The Met's Superficial Wälkure

No new production at the Met this season has enjoyed as much hype as Robert Lepage's new Der Ring des Nibelungen. A daunting task for any opera company to undertake, (and one guaranteed to garner respect for smaller companies), this new production is to be premiered over two seasons, and is the most expensive ever developed, for any opera, by the Met. Some can say it is part of the Met general manager, Peter Gelb's new vision of appealing to a broader and younger audience. This is a logical aspiration if our culture is to seriously consider the survival of opera as an art form, beyond the gray heads currently pervading the audience. But that was a worry in the 1950s as well, and somehow opera found a home among the baby-boomers. Now it is our turn, and it just warms my heart to see so many educated homosexuals at the Met. So appealing to a broader audience is a nice if not urgent idea, just so long as it doesn't cheapen the art form.

Problems with going too contemporary too fast tend to arise when a new director is more focused on showing off his/her concept than he/she is on the former enhancing the aged musical drama we all love. When done properly and with care, we are reminded that these beautiful old works of art can still come alive on stage, today. A new production must serve an opera the way costumes serve a movie. For maximum effect, they do not detract attention, but instead augment the drama. A good costume designer knows not to flaunt his work above the plot. The music is the most important aspect of opera, and if the visual does not augment the aural, going to opera live would be a very stilted experience. After seeing Das Rheingold and Die Wälkure, it is clear that Mr. Lepage does not understand this hierarchy.

For his new production of Wälkure, he was much more focused on showing off his new 45-ton, rotating, creaky, expensive set, then having it augment the most beautiful moments handed to him by the music. The first act started on the right note when the planks of his "machine" (as the set is called by the cast and crew) slowly rotated into a forest formation, each representing a tree - the woods through which Siegmund is fleeing his attackers. This gradual formation, accompanied by the fleeting music was actually quite beautiful. But then the "machine" continued rotating upwards, forming the roof of Hunding's house. In doing this, it exposed the black rehearsal floor below. If I were sitting in the orchestra, it wouldn't have been so obvious, but from the balcony it was just blatantly ugly, and baffling considering how expensive this production is. Couldn't they blow some fog over it, or something? For the majority of act 1, most of the action took place upstage, hidden underneath this roof contraption. The result was a muffled sound from the singers, which made this emotionally charged music sound distanced and anything but intimate. Why didn't Mr. Lepage choose to use the exposed downstage part of the "machine" until the third scene? When Sieglinde and Siegmund finally moved onto it and out from the mess upstage, I was reminded that they in fact have great voices after all. Jonas Kaufmann sounded like a brave hero as Siegmund, if he at times pushed his voice; while Eva-Maria Westboek rightly existed in emotional turmoil as Sieglinde, even though her voice was often times covered by the enormous orchestra. In regards to blocking, it seemed like during the most of this act, directions were either non-existent or corny and superficial. There was hardly any acting creativity in relation with the music, and when there was, it just looked like a soap opera. I should have just closed my eyes and enjoyed the music.

The second act was redeemed, primarily because of Stephanie Blythe's ravishingly huge and expressive voice. Playing Wotan's wife, Frika is wheeled onstage atop her throne, over a wave-like, earth-shattering set formation. But more earth-shattering, like 9 magnitude level earth-shattering, was her voice, which was suitable for her godess character. Every phrase Ms. Blythe sang seemed to tell a story of anguish, and she was the only singer of the evening who really pulled the audience closer in. I'm sure I wasn't the only person out there tempted to break into applause when she finished singing about the importance of commitment and age-old values. But no, this ridiculous thing we call convention somehow makes is okay to shout continuous strands of "Bravo!" after an Italian aria, while during a five hour Wagner opera it is sacrilegious. I know that fits with the total emersion expected from audiences during Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk (total art form), but we should really be allowed some leeway when not at Bayreuth.

The second scene from act II can be seen as a musical conversation between orchestra, Wotan, and Brünnhilde. The music is incredibly poignant in its intimacy, contrary to many's perception of Wagner being this overbearing and daunting composer. Wotan is talking about the time of the gods coming to an end, a time of which he was the leader. After recounting his past honors, he agonises that it is time for a new era. "Let all I raised now fall in ruins! My work I abandon; one thing alone do I want: the end - the end!" Everything Bryn Terfel (Wotan) uttered this evening fit perfectly with a soul-bearing God. Deborah Voigt (Brünnhilde), on the other hand, seemed to be struggling to match him in vocal intensity. But once warmed up, she too was living in the anguish. (Never mind that her cheesy costume made her look like a Power Ranger). After the presentation of Frika, Mr. Lepage chose to make no major set changes or blocking decisions until the scene when Siegmund is killed. Just to back up a second, Mr. Lepage convinced the Met to fund this record-breaking "machine" set that seems to have so many uses of potentially beautiful designs. So why doesn't he change it up a little more frequently? When Wotan is recounting the history of the world, Mr. Lepage introduced the most ridiculous orb (or eye?), upon which projections appeared that had more in common with the Lord of the Rings than with Wagner's intimacy. Again, I should have just closed my eyes.

