Oberon's Grove

Exciting IDOMENEO at the Met

After NOZZE DI FIGARO, I think IDOMENEO is my favorite Mozart opera. Some folks think it's a big bore, but it is just crammed with melodic beauties and dramatic strokes. The chorus has much to do, from the lilting "Placido e il mar" to the horrific starkness of their great third act utterances.

Levine is back in the Met pit; he does very little - the orchestra senses what he wants and delivers it.

Ben Heppner was in excellent form. During the past few years his performances have been wildly erratic. I remember when he won the Met Auditions and Birgit Nilsson decided to award him the first Birgit Nilsson Prize and then everyone started talking about the "new heldentenor'. But I never thought he had the baritonal sound we associate with heldentenors. He is a spinto, that's why Walther and Lohengrin have worked so well for him. He sounded like the old Ben tonight, with passages of real beauty, and a terrific go at "Fuor del mar" that had the audience shouting at the end.

Dorothea Roschmann sailed to the top echelon of my list of current favorite singers with her gorgeously sung Ilia. The voice is very "present" and rings beautifully into the house with no trace of forcing. Her sound has both darkish and bright elements, wonderfully expressive. The colours seem to come from the "poitrine'...not real chest voice but a shaded resonance that I have admired in the past in singers like Vaness and Frittoli. In an odd way, Roschmann's timbre reminded me of Mara Zampieri's too. With her passion, her burgeoning lyricism and attractive presence, Roschmann was captivating. I found myself imagining her in many roles including - surprisingly- Violetta!

Kristine Jepson was the excellent Composer in the Boston ARIADNE that put Debbie Voigt on the map, and Jepson repeated that role with great success at Christine Brewer's fantastic Met debut a couple seasons back. At this performance her Idamante took a few moments to warm up; the voice seemed a little shallow and breathy at first. But she got it going and gave a very satisfying portrayal;  her blend with Roschmann was really heavenly.

Olga Makarina seemed miscast as Elettra; she is by vocal nature more of an Ilia. We are used to Elettras like Behrens, Neblett, Niska and Vaness. Makarina's lightish coloratura was at sea in her opening aria; she tried darkening the middle and lower in an attempt to project but it wasn't working. But later, in "Idol mio", she showed herself to far better advantage with a clear, sweetish sound that seethed with venom just below the surface.  She had a success with the big mad scene, "D'Oreste, d'Ajace!" which she topped off with a sustained high-C (I don't think the Met has ever allowed anyone else to interpolate the C there).

Debuting tenor Jeffrey Francis was a very fine Arbace, following in the footsteps of the splendid John Alexander who created this role at the Met years ago. Francis seemed a potential candidate for the title role as well. I was familiar with Simon O'Neill from several appearances at Juilliard, notably a powerful Chevalier de la Force in DIALOGUES OF THE CARMELITES. Simon has a big voice, as his "coming events" list indicates (Florestan, Siegmund). Tonight in his Met debut as the Priest of Neptune he showed that power as well as warmth and an appealing Italianate feeling. He was deservedly cheered at his solo bow. Stephen Milling as the voluminous offstage Voice of Neptune made me look forward all the more to his upcoming Sarastro. Soprano Lisette Oropesa (debut) and tenor Tony Stevenson had featured roles and they sounded lovely.

I'll try to see the second cast of this opera later in the season; Roschmann repeats Ilia and the other principals change.

After all the hoopla of the opening night, it was nice to get down to some serious opera. There were many empty seats, however, and many people fled at each intermission.

Awful Butterfly

I went over to the Plaza with my boss, Bryan, to watch some of the Met's Opening night performance of BUTTERFLY. We ran into Craig, dancer by profession and opera-lover at heart. A large crowd had gathered. The opera started; Marcello Giordani, Maria Zifchak and Dwayne Croft were all singing well enough and the production was attractive in a general sense. It was hard to rate the direction of Mr. Minghella under the circumstances (viewed on screen instead of in-house). However, the arrival of Butterfly in the person of the Chilean soprano Christina Gallardo-Domas put an end to any enjoyment I was deriving from the performance.

