Apparently, it's a trend

I was wondering why the search engine hits for "Karita Mattila nude" were up again: it seems her tour of Flimm's Fidelio production -- mind you, she's not nude in this one -- has taken her to London. (And if you haven't seen it, go.) Hence pieces like this interview, in which we discover a certain similarity to Renee Fleming:

I ask for her future plans – only to hit a surprise. "I’m working on a jazz project," she beams, "Four concerts, with the best Finnish resources."

Huh.

Incidentally, until the Met and DG get on the ball and release the Salome DVD, those looking for nude shots from that production will have to buy this book.

Next

The 2006-2007 Met season has come to an end (and I'll have one catch-all post with most of the things I failed to post) but its successor begins in four months.

As much as one might question the direction of Peter Gelb's managership on the whole, its changes may, in this transitional period when the names and habits of old continue next to the new, make for a most enjoyable 2007-2008 season. As one perceptive Opera-Ler has observed, one of Gelb's policies appears to be to ride his stars until they drop. This may prove unwise in the long run -- it is, for one thing, part of the homogenization discussed in the previous post -- but its short-run appeal is obvious. We will see Natalie Dessay star in two new productions, Renee Fleming in two Verdi revivals, and so on. Even La Boheme is cast with Angela Gheorghiu and Ramon Vargas (who also stars in a revival of Clemenza) for its entire run, and the most "why are they bothering?" production -- a new Macbeth with Andrea Gruber -- has an interesting lineup of men including a later cast of Joseph Calleja, Carlos Alvarez, and Rene Pape.

Almost all productions have, in this manner, a star or two to grab one's interest. Only, I think, the Norma has nothing to recommend it but the surely-to-be-abused music. That is, barring ill health... Dessay's cancellation from last Sunday's Met Orchestra concert (where Michelle DeYoung filled in admirably) got me to wondering what Gelb might do if she had to withdraw from one or more of the new productions. Let Anna Netrebko massacre another half-learned bel canto role, perhaps? Let's hope we don't find out.

As for myself, I'm most looking forward to Lucia (opening night is the "event", but the later combination of Dessay and Giuseppe Filianoti should be explosive) and Ernani, wouldn't miss Röschmann's Countess or Mattila's Manon Lescaut, and will probably end up seeing everything else besides Romeo (note the "conductor"), Norma, First Emperor, and Satyagraha.

Reflected tastes

If Peter Gelb has made a watchword of the "theatrical", it's only to be expected. It's after all of a piece with his own tenure at the Met. He himself has had the leading role, strongly present while battling the Bad Old Days on the scene of... well, not necessarily the physical house, but the virtual Metropolitan Opera that exists in the newspapers and in the mind's eye of many never even there. And so he has given Natalie Dessay more prominence than ever, despite her post-surgical instrument; kept faith with Karita Mattila, including (apparently) a Luc Bondy Tosca for 2009; and has perhaps raised the energy level on the audience side of the house (though the relative dearth of new bloggers may suggest the opposite).

But if actual implementation of Gelb's stated goals has at times shown itself to be skin-deep or counterproductive, that too is of a piece. For as I noted from the beginning, Gelb has used and needed the appearance of change more than actual change. So when actual change, too, turns out to be about appearance, why not? (But let me be plain: neither plastic beauty nor advance reputation are "theatrical". Theater, as I've noted endlessly from this blog's third post, is a matter of presence, not surface or history, and trying to pass the latter off as the former shortchanges new operagoers.) In this vein, for example, the nominally audience-building ventures of moviecasting and rush tickets turn out to be principally enjoyed by old, often retired men and women of long acquaintance with opera and the Met who, though perhaps enjoying some frisson from participating in the putative future of opera, are by no means themselves that future. (Incidentally, I wonder if attendance has actually increased by more than what Agnes Varis and Karl Leichtman's gigantic subsidy prompted.) The productions turned in by Broadway imports Bartlett Sher and Jack O'Brien were undramatic clunkers. (I do, mind you, expect much better from Mary Zimmerman for the season-opening Lucia.) And so on.

