Tag: Met Opera

Licia’s Last Butterfly

On Friday, November 26, 1965, I went to a performance of MADAMA BUTTERFLY at the Metropolitan Opera House. On the following day, I had an operatic double-header: a matinee of ELISIR D’AMORE and an evening performance of FAUST. That Saturday marked the last time I ever set foot in the Old Met. The venerable theatre had been marked for demolition, while a New Met was rising at Lincoln Center.

The eight performances I saw at the Old House are very special memories for me. The singers I saw there had become gods and goddesses to me thru their singing on the Texaco Metropolitan Opera radio broadcasts; I was now experiencing ‘live‘ the rituals Milton Cross described each week over the airwaves: the house lights going down, the applause greeting the conductor, the great gold curtain being drawn back for the curtain calls. It was like a dream come true.

Licia Albanese’s was one of the first operatic voices I became familiar with. She was one of the singers on the first 2-LP set of opera arias and duets that I owned. She sang Liu on a memorable Met broadcast of TURANDOT in 1962, opposite Nilsson and Corelli. And my parents had taken me to see her as Violetta (her 100th performance of the role) at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera in 1963.

In all honesty, Albanese’s voice was never really among my favorites; it was more her expressive intensity of communication and her endearing persona that I found appealing. But I understood her importance as a singer in the grand tradition, and if her singing of the Violetta and Butterfly that I saw could turn dry and almost ghostly, I can still vividly recall her stage presence and her instinctive if Olde School acting.

What I did not realize as I watched Licia Albanese taking her bows after that 1965 Butterfly was that it was the final time she ever sang the role. After playing Cio-Cio-San some eighty times on that stage, this was to be the last. Like many performances I have experienced, the evening became iconic over time when measured as part of the singer’s career.

I met La Licia after the performance – I was one of a sizeable group of admirers who had waited for her – and she was of course elegantly gowned and coiffed, chattering away to her fans in Italian. She signed my program with a flourish:

It was a happy crowd of fans and friends, and no mention was made of it being “her last Butterfly”. She did sing one more complete role at The Met: Manon Lescaut; and the following Summer she sang Mimi in LA BOHEME with Barry Morell in a concert presented by The Met at the Newport Festival.

A few days after the performance, I sent her a fan letter and received this photo in return, along with her calling card:

Licia Albanese – Ancora un passo or via ~ MADAMA BUTTERFLY

There were two further memorable moments related to the Old Met and to MADAMA BUTTERFLY in Albanese’s extraordinary life: at the gala farewell concert that marked the closing of the Old Met on April 16th, 1966, Licia sang the aria “Un bel di” and, during the applause, she knelt to place a kiss on the stage where she had appeared so frequently since her debut in 1940:

Once the demolition of the ‘old yellow brewery’ began, Licia donned her kimono and sang “Un bel di” one last time amid the ruins.

But my connection with the legendary diva was not over. One evening during the first season at the New Met, I saw her among the audience on the Grand Tier during intermission. She was talking with another elegantly-gown lady as I approached them hesitantly. The other woman gave me an encouraging smile, so I took Madame Albanese’s hand and awkwardly told her of having seen her Violetta and Butterfly. She thanked me quietly, but kept hold of my hand. Then she turned to her friend and said, in her charming accent: “It is so wonderful to be remembered! He’s so young, he will tell people about me many years from now.”

Then, some thirty-five years on, I was holding down the fort in the opera room at Tower Records one dreary afternoon when Licia Albanese came in with a companion; the soprano was rather feeble by that point in time, but when I greeted her, she smiled silently. I said to her, “I saw your one hundredth Violetta at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera!” She was silent for a moment, and I thought my remark had not registered. Her friend gave me a look as if to say that Madame’s mind might not be perfectly clear.

“The Zoo!” said the diva firmly. Then she began to roar like a lion and sing little birdcalls and make noises like chattering monkeys. Anyone who has ever attended a performance at the Cincinnati Zoo will know that these sounds were always a continuous obbligato to the opera being performed. We all laughed. And then I bade the two women goodbye, thinking to myself – as I have so often – “What a life I am living!”

Above: Licia Albanese at age 93; she passed away in 2014 at the age of 105.

~ Oberon

December 24, 2018
Licia’s Last Butterfly

On Friday, November 26, 1965, I went to a performance of MADAMA BUTTERFLY at the Metropolitan Opera House. On the following day, I had an operatic double-header: a matinee of ELISIR D’AMORE and an evening performance of FAUST. That Saturday marked the last time I ever set foot in the Old Met. The venerable theatre had been marked for demolition, while a New Met was rising at Lincoln Center.

The eight performances I saw at the Old House are very special memories for me. The singers I saw there had become gods and goddesses to me thru their singing on the Texaco Metropolitan Opera radio broadcasts; I was now experiencing ‘live‘ the rituals Milton Cross described each week over the airwaves: the house lights going down, the applause greeting the conductor, the great gold curtain being drawn back for the curtain calls. It was like a dream come true.

Licia Albanese’s was one of the first operatic voices I became familiar with. She was one of the singers on the first 2-LP set of opera arias and duets that I owned. She sang Liu on a memorable Met broadcast of TURANDOT in 1962, opposite Nilsson and Corelli. And my parents had taken me to see her as Violetta (her 100th performance of the role) at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera in 1963.

In all honesty, Albanese’s voice was never really among my favorites; it was more her expressive intensity of communication and her endearing persona that I found appealing. But I understood her importance as a singer in the grand tradition, and if her singing of the Violetta and Butterfly that I saw could turn dry and almost ghostly, I can still vividly recall her stage presence and her instinctive if Olde School acting.

What I did not realize as I watched Licia Albanese taking her bows after that 1965 Butterfly was that it was the final time she ever sang the role. After playing Cio-Cio-San some eighty times on that stage, this was to be the last. Like many performances I have experienced, the evening became iconic over time when measured as part of the singer’s career.

