Metropolitan Opera- From the House of the Dead

After a critical ‘beat-down’ following Luc Bondy’s new Tosca, the Met shined tonight with the company premiere of Leoš Janáček’s opera, From the House of the Dead. Both the Director, Patrice Chéreau and the Conductor, Esa-Pekka Salonen made their long overdue Met debuts with this near perfect production, in which they seemed to march lock-step the entire way. Both have long ago established themselves as visionaries, but tonight we saw the beauty of a perfect artistic match.

In music, we often get caught up with the desire to label or categorize a composer. Janáček can be seen as a staunch Czech nationalist. He despised Hapsburg rule, spoke Czech and Russian when they were unpopular, published volumes of peasant folk songs, and notated simple speech melodies of children. Nonetheless, we should not look at this opera as an anthology of glorified folk songs. Being labeled a nationalist composer often has the effect of boxing them in, leaving their music incapable of comparison with romantic or 20^th century composers. Clearly, it deserves more. From the House of the Dead’s music is not lushly Romantic or shockingly modern. Instead, it is as bare and naked a representation of the beautiful human soul as one can get.

This opera has no climactic plot like other operas. Its composition is a series of day-to-day events and monologues that take place during a relatively hopeless prison life. Grim yet beautiful, horrifying yet hysterically funny, this blatantly paradoxical composition was enhanced through honest direction and conducting. Mr. Chéreau showed us how people are able to at least temporarily enjoy themselves in prison, and how quickly that can all be taken away. Peter Mattei led a cast of performers that were all excellent. The entire cast seemed physically and psychologically committed to exploring the precariousness of life. Though most visible through confined environments like prison, it is something that everyone can benefit from understanding.

Mr. Salonen brought out the brilliance of the Met Orchestra. They played confidently, always balancing and never overpowering the singers. Rich, warm, and sometimes virtuosic textures came and went through this fragmented yet beautiful score. This music does not have the overpowering romantic effect that many might desire at the opera. There are no thirty-minute long build-ups. Instead it is honest, making no attempt to cover up life’s imperfections and representing every prisoner for who they are.

Mr. Chéreau and Mr. Salonen appear to have worked tirelessly at making sure their intentions lined up seamlessly and without disruption. Mr. Chéreau’s decision to project supertitles on different parts of the stage was contrary to Met practice, (the Met has personal title screens on the back of every seat) but it worked well with keeping the audience hypnotized within the bleak prison set, designed by Richard Peduzzi. The set was comprised of three tall concrete walls, resembling World War II towers. The costumes, by Caroline de Vivaise, were not prison uniforms, but plain underwear, shirts, and slacks. Both elements were timeless. We could have been in Soviet Russia, Hilter’s concentration camps, or Guantanamo Bay.

Metropolitan Opera- Turandot

Tonight was a simple reminder that Franco Zeffirelli still has a place at the Met. Beautifully flowing melodic lines, simple orchestration, use of a large chorus, emotionally touching music, traditional Chinese culture- all of this worked very well with an over-the-top production. Though very stereotypical in its costumes, sets, and even choreography, it certainly was a beautifully grand creation by Zeffirelli. In Act 2 when the Emperor’s temple is revealed, the audience always erupts into applause, and rightly so. It makes sense why the intermission before is 30 minutes long. It takes time to construct a temple on the Met stage. With all the stunts that take place, the glitter, the choreographed movements of over 100 people on stage, this production may seem like a Broadway show with an unending budget. Puccini was, after all a huge influence on musicals. Not only did Turandot’s 1926 premiere line up perfectly with the heart of Vaudeville shows, Minstrel shows, and the movie-musical, but musically speaking you can hear a new genre arising. His soft harmony and gentle orchestration play right into the development of Broadway and the West-End. Puccini had no pretensions to high art like Verdi or Wagner did, but there is no questioning that his melodies are accessible to anyone who want to listen, and go straight to the heart.