*     *     *
And yet it seems true that Gelb is de-emphasizing singing per se. For the moment it is tempered by the fact that his aesthetic ideas remain subordinate to financial reality -- that is, the need to accomodate audience-drawing legacy stars of Stimme -- but I believe it will grow more pronounced over time. Would a Stephanie Blythe (rightly singled out by Alex Ross as a counterpoint) ever in fact get a Met debut today? How about in 2012, if it's still Gelb's house?

From one broader perspective, this may simply be the end of American (that is, Met) exceptionalism in operatic aesthetics. Of course a generalization doesn't capture every production or every year over time, but the long-discussed truism that the Met has, compared to the great European houses, been rather more interested in physical sound than dramatic-theatrical elements seems, on the whole, fair. Part of this was the houses (both huge), part -- in a bit of touching irony -- the last mass media framework (the Texaco broadcasts), part the sort of singers more often grown here. But it goes deeper, I believe -- after all, vocal-theatrical legend Olive Fremstad was American, and forced out of the Met by Gelb's greatest predecessor Giulio Gatti-Casazza long before broadcasts began (though not long before Gatti-Casazza went on to dump Claudia Muzio, the greatest vocal dramatist we can hear on record).

For while opera was -- and still, largely, remains -- a court or governmental institution in Europe, it has been here a private enterprise, subject to the individual tastes of ticket buyers and donors and subsidized by government mostly indirectly through those tastes (the tax deduction).

Now it should come as no surprise that the circles of bureaucrats, intellectuals, and elite tastemakers in charge of state-backed opera have, collectively, tastes and priorities rather distinct from those in the broader and not-much-overlapping group of people who spend their own privately-earned money -- often quite a lot of it -- to support the art here. (Of course, this apparently has come as a big -- and nasty -- surprise to many a Euro-mandarin who's come to head an American arts organization, most recently Pam Rosenberg in San Francisco, so maybe it's not so obvious.)

What is different is not, I think, the range of tastes within a group -- every view in my original taxonomy is held, I think, everywhere -- but their balance. Many people come to the opera, give money, and stay loyal to the art because they just love the physical pleasure of the right voice. These are not, except perhaps for Jay Nordlinger, the people who end up writing opera reviews, not least because this sort of pleasure is too elemental to be verbal. I know a bunch of people like this: they may thrill to Jenufa as much as anyone, but in the end what they really want is to hear an echo of some particular primal tenor/soprano/whatnot sound that means "opera", preferably in a comfortingly familiar piece.

This perspective on opera is not, as I say, well represented in the official discourse, though it sort of runs amok on Opera-L (and the wierd hair-splitting and absolutism on such matters reinforces my sense of the futility of talk thereon). But something like it is probably held by most of the domestic audience. Here, where administrators are accountable, that has mattered -- what has been on stage has generally reflected this public taste.

*     *     *
And yet this singer-centric traditionalist view has never sustained the Met on its own. There have always been additional draws, and additional threads: glamour, novelty, one sort of musico-dramatic rigor succeeding another. The house has needed all of these to stay afloat.

But none before Gelb have proposed to set one of these principles above singing, to Europeanize the house and its sense of opera. For though Gelb is American, with a much better understanding of American institutions than Gerard Mortier is likely ever to show, and though he may make odd bragging pronouncements about European houses, his respin of this house and its values clearly reflects a European sensibility. His imported new stars (Damrau, Netrebko, Gheorghiu), the emphasis on looks and versimilitude, and not least his taking for granted or worse the wishes of his core audience speak for themselves.

Now the reason for all this is clear: the core audience is stuck and -- with the post-9/11 drop in foreign tourism -- insufficient, while the marginal audience is the group that loves novelty, both real and imagined. But as a politician who keeps his eye always on putative swing voters may find himself abandoned by his base, so Gelb may find a nasty surprise in his house's future. Maybe not -- perhaps the repeated boom cycles of the "new economy" have created a entire class of novelty-loving arts-lovers-with-money -- but then it would just be opera that suffers.

In this thicket Gelb may be hampered by his sincerity. Why shouldn't he, as he seems to, believe in theatricality -- the true live charge of opera -- as its true being? As you may have noticed from reading this blog, I pretty much do myself. And yet the other perspectives on opera are also true, and there's no reason seasons shouldn't cater to all, in sequence or together. A man of his press savvy can surely sell all of opera's truths. The art is too big, too varied for a global monoculture, particularly one against the wishes of so many enthusiasts.

