Met in HD - Vocally strained lyric very qualified success to mark Met Puccini centennial - Fanciulla del West. Deborah Voigt. 08.01.11

This marked centennial of the Met world premiere obviously at the old house of Puccini’s first American premiere – La Fanciulla del West – so there was much to anticipate in marking an important anniversary for the company. It was also the first world premiere to ever be staged by the Met – starring Emmy Destinn, Enrico Caruso, Pasquale Amato and for Ashby the wonderful Galician basso Adamo Didur. Arturo Toscanini conducted.

It was anticipated a long time ahead of time that the Met might decide upon giving Fanciulla a new production. For especially those who take Puccini seriously, it had to come as some real disappointment that instead we’d have a revival of the obviously B rated 1992 production by Giancarlo Del Monaco instead – its taking after B rated spaghetti Westerns obvious and on purpose. Even in belabored attempt made at veristic acting to still come across as cheap melodrama, characterization of especially both Minnie and the miners succumbs to being two-dimensional. Fortunately deleted from this revival was a scene during Act One between Minnie and Billy Jackrabbit that depicts Billy in manner rightly construed as racist – as small time cheat and petty thief – to Minnie’s endearing bemusement – all suitable to strike an insipidly non-threatening chord for the wonderful postmodern neo-con times in which we live today. Puccini thought better than to include this episode into the final authorized edition of Fanciulla del West. So should have the Met – but we have for sure it immortalized on a DGG dvd from off the stage at Lincoln Center. It remains the weakest both musically and histrionically of three dvd’s of this opera to star Placido Domingo as Ramerrez.

Deborah Voigt, with endearing face made an energetic, spirited Minnie – notably her saucy wit (for instance while within earshot of references made to Nina Michelterrona or of request for wisky ed aqua) and confidence in taking it on - though one lacking in ideal vocal warmth, vulnerability. Such lack was likely due to the overall ironic glibness of the stage production, but just as critically hollowness to Voigt’s middle register. In easier place such as the Bible lesson, she could caress her tone to bring out ample warmth, but response to text being sung still remained cool. Her first telling off of Rance was incisive, but also revealed strain around the break. “Laggiu nel Soledad” combined coquettish touch and endearment with glee, but with high C going flat willed as much as it was sung. Voigt’s capture of saucy wit in interaction was good with the miners, diction idiomatic, as was the floating nostalgia with which Voigt could infuse line such as ‘Quanto tempo sperai’ during first interaction with Mr. Johnson. ‘Non son che’ elicited genuine feminine modesty and warmth, but ‘Povera gente’, her next arioso, though openly impassioned, had Voigt spending on principal slightly more than on interest to pull this off. Intonation tended toward dull, not conspicuously bad, except for handful of places causing Voigt obvious strain.

Matters had to wait until Johnson entered for Voigt to secure good placement and ease to sing Act Two. She found viable charm for ‘Oh, se sapeste’, though still slightly clumsy around the break, and achieved good line through large crests through it during duet with Dick Johnson. Minnie’s laughter over perceiving she has been had not to know Johnson’s true identity by this point came across cold; all the light swoops up and down toward engagement with an increasingly tense situation on stage expressed as much (practically squealy while in extremis) bemusement in playing it out as genuine fervor. After greeting the miners warmly in the final scene, ‘Anche tu le verrai’, Minnie’s entreating on Johnsons’ behalf, started off choppy, putting completely on hold the warmth that must infuse this critical passage.

