Oberon's Grove

Philharmonic Ensembles: Bach/Debussy/Fauré

Above: violinist Kuan Cheng Lu of The New York Philharmonic

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday February 17th, 2019 - Artists of The New York Philharmonic performing works by Bach, Debussy, and Fauré at Merkin Hall. This was originally going to be an all-French program, but somewhere along the way, Arthur Honegger's Sonatine for Violin and Cello - which I was very curious to hear - turned into Bach's Trio Sonata in C-major, BWV 529.

The switch soon became irrelevant, as the Bach was vividly performed by Kuan Cheng Lu (violin), Robert Rhinehart (viola), and David J. Grossman (bass). The opening Allegro was dynamically played, with some sustained bass notes giving the music an anchor. To the rather forlorn Largo, Kuan Cheng Lu brought lovely subtleties of phrase; this movement - without a formal ending - leads immediately into the lively concluding Allegro.

Claude Debussy's Piano Trio followed, with guest artist Hélène Jeanney (above) at the Steinway; violinist Kuan Cheng Lu (the only artist to appear twice this afternoon) and cellist Qiang Tu joined her for this work, which was composed during the Summer of 1880 in Fiesole, Italy, when Debussy was 18 years old. At the time, he was the musical traveling companion and maître de musique of Nadezhda von Meck, Tchaikovsky’s generous patroness. Most of the autograph material for this trio was thought to have been lost, and was only discovered a century later, in 1982, among the papers of Debussy’s pupil Maurice Dumesnil.

If we were to hear this music without knowing who wrote it, we'd never guess it's by Debussy; the young composer had yet to find his own voice. This trio is entertaining salon music, which might be mistaken for Bizet or Delibes. For all that, just hearing it gives a lot of pleasure - especially when played as beautifully as it was today.

Ms. Jeanney's playing gives the music a Springtime freshness; the opening Andantino con molto allegro will later turn moody, even passionate. But overall, loveliness prevails. A song-like melody from Mr. Tu's cello is taken up in turn by Mr. Lu's violin: both these artists display smooth, savourable tone. Things turn rhapsodic, and the pianist's expressive playing carries us along.

The ensuing Scherzo opens with pizzicati from the strings and the piano playing a dancing tune that evoked fanciful marionettes with its wit and sense of irony. Charm is abundant here. Then on to the Andante espressivo, where the cellist again inaugurates a theme that is passed on to the violin. Ms. Jeanney's playing is so delightful here, full of grace and colour. The blend of the three players becomes quite intense as the music builds, only to recede into another violin passage. The movement ends in a blissful state.

The final Appassionato commences in a minor-key, agitated state. Things calm to a passage of melodious strings and rippling piano. An interlude of cello pizzicati followed by a jaunty passage lead on to fair finish; the musicians were robustly applauded by the packed house.

Following the interval, Gabriel Fauré's Piano Quartet in G-minor brought forth another excellent pianist: Banjamin Hochman (above). He was joined by Quan Ge (violin), Dorian Rence (viola), and Ru-Pei Yeh (cello).

 

The first movement, Allegro molto moderato, has a sense of urgency. It begins passionately, almost grandly; a unison melody for the strings is offset by the turbulent piano. Ms. Rence's autumn-hued viola takes up a sustained melody that is passed on to Ms. Ge's violin; the piano continues to provide restless undercurrents. Ru-Pei Yeh's beauteous cello sound blends with Ms. Rence's viola, then Ms. Ge's violin sings a silken theme over the shimmering piano. The music turns rapturous. 

 

The Scherzo features animated passages for the piano; the strings are plucked before moving on to a unison passage. The pianist alternates strong accents with flowing scales. For the Adagio non troppo, Fauré found inspiration in his memory of hearing distant church bells during his childhood. The music has the feel of a luxuriant daydream, the viola playing a pensive melody. The blending of the four instruments here was deeply affecting. 

 

The closing Allegro molto again finds the piano in a rather agitated state as the strings play a deep, swaying theme. Various flickers of melody gleam and swirl about from player to player, the viola and cello in a darkish mood.

 

At the end, the audience saluted the players with well-deserved cheers. We met Ms. Jeanney briefly, and are keen now to hear her in recital.