Tongue tied behind his back

Sometimes I wonder if it wasn't to tweak his prominent teacher-predecessors, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and the late Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, that Matthias Goerne has taken such a haphazard approach to song texts. Even at his best he's been at times mealy-mouthed, and if last night's Carnegie Hall appearance showed him in reasonably good diction, it introduced a new element: bits of paper inside the piano, from which he seemed to study the words between and even during songs. (He still botched some.)

For despite putting aside their obsession with word and word-effect, despite himself fumbling with cue cards and word-memory lapses, Goerne illuminates the poems set by the great lieder composers at least as well as his forebears. Last night his uncannily beautiful instrument precisely registered every textual image and turn in mood, without giving any moment priority over the song's whole or losing the line of musical or dramatic focus. It is this latter, I think, by which he excels even Fi-Di: shorn of the odd postwar obligation to represent the institution of song, Goerne can uncompromisedly embody, e.g., the whole void with which Brahms' songs stoically cohabit. Next time, for a bigger challenge, might he start singing everything to "la la la la la" a la Rossini?

Christoph Eschenbach, ill-treated by the Philadelphia set, provided both measured and sympathetic accompaniment. The evening was a feast of collective focus, after which it seemed the crowd might call the players endlessly and happily back for ovations.

Welcome new readers

To all clicking through from Manhattan User's Guide, welcome. I doubt any short post can sum up opera, its current state in the city, or even this blog, but my first two years' favorite posts may give some sense of -- well, at least the latter.

Please also note the other opera blogs listed on the sidebar; they're written by listeners, professional critics, and singers, and done in all sorts of styles.

Orfeo cast change watch

Please note: I have no reason to believe this will happen. However, should anyone hear of David Daniels cancelling any performances in this new Met production, please leave a comment on this post or send me an email (at the sidebar address). His cover seems to be Tamara Mumford -- the woman I felt should sing the part in the first place -- and I would not like to miss any Orfeos she may do.

Meanwhile the Euridice of the staging is now the lovely and talented Maija Kovalevska. Did the originally scheduled Lisa Milne, I wonder, fall afoul of some Gelb weight directive? Milne did, at any rate, seem an odd choice for a physical Mark Morris production from the start, and though I enjoyed the sound of her Met debut, Kovalevska is no slouch there either.

Night of the second bananas

Jack O'Brien's mediocre new version of Il Trittico is not, at least, the worst new production of the season. With solidly handsome sets and design, it is a servicable thing that may, in some future year, be the basis for a memorable account. But that account was not last night's, and though blame should be split with the vagaries of casting, health, and performance that produced the opening night lineup, the evening's dramatic inertness doesn't do him credit.

The premiere had its moments; unfortunately, none were created by the characters who were supposed to carry the drama. That Luigi, the tenor in Tabarro (Salvatore Licitra, again remarkable in verisimo) and the Frugola/Principessa/Zita trio (the characters, one per opera, played by Stephanie Blythe) were spellbinding is fantastic, but doesn't exactly make up for the fact that Giorgetta and Michele in Tabarro, Angelica in her eponymous piece, and Schicchi in his didn't make much impression.

*     *     *
The program notes put this production of Il Tabarro on the waterfront of 1927 Paris, though it looks rather like Brooklyn circa 2007. The details are rendered realistically, though the water is frozen in its half-churned state. Most noticable in the staging is the lighting effect contrived by Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer: the sun sets over the course of the opera, turning the scene from late-afternoon clarity to red sunset to evening. But this bit of high-tech literalism seems to be the only aspect of the action that has been imagined. The more important flow of time -- the subjective ebb and flow as the characters interact, lurk, and give in to fatal passion -- isn't much cultivated.