Call me crazy, but I went to see this production twice because of different sopranos in the title role. The first one was Maria Guleghina, who sang with the most distraction wobble, covering up much of the emotional brilliance in the music. The second Turandot was Lisa Lindstrom, making her Met debut with the role. She, on the other hand sang with a piercing lyrical flow, nailing all the high notes. Her slightly brittle tone was a perfect match for an emotionless princess. Marina Poplavskaya was perfect as Liù. Her warm tone, gentle lyrical lines, and breathtaking pianissimos earned a much-deserved ovation at the end. Marcello Giordani has become known as a ‘hit-or-miss’ singer at the Met. His high notes have the capability to sound like Franco Corelli’s, but he often lacks the heart-wrenching singing needed in Puccini. The first time I saw him he was more successful with his high notes than the second time, however bland singing marred the rest of his performance. He lacked emotional expression and lyrical line. His “Nessun Dorma” was too fast, and during the second performance he was audibly flat on the climactic note. Just like Verdi, Puccini is willing to offer us some of the most beautiful moments in music if the singer is willing to take the time and enjoy them. For such a musically accessible opera like Turandot, this grandly beautiful Zeffirelli production is a perfect match.

Metropolitan Opera- Aida

Verdi’ Aida is one of those magnificent operas guaranteed to sell seats. Pomp and glory, a heart-wrenching story, emotionally poignant and grand music- what more could an audience want? Fortunately for performance’s sake, it still takes an A-list cast to make a magical night. There were moments of Romantic glory in this performance, but on an overall whole it was an unmemorable evening. Dolora Zajick as Amneris and Violeta Urmana as Aida both put forward energetic performances. Their duet moments had drive- one’s performance seemed to inspire the other towards reaching new vocal heights. They were like animals feeding off each other’s energy. Though Ms. Zajick’s deep voice sometimes overpowered everyone else’s on stage, she presented the most intense character and was without a doubt the only memorable performer of the evening. The conductor, Paolo Carignani, did little to inspire a feeling of ensemble. He rarely seemed to have control over an unmotivated orchestra and cast, and certainly did not add any flare or personal interpretation of his own. Richard Margison as Radamès gave us a less than inspiring performance. His wobbling and superficially forceful voice was certainly not genuine enough for a prince who is considering abandoning his homeland in the name of love.

One of the most beautiful Verdi arias is Aida’s “O Patria Mia”. Leontyne Price commanded this aria in the early 1980s. Watch her 1985 farewell performance on youtube and you will be hard-pressed not to have an emotional reaction. Then watch Montserrat Caballé sang the aria. Every moment is tender, certainly not rushed, and as heavenly as an atheist can describe. Unfortunately for the present time, Ms. Urmana did not live up to the grandness of the title role. Her performance was too fast, (party because of the conductor’s neglect as well) with at best nonchalant emotions. Granted it is a difficult aria for any soprano to sing, but that should not scare the singer away. She is singing about her homeland being conquered by the Egyptians! One should relish in the music and work to improve their technique even in only for the purpose of this aria. Live performances are so much more exciting when the singer’s technique is strong enough to allow ample room for emotional involvement, maybe even an added fear factor. I’d rather hear a singer crack than not even try for beauty. Can you imagine an opera audience actually on the edge of their seats mesmerized with anticipation? Certainly some performers today possess these wonderfully hypnotic qualities on stage, but more should. The reality of it is that the Met has one if not two operas performed 6 days a week, nine months out of the year. Not everyone is going to knock your socks off. That is why we have recordings.

Metropolitan Opera- La Damnation de Faust

The past few hours have just been a fantasy travel through time and place thanks to Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust. Originally composed as a concert piece, this légende dramatique consists of twenty loosely connected scenes that Berlioz himself thought could not be successfully fused together on stage due to the limited production techniques of the time. In fact, during his lifetime it was only produced as an opera once (in 1846), and due to complete neglect by the Parisian musical world, once was it. Faust’s great popularity did not begin until after the composer had died. At the MET it had only been staged once, in 1906. It then fell out of the repertoire until a concert performance in 1996 by James Levine and now the current production, which was developed last year. It is a shame that such beautiful music has been neglected for all these years, but thank God for a lack of established performance standards because for once the director has the freedom to start from scratch without being hounded.