I met La Licia after the performance – I was one of a sizeable group of admirers who had waited for her – and she was of course elegantly gowned and coiffed, chattering away to her fans in Italian. She signed my program with a flourish:

It was a happy crowd of fans and friends, and no mention was made of it being “her last Butterfly”. She did sing one more complete role at The Met: Manon Lescaut; and the following Summer she sang Mimi in LA BOHEME with Barry Morell in a concert presented by The Met at the Newport Festival.

A few days after the performance, I sent her a fan letter and received this photo in return, along with her calling card:

Licia Albanese – Ancora un passo or via ~ MADAMA BUTTERFLY

There were two further memorable moments related to the Old Met and to MADAMA BUTTERFLY in Albanese’s extraordinary life: at the gala farewell concert that marked the closing of the Old Met on April 16th, 1966, Licia sang the aria “Un bel di” and, during the applause, she knelt to place a kiss on the stage where she had appeared so frequently since her debut in 1940:

Once the demolition of the ‘old yellow brewery’ began, Licia donned her kimono and sang “Un bel di” one last time amid the ruins.

But my connection with the legendary diva was not over. One evening during the first season at the New Met, I saw her among the audience on the Grand Tier during intermission. She was talking with another elegantly-gown lady as I approached them hesitantly. The other woman gave me an encouraging smile, so I took Madame Albanese’s hand and awkwardly told her of having seen her Violetta and Butterfly. She thanked me quietly, but kept hold of my hand. Then she turned to her friend and said, in her charming accent: “It is so wonderful to be remembered! He’s so young, he will tell people about me many years from now.”

Then, some thirty-five years on, I was holding down the fort in the opera room at Tower Records one dreary afternoon when Licia Albanese came in with a companion; the soprano was rather feeble by that point in time, but when I greeted her, she smiled silently. I said to her, “I saw your one hundredth Violetta at the Cincinnati Zoo Opera!” She was silent for a moment, and I thought my remark had not registered. Her friend gave me a look as if to say that Madame’s mind might not be perfectly clear.

“The Zoo!” said the diva firmly. Then she began to roar like a lion and sing little birdcalls and make noises like chattering monkeys. Anyone who has ever attended a performance at the Cincinnati Zoo will know that these sounds were always a continuous obbligato to the opera being performed. We all laughed. And then I bade the two women goodbye, thinking to myself – as I have so often – “What a life I am living!”

Above: Licia Albanese at age 93; she passed away in 2014 at the age of 105.

~ Oberon

December 23, 2018
Met Opera All-Stars

Helping Placido Domingo celebrate the 50th anniversary of his Met debut, four great stars who sang with him often came backstage to greet the “tenoritone” after his prima of GIANNI SCHICCHI. Above: Sherrill Milnes, Martina Arroyo, Placi, Teresa Stratas, and James Morris in a Met Opera photo.

Having already seen him several times at New York City Opera, I was at Placido Domingo’s Met debut – the night he stepped in (on very short notice) for Franco Corelli – as Maurizio in Cilea’s ADRIANA LECOUVREUR:

My fondest memory of that evening was of Renata Tebaldi, as Adriana, turning her back on the audience so that Placi could look over her shoulder to watch conductor Fausto Cleva during his Act I aria, “La dolcissima effigie“. During the ensuing ovation, Renata kept patting Domingo’s shoulder and saying “bravo! bravo!” They went on to be good colleagues and friends:

While that ADRIANA was Domingo’s first performance from the Met stage, he had sung a single concert performance of CAV & PAG with the Company at Lewisohn Stadium in August, 1966:

Metropolitan Opera @ Lewisohn Stadium August 9th, 1966 In Concert
CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA Mascagni Santuzza................Irene Dalis Turiddu.................Plácido Domingo [First appearance] Lola....................Joann Grillo Alfio...................Russell Christopher Mamma Lucia.............Carlotta Ordassy
Conductor...............Kurt Adler

Sherrill Milnes had made his Met debut during the final season at the Old Met (in the same performance of FAUST that Montserrat Caballé made hers); Martina Arroyo and Teresa Stratas had already established themselves at the Old Met by the time the Company moved to Lincoln Center. James Morris made his Met debut in 1971, and I saw him there in one of his very first performances, as Raimondo in a student matinee of LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR.

Now let’s hear from each singer in the “reunion” photo at the top:

Martina Arroyo – Ritorna vincitor! – AIDA – Buenos Aires 1968

GHOSTS OF VERSAILLES ~ final scene – Teresa Stratas & Hector Vasquez – Met bcast 1995

James Morris – RHEINGOLD ~ Abendlich Strahlt Die Sonne – w M Lipovsek

Sherrill Milnes joins Domingo on the final note of their OTELLO duet…such an exciting moment:

Domingo & Milnes – OTELLO duet – Met bcast – 2~2~85

To finish this reminiscence, here’s Domingo in a opera The Met could/should have staged for him, Meyerbeer’s L’AFRICAINE:

Placido Domingo – O Paradis! – L’AFRICAINE

~ Oberon

November 29, 2018
Jeannine Crader

Above: Jeannine Crader and Placido Domingo in Ginastera’s DON RODRIGO; photo by Fred Fehl

Soprano Jeannine Crader was a member of the San Francisco Opera’s Merola Program in the late 1950s, and sang Magda Sorel in Menotti’s THE CONSUL with the San Francisco Opera’s Spring Program in 1969.

She performed with the Metropolitan Opera Studio Company (above, in COSI FAN TUTTE, with Gimi Beni and Marcia Baldwin) before joining New York City Opera where she sang in the US premiere of Alberto Ginastera’s DON RODRIGO, opposite Placido Domingo, in 1966.

I saw Ms. Crader only once – as Donna Elvira at New York City Opera in 1966. With the Company, she also sang Tosca, Butterfly, and Giorgetta in IL TABARRO. In 1967, she and Domingo sang in ANDREA CHENIER together at the Cincinnati Opera.

Ms. Crader appears on Maurice Abravanel’s recording of the Mahler 8th, and there is a complete recording of DON RODRIGO available from Opera Depot. Beyond that, I can only find two Puccini souvenirs, both with Mr. Domingo:

Jeannine Crader & Placido Domingo – E Ben Altro Il Mio Sogno ~ TABARRO – NYCO 1968

Jeannine Crader & Placido Domingo – TOSCA scene ~ Act III – NYC Opera

Jeannine Crader sings a William Mayer duet, “Barbara, What Have You Done?” with Dorothy Renzi (audio only) on YouTube. I like it a lot.