This calls for star turns among the leads, and in a sense there is one. As the other man, Licitra energizes the stage -- and one's ears -- whenever he appears. In another Puccini opera this might be enough, but here the baritone and soprano are the focus. Maria Guleghina does a decent enough job, but her sullen Giorgetta seems short on sexual energy. (Frugola should not be able to steal the female side of the show.) Meanwhile it's poor form to knock Frederick Burchinal, who after all filled in for the ill Juan Pons on short notice, but while commendable in character parts, neither baritone has the presence or vocal distinction to carry a new production. Still, all parts were well-sung -- not least debuting blogger-soprano Anne-Carolyn Bird (as the female Young Lover), whose sound in the house is rather more liquid than I'd been expecting. I was impressed, and wouldn't be surprised to see her again in bigger and better things.

*     *     *
Suor Angelica contains the evening's one big directoral miscalculation: the vision of Angelica's dead child is made as schlocky-looking as one can imagine, with him here coming through an actual set of doors all in white to take her into Heaven. This does Puccini no favors, but its literalness is characteristic. This staging, too, uses the day-to-night lighting effect; there is also an actual donkey.

Barbara Frittoli sounds sadly diminished in the title part. Neither voice nor -- more shockingly -- phrasing and character showed much of the focus that once made her a commanding performer. The contrast with Stephanie Blythe's electric Principessa could not have been more pronounced.

*     *     *
Finally, Gianni Schicchi was a directorial success. The farcial timing and manner, though perhaps overstated a bit, were coordinated very well among the cast. Here James Levine, too, seemed most energized. Again, all involved sang well, particularly Stephanie Blythe and the tenor -- here Massimo Giordano.

And still, the main character seemed a problem. Alessandro Corbelli has been an excellent character singer at the Met, and he remains one as Schicchi. But this persona is too small for Schicchi, who should have the vigor and spirit that the Florentine aristos lack. Here Schicchi has more of Dudley Moore than arriviste businessman in him, and it lessens the piece. It is fun, though, despite the chorus of alarm watches at midnight (the show runs until about 12:20).

*     *     *
For those who remember the last City Opera production, with Mark Delavan terrific as Michele and Schicchi, this Trittico doesn't come close. The final bows told the tale: Stephanie Blythe pre-emptively waved off the storms of appreciation that had greeted her at prior curtains, perhaps to avoid showing up the actual leads, while Jack O'Brien and his team took a cowards' bow with James Levine. No one is going to boo Levine, but perhaps next time someone ought to boo O'Brien for not facing the music himself. His production wasn't even that bad: it just lacked... theatricality.

Wag the dog

In a certain sense, the most distressing thing about next season's Met lineup (on the content of which I'll post soon) is the growing importance of the theatercasts. According to the press release,

“Metropolitan Opera: Live in HD” expands from six to eight opera transmissions: Roméo et Juliette (December 15), featuring Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazón; Hansel and Gretel (January 1); Macbeth (January 12); Manon Lescaut (February 16), starring Karita Mattila and Marcello Giordani and conducted by James Levine; Peter Grimes (March 15); Tristan und Isolde (March 22), featuring Deborah Voigt and Ben Heppner and conducted by Levine; La Bohème (April 5), starring Angela Gheorghiu and Ramón Vargas; and La Fille du Régiment (April 26).

All well and good, except for the sneaking suspicion that with every major production eventually being theater- and telecast, principal casting for them will soon -- if it is not already -- be more dependent on how singers appear in transmitted close-ups than how they, well, sing.

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As Sieglinde rightly notes, Peter Gelb has consistently invoked "theatrical" values to justify his production and casting innovations. What of these developments?

At first glance, the moviecasts would appear to be a de-theatricalized version of the art. With viewers isolated from performers in a sterile theater where one munches away on popcorn, there seems to be no room for the audience-performer charge that makes the theatrical experience. (Among the audience itself there is a dynamic, yes, but that's different -- and much less powerful. For some quantification, simply compare the urge to applaud, yell, and scream live versus at a movie.) Theater is not, as cinema, about the appearance of reality but the appearance of the real. There is no substitute for actual, sensed human proximity.

But actually seeing a broadcast was still a surprise. Because of the emphasis on close-ups and two-shots, it turns out that these Met moviecasts actually de-theatricalize not only the operagoing experience but the operas themselves. Characters rarely -- and only briefly -- appear in the context of the stage, as individuals before the stage population (chorus, extras, character parts, etc.) who, from Greek days, represent the audience in the action. The action seems to be experienced from inside the skin of each character -- successively, as the camera jumps around, as if in some dreamlike series of self-transformations. The characters' relation to each other and the whole -- always clear in theater -- is far out of reach.