Mostly, if not quite entirely up to the demands of singing Minnie, Voigt at least showed genuine interest in the character, compromises aside, some prudence in negotiating the fierce demands that Minnie makes on the middle register of (still halfway) a lyric soprano. Nobody hardly ever heard from Barbara Daniels after she sang runs of this at the Met (and filmed it– as seen now on the Met dvd) Voigt, in however tenuously she can go about doing it has Brunnhilde’s imminent at the Met. A real object lesson is to pull out the EMI recording starring Birgit Nilsson – my favorite recording today of Nilsson singing in Italian. Note the very attentive care, prudence in taking on any of it that challenges the middle register, while not cheating Minnie of any character or warmth. This was a class act - of a quality that may unfortunately forever remain elusive to Voigt

Marcello Giordani was the ultimately too lyric Dick Johnson. Except for a strongly willed and thus stirring rendition of ‘Or son sei mesi’ in Act Two, at least until having to squeeze for its high B-Flat Intonation problems were as common for Giordani as they were for Voigt. In part for being too light for this, combined with being so focused on voice as incentive to sing Johnson, Giordani came up very short. Easier lines showed refined deference to Minnie, but more imaginative impetus to sing Johnson than vocal was lacking, that is, of a lyric attempting it. More moving might be, in stressing the lyric accents of the part, to stress the bandit’s vulnerability. ‘Ch’ella mi creda’ was thoroughly lacking in smoothness, legato, thus something in nobility got missed as well. Strength of purpose, of character was overall insufficient to make entirely convincing Johnson’s clain to have found redemption in the love of both saloon girl and benefactress for the miners. With Voigt and Giordani together, with music being relegated overall here to subsidiary role here, there seldom emerged any convincing connection between the two, as they sounded across the airwaves. Same held true for Barbara Daniels and Domingo, in his most phlegmatic and slightly choppy rendition of Johnson, up against his triumph as Johnson for La Scala a year earlier. The naturally Italianate quality of Giordani’s vocalism just only about halfway made up for so much else that was lacking.

Lucio Gallo supplied the somewhat dry voiced, but also often reasonably menacing Jack Rance. Several top notes tended to spread, become wobbly. ‘Minnie, dalla mia casa’ , dvd, certainly weak attempt at being endearing allure toward Minnie anyway, started off with more snarl than tone. Gallo, reckoning his Rance to be one that comes up short in being that o the con forza variety, at least made the most he could of insinuating irony in confronting both Minnie and Ramerrez that here was at least a halfway convincing stab at the surly mining camp sheriff. In ineraction with the Sonora of Dwyne Croft, sounded a little more like the voice for Rance than did Gallo.

Dwayne Croft, the cartoonish crocodile tears Larkens on the 1992c Met dvd, asserted good unprepossessing leadership of the mining community, and a well cast one yet again, as Sonora. Edward Parks removed the edge of the glib silver-screen irony of Del Monaco’s cheapening production, restoring genuine humanity to Larkens – through very well nuanced, excellenttly timed parlato out of his closing lines. Hugo Vera supplied the ever energetic, eager Trin for either Trin being a very fit novice at camp or never-ending enthusiast for being there. Tony Stevenson was the always ready morale boosting bartender Nick, whether for miners at large or for a disillusioned Rance to open Act Three. Though overstating the case on one or two lines, Stevenson was also the pro at portraying Nick as solicitous on behalf of security concerns, i.e. toward keeping Minnie equally attentive. Keith Miller provided fine gravitas for a dark-toned, if occasionally woofy Ashby. Jeff Mattsey proved very entertaining as Castro, but seedy to extent that it must be a real dullard of a Rance to get even halfway taken in by such a character. Ginger Coast-Jackson was the smoky, cark toned Wowkle for Suzuki-type writing Puccini supplied ’this character, Philip Cokorinos the very capable, supportive Billy Jackrabbit alongside. Only the Jake Wallace of Oren Gradus got compromised for most of all being placed way too far forward – louder than those miners to belong on stage – making a mockery of how Puccini marked this passage. Also exposed were a couple of dead patches that have developed in the voice of Oren Gradus, that Gradus bulges slightly to hide them, but for the most part, compromises aside, provided the ballateer’s lines fine noble profile.

Acoustical space, how such is managed in this most through-composed of all of Puccini’s operas, proved an issue throughout this performance. Nicola Luisotti capably, efficiently conducted a score that provides its interpreters much in the way of padding. Some glib ignoring, streamlining of Puccini’s dynamics proved to be of some ccncern in several instances. Pacing and contrasts within were good, except for slight rushing ahead mostly toward sparing lyric voices for all three principals further grief. Much of the score sounded as though to have almost played itself – as can be inclined to happen with Fanciulla in its characteristics of both being through-composed and orchesrally the most heavily scored and lush of Puccini’s output.