In the mid-90s I first heard this soprano on a broadcast of FAUST from La Scala and she was really lovely. But more recently I saw her as Violetta - or rather, the first act of her Violetta - at the Met and was very upset by the condition of her voice: no tonal core. I fled after her abysmal "Sempre libera".

I'm glad I didn't spend any money to see her in BUTTERFLY; the tone is so diffuse - at what point does a vibrato become a wobble?  The sound is metallic, tending to veer sharp of pitch and running out of breath at the ends of some phrases. Physically she is right for the role, small and adolescent of shape. But facially, she reminds me of a bizarre amphibian. Her performance had, from my viewpoint, no redeeming feature.

More off-putting was the replacement of Butterfly's child with a very eerie looking puppet manipulated by two "mentors". This put me in mind of the perpetually creepy CHUCKY of bad-horror-movie fame. A gimmick, and an awful one.

I remember seeing Licia Albanese singing one of her last Butterflies on the stage of the old Met; I was a teenager but I have never forgotten her aged, creaky timbre in the role. I must say, I wished for Licia this evening.

Craig is one of the few young people I know who is really passionate about opera, much as I and my friends were in the 60s. He & I had fun recalling all our favorite Butterflies from disc and stage: the immortal Tebaldi, Scotto, Cruz-Romo, Tucci, Lorengar, Zylis-Gara, Soviero, Kirsten. Would that tonight's Cio-Cio-San had come within even a vague proximity to what these ladies accomplished in the role. Awful way for Peter Gelb to start his tenure at the Met.

Of course, most of the crowd appplauded Ms. G-D with enthusiasm. We left after Pinkerton's ship was sighted. Maybe he was bringing Leontyne Price with him from America...to finish the opera. 

The Accompanist

This Claude Miller film, set in Nazi-occupied Paris in the early 1940s, is a favorite of mine. The distinctive Romane Bohringer plays Sophie Vasseur, an accomplished young pianist who lands the posh job of accompanist for soprano Irene Brice, played by Elena Safonova. Sophie views this opportunity as a way to escape the tedious poverty, constant hunger and dismal greyness of living at home with her piano-teacher mother. Irene is much taken with Sophie's talent, and demands the girl's unwavering devotion. One of Sophie's first non-musical tasks is to deliver a letter from Irene to a handsome, mysterious young man named Jacques Fabert (Samuel Labathe, with a sexy 5-o'clock-shadow). Sophie imagines Jacques is Irene's lover, but the next day Jacques shows up to talk business with Irene's husband; his relationship to the Brices is unclear. 

Irene's husband is a gruff and rather unpolished loud-mouth (played by Richard Bohringer); he seems little interested in his wife's singing, and more wrapped up in his business dealings with the Nazis. But he fails to show an appropriately servile attitude towards the occupiers and so he has enemies on both sides. When their gorgeous apartment is ransacked, it is not clear whether the perpetrators are French - retribution for Brice's collaborationist activities - or the Nazis paying him back for his flippant attitude. Brice decides it is time to escape to London and, planning to continue her career there, Irene invites Sophie to join them.

They escape France via Spain, on-foot through the mountains, and in Portugal they embark on a fishing boat. On board, Sophie meets the young Jewish idealist, Benoit Weizman (played by Julien Rassan), who tries to seduce her and to draw her away from the Brices. He proposes marriage, but Sophie forgoes such an adventure to stay with her employers.

Landing in England, the Brices are arrested. Irene has sung too many concerts for the Nazis, and her husband's business dealings are too suspicious. However, a phone call to the French consulate is permitted. "Ask for Jacques Fabert," Irene tells the base commander. In moments they are freed.

They settle in London and Irene begins giving recitals for the BBC. But she becomes evasive, slipping off afternoons on various flimsy pretexts. Sophie decides to follow her one day, and the mystery of Jacques Fabert is cleared up.