Of course this helps certain performers while handicapping others. Renee Fleming, for example, performs in this dreamy, undramatic trance anyway, but in the house it's a liability. On the big screen, her Tatyana's muddy physical relation to the stage and world is invisible, and her comfort in performing in close-up (or with one partner) doubles her success. Similarly, I can believe reports of Anna Netrebko's inadequate Elvira being magnetic onscreen. That touch of narcissism that makes her act more snake-charmer than theater is perfect for the camera. (And perhaps both of these ladies have been so raised on the close-up culture that they don't realize that opera isn't cinema?)

But this, then, is the problem: the advent of these moviecasts favors not just looks over voice (more on this anon), but anti-theatrical performers over theatrical ones. So far this still means people who have become famous in live performance (though one could argue about Netrebko), but it may not always be so. Theatricality? Fat people aren't the problem -- non-theatrical presentations are.

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That said, the Onegin performance was terrific, despite the stray leaf on Ramon Vargas' head; whether it bodes ill or no, Fleming and Dmitri Hvorostovsky did remarkably well with cinema-scale touches in their scenes (though the perfection of Vargas' physical assumption was, unfortunately, one of the things veiled by the paucity of long-shots). As a document, these things are valuable -- I'd buy a Blu-Ray version if such existed. It is their effect on the Met's core business that is the worry.

Return of the revenge of the off-topic diva

I meant to say something about next season, but first, the official off-topic diversion of this blog.

Although she's been a critical and cognoscenti favorite for years, American Ballet Theatre hasn't much shown off the talent of Veronika Part. Though her art has grown, she has the same "soloist" title at which she came to the company from the Mariinsky (where she was also a soloist), and in recent Met seasons has danced the lead in just single matinees of Swan Lake.

This year, however -- perhaps due to the influence of former ABT legend Gelsey Kirkland, who is helping choreograph the piece -- Part will premiere the company's new production of Sleeping Beauty, as well as dancing leads in La Bayadere, Balanchine's Symphonie Concertante, and that single matinee of Swan Lake. Could a promotion to principal be far behind?

The other ABT event is, of course, the retirement and farewell performances of Alessandra Ferri, but if the name rings a bell you've probably already bought tickets.

Homage to Ruth Ann

There are a lot of things one could say about this article on Ruth Ann Swenson, and most of the more obvious ones have already been aired. Some red herrings aside, Swenson's own take seems essentially true: as an unaloof, technically sound, American (!) stimmdiva, she's pretty much the opposite of what Gelb has promoted as the house's future. So -- and surely this is the bitterest part -- it doesn't matter that this year at the Met may have been her best in a decade or more. (Or in some twist, was it this uncharacteristic bitterness and discomfort that, despite cancer, made the success? Life, and art, are funny.)

Of course, there are other perspectives. As her voice lowered and deepened over the years, she's moved from the natural repetoire of her milky-soubrette temperament (she's the finest Adina I ever expect to see) to parts calling for more emotional and dramatic command. These -- and her ease in her new voice -- have been slow in coming, and if Marguerite was a worthy harvest, previous runs of Manon, Violetta, and the like failed to inspire. The marketing stuff has, in a sense, just given her less leeway for that sort of thing.

Next season's Violettas are primed to be different, but that is circumstance. Were she again the comfortable vocalist, what roles then? I do hope I get to find out. Her unmistakable sound, when freed to do its thing, makes me very happy.

(Incidentally, I've long thought she'd be the ideal Adalgisa, but houses have truly bizarre ideas about that part.)

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Mind you, the part of the Times in this isn't pretty. How bizarre that it's taken this turn for them to notice a singer -- any singer -- not actively pushed by Met administration!


UPDATE (4/7): I've heard quite an interesting rumor (somewhat far from most speculation) as to the context of this story. Even if true, however, everything above still goes.

