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.

NPR - SFO 2009-2010: Topics of exotic malevolence - Steph Blythe la zingara, Nadja Michael Judaean princess. Il Trovatore. Salome. Nicola Luisotti.

This I believe to have been third time in a row to pick up Il Trovatore in the David McVicar production, originating in Chicago and then borrowed by the Met. Sondra Radvanovsky has been cast therein as Leonora each time; she had already sung it well in Houston in 2005 when Lyric’s opened, to resounding acclaim. On paper, this Trovatore looked definitely reliable. On this occasion however, much unevenness became more the rule than the exception.

There have been issues all along with the distribution of breath in the singing of Sondra Radvanovsky, that for all the sincerity, good intentions she reliably puts forth, she has been able to disguise or hide quite well for some time now. Here due to a combination of factors she came to grief however. Some easier among extended passages she was still able to make buoyant – especially on any crests to the line that refrain from going too high, such as during arioso right before ‘Tacea la notte’ in Act One – and arioso outside the convent to poignantly help begin the finale to Act Two. Some narrowness, constriction of the flow of air toward goal of producing more sound just simply got in her way - together with compromise of one or two other factors she had trouble in overcoming. Sogginess of line and of intonation overcame La Rad for concluding ‘Tacea la notte”

The same issues plus inability to sustain line well afflicted “D’amor sull’ali rosee”; she then started the Miserere tentatively and until Luisotti freed up a little extra space for her, the cabaletta after the Miserere was flat and minimal in shape– with what determination must take over here. We still got the idea of some nobility of character, but much heavy attack and droopy quality left Leonora somewhat incomplete in conception this go at it.

Stephanie Blythe made the strongest impression of anybody here. Profile to the line, trill and other ornamentation was all complete in “Stride la vampa”, together and with fine sound making it all believable. Sense of narrative continued strong through tale to follow - high notes secure. By into pair of duets to close her first scene, one began to notice however Blythe glibly editorializing on what she was singing. If she can not believe her own lines as to what purpose she is putting them, how should we? Such was the case too during Act Three in dialogue with the Count.’ Blythe then started out well for the final scene, in prison, but well before a ringing, triumphant high B at the end, she very curiously began playing with placement, vowels during “Ai sacri monti.” Vocally, just about all the goods were on display; but so far this Azucena lacked real authority.

Marco Berti started off his evening by singing his offstage serenade too loud, then greeted Leonora wobbly, and coasted through trios to follow, lacking sufficient defiance for both to end each of the first two acts. He then started messing with his placement, pushing, forcing, chopping up his lines, and similarly forthrightly ruined “Ah sib en mio” with much choppiness and loss of intonation. “Di quella pira” lacked heroism, and it was not until the first half a dozen pages of the final scene that Berti rediscovered his gift for being a lyric. He then returned to making conventional brute out of Manrico as he sounded most of the way before It sounded too as though this reprise of the McVicar production had started making exaggerated shtick out of some gesture one expects of this production.

Such being the case, next in line so afflicted was Dmitri Hvorostovsky as di Luna – heard from the Met last time opposite Marcelo Alvarez as Manrico – an insufficiently heroic lyric for the part like Berti, but very tasteful in musical and interpretive choices he made. In quality of the singing at the Met Hvorostovsky provided, he was more than a match to Berti. Here instead we got a hectoring, bullying, yelling, unsubtle stock villain. He started off well, di Luna’s venomous contempt in Act One for Manrico showing up well. “Il balen”, taken too strictly, got hectored, became choppy and also quite venerable sounding – after blasting of a high G right before the aria to reveal to any doubters what vocal prowess he has left.