 

~ Oberon

Royal Concertgebouw @ Carnegie Hall

~ Author: Ben Weaver

February 14th & 15th, 2019 - The Royal Concertgebouw’s two-night residency at Carnegie Hall with conductor Daniel Harding (limping on and off stage, and his unexplained injury did not impact his conducting) was a largely marvelous event. Allowing young members of the National Youth Orchestra of the United States, wearing gigantic white pins which Maestro Harding wore also in solidarity, to join them for Schumann’s great Manfred Overture, Op. 115, was a lovely gesture. 

Robert Schumann composed his incidental music to Lord Byron’s epic poem Manfred in 1848-49 when his mental state was already rapidly deteriorating. The rest of the score is rarely performed, but the Overture is widely thought to be his finest symphonic work. Brahms quotes it in his 1st Symphony Three solemn chords - which bring to mind Die Zauberflöte Overture - led to a mournful melody that quickly transitions into an urgent theme of Manfred wandering among the Alps. This is the same Manfred who inspired Tchaikovsky to compose his Manfred Symphony. Manfred’s torment at his beloved’s death is evoked beautifully by Schumann and was articulated touchingly by the musicians. The young players, no doubt inspired by their more experienced colleagues from the Concertgebouw, rose to the occasion with marvelous performances and clean ensemble work. The audience greeted them warmly.

The full Concertgebouw took the stage for the rest of the concert. Mozart’s 40th Symphony (composed in 1788) and Brahms’ 4th (composed nearly 100 years later in 1884) have one major thing in common: they both begin in the middle of a thought, as if the melody started in silence and someone turned up the volume late. Mozart’s 40th was composed during one of Mozart’s most difficult periods: he was broke and having just moved his family into cheap apartments in a period of only 6 weeks composed his 3 greatest Symphonies: 39 - 41. The 40th is thought to be the most autobiographical of all, with its melancholy and desperation - sprinkled with bursts of humor and light - it attracted future admirers as diverse as Schumann and Arnold Schoenberg. 

The famous, breathless melody that opens the work feels like you are joining a conversation mid-way. I am not the first person who has noticed such an unusual beginning: conductor Nikolaus Harnoncourt speculated that Mozart may have composed the last 3 symphonies as a unified work, which is why the 40th has no real beginning and doesn’t have an elaborate conclusion like the 41st. The symphony also exists in two versions: the original one without clarinets and a revised edition with clarinets and adjustments made to the other winds accordingly. (Brahms acquired both manuscripts in the 1860s and donated them to the Society of Friends of Music in Vienna, where they remain today.) Maestro Harding opted for the original version, sans clarinets. The opening Allegro molto was beautifully played, the opening theme - so gentle in the beginning you could barely hear it - growing more urgent with each repeat. But the Andante was lacking in drive, too relaxed and courtly. A driven Menuetto brought back some fire, but the Finale was a mixed bag.

I hoped this would be just a quirk of this particular work and Maestro Harding’s view of it, but alas, Brahms’ Symphony No. 4 amplified and multiplied the problems. 

Brahms’ last symphony did not find easy acceptance upon its premiere. It was mocked by the likes of Hugo Wolf and George Bernard Shaw, who were decided Team Wagner in the war of Brahms v. Wagner (a war Brahms never personally joined). Even Brahms’ biggest champion at the time, the critic Eduard Hanslick, wrote that the Fourth’s charms are not “apparent at first glance.” Its future champions, however, included (as with Mozart’s 40th) Arnold Schoenberg, who admired its structural complexity. The gorgeous first movement, with its seamlessly interlocking melodies and autumnal mood, was taken very slowly by Maestro Harding. In fact, even more than in Mozart, the slow section were extremely slow all through the symphony. And my objection is not to Harding’s definition of slow, but that with the tempo the volume vanished as well, and with all that the energy and through line of the music were gone. The Symphony became a series of starts and stops, trying to rediscover the excitement in the faster sections and having it all dissipate over and over. Disappointingly, the performance never got off the ground.

Fortunately, on the following night, everyone seemed to be back on form.

New York premiere of Guillaume Connesson’s Eiréné (2017), commissioned and premiered by the Concertgebouw in 2018, was warmly greeted by the audience. Connesson calls the work a “nocturnal poem” about ancient Greece’s goddess of peace. The work’s constantly shifting moods, harmonies and tonalities sometimes reminded me of Debussy’s ocean waves, sometimes Stravinskian rhythm and sometimes Berg-esque neo-Romanticism, particularly Lulu, by way of nontonality. It is a fascinating piece, and at only 10 minutes in length, leaves one wanting to hear more - and then again.