Ms. Crader taught at the University of North Texas from 1970-1997.

~ Oberon

November 25, 2018
@ My Met Score Desk For PEARL FISHERS

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday November 24th, 2018 matinee – The New York City Opera used to perform Georges Bizet’s Pêcheurs de Perles fairly often, and I saw it there four times in the 1980s with such sopranos as Diana Soviero, Carol Vaness, Diana Walker, and the enchanting Rachel Rosales; tenors Barry McCauley and Jerry Hadley; and baritones Dominic Cossa, William Stone, and Robert McFarland. During that time of my life, I really liked this melodious opera, with its enchanting soprano aria, a poetic (and difficult) tenor aria, and – of course – a beloved duet for tenor and baritone: “Au fond du temple saint“.

But there’s also a lot of filler, atmospheric in its way yet in the long run just…filler. Pêcheurs was not on my initial list of operas to see/hear at The Met this season; but as I was tallying up my score desk order, I added a couple of operas just to see if they’d still be of interest to me. Pêcheurs, as it turns out, isn’t.

I had skipped this Met production of Pêcheurs when it was new, because I’d taken a strong dislike to Diana Damrau. This season, Pretty Yende is singing Leïla, a part which I imagined would suit her voice far better than Donizetti’s Lucia had. “O Dieu Brahma!” is not the easiest way to start your afternoon. Ms. Yende’s florid singing was not always fluent, and at times her pitch was a shade off; counter-balancing this were an ethereal high B-flat and a gorgeous high-D. I imagine her “Comme autrefois” would have been quite fine, but I couldn’t outlast the intermission to find out.

Alexander Birch Elliott had stepped into the role of Zurga midway thru the season prima of Pêcheurs, replacing Mariusz Kwiecien, who has now withdrawn from the production due to illness. Mr. Elliott has a handsome lyric baritone voice, and he blended perfectly with Javier Camarena in their famous duet, which drew sustained applause.

Mr. Camarena’s singing of the dreamy aria “Je crois entendre encore” was lovingly phrased, with exquisite piano effects. His voice is a bit light for this role in the big house, but it’s wonderfully present and expressive.

On the podium, Emmanuel Villaume did what he could with this perfumed score, giving an atmospheric prelude (twice interrupted by applause); he sometimes let his orchestra cover the voices, however.

Hearing this opera again had the effect of finding a disintegrating, powdery rose pressed in the pages of a book you haven’t opened in decades. You can’t remember who gave you the flower or why it was significant enough to save, but you feel a twinge of regret that something that once meant something to you no longer does.

Metropolitan Opera House November 124th, 2018 matinee
LES PÊCHEURS DE PERLES Georges Bizet Léila...................Pretty Yende Nadir...................Javier Camarena Zurga...................Alexander Birch Elliott Nourabad................Nicolas Testé
Conductor...............Emmanuel Villaume

~ Oberon

November 23, 2018
Bonaldo Giaiotti Has Passed Away

~ Author: Oberon

Bonaldo Giaiotti (photo above) was my favorite basso. Though he sang at a time when several wonderful bassos were to be heard at both of the houses at Lincoln Center – Tozzi, Siepi, Hines, Treigle, Ghiaurov, Raimondi, Moll, and Ramey, among others – there was something about Giaiotti’s voice that I simply loved. Even in relatively brief roles like the Commendatore in DON GIOVANNI or Monterone in RIGOLETTO, he always made a distinctive mark.

Over a span of nearly 30 years – beginning with his Met debut as the High Priest in NABUCCO on opening night, 1960, and concluding with a performance of Don Basilio in BARBIERE DI SIVIGLIA in 1989 – Giaiotti sang more than 400 performances with the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York City and on tour.

I first saw Giaiotti onstage in what was to become one of his signature roles – Timur in TURANDOT – at the Old Met in 1965. He performed it over 50 times with The Met, and countless times worldwide. How movingly Giaiotti conveyed the character’s heartbreak:

Bonaldo Giaiotti as Timur in Puccini’s TURANDOT

In 1964, Giaiotti sang a magnificent Banco in Verdi’s MACBETH on a Texaco/Met broadcast.

Bonaldo Giaiotti – Come dal ciel precipita ~ MACBETH

Once the New Met had opened in 1966, I saw Giaiotti often in such roles as Timur, Colline in BOHEME, Ramfis in AIDA, Raimondo in LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR, and King Henry in LOHENGRIN. He was particularly impressive as Alvise in LA GIOCONDA where he more than held his own amidst such powerhouse co-stars as Tebaldi, Corelli or Tucker, MacNeil, and Cossotto.

Roles Giaiotti sang at The Met less frequently – and in which I sadly never saw him – included Mephistopheles in FAUST, Prince Gremin in EUGENE ONEGIN, Philip II in DON CARLO, and Sarastro in ZAUBERFLOETE.

Here are more samples of Giaiotti’s singing:

Franco Corelli & Bonaldo Giaiotti – Nume custode e vindice ~ AIDA – Rome 1966

LOHENGRIN – King Henry’s address & finale Act I – Bonaldo Giaiotti – w Kollo – McIntyre – Lorengar – M Dunn – Met bcast 1976

Though not of the best sound quality, this aria from BOCCANEGRA shows the basso’s ability to bring down the house:

BOCCANEGRA aria – Bonaldo Giaiotti – NY 1968

Would that we had an Italian basso today of Giaiotti’s caliber and versatility.