Hvoirostovsky later then made incredulity of di Luna at what is only apparent change in romantic fortune for di Luna exaggerated to point of schoolboy naivete. One only heard vestiges, passage here and there to indicate either the still natural beauty of Hvorostovsky’s voice or of his ability to make anything more elevated than cardboard, two-dimensional of the Count. Most musical and sounding good in intent were Messenger, Ines, and the pensive Ruiz. Burak Bilgili, sounding well as though he fully understood the part of Ferrando, was vocally uneven with tremulous handling of some sustained notes, but halfway decent mastery of tricky turns and gruppetti for his opening racconta.

Nicola Luisotti conducted an utterly shapeless Trovatore. He frequently secured good sound out of the San Francisco opera orchestra, but with sound while under pressure, that got pushed up, even hooty, unyielding. He has figured out from somewhere how to dig in, make the most of the darkest, most brooding transitions in this opera, but even at times framing a (lengthy) phrase, often failed to make something to connect a succeeding number to such gesture in the opera.

Before the cabaletta had really become obsolete, Verdi through incisive marking and exact tempo markings, made something of them in Trovatore to push action forward - to even begin redefining the concept as something to perhaps have exited more quickly than it had, had Verdi ignored doing so. Here then comes Luisotti to take all the sap, the gas out of these passages, not for tempo being wrong or eccentric, as just being so willing to lightly put his orchestra on auto-pilot and gently coast right through. There were places too, in quasi-improvisatory writing, especially for instance in Leonora’s Act Four aria, even before changeover to that therein Luisotti must have reckoned having transcended issue of who should be following whom – issue having threatened to arise several times already. After unevenly light, weightless accompaniment to duet and cabaletta with the Count to come, he started the final scene with good, circumspect weighting of what transpired, but once just past Leonora’s final entreaties to Manrico at point the Count has entered, too late for entreaty to do much of any good, Luisotti insisted on mechanically pacing Leonora’s descant in string of broken appoggiaturas to extent it no longer made sense how this passage got written so expressively.

Luisotti’s jumping over rests before start of two different sections, for instance giving Marco Berti a really hard push into his first duet with Azucena in Act Two, was equally inelegant. Indecisively, he first rushed brief interlude into the Count’s first entrance in Act One, then jerked the passage back to apply Karajan-esque weight on chords right before moment the Count enters. With Marco Berti eventually entering flat, Luisotti distorted rhythm of a rushed Miserere in Act Four to where it became something resembling being in three, several minutes after sensitive pointing of concertato in winds opening Act Four. His pulverizing of the opera’s final chords in E-Flat Minor, targeted with silly accelerando, was so hard that final chord upon which Trovatore lands was hardly anymore identifiable.

This was conducting at times so insensitive both to Verdi’s demands and to singers, it made one momentarily doubt even Luisotti’s credentials as a coach; he however skillfully managed to avoid falling into several traps for unwary conductors the score offers, even practically with aplomb, to indicate that such ‘taking control’ of it all, likely had as much to do with ego as with inexperience – so much so at several points that it practically made one wish that his vanity could have taken him far enough to fall right in. In return, he got the worst performances I have heard yet from his two male leads, including the previously fine lyric tenor Marco Berti, and also arguably from Sondra Radvanovsky. Luisotti got Berti off on the wrong foot, by allowing him to sound as though standing right before the footlights for the very (and most often) offstage beginning to his part. Having this even sound placed halfway so far forward begins to make nonsense out of the dramatic situation - such out of which one can only construe what a real goof Leonora must be.

Extraneous stage noise, such as near start of a crudely pumped Anvil Chorus indicated well a lack of focus or even of purpose to the entire effort here. Nothing happened to either erase memory of Bruno Bartoletti’s highly authoritative conducting, pacing of Trovatore with Lyric on his fiftieth anniversary with Lyric, or of even shockingly near as good, Gianandrea Noseda’s conducting of what turned into a new Met production two years later in 2009. Walter Fracarro, a certainly less ingratiating lyric than Berti I hope still can be, made more sense overall of Manrico in Chicago; Radvanovsky proved much more up to the still more daunting task of singing Leonora on both occasions. Hvorstovsky had also been very fine as di Luna.