The eventual climax of the film is not what one might expect, although the clues have been building as the film progresses. But I won't spoil it for you.

As Sophie, Romane Bohringer's rather plain features, unstyled hair & unplucked eyebrows are offset by her dark, intense eyes. She is unconventional, but a beauty nonetheless. 

Among the cast, there is an especially touching portrayal of Sophie's mother by the actress Nelly Borgeaud. Struggling to make ends meet and to deal with her unsympathetic daughter, Borgeaud's time-worn face is poignantly expressive of lost hopes and the futility of her situation.

Woven into the soundtrack is Irene's "theme song", the expansive lyrical aria "Dis-moi que je suis belle" from Massenet's THAIS. "Tell me that I am beautiful, and that I shall be eternally beautiful." An appropriate anthem for the vain Irene who, despite her superficial charm, is manipulative and in the end something of a monster. Monstre sacree, perhaps...

New Choreography at the Miller Theatre

Wei & I went to the third night of this presentation of works by Edwaard Liang, Brian Reeder and Tom Gold. We'd never been to this theatre (at Columbia University) before and I am in no rush to get back. It seemed rather airless in the auditorium, and the "lobby" space was very crowded and with insufficient restroom facilities which caused a traffic jam right outside the main entry to the seating area. During the intermission, the din in the theatre seemed unbearable - the three women behind us were talking so loud that I literally had to cover my ears.

The live music for all four ballets was a real asset, and all the musicians who participated were superb and made a vital contribution to the evening.

I loved Eddie Liang's DISTANT CRIES at the Joyce (and later at NYCB) and had an idea what to expect from him in terms of style. He presented a pair of duets, the first called SOFTLY AS I SPEAK for Kowroski and Albert Evans and the second FUR ALINA (named for the Arvo Part piano piece) for Wendy Whelan and Craig Hall.  The first piece, to music of Philip Glass,  was vividly played by the Chiara String Quartet; it took a moment to adjust to the dancers seeming so "large" on the smallish stage. Ever-sexy Albert handled the complexities of the partnering with his usual fluency, while Maria K simply astounded me. I've always loved her, but Eddie found just the right way to really show off her uncanny extension, line & ultra-fluid torso. It also seemed to me that her arms and hands have never looked quite so expressive. I was floored by her performance.

In FUR ALINA, Wendy & Craig danced to perfection but the piece was somewhat hampered by unflattering costumes for both dancers: Craig seemed bundled-up in long sleeves and heavy-looking trousers while Wendy's high-waisted & oddly frumpy dress prevented enjoyment of the incredible Whelan Line. When you have bodies like these onstage, you owe it to your audience to show them off. The piece, beautifully played by pianist Marilyn Nonken, seemed to be something of an enigma. There were blackouts while the dancers took up new positions; the partnering was demanding and Craig was in full command. Wendy looked vulnerable and mysterious.

Brian Reeder's THEM, to music of Jefferson Friedman, used seven young dancers from the ABT Studio Company. The piece seemed to be about an outsider - danced with clarity by Joseph Gorak - who hovered on the edge of the clique of 3 happy couples. Perhaps the central character was meant to represent a gay man; he was marginalized by the group. When each couple in turn danced a segment with the young man, they seemed more accepting of him but in the end when the six re-grouped, he was excluded. The piece was just a little too long for what it had to say; the dancers did well and Mr. Gorak brought a somewhat fragile quality to his dancing; his continual pointing of the finger at the group posed a question: did he want to be like them, or was it an accusation?