Engagement with the piece’s frequently winsome wit and swagger and of its opening out of panoramic color, scenography was apt – and yet with all being said there was something missing, not all of which can be laid at Luisotti’s feet. Here requires a grasp, I suppose, of what can be only reckoned as intangibles, And thereby it is important for the stage director or producer for this work – not to mention for many ohers – to be musically astute. In this way, Giancarlo Del Monaco is not up to task, making a conductor still relatively green according to how nuymerous among us can assess his craft, still more of a challenge than it already is. Puccini had a gift for providing silences in his music, even with instruments still sounding from his orchestral forces, tremolo thereof, whatever. Should Fanciulla instead be good soundtrack to, Technicolor for action on stage instead, both Luisotti and Del Monaco were fully up to task, even Leonard Slatkin (Met dvd) – colder, more detached than Luisotti – as well. Much of the uniqueness of Puccini’s scoring carries best by sensitively communicating a reckoning of acoustical space, moreover an absorbing, psychologically enveloping sense of mystery Puccini already provides. Giancarlo Del Monaco, toward achieving this, regardless who is conducting, attains something merely two-dimensional of Fanciulla instead.

It is mostly in this regard that the Met’s centennial Fanciulla del West came up short Even Lorin Maazel, not especially a natural at conducting Italian opera achieves most of what went missing here – in part by being partnered by a very wise, just gently abstract staging by Jonathan Miller at La Scala. Numerous Puccini lovers have bemoaned Fanciulla being looked upon as second-tier Puccini – to some his most beautiful and evocative score of all. There is then hope for it to stand tall next to all four most popular Puccini favorites – Il Trittico as well.

HGO: Puccini Madama Butterfly: Sterling vocal acting by Martinez and Calleja engulfed in elephantosis of new Michael Grandage production - 02.11.10

Eager anticipation had to have greeted a new production, initially pleasing to the eye, of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly – marking important role debut by Ana Maria Martinez and HGO debut of celebrated Maltese tenor Josef Calleja. One then waited however for much of this production to come to some semblance of life, but all in vain.

Cio-Cio-San is probably the most dramatic assignment Ana Maria Martinez has assumed here thus far. If one may have detected some shallowness of tonal depth or focus, Martinez made up for any such lapse by delegating her resources prudently and making much detailed expressive shape of most of the text to first especially reveal a certain apprehension Cio-Cio-San perhaps only feels subconsciously early on. Martinez avoided understating completely away the youth of Cio-Cio-San in the earliest scenes of the opera, but also revealed, should early on Cio-Cio-San have any clue as how to realistically assess what is at hand, a certain feigning of inculcating in full what her new situation might be.

Martinez pointed all color and nuance to making full sense of the text, including her well learned deference to Pinkerton, distancing of her past and expression of strained comprehension of what it has meant to visit the Christian mission for a first time. Puccini has indicated harmonically the mysterious sensation that Cio-Cio-San feels – then for line to open out as it does that Martinez caressed freely, suavely. Martinez’s measured feeling and fraught tone for Cio-Cio-San’s sudden weighing out of options at crux of the scene with Sharpless, followed by protest of equally reckoned vulnerability was very affecting. Cio-Cio-San’s overwhelmed wonder and quick assumption of pride at spotting return of the Lincoln was equally so – ironically preparing for Martinez’s quite fully making her own the desperate and very sad final scene to this tragedy. Legato line was always suave, charm, and blend with a basically dependable comprimario level Suzuki from Lucy Schaufer for their duet toward end of Act Two with the cherry blossoms all made itself well felt. Martinez sang ‘Un bel di’ with intimately, modestly shaped line and fine dovetailed expressivity, then febrile ardor for its affirmative closing lines.