Hardly more satisfyingly turned out Strauss’s Salome, except mostly for the expertly turned Herod of Kim Begley. This was Nicola Luisotti’s first attempt to conduct Salome, and certainly while some allowance should be made, there appeared little relevant impetus behind taking it on.

Nadja Michael, mezzo converted up to being a soprano, made somewhat heavy weather of the Judaean princess. Whereas in the past Grace Bumbry might have been squallier in her stab at it, had Michael put the level or amount of energy into acting and singing it, it is hard to imagine how it would not have turned out squallier than Bumbry had been. A few lighter moments intermittently worked for Michael, such as where she first entered, for which Michael communicated the princess’s private nervous expectations very well. The well anticipated low notes for gaze down the cistern housing Jokanaan were good, but Michael’s matronly ‘Er ist schrecklich’ on first observing Jokanaan above ground was choked, swallowed.

Michael’s first amorous overtures to Jokanaan had good simple ardor forthright, all going well, until having to negotiate the break and a very unsteady top. Incisive was her start to expression of disgust with the prophet’s hair, but with again having to apply additional stress on the voice, all turned frumpy hausfrau for about the entire rest of the scene - with Michael and Luisotti together carefully plotting how pacing of all this should proceed. Including her sounding hardly distinguishable from your average Herodias for some of the more malicious lines therein, the final scene, all the rest sounded carefully anticipated, but heavily vocalized, uncertain of pitch. She in effect made nonsense out of “Und das Geheimnis … des Todes” for their being no contrast at all between quality of her sound around what should be the break (and light there) and her low notes.

Irina Mishura was the stately, vocally opulent Herodias – remindful of Larissa Diadkova at the Met, except that Diadkova’s tone may have been the more sensuous. Here was a good piece of singing, no doubt, but seemingly misapplied. Not all sense of irritability and then evil glee about Herodias was lost, but vocal poise got maintained practically at all costs. Greer Grimsley provided a grim, poised interpretation of Jokanaan, but missing some of the fanaticism of the prophet, many of his lines cosseted by well parked orchestral support. A few notes at top of his range turned unsteady, and some of his final lines, which should speak more ominously than some of the rest, came across vaguely church-style – at least sanctimoniously right before the sonorous feeling with which Julien Robbins eloquently invested his lines as First Nazarene. Dramatic engagement with the Salome during scene together was minimal, but little provided Grimsley for it to improve upon that from either Michael or Luisotti.

Answered by very well sung, acted Page by Elisabeth DeShong, Garrett Sorensen proved musical, but a little strained by the part of Narraboth, and Sorensen at loss for failure to turn up much agitation or excitement underneath his lines – moment of the captain’s death handled flaccidly – from orchestra following, accompanying him up to this point. Beau Gibson led quarreling consort of Jews very capably, incisively.

Kim Begley was the least encumbered by any of the principals of this cast by the characterless, limp leadership of Nicola Luisotti. The energy, vitality behind Herod’s neurotic agitation was missing to extent it could have sounded ludicrous for Begley to compensate toward ratcheting it all up to where it need be all on his own. Begley had the right feeling of lilt for all the waltz-like character of music in attempting to make Salome concede to his wishes, whether Luisotti had it more than tentatively or not. Except for one falsetto whelp near the end of long post-dance dialogue with Salome, one probably can not remember a better sung Herod from Begley than this one – with his being prudent that it all be sung instead of barked, shouted, etc. One has experienced a Herod more frantic at attempting to make Salome concede here, but otherwise from Begley - a little unusual coming alone from the Herod - one could find a compass steadily working to mark how this music really should go.

Other than securing a fine, lustrous sound out of the San Francisco Opera orchestra, Nicola Luisotti’s conducting of this score, not entirely free of unnecessary vulgarity or of ensemble problems, was altogether tentative. Dynamics got brought down considerably from where marked not to cut into or altogether drown out singing by Nadja Michael or Greer Grimsley – and then not to lose place in fugato for quarreling Jews. Feeling for waltz-like rhythms was missing beyond just a generic best guess at them; snarls from brass intruding upon them and other intrusions lacking so much snap or menace.