Large sections of this opera are choral and others are purely orchestral. This does not make them any less brilliant than the soloist sections, but it does take the work of a creative director to keep the audience hooked. After all, so much of opera is visual. Robert Lepage certainly pulled it off with his creative use of three-dimensional video projections, dancers, chorus, and his interplay between live and projected people. One of the most beautiful moments is when live ballet dancers leap into video-screened water and automatically turn into 3D video projections. (This reminds me of actors intermingling with animation in Roger Rabbit, except this is all live.) One by one they leap and toss around under water to the accompaniment of only a few wind instruments. One of the beauties of Berlioz is that he knew when to be grand and forceful in his music but he also knew when to turn intimate and float the melody between only a few instruments, giving the effect of more approachable chamber music.

I do believe the magic of this evening was due in large part to the conductor James Conlon. Not only did he hold the singers and orchestra together almost seamlessly, he brought out all the different instrumental colors from this monstrous orchestra through such a detailed and invigorating reading. Ramón Vargas as Faust was intensely emotional, powering through from the very beginning. Ildar Abdrazakov as Méphistophélès was especially conniving as he pulled Faust deeper into hell through great acting and a fully engaged bass voice. Olga Borodina gave us a dark/full toned, and especially lonely Marguerite. Through the course of her aria “D’amor l’ardente flamme”, a slowly burning projection of her live image withers away to nothing while she awaits the return of her love, Faust. Simply beautiful.

Berlioz is considered to have been musically ahead of his time. His compositions are fusions of contemporary musical thought from all over Europe. Not one for impressing the Parisian musical masses (which included the leading composer Cherubini), he thought Rossini was mere surface-layer music, and he refused to adhere to French musical tradition. He drew on a plethora of European musical forms and greatly expanded the size of the orchestra. He published a Treatise on Orchestration, which is part of any modern composer’s study. Rarely able to survive on his compositions alone, he earned a living by writing weekly critiques and essays for the local Journal des Debats, and was part of the broader European music intelligencia. He composed five operas: a grand opera, an opera semi-seria, an opéra comique, a ballad opera, and a medieval drama. Faust was not considered one of these. It was labeled as a concert opera, and like many of his other works was never fully enjoyed during his lifetime. Berlioz died thinking it was the greatest failure of his life. As with other true masterpieces, one generation’s failure can be another’s success. It is now over 150 years since its composition, and with the help of modern technology and first class musicians, the masses are finally enjoying it.

Metropolitan Opera- Der Rosenkavalier

Renee Fleming singing Strauss is like a fine American chardonnay- buttery, luscious, and silky smooth. You never hear her effort. Her tone blends into the ensemble in such a natural way that there seems to be a utopian Gesamtkunstwerk, (an amalgam of various art forms creating a more complete experience for the audience) at work. Susan Graham as Octavian was at home singing Strauss, not to mention a comical firehouse playing the chambermaid. During the magical moments, such as the Act I finale duet and the Act III trio, Romantic expression reaches its pinnacle. The combined intensity of the three sopranos during the trio, (Ms. Graham, Ms. Fleming, and Ms. Miah Persson) would touch the heart of any human being. It is hard to find more emotionally drowning music than Strauss. I found myself wanting to cry but was too absorbed in the multiple layers of musical texture to outwardly express anything. The best moments of Strauss can cause sensory overload- like seeing the grand finale of a fireworks display or to put it bluntly, having a really great orgasm. You get sucked into the fabric of the music and therefore naturally hesitate on outward expression.

Edo de Wart conducted a stylistically pleasing, if sometimes overpowering orchestra. The famous waltz tune transported me back to aristocratic Vienna in a brilliant and stylistically conservative manner. The Vienna Philharmonic has certain unspoken standards as to how Strauss and other composers should be played. This of course has merit given that Strauss was their music director for a few years. Having heard them perform more than a few times I am repeatedly puzzled by their mix of world class virtuosity and square interpretations. This begs the question- does Strauss sound best when it is played with little artistic liberties on the part of the conductor? Do the recordings we have conducted by Strauss himself limit the room for modern spins compared to composers like Mozart, of whom we of course do not have recordings? In this sense, it sounded the other night like we were listening to the Vienna Philharmonic itself. On the flipside, there is certainly nothing stylistically conservative about an orchestra like that of the MET that can adapt so convincingly to different musical styles and different conductors while still managing to find the brilliance. The whole evening lasted close to five hours. It was well worth every minute.