~ Oberon

June 12, 2018
Petrenko|Bayerisches Staatsorchester @ Carnegie Hall

Above: Kirill Petrenko on the Carnegie Hall podium; photo by Chris Lee

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Wednesday March 28th, 2018 – Kirill Petrenko is finishing his term as the Generalmusikdirector of the Bavarian State Opera and in the 2019-20 season will take over as the chief conductor of the world’s most prestigious orchestra, Berlin Philharmonic. It is with the Bavarian State Opera forces (in the concert hall dubbed Bayerisches Staatsorchester) that Petrenko is making his Carnegie Hall debut this season. His only previous NYC appearances were at the Metropolitan Opera where he led a very memorable revival of Ariadne auf Naxos in 2005 and Khovanschina in 2012. For this Carnegie debut concert, Petrenko programmed two oft-forgotten works by two very famous composers: Johannes Brahms’ Double Concerto and Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony.

Brahms composed the Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra, Op. 102, in 1887. It was his last orchestral composition and it was greeted coolly even by ardent supporters like Eduard Hanslick. Soon Brahms himself was dismissing it as “folly” in letters to Clara Schumann. Neglected for many years, it certainly deserves to be heard more often; it surrenders nothing to his famed violin concerto in inspiration, melody and excitement. The writing may not seem as virtuosic as the violin concerto perhaps because Brahms composed a truly double concerto. The two instruments don’t have the kind of virtuosic writing that concertos often do. The music is more of a dialogue for violin and cello – and orchestra, too. It takes a great deal of camaraderie between the two soloists and conductor to bring the pieces together. Maybe it’s the lack of true star turns for the soloists that keeps some musicians away. But when played as superbly as it was by Julia Fischer and Daniel Müller-Schott, with Maestro Petrenko on the podium, the results are breathtaking.

Above: Julia Fischer and Daniel Müller-Schott playing the Brahms Double Concerto, with Maestro Petrenko; a Chris Lee photo

The work begins with a dramatic and brief orchestral opening and immediately the cello launches into an extended solo. One of the few passages of this kind in the work, Müller-Schott immediately established himself as an artist. Rich and velvety notes poured from the instrument. Julia Fischer, a former child prodigy who has grown into a true artist of the violin, soon joined in for one of the concerto’s many extended conversations between the two instruments. Ms. Fischer’s sound is delicate and sweet, the notes rolling effortlessly from her bow. Fischer and Müller-Schott have collaborated many times over the years. Their discography together includes a lot of chamber music, as well as the Brahms concerto. Their musical partnership came across beautifully in the performance, whether playing in unison or handing off music back and forth, it’s the sort of relationship that takes time to develop. The hushed, pastoral-ish second movement was wondrous and the Bohemian inspired dances of the Finale were perfect. Maestro Petrenko and the superb Bayerisches Staatsorchester forces were excellent partners.

Ms. Fischer and Mr. Müller-Schott gave an encore: an extended virtuoso piece: Passacaglia by Johann Halvorsen. It was really great!

Above: Julia Fischer and Daniel Müller-Schott, photo by Chris Lee

Tchaikovsky’s largest orchestral work, the Manfred Symphony was composed in 1885, between his more famous 4th and 5th Symphonies. Inspired by Byron’s poem (Schumann composed a famous overture based on it as well), Tchaikovsky – already master of the large orchestral forces – outdid himself with sheer size of forces needed, including a harmonium (typically replaced by an organ in performances and recordings.) Initially Tchaikovsky considered it to be his finest composition, but after a mixed reception from critics and the public, in what was a common refrain of his life, turned on it and declared it awful; even considered destroying everything but the first movement. Fortunately his instinct to burn it did not come to pass because it is certainly one of his greatest works. And I often think it may be his greatest symphony.

What I find astonishing about the Manfred Symphony is the sheer amount of invention – melodic and orchestration. In some ways it reminds me of Verdi’s Falstaff. Some complain that Verdi’s last opera is lacking in melody, but it might actually contain more melodies than all of his other works combined. They simply fly by and disappear so quickly that one can fail to notice. That’s my view of Tchaikovsky’s Manfred. The melodies and brilliant orchestration can be so sudden, so novel and so brief that it’s all gone and moved on to something else entirely before you realize what you just heard. It is truly a work that demands repeated hearings.

The dark first movement depicts Manfred’s anguished wanderings in the Alps; “His life shattered…”, as the program note (by Mily Balakirev) describes. With halting phrases, Tchaikovsky depicts a peaceful pastoral one moment, Manfred’s pain the next. The explosive climax – one of Tchaikovsky’s most beautiful melodies – is hair-raising. I often hear it as a perfect musical accompaniment to the moment in Wuthering Heights where Heathcliff is found dead in Catherine’s room, thunder and lightning blaring outside. The two middle movements are, by contrast, blasts of light. The light fairy music of the Scherzo (in the program a fairy of the Alps appears to Manfred splashing in a waterfall) would have pleased Mendelssohn, I think. The slow third movement presents a portrait of a peaceful nature, something Beethoven would have recognized perhaps. And in the final movement, again a darkness descends. The music swirls and growls as Manfred visits the caves of Arimanes. And the anguished love theme from the first movement returns to signal Manfred’s death – greeted with an organ playing a hymn.

The forces of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester played the work superbly. Kirill Petrenko led an all-around thrilling performance, goading the players to play bigger and louder (I was reminded of the famous story of Richard Strauss rehearsing Elektra and yelling to the players: “Louder, louder! I can still hear Madam Schumann-Heink!”) But effortlessly bringing volume and emotion down to a whisper when needed as well. Though Manfred has long been neglected (many complete recorded cycles of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies do not include it), over the past few years it has been heard in NYC several times. New York Philharmonic played it with Semyon Bychkov (one of Petrenko’s mentors) and Vienna Philharmonic played it at Carnegie with Valery Gergiev. Perhaps Maestro Bychkov’s performance was bigger. The NY Philharmonic’s heavier sound might account for the bigger bombast. Bayerisches Staatsorchester has a leaner, more pointed sound overall. It provided greater transparency in the more heavily orchestrated parts (and there are many.) Personal tastes will vary on the preferred sound. But no doubt Kirill Petrenko led a superb night of music-making. His future with the Berlin Philharmonic is very exciting.