Dance of the Seven Veils dragged, with Luisotti making careful, measured pacing of most of it. One got a little accelerando here, some clipping of rests there to bump up the pace, attempt to get some vitality going, but electric current of neuroticism that should run through about the entirety of this score went missing. Even some of the most obvious dramatic moments, that even a tentative Valery Gergiev emphasized well at the Met six years ago did not clearly register here. Some knowledge of the score beforehand was obvious, but not quite sufficient toward knowing what it is that might make any of this score click.

Underlining of contrabasson’s impish solos – one right before Herod’s first entrance – proved entirely contrary to purpose - as did Luisotti’s perfectly metrically timed runs to portray wind of which Herod is neurotically cognizant – all as perfectly steady, hinged as callous reproaches one hears next from Herodias. Following solo timpani getting the Salome motif as crisply as it should have sounded numerous times already, to introduce Herod calling his step-daughter a monster, Luisotti made all flat-line the passage accompanying Salome’s “Ach, ich habe deinen Mund gekusst.” Low repeated elaborate dissonance in organ and brass became unexceptional and equally as this, as anything else the notoriously loud bitonal chord to ring out several measures later. Question always remained of what might have drawn Nicola Luisotti to conduct this – both at War Memorial, then soon thereafter at Bologna’s Teatro Communale – other than to add just another staple to his repertoire.

BBC: ROH Aida - Vocally erratic, inauspiciously conducted - Nicola Luisotti (ROH debut) - more off than for eccentric staging (McVicar). 27.4.10

Should Baz Luhrmann or James Cameron ever produce Aida, I would recommend that for a conductor to do nothing compelling to get in his way, look no further – Nicola Luisotti. The new David McVicar production of Aida at Convent Garden was to be one with something to offer everybody, with apparently mix of intergalactic space, ancient Chinese warriors strutting across, even perhaps as described, a touch of Addams Family. It all sounded ready to make light of several ancient civilizations – enough that perhaps several very great ones could or should have sputtered out after only just several decades. Sheer outright gore presented onstage was enough to give Royal Opera patrons and emcee pause – for what all sounded very bloodless underneath. For whatever universal meaning to be on display, we were to get an Aida, regardless how cartoon-ish it might look - short of real singers to get in the way - ‘de-saturated not only of its Egyptian-ness, but ultimately also excessively of Verdi.

For early phrases, momentarily, Micaela Carosi – not to be confused with Margharita Carosio - with warm tone, manner of phrasing, sustained interest as Aida. Soon thereafter, the wobbly top distracted, then through ‘Ritorna vincitor’ gulped low notes, and for strain she was under, the tendency to bulge the line and break it up into small pieces. She tended often to bear down for some of the most lyrical passages of Aida that a dramatic soprano will tend to sing softly, but not often Carosi. Hooty tone and flat acuti made ‘O patria mia’ go for naught – loud for final ‘(non piu) ti rivedrai’ – with sobs ending it.

Cabaletta to Nile scene duet with Radames (Marcelo Alvarez) hardly had anything to resemble either heroic sound or persona with which to match; it mattered little that Carosi was no more than just vocally adequate for this. After some good acting, subtly working Aida’s wiles on Radames, “Fuggiam gli ardori inospiti” got so heavily worked, colored variety of ways, one might think that Cathy Berberian could have once taken the part on herself, as example to follow. Much hooty, also flat tone proceeded from there to replace line, anything resembling real poetry to the end of this section of the duet. Not helping matters was Luisotti’s waltz-y, debonair treatment of the refrain therein. Russ McDonald for Opera (British) noted Carosi’s inability to float, make anything buoyant.