Above: Pierre-Laurent Aimard

One myth surrounding Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto, composed between 1809 and 1811, is that it acquired its nickname “Emperor” after the premiere performance when someone in the audience shouted pointing to the stage “Behold, the Emperor!” That never happened (the nickname was anointed by the work’s English publisher), but after French pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard’s performance of the work with the Concertgebouw on Friday night, I wanted to shout to Monsieur Aimard: “Behold, the Emperor!” His performance of this supremely difficult and great work was one of the finest concerto performances I have ever heard. Aimard comes to composers like Beethoven by way of contemporary music; it is with modern music that he made his name and reputation beginning in the 1970s through his work with Pierre Boulez’s Ensemble Intercontemporain, where Aimard was piano soloist. When in the early 2000s it was announced that he would perform all of Beethoven’s concertos with period instrument specialist Nikolaus Harnoncourt, many eye-brows were raised in surprise. But the result was easily one of the finest recorded cycles of the concertos and Aimard’s interpretations have only deepened over the years.

The majestic opening of the concerto, and the extended piano solo that follows, with Aimard’s muscled but nimble playing, set the tone which Maestro Harding and the Concertgebouw embraced. The partnership between the 3 melded into a perfect whole. The heavenly slow movement was the sort of time-stopping music making that will linger in the mind for a long time and the breathtaking finale was a master-class in both showmanship and class. Aimard’s effortless, gravity-defying playing inspired a huge reaction from the audience and a big standing ovation.

Sitting back down at the piano Aimard said that between Beethoven and Strauss (still to come) he could only play an encore by either Beethoven or Strauss. He settled on the Scherzo from Strauss’ Piano Sonata, Op. 5. An early and under-appreciated work, the short but exciting Scherzo was given a thrilling performance by Mssr. Aimard.

Richard Strauss’ tone poem Ein Heldenleben, Op. 40, is one of those technicolor aural spectaculars that has launched a thousand movie scores. Strauss dedicated it to the Royal Concertgebouw and its chief conductor at the time, Willem Mengelberg, so it’s a work that is in the blood of every musician who plays in the orchestra. The score calls for a massive ensemble, including five trumpets (to play on and off stage), eight horns and dozens of strings. Maestro Harding divided the violins on either side of him, with cellos next to the first violins and violas next to and double basses behind the 2nd violins.

The work is divided into six parts: the triumphant opening theme identifying The Hero soon turns into the mocking of The Hero’s Adversaries through atonal, squeaking and squealing winds. (Early critics called it “a monstrous act of egotism,” which Strauss enjoyed very much.) The magnificent The Hero’s Companion is a series of solo violin cadenzas with brief interruptions from the orchestra, representing Strauss’ wife, the soprano Pauline de Ahna. Strauss left very detailed instructions on how he wanted all this to be played by the concertmaster. Concertgebouw’s concertmaster, Liviu Prunaru, played with a sweet, honeyed tone. This may have been the loveliest, most Romantic representation of Strauss’ beloved I’ve ever heard. I wondered if Strauss’ description of his beloved wife as “very complex, a trifle perverse, a trifle coquettish, never the same, changing from minute to minute” matched Prunaru’s interpretation exactly. But perhaps it doesn’t matter. His playing could have made a stone swoon. The movement ends with a ravishing Love Scene that many a film composer has used as “inspiration.” The Hero’s Battlefield was a stunning, heart rate-raising march of doom with its extensive use of the extensive percussion section. The Hero’s Works of Peace was like a greatest-hits montage of Strauss’ own works; he quoted liberally from some of his most popular works, including Also sprach Zarathustra, Don Juan, Death and Transfiguration and Til Eulenspiegel. Maestro Harding kept this rootless, panoramic movement together beautifully and finally The Hero’s Retirement from this World and Fulfillment is a heart-felt adieu to the world, without the pain and darkness of Death and Transfiguration, but rather as a welcomed peace.

To say that the Concertgebouw played this all nearly perfectly is an understatement. With Heldenleben - and with the Beethoven Concerto earlier in the evening - the orchestra and Daniel Harding really came together to give a generous, all-encompassing night of musical thrills. The audience clearly wanted an encore and was willing to keep applauding for one. Alas, it was not to be; perhaps it is difficult to follow a performance like this.

~ Ben Weaver

[Note: these concerts were originally to have been conducted by Daniele Gatti, and were to have included Weber's Oberon overture rather than Schumann's Manfred.]