Above: Kirill Petrenko and the musicians of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester acknowledge the applause at the close of this evening’s concert; photo by Chris Lee

~ Ben Weaver

March 29, 2018
PARSIFAL @ The Met

Above: the Grail revealed: Peter Mattei as Amfortas and Rene Pape as Gurnemanz in Wagner’s PARSIFAL; a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday February 17th, 2018 matinee – A powerful and thoroughly absorbing matinee performance of PARSIFAL, the only Wagner in the Metropolitan Opera’s repertory this season. This dark, barren, and brooding production premiered in 2013, at which time the total absence of a Grail temple from the scenic narrative seemed truly off-putting. All of the action of the outer acts takes place out-of-doors, whilst the second act – as we were told by someone who worked on the production at the time it was new – is set inside Amfortas’s wound.

Not everything in the production works, and the desolate landscape of the final act – with its open graves – is dreary indeed. But the devotional rites of the Grail brothers in Act I and the stylized movements of the Flowermaidens in the blood-drenched ‘magic garden’ of Act II are engrossing – especially today, where I found a personal link to both scenes.

Musically, it was a potent performance despite a couple of random brass blips. Since the 2013 performances, I’ve been going to a lot of symphonic and chamber music concerts and this has greatly enhanced my appreciation of the orchestra’s work whenever I am at the opera. From our perch directly over the pit today, I greatly enjoyed watching the musicians of the Met Orchestra as they played their way thru this endlessly fascinating score.

The Met’s soon-to-be music director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, was on the podium this afternoon, and he seemed to inspire not only the orchestra, but also the principals, chorus, dancers, and supers all of whom worked devotedly to sustain the atmosphere of the long opera. While I did not feel the depth of mystery that I have experienced in past performances of this work conducted by James Levine or Daniele Gatti, in Maestro Nézet-Séguin’s interpretation the humanity of the music seemed to be to the fore. This meshes well with the physical aspects of the production, which strongly and movingly depicts the fraternity of the Grail and the desperate suffering of Amfortas. The orchestra’s poetic playing as Gurnemanz sings of the slaying of the swan was but one passage of many where I felt the music so deeply. And the transformation music of Act I was particularly thrilling to hear today.

The singing all afternoon was at a very high level, with the unfortunate exception of the Kundry of Evelyn Herlitzius. We’d previously heard her as Marie in WOZZECK, but Kundry’s music – especially in Act II – needs singing that has more seductive beauty than Ms. Herlitzius delivered. The soprano’s one spectacular vocal moment – “Ich sah Ihn – Ihn – und…lachte!“, where she tells how she had seen Christ on the cross and laughed – was truly thrilling, but not enough to compensate for her tremulous, throaty singing elsewhere.

Above: In Klingsor’s Magic Garden, tenor Klaus Florian Vogt as Parsifal; a Met Opera photo

In 2006, Klaus Florian Vogt made an unforgettable Met debut as Lohengrin, and this afternoon as Parsifal the tenor again sang lyrically in a role that is normally sung by tenors of the more helden- type. The almost juvenile sound Vogt’s voice underscored Parsifal’s innocence; this worked especially well in Act I, and also brought us some beautiful vocalism in Act II. As Kundry’s efforts to seduce become more urgent, Vogt’s singing took on a more passionate colour. In his struggle between steadfastness and capitulation, the tenor’s cry of “Erlöse, rette mich, aus schuldbefleckten Händen!” (‘Redeem me, rescue me from hands defiled by sin!’) pierced the heart with his dynamic mastery.

Kundry’s wiles fail her, and with an upraised hand, Parsifal fends off Klingsor’s spear-wielding assault. Seizing the weapon that wounded Amfortas, the young man cries out “Mit diesem Zeichen bann’ ich deinen Zauber!” (‘With this Sign I banish your magic!’); the bloody back-lighting dissolves to white and Klingsor is cast down. Turning to Kundry, Mr. Vogt’s Parsifal has the act’s final line of premonition: “Du weisst, wo du mich wiederfinden kannst!” (‘You know where you can find me again’) and he strides out into the world to commence his long, labored journey back to the realm of the Grail. In the final act, Mr. Vogt’s expressive singing was a balm to the ear, lovingly supported by the conductor and orchestra.

Above: Rene Pape as Gurnemanz, in a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo

Repeating the roles they created when this production premiered in 2013, Rene Pape (Gurnemanz) and Peter Mattei (Amfortas) were again superb. Mr. Pape now measures out his singing of this very long part more judiciously than he has in the past, at times allowing the orchestra to cover him rather than attempting to power thru. But in the long Act I monolog, “Titurel, der fromme Held…”, the basso’s tone flowed like honey; and later, at “Vor dem verwaisten Heiligtum, in brünst’gem Beten lag Amfortas...” (‘Before the looted sanctuary, Amfortas lay in fervent prayer’) Mr. Pape’s emotion-filled delivery struck at the heart of the matter. Throughout Act III, leading to the consecrational baptism of Parsifal, Mr. Pape was at his finest.

Peter Mattei’s Amfortas (in a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo above) is truly one of the great operatic interpretations I have ever experienced, for it is not only magnificently sung but acted with matchless physicality and commitment. The guilt and suffering Mr. Mattei conveys both with his voice and his body is almost unbearable to experience in its intensity and sense of reality.

After a desperate show of resistance to calls for the Grail to be revealed in Act I, Amfortas – in abject anguish – performs the rite; his strength spent, he staggers offstage and as he does so, he locks eyes with Parsifal, the man who will succeed him as keeper of the Grail: one of the production’s most telling moments. And in the final act, Mr. Mattei throws himself into the open grave of his father, Titurel, as he begs for death to release him from his eternal suffering; this horrifies the assembled Grail knights. Such moments make for an unforgettable interpretation, yet in the end it’s the Mattei voice that sets his Amfortas in such a high echelon.

Evgeny Nikitin’s Klingsor (above), creepy and thrilling in 2013, incredibly was even better in this revival. The voice was flung into the House with chilling command, and the bass-baritone’s physical domination of his bloody realm and his hapless female slaves was conveyed with grim authority. His demise was epic.