Met Council Finals 2007

Maury did a positive impressions post of this event, so I offer a rundown this time. To my ears there were two clear standouts -- Amber Wagner and Michael Fabiano -- with the other winner's circle spots being up for grabs among pretty much everyone in a very good field. (It was the opposite of last year's mostly uninspiring parity.)

The singers sang two arias at a time on the Act I set of Traviata, in this order:

Keira Duffy, soprano (27)
"Tornami a vegheggiar" (Alcina)
"Caro nome" (Rigoletto)

Matthew Plenk, tenor (24)
"Quanto e bella" (Elisir)
"Here I stand" (Rake's Progress)

Amber L. Wagner, soprano (26)
"Do not utter a word, Anatol" (Vanessa)
"Dich, teure Halle" (Tannhäuser)

Nicholas Pallesen, baritone (28)
"Avant de quitter ces lieux" (Faust)
Largo al factotum (Barber)

Jamie Barton, mezzo (25)
"Priva son d'ogni conforto" (Giulio Cesare)
"Hurr hopp hopp hopp" (Hänsel und Gretel)

Michael Fabiano, tenor (22)
"Torna ai felici di" (Le Villi)
"Kuda, kuda" (Onegin)

Disella Larusdottir, soprano (30)
"Oh! quando volte" (Capuleti)
"Chacun le sait" (Fille du Regiment)

(Intermission)

Ryan Smith, tenor (30)
"E la solita storia" (L'Arlesiana)
"Che gelida manina" (Boheme)

Ryan McKinny, baritone (26)
"O du mein holder Abendstern" (Tannhäuser)
"E sogno? o realta?" (Falstaff)

Angela Meade, soprano (29)
"Ach, ich liebte" (Abduction)
"Casta Diva" and cabaletta (Norma)

Alek Shrader, tenor (25)
"Il mio tesoro" (Don Giovanni)
"Ah! mes amis" (Fille du Regiment)

Wagner, Barton, Fabiano, Smith, Meade and Shrader were picked as winners.

Keira Duffy apparently sang from Lulu at the semifinals, but today picked a more traditional pair of arias. The Alcina piece was well-articulated but showed the weakness of her voice below the top. Gilda suited her better, her high notes quite strong and well-integrated though somewhat shout-y at times.

Plenk, the only tenor finalist not to win today, had an instrument at least as appealing as knocked-em-dead Fabiano, with whom he shares a certain sonic coloring. He didn't, however, do anything memorable with it.

In fact the finalists more or less across-the-board offered professional-quality vocal sound. But only the well-named Amber Wagner could become a star on voice alone. Hers is a dark, electric, tangibly broad sound that gave me goosebumps from the first bar. That she also seems to be an enthusiastic and energetic interpreter (particularly of the Vanessa bit, which she's actually sung in full) is just icing. The only quibble I have is that the top doesn't seem as consistently solid as the rest of her voice; it was under control today, but I hope it's an actual strength in the future.

Nicholas Pallesen sang his selections well, and gave quite a lively physical show as Figaro besides. There were some slight technical issues, and he seemed to lag behind the beat from time to time (probably the fault of short rehearsal time), but I wouldn't have been too surprised if he'd been picked as a winner.

Jamie Barton's win, on the other hand, was a surprise. She moved around the stage comfortably, but the voice sounded recessed and made very little impression.

Fabiano, at the ripe old age of 22, is a thoroughly communicative singer in the Italian style. Phrasing, emotional commitment and connection, solid technique -- he has "star" written all over him despite a somewhat ordinary quality to his high notes. (Then again: Domingo, Villazon...)

Larusdottir, who has a starring role in Anne Midgette's Times article, provided an interesting contrast to Keira Duffy. Where Duffy was weak below the top, the Icelander had a lovely bell-like peal in the middle of her voice but petered out unimpressively on high. She was charming enough and is a late starter, but the voice (particularly without an evidenced trill) doesn't seem well set up to sing high coloratura roles. Still, much of the sound was impressive.

Ryan Smith is a work in progress. The L'Arlesiana aria showed off his powerful instrument well, but he nearly came apart in the Puccini, eventually picking his way through without much grace or legato. The Met staff loves this sort of big-voiced project, though, so we may see him in the Lindemann program sooner rather than later.