Metropolitan Opera- Il Barbiere di Siviglia

Rossini is not particularly emotionally deep or heart wrenching. It therefore takes especially gifted singers who seem to be playing with the music in order to have a visceral effect on the audience. It is also very easy to sing it poorly, as was evident on October 10. Barry Banks gave us a bright toned and headache causing rendition of Count Almaviva. His thin and motor vibrato voice was an easy recipe for falling asleep. Rossini is considered bel canto singing, meaning beautiful voice. When sung well it can be light, delicate, well controlled, pleasurably dramatic, and a chance for singers to show off their vocal technique. It certainly should not include superficial acting or forced vibrato. When the listener can't tell the difference between melodic embellishments and a heavy vibrato, we have a problem. Joyce di Donato was the only thing resembling enjoyable bel canto singing. Thank God she was solid in the role of Rosina. Practically everyone else either tired me out from searching too hard for their melody or bored me with their predictability in doing so. Bel canto singing is like a trapeze artist- The performer either makes it through the routine ending on his or her two feet, or they fall flat on their face and get injured. There is no faking here. That is not to say there is no room for a little improvisation. That certainly would have kept me awake.

A conductor should not rush tempos in Rossini. There is no need. All the drama is there, waiting to be exploited if the proper time is taken between phrases. Bel canto music used to be my favorite to play on clarinet because it was the only time I could be a true diva when playing. All was mine for the ravaging. There are so many interpretive choices in the music that it never has to be played the same twice. Maurizio Benini led the orchestra brilliantly, making great use of the ‘Rossini crescendo’ and the richness of the strings. His tempos were at times too fast though, the singers sometimes stumbling to keep up.

Bartlett Sher’s production kept the opera fresh and entertaining, at times doing a better job at pulling out the sarcastic humor than the performers were doing. I left after the first act, having had enough of the screaming tenor.

Metropolitan Opera- Le Nozze di Figaro

Emma Bell is one of the sexiest (vocally speaking, of course) new singers I have heard in a while. Her warm and silky tone reminds me of the ‘golden age’ singers from the 1970s and 1980s who sang for the perfection of their art form, not because they were simply pretty. (That last thought is for a discussion to be had at another time). Ms. Bell’s technical control and sustained tone color, even when singing softly, had the audience melting in their seats during ‘Porgi, Amor’ and especially ‘Dove Sono’. During the later, she literally sang half the aria at an emotionally charged pianissimo, hypnotizing the audience with her instrument. You know those moments when certain musicians seem to have control of the audience’s mind? Times when you could hear a pin drop because nobody in the audience is breathing? Performances like this make you surrender your conscious and forget about what lies outside the double doors behind you.

The rest of the cast was formidable. Danielle de Niese gave us a sprightly and chipper Susanna. Her acting kept the part alive from 8pm to midnight. Wendy White provided a comical and well-sung portrait of Marcellina. Together, they gave us fine ‘opera buffa’ that brought out the subtleties of this revolutionary work. John Relyea, Isabel Leonard, and Bo Skovhus were solid as Figaro, Cherubino, and the Count, respectively. Dan Ettinger led a very energetic orchestra and communicated well with the singers. His tempos at times bordered on too brisk to tap your foot to. Having been lucky to get student tickets, I was right behind him and could hear strange noises coming from the pit. During the overture I thought for a second there was an instrument malfunction before I realized it was his grunting.

The costumes here can be called ‘period’. The set however could have been called ‘period respectful’. What the director Jonathan Miller and set designer Peter J. Davidson have done is take old structures and age them. So instead of a bright country house we see paint coming off the walls and something resembling decomposing wood. The message revealed is actually very bold. Opera might be old compared to the exciting, action-packed thrillers being pumped out of Hollywood every month, but that doesn’t make opera any less relevant to our time. A newcomer to opera would probably be amazed by how simply humanistic and approachable most of them are. “Figaro’s” whole deal is that relationships are rarely what one anticipates or hopes for and never just black and white. Quite down to earth actually, especially for being 223 years old.