Hough | Dausgaard @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: pianist Stephen Hough, photographed by Sim Canetty-Clarke

~ Author: Oberon

Friday February 15th, 2019 matinee - A late-morning concert by The New York Philharmonic brought us Stephen Hough playing a spectacular Beethoven 3rd, book-ended by works of Nielsen and Schumann. Thomas Dausgaard was on the podium; Dausgaard, soon to be Music Director of the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, was making his NY Philharmonic debut with these performances.

This was my first hearing of Carl Nielsen's Helios Overture; it makes for a very impressive program opener, despite the fact that the audience were not completely settled in at the start; an obbligato of coughing rather spoiled the overture's quiet opening.

Helios is the Greek name for the sun, which in the Greek mythology is drawn across the heavens by four proud horses. In his overture Helios, composed in 1903, Carl Nielsen sought to make a musical description of the sun's traversal of the sky as he experienced it whilst living in the warm climate of Greece, where he and his wife, the sculptress Anne Marie Carl-Nielsen, were staying for six months.

"It is terribly hot," Carl Nielsen wrote to a Danish friend at home. "Helios burns the entire day!" When the composing of the overture was completed, Nielsen added this inscription: 'Silence and darkness - then the Sun rises under joyful songs of praise - walks its golden path - quietly lowers itself into the sea...'

Nielsen traces the arc of the sun's journey with his evocative orchestration. From its deep, quiet start (celli and basses) the horns, oboe, and flute lead to a wonderful blooming of sound. Horns, trumpets, and timpani signal a triumphant radiance as the sun approaches its zenith. Bubbly woodwinds depict sunbeams bursting out; the music becomes truly grand.

An exuberant fugue and the epic glow of the full-throttle brass mark the overture's climax. The sun then begins its descent, a horn theme sounds, and the music returns to the dusky depths of its opening measures. Just as a feeling of profound calm settled over us, someone across the aisle began shuffling some papers: a lovely moment spoilt.

Mr. Hough then joined the orchestra for the Beethoven 3rd Piano Concerto. Sitting still, superb of posture, the pianist faced the orchestra as they played - sumptuously - the concerto's long opening passage. He then made a marvelous start to his performance, which was marked by an ideal balance of drama and refinement. The pianist can draw wonderfully rich sound from the Steinway, then moments later be creating an air of mystery around the music. Exquisite rippling motifs alternated with sharp accents.

Bassoonist Kim Laskowski momentarily lures the ear, then Mr. Hough - so keen with his application of dynamic gradations and so perfect in fiorature - produces crystalline trills and a thrilling downward scale. The cadenza was engrossing, with an entrancing mix of power and rapture, before the pianist honed the tone down to a whisper in a series of magical trills.

Having cast a spell over the hall, Mr. Hough now drew us ever-deeper into the music with his remarkably hushed opening of the Largo. And, as if the overwhelming beauty of it all isn't enough, Beethoven now introduces a descending theme for the celli and basses which causes the soul to melt. There's a brief bassoon and flute interlude, and when the piano resumes, you almost feel like you are in church: so sublime and tranquil is the sound. The Largo ends in a profound quietude.

Immediately, Mr Hough launched the final Rondo: Allegro, tossing off dazzling scales and trills. Anthony McGill's clarinet and the horns are heard from - to superb effect - and then the pianist gets positively dreamy. A buildup commences and - after a sweet cadenza -  the concerto sails on to a triumphant finish. The audience lavished applause on the pianist, conductor, and the orchestra: truly a spectacular performance. 

Above: conductor Thomas Dausgaard

Following the interval, Robert Schumann's Symphony No. 2 was grandly performed by the Philharmonic artists. This music is extremely pleasant hear, but for me it doesn't make that deeper connection to the spirit that the greatest musical works do, however often we hear then.

As the symphony moved on thru its four movements, I greatly enjoyed watching Maestro Dausgaard on the podium; he clearly loves this music. But only briefly was my imagination seized: in the Andante: Espressivo, several solo moments from the Philharmonic artists made lovely impressions, notably Sherry Sylar's oboe passage, underpinned by Ms. Laskowski's bassoon. The horns sounded plush, and Anthony McGill's clarinet blended with Robert Langevin's flute to perfect effect; there is an achingly gorgeous violin theme.

The trumpet sounds forth, the violins repeat their melody, and the symphony comes to a close.