Josef Calleja, looking consistently slightly stiff on the Wortham stage, confidently sang B.F. Pinkerton with ringing ardor and some implied haughtiness, both qualities showing what makes the young lieutenant click. Attempt at absorbing, so much all Japanese in his midst looked rightly uncomprehending, deep down, glib – at some strain at disguising this being so. Through fine vocal acting, much more than anything else, a gnawing doubt rightfully developed, mixed in with Puccini’s subtleties, of – without my letting Pinkerton off– with what gap in ability to communicate effectively between the newly betrothed couple One had to be provoked by first moment Calleja started to sing on stage, as to how it ever could have been possible for a more beautiful tone out of a tenor to have been be heard from stage at the Wortham. One might have to go back a little ways.

Strongest among supporting cast were Rodell Rosel as cleanly sung, straightforwardly conniving marriage broker Goro, resolute Commisioner of Tommy George. and most of all the age wise, prudent Sharpless of Levi Hernandez, with slightly dry but ample vocal resources to sing this well. Robert Pomakov, as the Bonze, looked and sounded mildly threatened by the situation, tremulously so – more than he sounded like any menace as a Bonze.. Boris Dyakov appeared deftly as the lovesick, obsequious Yamadori, to lightly playful, scornful Cio-Cio-San of Martinez.. Rachel Sorensen looked planted onto the vast stage as perhaps statue of Pinkerton’s new wife - all that was memorable about her appearing on stage, Martinez, the distraught Cio-Cio-San vulnerably, consolably with warm tone addressed her as who must be the happiest woman alive – if only one cold have made Kate Pinkerton appear at all alive. Secondarily, she looked to be in plain view a good several pages before Cio-Cio-San should know of her presence. Perhaps this Kate Pinkerton got imported from the Robert Wilson production.

If only after describing especially the two near-definitive leads to have graced the Wortham for this, there were any more good news about this production of Puccini’s ‘Japanese tragedy’, except that for the most part there was not. A widely curvy walkway draped over broadly spread out ascending steps, against fine scenic backdrop – all as though we should perhaps be sitting in awe of a multiple hundreds of times blown up postcard. Lighting (Neil Austin) shifted for different hues both for the curvy walkway, stylized representation of the hill up to the house it was, and the backdrop. Otherwise, the highly diffuse, even fluorescent appearing lighting was harsh, looked college glee club amateurish. Shift of stage light at end of prelude to Act Three from gray dawn to high noon occurred in only a matter of several seconds.

On a very expansively laid out stage, the house for Cio-Cio-San was relegated to being a couple of screens to far left front of the stage. Elephantosis at achieving grandeur with stage picture overall was far more the priority here than the house, or mere vague intimation thereof, which Michael Grandage announced in the program notes, is just there to serve its purpose and then - lest anything too specifically indigenous might become the least bit overbearing - to get out of the way. Apparently there were more important considerations to be reckoned – but without Grandage making it clear what they might be. The decoration of modest choreographic steps from especially bridesmaid entourage and relatives and deft bowing to each other was all fine and well. In order to make a little borrowed metaphor of the situation, to admire that is practically in effect to be fawning over dormers and lintels left out on ground visibly close to the sidewalk – in front of a fine edifice that has just recently crumbled to the ground.

Liner notes making exposed just about all the modus operandi behind this Madama Butterfly, it is surprising that any life emerged out of this onstage at all. What might have inspired especially Martinez and Calleja to give of nearly their best and achieve the good vocal acting that they did? Martinez generously offered more than just that. It might have meant risk of losing some reckoned sight of them altogether. Martinez and the boy then get put on a cupola attached to a large rotating wheel containing much of the set - then making creaking noises during Humming Chorus and/or prelude to Act Three.