Alfred Walker sang splendidly as the unseen Titurel, and I was very glad that he appeared onstage for the bows so I could bravo him for his wonderful outpourings of tone. Another offstage Voice, that of Karolina Pilou – who repeats the prophetic line “Durch Mitleid wissend…der reine Tor!” (‘Enlightened through compassion, the innocent fool…’) to end Act I – had beauty of tone, though the amplification was less successful here.

The Squires ( Katherine Whyte, Sarah Larsen, Scott Scully, and Ian Koziara) were excellent, especially as they harmonized on the emblematic “Durch Mitleid wissend…” theme, and the Flowermaidens sounded lovely, led with ethereal vocal grace by Haeran Hong. Mark Schowalter and Richard Bernstein were capital Knights, and I must again mention Mr. Bernstein’s terrific voice and physical presence as a singer underutilized by the Met these days. His lines ths afternoon were few, yet always on the mark; and in Act III, helping to bear the shrouded body of his late lord Titurel to its grave, Mr. Bernstein seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulder.

What gave the performance a deep personal dimension for me today was finding two dancers I have known for some time – David Gonsier and Nicole Corea – onstage in Acts I and II respectively. By focusing on them – Mr. Gonsier as a young Grail knight and Ms. Corea as a delicious Blumenmädchen – the ‘choreography’ given to these two groups became wonderfully clear and meaningful.

I first spotted Mr. Gonsier seated in the circle of knights; my imagination was immediately seized by the rapture evident in his eyes. For long, long stretches of the first act, I could not tear my gaze away from him as his mastery of the reverential gestural language and the deep radiance of his facial expressions spoke truly of what it means to be a knight of the Holy Grail. Amazingly, out of all the men I might have zeroed in on among the brotherhood, Mr. Gonsier was the last of the knights to leave the stage as Act I drew to an end: he received a personal blessing from Gurnemanz and their eyes met ever-so-briefly. So deeply moving.

Ms. Corea is beloved in the Gotham danceworld for her work with Lar Lubovitch; I ran into her on the Plaza before the performance today and she assured me I’d be seeing her this Spring at The Joyce as Mr. Lubovitch celebrates his 50th anniversary of making dances. Incredibly, within two seconds of the Act II curtain’s rise on the identically clad and be-wigged Flowermaidens standing in a pool of blood, I found Nicole right in my line of vision. Both in her compelling movement and her captivating face, Nicole became the icon of this band of bewitching beauties.

Whilst hailing some of the unsung cast members of the afternoon, mention must be made of the two heroic supers who literally keep Amfortas alive and mobile, frequently taking the full weight of the ailing man as he struggles to fulfill his dreaded duties as Lord of the Grail. Great work, gentlemen!

Much of the libretto of PARSIFAL‘s outer acts today seems like religious mumbo-jumbo. It’s the music – especially the ending of Act I – that most clearly speaks to us (and even to an old atheist like me) of the possibility of God’s existence. Perhaps He has simply given up on mankind, as His name – and his word – have been sullied in recent years by those very people who claim to revere him. Wagner may have foreseen all this, as he once wrote: “Where religion becomes artificial, it is reserved for Art to save the spirit of religion.”

At the end of Act I of today’s PARSIFAL, I momentarily questioned my disbelief. But then the applause – which I’ve always hated to hear after such a spiritual scene – pulled me back to reality. I’d much rather have stayed there, in Montsalvat.

Metropolitan Opera House Saturday February 17th, 2018 matinee
PARSIFAL Richard Wagner Parsifal................Klaus Florian Vogt Kundry..................Evelyn Herlitzius Amfortas................Peter Mattei Gurnemanz...............René Pape Klingsor................Evgeny Nikitin Titurel.................Alfred Walker Voice...................Karolina Pilou First Esquire...........Katherine Whyte Second Esquire..........Sarah Larsen Third Esquire...........Scott Scully Fourth Esquire..........Ian Koziara First Knight............Mark Schowalter Second Knight...........Richard Bernstein Flower Maidens: Haeran Hong, Deanna Breiwick, Renée Tatum, Disella Lårusdóttir, Katherine Whyte, Augusta Caso
Conductor...............Yannick Nézet-Séguin

~ Oberon

February 17, 2018
Dorothea Röschmann @ Zankel Hall

Above: soprano Dorothea Röschmann

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday February 13th, 2018 – Soprano Dorothea Röschmann in recital at Zankel Hall, with Malcolm Martineau at the piano. This was an evening of music-making of the highest order, for both soprano and pianist are masters of their art, and communicators sans pareil.

Ms. Röschmann made her Metropolitan Opera debut in 2003 as Susanna in NOZZE DI FIGARO and subsequently performed three more Mozart roles there: Pamina, Ilia, and Donna Elvira. She last sang at The Met in 2008. Elsewhere, of late, she has ventured into heavier repertoire including the roles of the Marschallin and Desdemona. I had not heard her live since the Met IDOMENEO, and was very much hoping I would enjoy this re-connection as much as I did hearing her then. She surpassed my highest hopes.

What I loved most about Ms. Röschmann’s singing this evening was her fascinating employment of her vibrato as a means of expression. Within a given phrase, she could mete out the vibrancy, hone it down to straight tone, or unfurl it to full dramatic effect; this gave her singing a panoramic emotional range, from vulnerable or pensive to unstinting grandeur. It’s a wonderfully feminine voice, and her diction and her shading of the texts drew us deeply into each song.

Commencing with Schubert, the soprano’s vibrato in “Heiss mich nicht reden” as the very first seemed a bit prominent; yet by mid-song, Ms. Röschmann’s intuitive manipulation of it was already making its effect. “So lasst mich scheinen” with its gentle start, was lovingly sung. Mr. Martineau’s introduction to “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” set the mood for Ms. Röschmann’s singing: so poignant, with the passing anxiety at separation from her beloved fading back to melancholy. The familiar “Kennst du das Land” was magnificent in every way, expressive of the poem’s varying moods, with delicious lower notes and the words so clear and finely-coloured; and Mr. Martineau here was divine.

Singer and pianist left the stage briefly before returning for the final Schubert, “Nachtstück“. This night-song, sung by an old man wandering the woods as Death hovers about him, took on an operatic aspect with Mr. Martineau’s atmospheric playing of the introduction, and the sense of mystery in the soprano’s haunting – and then expansive – singing. The piano evokes the sound of the old man’s harp as the song winds thru major/minor modulations: such moving music to experience.