The other Ryan -- McKinny -- is a Cardiff Singer of the World finalist, but didn't distinguish himself from the pack here. In fact I thought his sound, though pleasant, a bit unnatural.

Angela Meade did better with "Casta Diva" than its cabaletta or the Abduction aria, both of which highlighted the lack of integration of her sometimes-squeally highest notes. Still she has a nice basic sound, good breath, and a trill. As with Larusdottir, I'm not sure what she's going to sing: her voice (for now, at least) lacks the impact of a real dramatic coloratura, and lyric sopranos of her body type are at a big disadvantage these days.

Finally, Alek Shrader did well in the lyric aspects of Ottavio's aria. "Ah! mes amis" was OK -- all those Cs were narrow, though dead on solid, and the style less impressive than in the Mozart. A deserving winner who may amount to much, but I'm afraid I don't share Maury's big enthusiasm.

All in all, a very impressive year. I only wish I'd heard some semifinalists as well.

*     *     *
I hate to be the jerk who comes out and says it, but Jamie Barton's out-of-left-field win today (after Katherine Jolly's win last year) should push the Met to ensure that no finals judge is affiliated with a company with which any finalist has strong connection. Is there some other explanation for the result than home cooking by judge Diane Zola (of HGO) for HGO-YAPper-to-be Barton? I absolutely hope so. Maybe she showed a lot more in the semis and rehearsal, or the judges were sitting really close (which, incidentally, is another bad idea), or something else. But frankly, we shouldn't even have to wonder about this. The fact that people even discuss the possibility (and they are, without my help) is bad news for the Met, especially as they're trying to leverage the competition into positive PR. Get some foreigners if necessary!

*     *     *
To end on a slightly happier note, where the heck is Twyla Robinson? I can't forget how she brought down the house with "To This We've Come" five years back. Now she has fancy management and a huge concert career but no opera here, and only a little across the plaza. This has to change: perhaps her SFO summer engagements will get the ball rolling.


UPDATE (4/2): Another judge, Brian Dickie of Chicago Opera Theater, blogged his experience of the event.

UPDATE 2 (3/8/09): Please see the followup post on Ryan Smith.

UPDATE 3 (4/28/09): A post on the documentary of this event is here.

I did what?

Digging through some old papers, I came across the libretto from the last New York presentation of Egyptian Helen, which I'd completely forgotten I'd attended. Deborah Voigt was, then as now, Helena, with Carl Tanner as Menelaus and Celena Schafer (who stole the show) as Aithra. What did I get from this American Symphony concert performance? Mostly that Die Liebe der Danae -- the previous American Symphony concert opera -- despite a certain lack of dramatic authenticity (and Joseph Gregor's cardboard characterizations), is a lot easier to put over than Helen. Pedestrian conducting? Mostly overmatched cast? Lack of sets? All one needs is a hint of charisma in Danae and a touch of musicality in Jupiter and the last act works wonders.

I wish I'd made it over to Dresden for the Strauss event this year (which included Danae).

Can he forgive her?

If Hugo von Hofmannsthal erred in Die Ägyptische Helena -- and he's been accused of much -- it was to make Menelaus (a tenor!) the main character of the piece. For surely he knew Strauss' treatment of tenors.* And perhaps it was this that made him go ballistic at the substitution of the correct, accomplished but somewhat dull Elisabeth Rethberg -- the Deborah Voigt of her day -- for glitzy stage animal Maria Jeritza at the piece's premiere. For a star like Jeritza can command the audience's attention when neither singing nor advancing the plot, and convince all that this story -- like the Trojan War's -- is absolutely all about her, and that the Strauss soprano bits she gets are, in fact, the evening's point.

To be fair, of course, Deborah Voigt may not be the Deborah Voigt of her day any more. The voice has shed the last of its fat and become something new (even since last season): from top to bottom there's now an edge to the sound that's interesting but sometimes acidic. And yet she still excels where she excelled -- the vocalism. With the rest she's no longer uncomfortable, as her older self on occasion was, but it's still not where energy and danger are. None will mistake her presence for Karita Mattila's.