Wei commented during the intermission on how dark the ballets were (both in lighting and in content); and that darkness rather prevailed at the recent Diamond Project also. He expressed a longing to see something colorful and joyous. Answered prayers: Tom Gold's MASADA was simply a smash. Vivid oranges, roses and yellows supply the backdrop and the hot-pink and ivory embroidered "shirts" of the 4 soloists are further spiced up when Ashley Bouder appears in orange. John Zorn weaves a score that sounds like a fusion of Jewish music with that of other desert realms - real or imagined. Mysterious, sinuous and joyous by turn, the Masada String Trio set the stage alight with their virtuosic playing. Tom knows his NYCB colleagues so well and he chose four of the most technically accomplished and physically enthralling girls to launch his ballet. Georgina Pazcoguin, Tiler Peck, Sterling Hyltin and Ana Sophia Scheller provided wave after wave of thrilling, scintillating dance. For all its fun and dazzle, the piece demands absolute technical security. The girls not only delivered but seemed to be having a blast dancing these insane combinations. Tiler's dynamic turns spurred on Sterling's long-legged jumps; Scheller and Pazcoquin had solo passages of uncanny speed and flashing fouettes - Gina's done with flexed foot. All four girls have such radiant star-power that you know in a few years they are going to be at the top at NYCB. Incredible dancing. I never thought of Ashley Bouder as sexy - until tonight. After a season off for an injury, she was back at top form and filled the stage with her technical prowess and almost reckless abandon. Breath-taking Bouder performance, laced with just the right touch of tongue-in-cheek irony. WOW! Speaking of the future of  NYCB: Sean Suozzi. This guy has it all; his dancing so vivid and assured and threatening to sail right off the stage...unstoppable energy; technical aplomb linked with his very charismatic face & physique. He & Bouder & the girls bowled the crowd over and reaped an enthusiastic ovation as did the players & the composer. Tom's ballet deserves a repeat viewing - at NYCB. 

My 9/11 Story

For the last few years, we haven't played music on 9/11...silence seemed more appropriate. But yesterday I put on the Mozart REQUIEM  and everyone thought it was the perfect consoling expression. Then one customer asked me, "Where were you when it happened?"

My 9/11 story actually started in 1998. I had just moved to NYC, living on Perry Street. The World Trade Center was always in my line of vision as I roamed around the Village. It was my symbol that I had finally arrived in my dream city.

About a week after I moved down, I had a visit from my Thai guy Tony. Tony was a student in Hartford and we had been seeing each other in the months prior to my move. He knew I was moving and I knew he would return to Thailand when he graduated to be with his long-time lover there. Our relationship was therefore very defined, but also a lot of fun. When I met him at the Port Authority, I asked him what he wanted to do in NYC. "World Trade Center!" he said. Not my idea of a good time: I hate crowds, tourist attractions, waiting on lines. But he was the guest, so the next morning we trekked down there. It was a gorgeous day and the line was long but not unbearable. Within an hour or so we were on the roof and I was totally dazzled. We took several pictures of each other and of the various vistas. The harbor and the ocean were really glistening that day.

A week later I met Wei; Tony had no problem with that as he was already committed to Lek in Thailand. So we amiably said goodbye on the phone. I talked to him once more before he left for Thailand. By then Wei was living with me. We both liked seeing the Towers down at the foot of Hudson or Greenwich, and I had it in mind that someday we would go back there.

On the night of September 10, 2001, it was raining and foggy. Wei was coming home from work without an umbrella and ducked under an awning where he watched the Towers in the swirling mists while he waited for the rain to abate.

On the morning of the 11th, he was in the bathtub and I was on the phone with my friend Richard in Connecticut. We heard a plane go over, VERY low. We both commented on it. Then we heard a distant explosion, but we hear explosions from time to time - trucks back-firing, etc. And then the two Spanish guys who were tarring a roof next door began yelling wildly but since we don't speak Spanish we assumed they were having an argument.

After a few minutes Richard, who had his TV on, said: "A plane just hit the World Trade Center!" I assumed a small aircraft had gone off course and crashed. I went down to the street and looked down at the smoke pouring out of the Tower.

Wei left for work, I went back up and in a few minutes Richard called back to say the attack was intentional and the second Tower was hit.  I went back down to the street where crowds were gathering. A sense of doom was hanging over us. No one spoke; several people were crying. In a few minutes the pedestrian exodus from downtown began and it continued all day. Shopowners stood in their doorways, aghast.