The start of the third act was a clever, if slightly goofy use of the "machine". For the introduction of the Valkures, all eight warrior sisters ride in on their horses. Except each horse here was a separate plank from the "machine". While it got applause from the audience, it seemed to be inhibiting the singers, who were more worried about holding on than projecting their voices. On opening night, one of them actually fell off.

The music towards the end of the third act has a much more forward propelling motion. Wotan is after all about to banish his favorite daughter. The way the music seems to flow in huge waves here makes it very easy for tears to pour down your face. Mr. Levine did a gorgeous job in projecting this beauty. The static manner in which he directed the first act was very different from the way I am used to hearing it - with more momentum like the Solti recording. None the less, it was captivating.

For the finale, Wotan encircles Brünnhilde with a ring of fire that only the bravest of heros should pass through. Mr. Lepage here hung a stunt-double of Brünnhilde from a cross-formation. It was a beautiful moment, if a bit too religious for me and probably Wagner as well, and it would have been nicer to see Ms. Voigt onstage instead, at the end of this beautiful conversation between father and daughter.

In case Mr. Lepage hasn't realized, opera is a little "deeper" than Broadway, or the circus. If my comments seem harsh, it's because after all, this is Der Ring des Nibelungen. The music is just too beautiful to tollerate injustice. If he keeps relying on these superficial special effects next season for Siegfried and Götterdämerung, the new emerging Met audience of educated homosexuals might just have to bitch-slap him. Welcome to the major leagues, Mr. Lepage.

James Levine and Diana Damrau

Over the past two weeks, two artists, in their respective engagements at the Met, have stood out for their brilliance. Ms. Damrau stared as the Countess in Rossini's Le Comte Ory, opposite Juan Diego Flórez and Joyce Di Donato. Mr. Levine ran Wozzeck, like nothing less than a king, in the pit.

To have a Rossini cast with these three singers is an impressive feat by itself. Mr. Flórez is as best as Rossini tenors come. His high notes are packed with precise energy that resonates unhinged throughout the house. Ms. Donato is a power-house bel-canto mezzo, whos tone is really close to shinny gold. Ms. Damrau, on the other hand, has all these vocal highlights required of a star (for years, her calling card was the Queen of the Night, okay?), but she also combines them with a nuanced and outrageous stage performance. It is almost as if she takes the stage directions only as a starting point, and then just luxuriates them to the point of ridiculous entertainment. In a comic opera like Le Comte Ory, she consistently reminds us why the opera buffa tradition had the same purpose as contemporary Broadway musicals do- it is approachable by just about anyone and it is hilarious when done right. Last season I saw her in La Fille du Régiment, and have never laughed harder at an opera. She consistently shines, bounces around, resonates, and is never ever stagnant.

Maestro Levine, despite his recent ailments and cut-back schedule, still brings enough punch to the orchestra and the singers to shut up the critics who say he's old. In everything I've ever seen him conduct, his fresh energy and tender humanity would make anyone listening to the recording think he was 25. There is a reason he attracts to much respect in the opera world- the affect just doesn't get better than when he is in the pit. A while ago I wrote that the deep level of connection he makes with his musicians must be something magical. With Wozzeck, this shit just became divine.

Boston Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall

Due to my out of body experience last time at Carnegie Hall, I just had to go back for more. This time was the Boston Symphony Orchestra under the helm of, guess who… James Levine. It ended up being however, a very different Carnegie Hall experience.

Music and artistic observations are clearly my focus in writing, but this time I need to start by talking about the audience. I love old people, I really do. They’re wiser than us, my grandmother was one of them and she introduced me to opera. Quite frankly, if they’re into the arts then they probably have some dough. Many of these treasured institutions like the Met or Carnegie Hall would simply not exist without their generous contributions. That said, when you’re attending a concert at the most famous hall in the world where the acoustics are especially magnificent, please turn down your hearing aid!!! Instead of giving my entire attention to the BSO last night, I (and I suspect many other audience members as well) was continuously disturbed by the high-pitched beeping of a hearing aid coming from somewhere in the audience. Even after two successive announcements by Carnegie staff regarding electronics and hearing aids specifically, this persons ear kept on tweeting. It’s not right for me to get so angry. My grandfather wears hearing aids, and I love him. I would also not hesitate to rip them out of his ears if they started going bonkers at Carnegie Hall.