The hard swells, lunges, low rent verismo effects, as though Cilea or Giordano badly done, Carosi inculcated into ‘O terra addio’, with Alvarez in lockstep behind her, making it all quite unattractive. Marcelo Alvarez was notably the semi-heroic Radames. He started out at once sounding the eager warrior, dreamer of a Radames. Except for turning choppy toward its conclusion, ‘Celeste Aida’ went reasonably well, with fine sense of wonder and naivete to infuse the lyricism Alvarez can still muster for it. He also began the Tomb Scene well, but before long joined Carosi as equally vulgar partner, for the lyrical to exquisite lines Verdi wrote to close both their parts.

Incisive lines, including Pavarotti-esque shouted ‘Aida’ near opening of the Tomb Scene, frequently started Alvarez pouting in place of sounding heroic. One thinks back to how previous lyrics have handled Radames. With Bergonzi for Karajan and elsewhere, one had (nearly) sufficient heft for more dramatic outbursts, but as comfortably couched within a very well sung lyric line, letting what musical and dramatic imagination do the rest for his not being quite a spinto for it. If ever ran around a class-act Radames, Carlo Bergonzi was it. With Pavarotti, as for Lorin Maazel, we get a mere coasting through it, with hollow middle register, almost no dramatic or musical insight, except for his ability to maintain secure line. Alvarez, close to how Pavarotti handled things, layered on further attempt at histrionics, that at end of the day made one think better had he just settled for singing this.

Once almost all (in place of some, reckoning Pavarotti) poise leaves Radames, the game is up. ‘Pur ti riveggo’ got off to anti-heroic start and to a nearly derailed finish, with ending syllables of pouted ‘Io vi difendo’ - right before weak ‘Fuggire’ - breaking apart into a wild chain of diphthongs. He then lightly clipped, weakly bellowed his way through “Io son disonorato,” helping Amonasro and maestro for brief trio near end of Nile Scene make an indecipherable royal mess of it. Alvarez recovered poise for opening scene of Act Four, but too late and for not long enough lasting a spell.

Ji-Min Park provided the lyric, but wrong-headed, misguided Messenger on this outing. His voice is almost too sweet for even this brief, but important part. It was insightful into the McVicar production however how very wobbly mostly at knees alone this Messenger sounded. As in employ of the Radames of Marcelo Alvarez, it became clear why. Put before an entire Egyptian army made up of such men twelve or thirteen savage Ethiopians (McVicar could have decked out as Japanese sumo wrestlers?) and whole Egyptian army could have en masse capitulated before our very eyes.

The Amneris of Marianne Cornetti, decked out as Queen Elisabeth, in interaction with Alvarez, could have helped explain why. It is hard to recall a more spinster-esque sounding Amneris than this. Other than having Alvarez (or worse, Bocelli) in the part, what claims could have such an Amneris had on Radames? Understandable however the loud yawn with which Cornetti on her ‘Ah! vieni’s opened Act Two, given who sang her beau here - singularly unattractive all the same. Following comfortable feel for conversational, opening lines with Radames and then Aida in the next act, “Trema, vil schiava’ emerged with scoop up to it and uncontrollable beat on its opening F, to come across hardly threatening at all. Declamation at (lower) end of this line was first broken from what issued right before, above it, and lightly barked. Cornetti made almost credible enough case for Act Four duet alone - with Radames.

Amneris’s last plea for mercy to the priests got entirely derailed by closing at-break D that went almost entire whole tone sharp. And then how was Cornetti’s risible notion of a Fata Morgana laugh at them at end of her penultimate line supposed to shake anyone up? More than enough fuss was made over the costuming of Amneris here. Far preferable an Amneris in concert or office attire and much more fuss made over what Verdi wrote, as for instance, where Luisotti undercut Amneris’s pre-trial brief monologue by entirely clipping the rests therein. How Oedipal a situation had arisen here also has to be risible, perhaps along lines of the new McVicar production to show with what ease even ancient cultures could cross boundaries.