Wei came home; on his way back, he had seen the first Tower fall. We stayed inside, we tried to eat. We closed the windows when a faint smell began to intrude. Later in the afternoon, feeling restless and helpless, we walked over by the River and sat for a while. Hundreds of people were there, watching the big cloud blow out towards Brooklyn. What I remember most vividly was how perfect the weather was, very much like the day Tony & I went up to the top.

Life was never the same after that, not just in our little world but on the large world-stage. The attack was used as an excuse to launch a "war on terror" which has led to thousands of deaths and untold destruction from which we continue to insulate ourselves on a daily basis. 

I never saw the pictures Tony & I took on that one visit to the WTC. I really would love to, but I had lost touch with him by then.

Winners

Federer and Sharapova won, and Navratilova won in mixed doubles.

The Sharapova/Henin match was rather subdued; the Federer/Roddick was far more exciting and Wei & I were really into it, screaming support for Fedi and expletives at Roddick, whom we both dislike. The neighbors must have wondered what we were doing as we are normally quiet as church mice.

Tiger Woods was Federer's special guest, sitting in the Friends Box.

Bizarre Semi-Finals

The two women's semi-finals matches which were played today were among the strangest I have ever watched.

First off, Jelena Jankovic came out and steam-rollered Justine Henin-Hardenne in the first set. I had really admired the way Jankovic played in her earlier matches: lots of power and excellent skills at the net. Henin was way off form, her serve wasn't working at all. Jankovic kept breaking her. The second set started in the same way, Henin looking tepid while Jankovic seemed headed for a quick victory. Then Jankovic got into a dispute with the chair umpire over a line call; Jankovic seemed to think the umpire was not doing his job. The new challenge system, where players get to have questionable calls settled via a ball-tracking video system, had been working to Jankovic's advantage but she said, "I feel like I have to challenge every point!" After that, Jankovic never regained her momentum while Henin started playing like the champion she is. Henin polished off the second set and won the third 6-0.

I must say that in my four days at the Open this Summer, I felt the linesmen were doing a lacklustre job. Many calls seemed wrong and there were more over-rules from the chair than ever. The video/ tracking system is only in place at Ashe & Armstrong so the players on the outer courts are still at the mercy of human ineptitude. The accepted wisdom that bad calls even out over the course of a match is being disproved by the challenge system.

At any rate, Jankovic will be around for a while - she's exciting to watch - and I'll hope to see her play often in the future.

In the second semi, Maria Sharapova speedily overwhelmed the #1 player, Amelie Mauresmo, 6-0 in the first set. Mary Carillo & John McEnroe commented that no player in the Open era has ever come back to win a semi-final match after losing at love in the first set. Mauresmo played a superb 2nd set, winning 6-4, but Sharapova was relentless and Mauresmo got sloppy again: the third set was a humiliating defeat for the top-seeded Mauresmo, a 6-0 victory for Sharapova. Carillo & McEnroe trotted out another statistic: no player in a semi has ever sustained a loss with two sets at love. Not a good day for Amelie.

So, it's going to be Henin vs. Sharapova. I greatly admire Henin's skills but I do not find her an especially interesting player to watch. If Sharapova plays like she did today, I think she will get her second Slam title tomorrow.

As to the men, the early ousting of Nadal and the surprise presence of two good-but-unheralded Russian players in the semis (Davydenko and Youzhny) throws the picture out of kilter. I'm not a Roddick fan, but I think he & Federer will be the finalists and I think Andy has a good chance this time because he wants to prove he's a major force, not a one-time wonder; he also wants to justify hiring Jimmy Connors as a coach.

On a balletic side note, it's great to see Ashley Bouder in the the rehearsal photos for Tom Gold's new piece posted at the Winger. Bouder missed most of the past season due to injury; as one of NYCB's brightest lights, it will be exciting to see her onstage again - next weekend.

No Tennis? SIEGFRIED Instead!

Wei & I planned to watch tennis all day today, but the weather is not cooperating. Such a dreary, stay-at-home afternoon. Perfect for Wei to take a nap, but I never could sleep during the day.