Above: pianist Malcolm Martineau, photographed by Thomas Oliemans

In Mahler’s Rückert Lieder, Ms. Röschmann’s gifts as a storyteller were abundantly evident. From the playful “Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder” and the gently magical, Springlike joy of “Ich atmet’ einen linden Durftt“, with Mr. Martineau’s sweet postlude, soprano and pianist moved to the drama of “Um mitternacht“. This was profoundly delivered, Ms. Röschmann summoning rich tone for a great outpouring of sound, all the while keeping us under her spell with varying degrees of vibrato; Mr. Martineau’s playing matched the singing in all its glory.

In “Liebst Du Um Schönheit“, the soprano chose to linger slightly from time to time, giving the song a delicious individuality of expression. Then, with the final Mahler, “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen“, the intrinsic and somewhat unusual beauty of Ms. Röschmann’s voice made this beloved, meaningful poem utterly personal. A touch of lightness here and there was enchanting, her singing so thoughtful and womanly. The end of this song can sometimes be shaded with resignation, but in Ms. Röschmann’s moving singing of the final lines, we instead feel her sense of deep contentment. Mr. Martineau beautifully sustained the poetry with his transportive playing of the postlude.

The second half of the program was given over to songs with words written by women. Robert Schumann’s Gedichte der Königin Maria Stuart, Op. 135. are settings to texts drawn from the letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, written at significant points in her tragic life. Presage of disaster seems a constant force in the Queen’s story, right from her birth. In these Schumann settings, we move from a wistful farewell to France and a hopeful prayer marking the birth of her son, to a dramatic letter Mary wrote to her cousin, Elizabeth I – the cousin who would eventually betray Mary Stuart to her death. This very dramatic song was vividly rendered by Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau, who then progressed to the scene of Mary’s impending execution: in “Abschied von der Welt” – the Queen’s farewell to the world – the pianist’s colourings of reflection and resignation were ideal. The final “Gebet” is a prayer for her own soul: eighteen years a prisoner, Mary Stuart is at last set free by Death. Ms. Röschmann really lived these songs, so deeply that in the end she truly seemed in a trance.

To hear Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau performing Richard Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder was an experience to cherish. At a point in time when the Metropolitan Opera seems to be so stinting with their Wagner offerings (only PARSIFAL this season), we are always eager to hear the Master’s music where- and when-ever possible.

Just now I am reading Judith Cabaud’s lovely/sad biography of Mathilde Wesendonck, the beautiful young poetess whose relationship with Wagner – whether physical or spiritual – hastened the demise of the composer’s first marriage and, in a way, set the stage for Wagner’s finding his soulmate in Cosima Von Bülow.

Whilst Wagner was living in a small house on the Wesendonck’s Swiss estate, the lives of the composer and Fray Wesendonck became entwined. Mathilde was the inspiration for TRISTAN UND ISOLDE; each day, Wagner would send her a page or two of this opera which he was writing with such feverish diligence. This inspired Mathilde to write a series of poems, which she sent to Wagner, one by one, and which he instantaneously set to music. Then one day, a note from Wagner to his muse was intercepted by Minna Wagner’s servant and that was the beginning of the end – of both the Wagners’ marriage and of his living as the Herr Wesendonck’s guest.

And so we are left with this set of five songs, so marvelously moving in their atmosphere of romantic longing. They were eventually orchestrated, and that is how they are most often heard these days. But my very first exposure to the Wesendonck Lieder came in 1970 when I attended a recital by Dame Janet Baker at Syracuse, New York. Martin Isepp was the pianist. It was a performance I’ll never forget, and hearing this music live again tonight had a “full-circle” feeling, nearly fifty years on.

Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau put us deeply under a Wagnerian spell, commencing with “Der Engel” in which the Röschmann voice entranced with its flickering vibrato, its velvety lower tones, and her expressive power of the poetic. The agitation of “Stehe still!” commenced some sensational playing from Mr. Martineau, and, as the music turned more lyrically yearning, Ms. Röschmann’s singing took on a very personal intimacy, her lower tones having a sensuous smoulder. Mr. Martineau, at the song’s end, was so evocative.

With “Im Triebhaus” we are suddenly borne away to Castle Kareol, the wounded Tristan’s lonely childhood home, where he now awaits his Isolde. The musical introduction to this song was lifted by Wagner directly into the prelude of TRISTAN‘s third act. Here, yet again, the blessings of Ms. Röschmann’s way with words were invaluable. The piano’s harmonic modulations and voice’s gradations of both vibrancy and dynamic created a whole world, with the pianist incredibly poignant. The Röschmann lower notes continued to strike a particularly sensitive spot in my spine, producing tremblings of emotion. And Mr. Martineau’s finishing notes were to die for.

With the passions of “Schmerzen“, Ms. Röschmann’s deeper tones literally tore at the heart, whilst ecstatic playing from Mr. Martineau left the soprano beaming radiantly as the song drew to its close. She lingered in a dreamlike state as the pianist set forth the opening bars of “Träume“. By this point I was breathless, drunk on the sheer beauty of the music, Ms. Röschmann’s heavenly singing, and the tenderness of Mr. Martineau’s playing. Could I not now stay here in their world, in this realm where Wagner and his Mathilde found sanctuary?

My return to reality was blessedly buffered as the deep, very cordial applause of the crowd drew the singer and pianist back for three encores – Liszt, Schumann, and (I believe) Schubert – each lovelier than the last. That we have such music in the world, and such musicians to bring it to us, counts for so much in this day and age.

~ Oberon

February 13, 2018
American Symphony Orchestra Presents ‘Hollow Victory’

Above: composer Mieczysław Weinberg

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Sunday February 29th, 2018 – Leon Botstein and his American Symphony Orchestra always present interesting programming of rarely-performed works. On January 28th, the theme was “Jews in Soviet Russia after the World War” and was perhaps one of their finest concerts. Presented were three works by two composers: first half was dedicated to Mieczysław Weinberg and second half to Vieniamin Fleishman. Both men were close friends with Dmitri Shostakovich, whose influence can be heard in their works.