What silences occur in Puccini’s score got halfway smoothed over first by Patrick Summers, then by all the monolithic to quasi-phallic vastness of scale. Butterfly’s final scene, allowing for more elaborate acting by Martinez, had her suicide take the hit of happening over along ascending walkway stage right, for Pinkerton to respond in full view of the dying woman by running in, sliding to his knees down several steps halfway toward her, as though to gesture some respect. Did Grandage want to console us that Pinkerton, on naturalistic terms, is innocent for what has happened? If so, then clumsily the entire notion fell flat. Moreover, as opposed to what the program notes might have had one believe, the chord Puccini, hurls out, responding to cries from Pinkerton, provides the conclusion absolutely no sense of resolution. It is unique this way.

Spreading out of confetti over the walkway also looked silly. Things going on about the house, looked so minimal, as said above, as to be practically insignificant. Other than what ritual of making polite gestures does for Grandage what is still more essential to the social culture and system of Japan, other than to give it some nice window dressing, got missed. For that matter, the whole drama, rationale for it, looked almost completely pointless – to point for one to cry out for return here of the consulate office design for set Francesca Zambello installed here for Butterfly two previous times.

One patron told me of his preferring the new production over the Ken Russell that visited here in 1985, that just for sensitivity to the music’s demands, was, conducted by Lawrence Foster, orgy of excitement compared with this. Oh, the spreading out of corn flakes around the house in place of cherry blossoms toward end of Act Two was a bit vulgar; at least the geisha’s house was front and center throughout – as opposed to, hypothetically, being compartmentalized into small corner box. On top among two stories - traditional action carried out below - you had early on several geishas moving one sleeping client across over to bed not in use to free up accommodations for next client.

Harmonizing well with the utterly, seemingly codified blandness of this Butterfly was the equally glib conducting of Patrick Summers. The asperity of Puccini’s scoring, essential part of its color scheme even while getting smoothed away to being halfway insignificant, became here altogether insignificant. Summers clipped his way in flaccid manner through the opening fugato. Though accompanying singers reasonably well for handful of bigger set pieces, such a streamlined approach demeaned Puccini’s score to little more than an accompanying soundtrack to the action; things, though slightly late in the day, emerged better full out during final scene. Humming Chorus was deftly pointed, for sure, but opening prelude to Act Three ultimately sounded more streamlined than evocative. The Bonze scene, halfway well provided for onstage, got smoothed out from the pit through dovetailing, gilding it slightly much toward end of its brief life, as got halfway smoothed out stinging accents for confrontation Goro provokes during Act Two.

Most annoying - in context of what got presented as in essence a two-act Madama Butterfly - no break after Act Two started - was inclusion of ‘Addio, fiorito asil.’ Not to be content with just including it, Summers gilded to death the accompaniment, as though Calleja might need any props – and with house to which he bids farewell hardly visible anyway. Moreover at heart of the matter the inclusion of this melodious number in a two-act Butterfly is musically, psychologically, philologically careless and incorrect.

It was also patronizing to the history of the company, that when Houston Grand Opera did present the 1904 version in 1985 – of course in two acts, the ‘Addio, fiorito asil’ got dropped (as could have been sung by nearly as superb Richard Leech). In its place got reinstated a couple of places – line or two to make Pinkerton seem more obvious the cad than the 1906 version without these lines does. Most affecting of all were several lines of plain arioso by Cio-Cio-San right before child enters for ‘Tu, tu picciolo Iddio.’ Moreover, Puccini’s very individual through-composed vastness of scale had on that occasion its full, unencumbered say.

At the end of the day, I found it extra patronizing to treat a drama, Latinized enough as it is, and though little of its source authentically Japanese, the way it got treated here - as so much window-dressing. Such seems so backward within involving the Far East and important enough social themes, including lack of ability for West and East to come to grips with each other with people over there mostly suffering the brunt during time the action of this takes place. The entire thing looked so uninspired as to have possibly been a traveling road show for this opera. Should Michael Grandage be so cowed by facing a piece of work that is more elaborate or involved, musically, aesthetically, psychologically than what has been his norm thus far, then perhaps he has extended his reach too far.