So I slipped on the cassette of the recent BBC Proms SIEGFRIED which my friend Mollie so kindly sent me. I have always liked SIEGFRIED, which people consider to be the scherzo of the RING Cycle. As with many operas over the years (and ballets too, I suppose) there is sometimes a revelation which makes your admiration for a work really soar. That is what I felt listening to this performance, and I think it is due largely to the dazzling conducting of Christoph Eschenbach. Clarity of orchestral voices, lilting tempi, and wondrous transitions from motif to motif make the first act so fresh and alive. Volker Vogel is one of the finest Mimes I have heard, bringing frequent stretches of beautiful tone to music that is sometimes sung by strangulated, dried-out character tenors. Jon Frederic West does himself no dishonor in the crucially difficult role of Siegfried; though he leaves out a couple of high notes (which other tenors have screeched or choked-upon), he has power and more appealing sound than is often the case. The darkish, earthy basso-oriented Wanderer of Yvgeny Nikitin is a strong contrast to the two tenors.  The first act sailed by, leaving a sense of elation and great admiration - for the millionth time - of Wagner's genius.

Then I felt the need of some visual context, so I grabbed my old off-the-air VHS of the third act of the Met's 1990 televised performance. I was there the night they taped it and have sometimes chuckled at the way the Met's editors managed to snip out a very loud boo directed at Hildegard Behrens as she stepped out for a solo bow.

I started the tape and there's the still-youthful James Levine in a far more animated state than he has been for the past several seasons; he really gets the Met orchestra to sing the music in no uncertain terms. Thrilling. Curtain up and James Morris launches into the opening invocation with stunning power and majesty. I have been very fortunate to see/hear most of the great Wotans since 1960 and though there are many admirable - even magnificent - candidates, I think Morris is essentially THE god of the second half of the last century. His warm, rich sound is loaded with inflections; wrath, compassion, irony are all his to deal. His thunderous summoning of Erda is simply breath-taking, but no less so than his gentle sparring with his grandson as he bars Siegfried's way. Once his spear is shattered, Morris depicts Wotan's utter defeat with heart-breaking effect. Wotan may be a mediocre god, but as a reflection of human nature (don't we fashion our gods after ourselves?) he is ideal in his multi-faceted self: greedy, devious, brazen but also capable of enormous tenderness and despair. Morris has all of this, on top of the plush-timbred voice. Brigitta Svenden brings the plum-coloured low notes of Erda into play; she looks sexy - and remote, almost like a holographic vision. Her anguish could be symbolic of the present state of our sad world: "The deeds of men have cast a cloud over my spirit." Siegfried Jerusalem is just about ideal as Siegfried, with more sheer voice than many contenders; and he doesn't blast his way thru the music but uses colour and nuance to shape something beyond the usual blundering macho man. He also looks pretty good, as Wagnerian tenors go. Not as good as Peter Hoffmann, of course, but look what happened to him.

I guess that person who booed Behrens must have different expectations for the role of Brunnhilde that I do - or 99% of the audience, for that matter, because she got a whooping ovation. The voice has always had a ravaged, gutteral tendency. Behrens uses a lot of chest resonance which is risky. I suppose if you are looking for more beauty of tone in your Brunnhilde you would need to try Rita Hunter, or - if trumpety power is your thing: Nilsson. I saw both of them, as well as Dame Gwyneth Jones and Jane Eaglen, but splendid as they all were no one moved me like Hildegard. Over the years, no singer with such an unpredictable instrument has been able to do so much to make me believe that this is Brunnhilde standing before me. This is her pride, her exuberance, her resolve, her shame, her awakening and her fear, which slowly blossoms into passion. No other but Hilde has caught every dimension of the role, and with such a natural instinct that it doesn't seem like acting but like...reality. Husky notes vanish into the onslaught of the uncanny Behrens lyricism; deeply feminine and poignantly vulnerable, her godliness is stripped off with her armour and there is Brunnhilde, in all her human glory.