Mieczysław Weinberg is perhaps the better-known of the two. Born in 1919 in Warsaw, Poland into an artistic family (his father was a conductor and composer of the Yiddish theater and his Ukrainian-born mother was an actress.) During the war his parents and younger sister were interned in the Lodz ghetto and died in the Trawnicki concentration camp. After the war, in the Soviet Union where he settled, Weinberg was arrested by the KGB in 1953. Shostakovich’s personal appeal to Lavrenti Beria – and Stalin’s death soon thereafter – saved Weinberg’s life. Weinberg’s vast musical output includes 22 symphonies, 17 string quartets, 9 violin sonatas, 7 operas, 40 film and animation scores (including for the Palm d’Or-winning film “The Cranes are Flying.”)

Leon Botstein began the concert with Weinberg’s “Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes,” composed in 1949. An ancient state – forced to be one of the Soviet Union’s republics between 1940 and 1991 – Moldavia’s culture is closely related to Romania’s and it’s folk melodies sometimes will bring to mind folk melodies Brahms and Dvořák used in their famous collection of dances. Weinberg’s Rhapsody begins with a drive from the low strings and then an oboe introduces the first mournful theme. The Rhapsody moves easily between the mournful and infectious dance tunes, alternating soaring full string section and solos for individual instruments. There is a definite Klezmer dance tune near the end, which brings the work to an exciting close.

Weinberg’s substantial Symphony No. 5, composed in 1962, without a doubt takes inspiration from Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 4, which though it was premiered in 1961 was composed 25 years earlier, and Weinberg and Shostakovich used to play a two piano arrangement of it for friends long before the premiere. The work opens with a slow “siren,” two repeated notes, from the violins. This motif returns over and over throughout the symphony like a wail of doom, sometimes picked up by other instruments. There are sudden interruptions from the timpani, bringing to mind Mahler’s 6th Symphony. There are beautiful and beautifully-played solos for various instruments, most notably the flute (Yevgeny Faniuk is listed as principal flautist) and horn (Zohar Schondorf)). The Symphony ends with a hushed march, growling trombones and a mysterious celesta.

Veniamin Fleischman was born in 1913 and entered the Leningrad Conservatory in 1939. His teacher, Shostakovich, called Fleishman his favorite student. While a student, on Shostakovich’s suggestion, Fleishman began composing the opera “Rothschild’s Violin,” from a short story by Chekhov. (Fleishman wrote his own libretto.) When the Nazis invaded the USSR in the summer of 1941 Fleishman enlisted in the Red Army and was killed on September 14 near Leningrad. Shostakovich went to great lengths to retrieve Fleishman’s manuscript of the opera. He completed and orchestrated the work in 1943-44, and later went to great lengths to have it performed, though without much success. Its sympathetic portrayal of Jewish people no doubt did not fit comfortably with the Soviet regime. There was one concert performance in Moscow in 1960 and a staged performance did not take place until 1968. Shostakovich wrote in his memoirs: “It’s a marvelous opera – sensitive and sad. There are no cheap effects in it; it is wise and very Chekhovian. I’m sorry that theatres pass over Fleishman’s opera. It’s certainly not the fault of the music, as far as I can see.”

The main character, a Christian coffin maker Yakov Ivanov, undergoes a spiritual crises and something of an awakening. After Yakov’s wife Marfa informs him that she is dying, they both reminisce about their dead child, and Yakov realizes he will have to build his own wife’s coffin. “Life is all loss, only death is gain,” he says. Though Yakov quarrels with Rothschild, the young flautist in the local Jewish orchestra, at the end he leaves Rothschild his most prized possession: the violin, which Rothschild begins to play as the opera ends.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a magnificent opera. Fleishman, editing Chekov’s story, brilliantly removed all secondary characters and stories, keeping only the story of the coffin-maker. We know nothing even about the young Jew to whom Yakov leaves his violin; nor about Yakov’s wife Marfa, who is dying. This is a story of one man, there are no loungers or pauses in the narrative. It moves quickly through monologues and dialogues, only pausing for Yakov’s final apotheosis where he comes to understand his life and losses. Though the characters, especially Marfa, feel sorry for themselves, there is no sentimentality or cheap dramatic effects. The simplicity of it is what gives the work so much power.

The quartet of singers assembled for the opera was perfect. Bass Mikhail Svetlov (above) was a deeply moving and beautifully sung Yakov. The only native Russian speaker in the cast, he projected the text and all its nuances in a way few can. His is a big, rich voice, with an easy top.

Mezzo-soprano Jennifer Roderer (above) was a plum-voiced Marfa; managing to be both a nagging self-pitying wife and a woman who, perhaps on her deathbed, has obviously suffered so much. What kept flying through my head as she was singing is that Ms. Roderer’s large, beautiful and booming mezzo would make a fantastic Fricka; it is a role she sings and we can only hope she is able to sing it at the Metropolitan Opera (which is supposed to bring back its Ring cycle soon.)

Tenor Marc Heller (above), singing the role of the leader of the Jewish orchestra, would make a pretty good Siegfried. The huge, ringing voice flew easily over the orchestra and Maestro Botstein’s rather unforgiving volume.

Lyric tenor Aaron Blake (above) was a lovely and nervous young Rothschild. There is actually very little for Rothschild to sing, so Mr. Blake made up for it with pantomime acting, particularly at the end after Yakov has gifted him his fiddle (kindly loaned for the proceedings by a violinist on stage), and an extended orchestral postlude (including lovely solo violin playing by concertmaster Gabrielle Fink) summarizes not only Yakov’s sacrifice, but Rothschild’s future. Intentionally or not, there was something quite poetic and moving in the fact that a member of the orchestra gave up her violin and was not able to play the extended orchestral passage in the end, mirroring Yakov’s own losses.

It is also worth nothing that the final orchestral passage goes from being lightly scored and transparent to having a very close resemblance to the searing final moments of Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a great opera; it deserves to be staged.

~ Ben Weaver

January 31, 2018