Marco Vratogna was the still weaker Amonasro, and in stormiest passage of duet with Aida sounded like taking skip, hop and jump down pathway of hot coals instead of fully enunciated pitches. Several got entirely lost, inaudible during obbligato to ending chorus of the Triumphal Scene. Tone briefly filled out here and there to expand upon still a non legato lyric line. It simply was not enough, except to break Carosi’s well sung reprise of “Ma, tu Re” with a loudly bellowed high F. Giacomo Prestia was hardly stronger as Ramfis, including during trial scene, with very quavery sense of intonation.

If there ever was occasion for ‘flip the ticket’, it was not McCain/Palin, but instead Ramfis and King here in this cast. Luisotti’s cut, heavy clip of between two and not quite three beats of rest before start of the trial of Radames certainly did not help Prestia. Elisabeth Meister, of comparable vocal weight to Carosi, shaped the Priestess’s lines with fine ease and legato line. Finest member of this cast was definitely the oldest –seen before on video of the former, I strongly suspect better Moshinsky production as Ramfis - Robert Lloyd as the King. Though the voice is not what it was seventeen years ago, it still filled the King – part Verdi reckoned less important than High Priest – with fine sense of authority, and still much solid tone, resonance.

Following along behind the rest of what transpired was the conducting of Nicola Luisotti, deft, light for most of the dances during the first two acts and for opening prelude to Act One, and with mostly secure enough ensemble and sound from the Royal Opera orchestra, albeit along with the chorus sounding confused by Luisotti’s flaccid accenting of so much of what Verdi wrote. For at how low voltage so much of this Aida ran on, from Royal Opera forces, it all should have been absolutely together. There was also an incipient tendency to encourage sotto voce reading of numerous lines from his singers, as he has learned from so many years of vocal coaching - late-career von Karajan example as well. It was seldom convincing thirty years ago; with so little character Freni, Carreras, Baltsa gave us, it is definitely not convincing now.

Supposedly tailored, accommodated to singers’ needs, there were a number of places where necessary firm support or underpinning to vocal lines went for naught -.for what diaphanous, then unwittingly shallow sonority Luisotti had in mind. Tempos were frequently mildly slow, but more than that being the case, inner vitality to even volatile accompaniment went for naught. Take for instance the Allegro giusto marking for surging accompaniment to ‘I sacri Numi’ during ‘Ritorna vincitor’ or ascending, descending viola, cello lines in unison under ‘Del Nilo I cupi vortici’ right before ‘O patria mia’. Take also the shallow gilding of brass chords underneath the King in recitative directly leading into opening scene ‘Sul del Nilo’ chorus and flat-line accompaniment to the Temple Scene duet soon thereafter. In effect, so much fuss tepidly left several members of Luisotti’s cast, at one point or another, regardless where, high and dry - nothing any of this cast could afford less than that. Same held true for Luisotti’s flaccid support for Verdi’s choral writing - as an aside his Ketelbey feel for the ‘Immenso Phtha’ business during the Tomb Scene.

Had Verdi been able to write Aida as neatly couched array of diaphanous colors, textures, it might have suited Luisotti, even late-career Karajan just fine. Harp for opening of the Temple Scene sounded tinny enough to have been mistaken for a ukulele - to accompany priestesses imported from plantation off the Mississippi. Boosted accelerandi to close excitable passages came across - instead of forceful - light, cheaply scherzo-esque. Such exemplified here close of both ‘Sul del Nilo’ chorus and Act Three. This turned out indeed a most inauspicious conducting debut for Convent Garden.

Much abetted lunge into ‘O terra addio’ from both protagonists showed wholesome confidence of the afterlife to follow. Breaking into it was, most likely unintentional, what one could construe as someone on stage having kicked over something. And yet the singing carried on. For realistic fear of meeting one composer on the other side, what then should be their, even our own take on approaching what life there is for the hereafter?

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.