~ Oberon

At The Old Met ~ Part II

~ Author: Oberon

The continuing story of my experiences attending performances at the Old Met as a very avid young opera-lover. (Here is a link to Part I.)

In January 1965, I was the proverbial small-town boy, sixteen years old; I took the train alone (for the first time) from Syracuse to Harrison NY. There, a man who had grown up in my hometown, and who had worked for my father at the drug store, was now teaching music at a high school. He knew that I'd become fascinated with opera, so he arranged with my parents that I should make the trip.

Being a Metropolitan Opera subscriber, he had passes to a dress rehearsal of The Met's Alfred Lunt/Rolf Gerard English-language production of Mozart's COSI FAN TUTTE. Following that, we would have dinner and then go to a performance of the Cecil Beaton production of TURANDOT in the evening.

The excursion marked the first time I traveled anywhere on my own, and the first time I slept in a bed with an adult male. Part of me wanted desperately to be seduced, but nothing happened in that department; I hardly slept though...the situation was so provocative.

On that Thursday morning, he made breakfast and then we drove into the City. The COSI dress rehearsal had quite a large audience. I can't remember where we sat, nor why we didn't go to the stage door afterwards.  

The COSI revival had what amounted to an all-star (and all-American) cast. Aside from Donald Gramm, who was replacing Frank Guarrera as Don Alfonso, all these voices were familiar to me from the Texaco Saturday matinee radio broadcasts.

At that time, Leontyne Price (above, in her COSI costume) was already the toast of New York, although her fame would increase exponentially in the years ahead. Fiordiligi was one of three Mozart roles Ms. Price sang at The Met (Donna Anna, plus two Paminas in English being the others.) She sounded lustrous in Fiordiligi's music, and sang the florid passages of the role smoothly. Her high notes had a lovely bloom.

Leontyne Price - Mozart ~ Alleluia

Richard Tucker (above) was one of the greatest tenors in the history of The Met; this was the first of many Met performances bythis most generous of singers that I greatly enjoyed. Like Leontyne Price, Tucker was not thought of as a Mozartean. But he sang beautifully, especially in the aria "Un aura amoroso" (I don't recall the English words used). Tucker was also a very good comic actor. I can't find any Mozart excerpts by Mr. Tucker (he also sang Tamino, and would have been a wonderful Idomeneo or Tito) but here's something (very non-Mozartean) that shows off his English-language diction.

Richard Tucker - aria from THE LAND OF SMILES ~ in English - 1954 live!

Roberta Peters (above) was a scintillating, well-loved coloratura, famous for her Gilda and Queen of the Night. As Despina, she was a lively actress, and added sparkle to the ensembles. Here's she is in bel canto mode:

Roberta Peters - Spargi d'amaro pianto - LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR

Rosalind Elias (above, as Dorabella) - she of the gorgeous face and figure - had a lush voice that was once described as "high-caloric". She looked terrifically buxom in her costumes, was a brilliant actress, and sang superbly. Here's a sampling of Roz's Mozart singing:

Rosalind Elias - Cherubino's arias - NOZZE - Met bcast 1976

 

Theodor Uppman (above), the popular young lyric baritone, was a beloved Papageno and Masetto at that time...and he had already sung Pelléas opposite Victoria de los Angeles. He sang stylishly as Guglielmo, and was a key player in the comedy.

Theodor Uppman as Masetto in DON GIOVANNI

Donald Gramm (above) - then a rising American singer - became better-known over time for his song repertoire, though years later I did catch him onstage as Leporello (at both The Met and New York City Opera), and as Oroveso in NORMA in Boston (a performance wherein he interpolated an aria Wagner had composed for his character.) At this dress rehearsal, Gramm excelled as the crafty Don Alfonso, and his diction was especially clear.

Donald Gramm as Leporello

We must have had dinner someplace nearby before going to the evening performance of TURANDOT; I can't remember where. But I do remember that TURANDOT was far more exciting for me than COSI had been.

The Cecil Beaton production (Act II set, above) had brought Birgit Nilsson's triumphantly-sung Turandot to New York City. Nilsson sang it at The Met, and then took it on tour. Mary Curtis-Verna was the first soprano to appear as Turandot in the production, other than Nilsson. As we sat waiting for the performance to begin, around me I heard people expressing the notion that Ms. Curtis-Verna and her tenor, Jess Thomas, were unlikely to come within hailing distance of the Nilsson/Corelli team. Of course, I had heard Birgit and Franco on two Saturday broadcasts of the opera; secretly, thrilling as they were, I was kind of glad to be hearing different singers in this music. Variety is the spice of operatic life, after all.