Presenting Madama Butterfly in such a stylized perspective did not accomplish anything. It is seldom everything an evening at the Wortham has looked so disengaged – all as though there being a corporatist overweening Nurse Ratched to oversee proceedings to prevent unduly disturbing the properly seated inmates.

The La Boheme that 'Met in HD' must keep bringing back - infamous 4/6/2008 listserv review (revised)

There can be no question why there are always people to attend Franco Zeffirelli’s production of La Boheme. It equally for twenty-seven years has become the tourist attraction that seeing Boris or Onegin in St Petersburg or Moscow has been for generations (or as expected on road-trips by companies from there). Intelligent touches, good singing, acting (the rather cool Stratas and Carerras, Stilwell, Morris alongside) do surface in some performances thereof - even a few insights from Zeffirelli himself. Even if the Zeffirelli Boheme was musically and dramatically brilliant enough to carry its own weight, no professional company staging any opera should ever assume such can happen automatically.

One really negative example of this was in Houston in the fall of 2002 – Handel’s Ariodante in David Alden’s quirkily brilliant, quasi-Gramscian production thereof, as conducted by Christopher Hogwood. I noticed long before it was over that Hogwood, brilliant Baroque stylist he is, was doing no more than conducting orchestral music and accompaniment; the glib acting and expression of Susan Graham and of two others followed suit. Alden, who knows something about opera - perhaps more than Hogwood - did not make it into town and left Ariodante to an assistant.

Who certainly blew Hogwood’s cover was he himself, as reported to me, at a conductor’s q&a – common practice here for several years. After the show one night, Hogwood was asked if he had any comments about the Alden production. He replied, “No.” At same time Ariodante was on, HGO continued its season opener run of La Boheme; for that I attended the ‘meet the conductor’ event.

The heavy p.r. shill Meg and Ira did on the Zeffirelli sounded assuming that we were all born yesterday - that a majority of listeners might have never heard of either Zeffirelli or the production. Angela Gheorghiu and Ramon Vargas could have been going on such a working assumption - the way they took to singing Mimi and Rodolfo.

The set sells itself. The garret for the four bohemians is spacious, comfy, roomy - swept clean to an extent that it would make the efficiency that a non-Afro, ethnic American Obama volunteer I know, just out of school has rented at the still newly, greatly renovated Rice Hotel for eight hundred a month look perhaps like boarding house space across from the Lorraine motel by comparison. This is not to denigrate my friend’s fine manner of grooming, decorum, etc., not to mention personal sacrifice he makes for ideals larger than himself. Instead, it should look a little more like a room out of such a Memphis boarding house or as how one would assume cramped space would look in the sadly dilapidated Rice Hotel ten years ago before renovation.

Equally lazy, plus effortful was much of the acting and singing of Angela Gheorghiu and Ramon Vargas. After all, the Zeffirelli production, no matter who is singing, is a success, even before the curtain rises. It sounded here like two middle-aged people affecting youthful love and passion, instead of genuine attempt at it. Intonation was suspect throughout, especially from Ghoerghiu, but ultimately from both.


Angela Gheorghiu, as Mimi, has been heard in more of a really complete interpretation of Mimi, denigrated a bit by maybe two critics as ‘in the grand manner.’ There is a tough side to the seamstress, which can be brought out without giving us the wodge and bulge at middle of the range, such as one turning over-parted soprano did, while interpretively approximating Mimi on the ‘classic’ 1977 Met telecast. Very intermittent intonation problems aside, Gheorghiu manages it very well on the very fine Decca studio recording also starring her husband; she brings surprisingly great dignity to the character. One completely feels Mimi's tragic plight. Their singing therein half a dozen times gets a little stuck in the groove of the at times relentlessly driving passion of Chailly’s work from the podium. It is, in context of assessing it, small price to pay.