The program for the evening was energetically high. It started out with a clunky, disjointed, yet rhythmically driving performance of Elliott Carter’s Dialogues, for piano and orchestra. The rhythmic vitality continued during a somewhat monotonous account of Hector Berlioz’s Harold in Italy. Yet full of energy and dramatic dynamics, I still felt unsettled, mostly because of this faint yet pervasive beeping sound coming from the audience.

Fresh from winning a Grammy Award for a recording of Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé, the BSO and James Levine reached their zenith during the second half. Ravel’s Piano Concerto for Left Hand was romantically and subliminally performed by the French pianist, Pierre-Laurent Aimard. The climax came during Daphnis et Chloé, Suite No. 2. The technically challenging wind parts seemed nothing more than a fleeting dream to the orchestra players, while Maestro Levine gradually and steadily increased the dramatic throttle. The closer we got to the end, the less it seemed like we were floating on clouds and the more it seemed like a speed racer straight out of Star Wars. The orchestra performed with the elegance of a matador and the raw energy of Serena Williams. Finally, the orchestra was playing loud enough to cover up that beeping.

Metropolitan Opera Orchestra at Carnegie Hall

How lucky am I to be in NYC during this day and age? There are not enough adjectives out there to describe how alive I felt during the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra concert yesterday at Carnegie Hall. Sublime is the best I got. Maestro Levine unleashed such free-spirited beauty from Carnegie Hall, making me willing to argue that today, this orchestra is the finest in the world. That statement is obviously very subjective, but judging from the captivated audience and the overwhelmingly rousing ovation following every piece, I’d be hard pressed to find an audience moved to such an extent as this one. During Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony I didn’t quite know whether to cry or hold my breath. Maestro Levine is a true master of Romantic expression, never hesitating to luxuriate the music with rubato and always letting the musicians shine with emotion. Some people might find his interpretations a bit too liberal and different from how the composer intended, but no one can deny their freshness and easy appeal. Classical music was never intended to be pondered over, or over-analyzed during a concert. Being a performer myself, I can tell you that over-thinking is the last thing you want to do when on stage. The reason Beethoven’s 5^th has become the leading sound of classical music isn’t because of the ingenious composition that has been dissected by scholars for decades, but instead because of its immediate captivation by the trained and untrained ear, alike. The opening short-short-short-long motive can be misconstrued as cliché when heard in commercials, movies, and other vices of uncontrolled capitalism. But when heard live, it rudely awakens the listener and captures their entire Self for approximately 35 minutes.

The concert started with Schubert’s Symphony No. 8, the Unfinished. Maestro Levine gave free reign to the strings, making the most of their dynamic swells and climaxes. Reflecting the title later attached to the symphony after Schubert’s death, this piece leaves the listener unsettled, as if there is something unfinished about themselves. It was the perfect way to begin a concert in NYC, where people are constantly moving, changing, and never ever finished. The final E major chord at the end oddly does not have a concluding feeling.

The coloratura soprano Diana Damrau followed in the concert, singing eight orchestral songs by Richard Strauss. Some were from Strauss’s early years, others from when he was older, but they all had that undying and unmistakable romantic expression. Ms. Damrau floated above the orchestra like a little dove, sometimes letting herself fall into the orchestral texture, and other times soaring high above. After the intermission she sang a diva worthy performance of “Grossmächtige Prinzessin” from Ariadne auf Naxos. She utterly yet positively ripped the music apart, playing and laughing throughout- the sign of a true Diva.

It is a shame that with the exception of a few concerts each year, we only hear this orchestra form inside a pit. They sound exceptional from there too, and their night-to-night performance is bound to change slightly with the impressive menu of conductors they offer, but there is something special when they are led by Maestro Levine. Maybe it is because his work brought this orchestra up to the level it is today, maybe the orchestra subconsciously gives more when led by their paternal figure, or maybe Mr. Levine is a magician. It’s probably a combination of all three. Yea, I like magic.