And how different, indeed! Instead of Nilsson's silvery trumpet of a voice, in Ms. Curtis-Verna (above) we had a warm, very Italianate-sounding soprano of ample power, with a beautiful stage presence. What I remember most about her performance was the perfectly projected, sustained high B-flat with which she ended the evening.

Here is the soprano is a pair of classic arias from the spinto repertoire:

Mary Curtis-Verna - Vissi d'arte ~ TOSCA

Mary Curtis-Verna - La mamma morta ~ ANDREA CHENIER

Above: the original Cecil Beaton costume for Turandot, now in the archives of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, where the production originated.

I quite naturally assumed that I would be hearing Mary Curtis-Verna at The New Met the following season, but - after singing the Triumphal Scene from AIDA at the closing night gala at the Old Met - she never appeared with the Company again.

Jess Thomas (above) was the Calaf that night. He looked striking in the Unknown Prince's  black costume and fur hat. Though his was not at all an Italianate sound, Thomas had power and to spare; he made a strong impression both physically and vocally. In September of 1966, he was the tenor lead in the opening night performance at the New Met, as Julius Caesar in Samuel Barber's ANTONY & CLEOPATRA.

Best-known for his Wagner roles, Jess Thomas would later be my first Tristan and Siegfried. Here he is in an impressive excerpt from his more usual repertoire, Siegmund's Sword Monolog:

Jess Thomas - WALKURE ~ Sword Monolog

Lucine Amara (above, as Aida) stole the show vocally; her Liu was movingly sung, with some finely-spun pianissimi. Having heard her on the broadcasts, I thought she was an excellent singer - and I continued to think that, even after I discovered that her reputation was that of a 'house singer', devoid of vocal glamour. To me, her Nedda, Antonia in HOFFMANN, Donna Elvira, Mimi, Butterfly, Ellen Orford, and Aida were all perfectly pleasing, and whenever, in future seasons, I was at a performance where she stepped in for a more celebrated soprano, I didn't mind in the least. 

Lucine Amara - Requiem aeternam ~ Verdi REQUIEM

Lucine Amara - FORZA aria - Met 1975

Making a tremendous impression as the blind King Timur was Bonaldo Giaiotti (above). Already, from having heard him on the Saturday broadcasts, he was among my favorite singers; and in fact, over the years, no other basso could dislodge Giaiotti from the pedestal I'd placed him on. It was a voice filled with humanity.

Bonaldo Giaiotti as Timur in Puccini's TURANDOT

At this point in my opera-loving career, I had not yet become intrigued with the music Puccini assigned to the three ministers: Ping, Pang, and Pong. Their atmospheric scene prior to the Riddle Contest is now one of my favorite parts of the score. On this evening that scene was robustly sung by Calvin Marsh, Charles Anthony, and Robert Nagy. Robert Goodloe was a fine Mandarin, and the great Italian character tenor Mariano Caruso was the venerable Emperor Altoum.

Fausto Cleva (above), the Met's go-to conductor for the Italian repertoire, wielded the baton. He seemed pleased as punch at the curtain calls: a man small of frame, with a shock of white hair, he had an old-world elegance in his white tie and tails.

We went backstage, and stood in a long queue to meet the two sopranos; I realized that several men on that line were looking at me - not that I was anything special to look at, but youth in and of itself is a great asset in the gay world...as I came to discover.

Mary Curtis-Verna and Lucine Amara signed my program. I don't know why we didn't visit any of the male singers; maybe my host was thinking of the long drive home. Between the excitement of the opera and having this long-legged man next to me in bed, I did not sleep much. I was beginning to think longingly of what it would be like to give in to my desire; it was to be another eight years before I found out.

There was one more trip to the Old Met to come: in November of 1965 I attended four consecutive performances in the dilapidated - but undoubtedly still grand - old theater. For now, though, it was back to the little town...but at least I knew for sure where life would be taking me. 

~ Oberon

O lass die warnende Zünde!

Violeta Urmana (above) is Isolde and Lioba Braun (below) is Brangäne in the opening scene of Act II of TRISTAN UND ISOLDE.

Violeta Urmana & Lioba Braun - TRISTAN UND ISOLDE ~ Act II scene - Rome 2004 - M-W Chung cond