Compensation seemed key to Gheorghiu’s approach yesterday, that is, for a half wiped-out middle register and insecure top, with coquettish ‘little woman’ touches she layered on, and mildly guttural verismo touches she applied to reveal to which extent what low notes are still left. Certainly, Gheorghiu is intelligent singing actress to still be able to fill out some phrases with the right color, weight, sincerity - all to have come across intermittently instead of consistently. In line with mimicking critical remark on Act 4 Traviata letter reading on a just released Los Angeles Opera dvd, some of Gheorghiu’s last dying phrases in Act Four of this sounded as though they could have led into “Io son l’umile ancella”, instead of where things are headed.


One had pretty good sense that Ramon Vargas would take the at-best dubiously Luigi Ricci interpolated high C at the end of Act One, and he certainly did. Perhaps it is true that Rodolfo is not quite right for Vargas, and certainly nothing heavier full-length than Rodolfo. The top frequently came loose from what was below. Some of the ardor too sounded cut and pasted over from or as had lapsed into the manner of singing Italian popular song. And yet, Vargas is musician enough that he, like Gheorghiu, achieved phrasing to fill out the poet’s lines, even if again only intermittently.

“Che gelida mannina” was taken a half-step down, so that the first and only high C we indeed did hear was one most likely not authentic with Puccini. It is good that it has been mentioned already that Vargas wisely delays layering it on right at the end until we hear the final grief-stricken C-sharp minor chords sound from the pit. However, the man on the podium had no concept as to how to give them the pulsation they need, toward sustaining line through their dying away at the very end.

Ludovic Tezier made the intelligently acted, but vocally threadbare Marcello, at least for its more dramatic passages. It is likely then one size too large for his voice. Notes in middle register for especially the Act 3 duet with Mimi tended to disappear into more or less a dead parlando. Ainhoa Arteta, wife of the fine Lescaut at Met in HD seven weeks ago and Musetta here in 2002 made a fine and sincere Act Four Musetta yesterday. She sang the part entirely well here then; even so it was clear, though managing all well, that the tessitura for Musetta, lies uncomfortably high for her, that is, until Act Four. Up until then we got a Musetta this time so bitchy (and badly out of tune) to likely have arrived directly off the stage of one timeless Albee play - such on which any halfway sensible Marcello would not spend significant time considering whether or not to chuck for good.

Oren Gradus, here in 2002 for both Handel and Puccini, though still a fine actor sounded conspicuously light as Colline. His voice as Colline better filled out the Wortham therein. Paul Plishka sang the landlord as though someone was constantly all the time sticking him in the ass. Any suspicion of parlando or humor the least bit genuine, also as Alcindoro, got thoroughly lost. I almost missed a very fine Papageno this season, had I not heard his fine Paolo Albiani for us, for how I first heard Carfizzi - Masetto last time Zeffirelli’s Don Giovanni was broadcast five years ago for the same reasons. Chorus and childrens’ chorus, the latter with ratty enough intonation to sound precisely like urchins, were both inadequate for either the Met or for major label dvd release.

Finest singer in this entire cast turned out Quinn Kelsey (Schaunard). Vocally, he was alone at being one hundred percent and captured every side of this enigmatic character of a musician, his vanity and capriciousness – without undue exaggeration.

Most seriously wrong with this Boheme was the conducting of Nicola Luisotti - his Met broadcast debut. Back in 2002, Houston had Sebastian Lang-Lessing, and from him, good to mention because Luisotti’s Boheme also, but more weakly helped celebrate the centenary of Karajan’s birth yesterday. His Decca recording of the opera, except for especially Freni and Panerai, I have learned long ago to despise. Most conspicuous, accompanying Ana Maria Martinez (welcome returning here now this week once more as Mimi) was the heavy enveloping of the opening of every phrase in both of her arias that almost deprived her of line, and then of so much else. Lang-Lessing had some technique to at least almost pull things off, but Luisotti seemed less certain much of the way through of what exactly he wanted. There was overall good sound and clarity from the Met orchestra in limning (as opposed to liming) touches of color and nuance, but seldom that would lead anywhere, as there was seldom ever any line.