But the crisis of the piece is Menelaus'; Helena, as written, remains static. Like Wozzeck, all value in his world disintegrates as he faces his beloved's infidelity, and... Well, things work out better for the Greek King. And why not? Poor Wozzeck loves a woman, and a hard-pressed one at that, while Menelaus is attached to Helena, the embodiment of man's universal (as he uncomfortably discovers in the desert) and unlimited valuation of woman, without which he would have had neither Trojan War nor child (which is to say, no human race).

So Helena is, while Menelaus must carry the drama. But this clashes with the musical aspects of the piece. Strauss' characteristic cruelty to tenors is almost absurd here -- and as most companies will cast this for and around the soprano anyway, even a tolerable assumption requires some luck. Further, Strauss -- again characteristically -- makes much of the opera's lyric set pieces, while the in-between sounds pretty much like loud filler. (I would have liked to see the contemplated singspiel version actually happen.) Unfortunately "the rest" includes much of what makes Menelaus sympathetic or even comprehensible.

And yet there's enough beauty in score and text to make an absorbing, worthwhile night at the opera, despite a useless, cheap-looking production (the ridiculous final curtain should've been sufficient grounds for booing) and individual performances that, while pretty good, don't demand huge praise. (Diana Damrau's deepwater Despina of an Aithra was of most interest.) My thanks to the Met for doing it, but could they cast someone more congenial for Jeritza parts (Ariadne, the Empress, Helena, and even Tosca) at some point?


[* My copy of the Strauss-Hofmannsthal correspondence is elsewhere, so I've forgotten how much discussion of voice types actually came up for this opera.]

UPDATE (4/1): Straussmonster has offered detailed thoughts on the production.

Snowbound

Outside my window here, it doesn't look like I've been snowed out of New York and Monday's second Helena, but that's what seems to have happened.

Of course, from others' early returns this may be a reprieve of sorts.


UPDATE (3/22): Back in the city, and it looks like I'll be at Helena tomorrow. Review to follow.

In brief

Nietzsche's praise of Wagner as "our greatest miniaturist in music" was not, of course, entirely a compliment. But there's something to it. Meistersinger, for example, begins to climax at its finest, most intimate point, as all private strands between the principals harmonize in the quintet "Selig, wie die Sonne". And it's this singular private kernel of perfection that makes the following public scene the greatest in opera: the rightness of the world quietly achieved doesn't break or slip, but radiates out -- methodically, over orchestra, stage, scene, and public until, with the most ecstatic trill in the canon (at which Hei-Kyung Hong makes a decent stab), Eva crowns Walther and all in creation is well...

Almost. Hans-Joachim Ketelson's effectively cartoonish Beckmesser may be true to Wagner's intended caricature of a critic, but the piece was much richer with Thomas Allen (the 2001 Beckmesser, seen on the DVD of that revival). Allen's character felt as understandably and deeply as his young rival -- if in a prickly, ineloquent, inappropriate way -- and his spite was full of an old man's fear. Beckmesser's loss, here a bit of derision, becomes with Allen a sad (and funny) necessity. (In fact I'd have liked even more humaneness: at San Francisco's last Meistersinger, director Hans-Peter Lehmann had Beckmesser and Sachs -- Allen and Morris, in fact -- actually together at the end. This sort of thing is often a cheap and horrible idea -- Ariadne is worst abused by such license -- but I think it improves Wagner's comedy.)

But never mind that caveat: there is no substitute for seeing Act III well-sung and well-conducted in the house. Go.

*     *     *
Simon Boccanegra is, like Oedipus, the story of a usurper. (Simon does get into office through the process, it's true, but it's quite clearly tainted.) This explains -- or rather stands for -- why the story ends with his undoing, but it also made me more receptive to Thomas Hampson in the title part. He's far from the classic "Verdi baritone", but the Hampsonisms for which he's taken much stick over the decades have, with the accretion of grit and a hint of hoarseness, aged into interesting versions of themselves. It sounds both right and a bit out of place -- much as an old pirate might seem, even after twenty-five years as Doge.

This was a terrifically effective show all around, not least Fabio Luisi in the pit. Many seemed moved to tears. I have no idea how Maury could have walked out on it, unless it was post-Jenufa hangover.