Metropolitan Opera- Simon Boccanegra

Has baritone repertoire always been suited for Plácido Domingo? In 1959 he certainly thought he was a baritone when he auditioned for the National Opera in Mexico City, only to be proven wrong by having one the longest opera careers in history, as a tenor. If his wild and trend setting tenor voice has waned over the past decade or so, his baritone voice has simultaneously ripened. Yes, it is probably a sign of age, but who cares? - especially for a man who made his Met debut in 1968 and who probably has the most impressive opera career in memorable history, (not to mention his managing two opera companies, simultaneously). There is a certain quality he has that is lacking among new talent today. His total mind and body commitment on stage was so different than Pavarotti’s ‘park and belt’ habit, (they were the two star tenors for decades). A prime example of longevity, his tone, diction, and deliverance were as beautiful tonight as they are in that famous Zeffirelli Traviata film of 1982, (the first opera LP my grandmother gave me). As far as I’m concerned we should be blessed to still be hearing him, no matter what range he sings in.

Simon Boccanegra took two trials to develop into a solid Verdi opera. It first premiered at La Fenice, Venice in 1857, after being commissioned by the theatre following the popular success of Il trovatore. Collaboration between the librettist, Maria Piave, and Verdi was difficult due to Verdi’s long absences in Paris. The opera turned out to have one of the worst librettos ever written, with too gloomy a plot and uninspired music.

Fast-forward to 1880, the librettist Arrigo Boito was in the middle of writing Otello, but Verdi had yet to commit himself to writing the music. His publisher, Guilio Ricordi had the idea of putting composer and librettist together for a trial run in a slightly less momentous opera like Simon Boccanegra. Along with minute changes throughout, Boito’s major revision was in creating a new second scene for Act I. Verdi’s admiration for the way he did that not only inspired him to “revise everything in sequence, just as if it were a matter of a new opera”, but gave him the reassurance he needed to collaborate on Otello.

Maestro James Levine led an energetically nuanced reading of the score. Long ago having championed the Verdi style, (he conducted the 1982 Zeffirelli Traviata), one could sense his comfort in the music tonight. He knew when to hold back and when to lash out with waves of expressive sound, all done very organically. The rest of the cast sang wonderfully, but I’m afraid they were overshadowed by the veteran’s triumph. The house erupted when Mr. Domingo came out for the curtain call, cheering even louder when joined by Maestro Levine. Mr. Domingo is 69 and Mr. Levine 67. Their careers have lined up countless times over the decades, and judging from the invigoration with which I left after this performance, neither is done yet.

Metropolitan Opera- Les Contes d' Hoffmann

At a time when Wagner was composing emotionally exhausting and apocalyptic dramas, and Verdi was writing beautiful melodies that were unifying a fractured Italy, Jacques Offenbach’s operettas were making people laugh. Though laughter might not be considered deep enough for ‘high art’, it is important to not always take yourself so seriously. Offenbach’s operettas helped Parisians forget about the rather grim conditions around them. The largely complacent and hypocritical Second Empire of Napoleon III had let living conditions become disgustingly bad in a city whose population had doubled between 1851 and 1881. Rightly so on an evening out, people wanted to forget about the hardships of life and enjoy themselves. Paris was a “smart permissive society dedicated purely to pleasure, full of people whom a society hostess would pick up in the course of some short lived intimacy, where a duke rubbed shoulders with a crook…People wanted one thing only: to have fun” (Michael Steen).

This was the atmosphere in which Offenbach’s operetta company, Théatre de Bouffes-Parisiens, thrived. Audience members would show up late to the theatre, chatting during the overture. The theatre smelled like a combination of gas and females’ unwashed undergarments. Through all of this, people laughed, clapped, and wanted to dance. After reaching his peak in the mid-1860s, the 1870 war with Prussia left Offenbach- a German, in a difficult position, forcing him to flee to Bordeaux, Milan, and later San Sebastian. After touring to New York City in 1876, he returned to Paris exhausted. Though he could still command and impressive box office, for Offenbach “the soberer atmosphere emerging in France’s Third Republic rekindled the uneasy sense of being an outsider” (Thomas May). His longtime collaborator, Ludovic Halévy wrote in 1875 of being exhausted- “we have done too much.” Offenbach had composed an average of one operetta act every six weeks- a workaholic by any standard. Though he still composed, he also wanted to create something of more ‘artistic’ quality.

Les Contes d’ Hoffmann is Offenbach’s Magnum Opus. In it he achieved something deeper and more lasting. His operetta base grew to include a refined lyricism, examples of which are common in today’s repertoire. Many have also elaborated on the suggestion that Hoffmann is Offenbach’s doppelganger. This is the point of view taken in Bartlett Sher’s production. In the opera, Hoffmann is rejected by three successive women, each time convinced he has found the right one. It is almost masochistic how he allows others to manipulate him in this dreamlike fantasy. Offenbach himself was a foreigner, never accepted in the highest Parisian circles. This sense of being an outsider was the basis of Mr. Sher’s at times over-the-top production.