Luisotti, said to be good at accompanying singers – one would have assumed better than Lang-Lessing - turned out no better instead. Part and parcel of being able to sing with good technique, especially on stage so large as the Met and set as large as Zeffirelli’s is to have reliable support from the pit. This was lacking. Angela Gheorghiu was said to have intervened on Chailly, about pushing tempo slightly too hard during Act Three of their studio Boheme together. I suspect she may have had to intervene, for the opposite to happen during Act Three; such intervention may have been all that could have partially saved it. Luisotti spoke during interview of seducing the orchestra and having the orchestra seduce him, and hinted at something in broken English of the peril of things falling asleep. Luisotti back-phrased so much on interlude preceding “Sono andati?” in Act Four, that “Sono andati?” simpered, fall flat as a result.

As to the chamber music approach to Puccini, and chamber like casting of some of the singers, the set on the Met stage does not match. Puccini did not write leitmotif in Boheme or anything so in-depth psychological as would call on such an approach, or even nominally that. The composer’s psychological insights in even Manon Lescaut were however of far greater depth than how lead players in yesterday’s Boheme expressed themselves. I invoked, in recently reviewing Levine’s Tristan, his chamber-music handling of numerous passages. For Puccini however, we know from the Karajan legacy, what a ridiculous euphemism this becomes, with someone (crudely) imitating him to make Puccini too easily mistakable for Mantovani or muzak, from the get-go.

Lang-Lessing, when called on during the q&a for slavishly imitating Karajan during Act Three (my impression strengthened of how much he did so earlier on as well while hearing the broadcast) took it as a compliment. When called on by my neighbor for the tackiness of allowing his tenor the high C at the end of Act One, he did not think to invoke in the least Luigi Ricci’s dissertation comments on this, as he may not know of them at all. As fine as these comments are, this option is still very musically suspect. Lang-Lessing settled for such response, as to typify a coach, small-time music department or church school faculty. Luisotti, recalling what he has said about how he accompanies singers, seemed more a coach than Lang-Lessing.

Luisotti’s accelerandi toward end of both the first garret (moving toward the high C) and Momus scenes were insipid. He was forced to speed up the tempo very awkwardly from taking the introduction to Act Three too slowly, denying pervasive sense to what might follow. Musetta’s music, looking at Decca (Chailly) liner notes here, turned to ‘(sentimentalized) operetta’ well before waltz got underway.

Trumpets starting Act Two were out of tune. Ensemble was suspect during several rapid-paced transitions to follow, and in closing quartet to Act Three - during which the Met’s horn section almost completely drowned out both Gheorghiu and Vargas. Contrasts in dynamics were otherwise frequently smoothed out, to extent of being comfortably tucked into a narrow range from piano to forte most of the way through. With things so rotten, how could have anybody enjoyed this? Well, leave not only your thinking cap, but your heart, that is if it could be for what Puccini wrote, at home. This was as much a post-Baz Luhrman Boheme as it was Zeffirelli, to whom the whole get-up this passing weekend has been tribute.

It was entirely possible to enjoy this Boheme. After all, singers in today’s culture do not really matter, except in how well they can look and charm the audience; another writer or two have invoked as to how Gheorghiu gratuitously played cutesy gestures to the gallery here. What they absolutely must not do is get in the way. God forbid any voice should ever be so distinctive to stand out slightly too much from the rest.

At the end, I just must ask then what reason would have there been for me to remain awake for more than twenty minutes of this, other than to be writing in. Lord knows, even a full, never mind very full, genuine outpouring of feeling or emotion might be more than our delicate psyches can take. It might even intrude excessively on our boundaries or space. Even Karita Mattila, in the Met Manon Lescaut and for one scene of the Houston one as well, long now proven fine singing actress, seemed obligated to play by, follow playbook of a production of this opera for the singer for whom it originated. Costumes failed to fit the taller Finnish diva correctly.

Given how lumpy Luisotti’s accents were yesterday, such as for the two octaves closing Act Three and outpouring of lament at the very end especially, it became reasonable to expect Celine Dion to enter with Titanic closing credits music to close the HD presentation. Very unlikely more than a few might bat an eyebrow.