTES (music by Eduardo Burnay and Alexandre Rey Colaço), a pair of lovers move thru various states of their relationship.

Ms. Todesco dances the first movement while Mr. Fetebua-Soto slumbers on the floor: Francesca wears a long black dress, sometimes giving her skirt a provocative twitch. The male solo is more searching, and more animated. The concluding duet shows the couple bound to each other, for better or worse.

Above: from Rae Ballard’s PORTUGUESE SUITE; photo from MeeemsImages. From left: Ms. Ballard, Lauren Naslund, and Samantha Geracht

Rae Ballard’s lyrical choreography for herself and Mlles. Geracht and Naslund in EXCERPT FROM PORTUGUESE SUITE is lovely to behold. They dance in silence, and also to music by Luis Costa. This excerpt is part of a work-in-progress to be premiered in 2019.

To conclude the program, Isadora Duncan’s SCRIABIN ÉTUDES (1921-1923) were strikingly played by Mr. LaNasa and superbly danced by Ms. Todesco. In the course of the work’s three movements, we can savour Francesca’s gift for making emotional connections both to the music and to her audience. Clad in red, the dancer’s expressive face and sublime use of gesture move from anxious animation thru the quiet despair of bereavement, to the embodiment of a passionate revolutionary: a woman who peers out at us and who utters a series of silent screams. 

Bouquets were presented as a lively standing ovation greeted Francesca and all her colleagues at the end of this truly wonderful performance.

~ Oberon