I too found myself an outsider during this production. Most of it was darkly lit and with the exception of Olympia’s almost slapstick scene in Act I, the action was restricted to a very small part of the stage. From the back of the Family Circle I felt out of the loop. Even with all the glitter and provocative overtones, I had more fun closing my eyes and listening to the star quality singing. Kathleen Kim nailed the part of Olympia with pitch perfect acrobatics. Kate Lindsey sang beautifully and enchantingly as The Muse of Poetry and Nicklausse. Joseph Calleja gave his all as a passionate Hoffmann, and Anna Netrebko was a silky smooth Antonia, yet very hard to understand. The loudest applause goes to maestro James Levine, who made his return to the podium after a two-month recovery from back surgery. He transformed Offenbach’s light and playful music into something original and refreshing. Les Contes d’ Hoffmann shows us that light music certainly has its' place.

Metropolitan Opera- Opening Night Gala

On Monday, September 20 emotions flared in the opera world at the Met Opening Night Gala. Cheers and boos (both with much aggression), filled the hall following a brand new production of the repertory staple Tosca, by the Swiss born director Luc Bondy.

It’s rare even for the MET these days to find two lead singers who have so much personality individually yet mesh so well together in tone and stage presence. Thus was the situation with Marcelo Álvarez and Karita Mattila last night. Peter Gleb, the MET Artistic Director, has reportedly raised the stakes for singer’s performances. There is no more ‘parking and belting’ allowed. Singers have to be performers as well, and that involves acting. Sometimes this reduces the vocal capabilities of a singer compared to a polished album recording, but if the performer’s whole heart is involved, and the given message is being conveyed to the audience, I’m willing as an audience member not to hear vocal perfection. Ms. Mattila is a prime example of this. When singing in Act II she fell to her knees during the climax of an aria, which made her tone bump a little. This act fit so well with the drama that it ended up enhancing the mood. Brava to Ms. Mattila for showing her technique throughout. And to those who say she is not a ‘Puccini Soprano’, times are-a-changing, and there is more than one kind of interpretation per composer.

Regarding the production by Mr. Bondy, I agree with the MET for making a radical statement by putting this on at the Gala. The Zeffirelli production had been at the Met for over 20 years, so obviously yearly opera audiences had gotten used to it as a repertoire staple. Its traditional staging and over the top sets were truly a spectacle to be seen. Cool. So what? Opera is not stagnant and should constantly be changing. If traditionally directed productions continue being the norm, Opera as an art form will be dead in 50 years, if not sooner. It is vital to encourage new and daring productions, as long as they are faithful to the plot and foremost the score.

The first act was beautifully staged, especially with the chorus slowly walking downstage in dim lighting during the Te Deum. It seemed as if the audience was being possessed. Act II was the most dramatically startling. What is traditionally done as stated in the libretto, (placing candles and a cross around Scarpia’s body) was replaced by a melodramatic and fake leap from the windowsill as if anticipating the finale of the opera, followed by aimless walking, then reclining on a sofa in exhaustion. The question then is, if replacing the traditional staging with something dramatically different yet just as active would have been more offensive to the opera than minimal and reflective staging as seen here. I believe it would have. This version totally changes the focus. Seeing almost Grecian, pose-like movement from this Diva is radically new and it lets the audience become absorbed more so in the music without and superficialities. After all, Puccini did compose this finale as purely orchestral. Act III is minimally staged with a simple fort overlooking the ocean, and dim lighting throughout. Instead of leaping to her death, the production team uses a freeze frame effect. Right at the end Tosca runs up the tower to end her tragic life, only for a stunt double to take the leap and get caught midair in some sort of wire system. All that happens in a flash, providing a dramatic finish to a dramatically different Tosca. Bravo Luc Bondy for having cohones.

Regardless of your opinion regarding the production, there was certainly no disservice done to the music. It is sometimes seen as a gift when the orchestra is spotlessly led, (not that they ever mess up). James Levine always manages to hold the entire production together as if it were one moving organism. Furthermore, not to imply that the musicians don’t always give their all, but the orchestra produced such a high intensity of sound that most other conductors who grace the pit can only dream of matching. In light of such a daring production of Tosca, Maestro Levine provided the base that would please any traditionalist and progressive alike. Regarding the production, the only direction to move, especially in NYC, is forward.