LOC 2009-2010: Effervescently charming Elisir (at last) - Cabell, Filianoti, Corbelli, Campanella - January 2010; Season opener Tosca - Deborah Voigt

Dr. Dulcamara has made visitation on yet another opera company in the States, this time Lyric of Chicago. It was here that he would make the sale better than his other two stops on the continent, as performed by one singer – Alessandro Corbelli. The other major company to have had Elisir on over the past year or so has been Los Angeles, with Ruggiero Raimondi instead as Dulcamara (with Nino Machaidze apparently a winning Adina).

Most astute, clear musical preparation went into this Elisir, quite unlike in Houston under Edoardo Mueller or perhaps even under Bruno Campanella himself from San Francisco (starring Ramon Vargas and unsteady Inva Mula there). A working assumption is that Chicago used a mostly traditional production of Elisir d’amore, which is practically just almost always the best way to go about it. Once the charm of this simple comedy goes, then the game is pretty much up - the humor of it all quickly out the back door as well.

Conductor being the same as in San Francisco, I begin to suspect a co-conspirator among team doing the musical preparation for Lyric - Dr. Phillip Gossett. He it was who provided wonderful commentary on Elisir during the broadcast interval. He described eloquently how Verdi intimated Nemorino’s part for an Act 2 duet in how he wrote some of Gilda’s lines. He also spoke of the popular song origin of ‘Una furtive lagrima’ of how Donizetti pleaded with his librettist to be able to include it – in context of a very limited time frame to get things ready for Elisir’s first prima. However Dr. Gossett may have provided a hand just resulted in the most airy sense of lightness, fun, joie de vivre throughout the entirety of this, as though it all could have been played off the cuff. The fruits of preparation so astute and clear on something like Elisir d’amore are just that.

The only detracting thing about this performance was the quality of some of the voices themselves – some tendency to vocal hardness, strain around the break Campanella always made enterprise of finding a way in his accompaniment and for the singers themselves to find ways around it, and succeeded quite often at it. There were any combination of things – encouraging singers to give the rhythms in their vocal lines the bounce they need, to point the text with as much unforced wit as possible, and to caress the lines they sing and shapes within thereof. Of what I have heard this season from the U.S., there simply has been no opera better conducted than this one,

Nicole Cabell made the warm, almost sultry toned Adina. She tended to understate the sarcastic edge, the cold indifference to Nemorino, even some of the early flippancy of Adina in early scenes. Underlying her flirtatious character was a sense of there being a tug on the heartstrings – recognition of how deeply, even hopelessly in love with her Nemorino is. On the other hand, one may have sensed through Adina expressing herself in so much earnest to the audience, a lack of variety in accent, some blandness, but she stopped well short of making anything coy of Adina.

Enormous highlight of the entire performance was the Act 2 duet with Dulcamara, during which Cabell converted Adina’s enhanced concern for Nemorino at this point over much patter goading from the quack into equally joining forces with Dulcamara. His elixir is no match for her wiles toward eventually winning over a Nemorino who has started haughtily affecting that with elixir in hand there is nobody in the village to whom women are more attracted than he. Cabell’s very heartfelt “Prendii, per me sei libero”, even if mildly placed back vocally, was moving. Her command of long lines without taking a breath, subtle rubato infused therein, even if for some ends of phrases, Cabell does not lighten tone to fully desirable extent. Two very minor slips, in getting off cleanest releases for taking breaths during the at once rapid and long-lined cabaletta, were all that betrayed any more insecurity than mentioned already. Compensating for such was Cabell’s very warm low register and fine achievement of both agility across the range and generosity of spirit, so much with which she invested singing Adina.

Giuseppe Filianoti made his Lyric Opera of Chicago debut with Nemorino. His opening ‘Quanto e bello’ revealed a tenor unabashed in giving his lines much full-throated ardor, wile managing to avoid any too obvious strain, except perhaps on one optional high A toward the end of his first aria. For ‘”Una furtive lagrima”, he prudently eschewed attempting to achieve the sublime with this, with in mind first and foremost the simplicity of the aria’s popular origins – with just some hint of mezzo voce a la Alfredo Kraus for starting the second verse to it. It worked beautifully well for him and gave the obvious show-stopper its place within context of the entire comedy and very winningly so. Even if still spending a little too much of what vocal resources lie at his disposal, no effort of the kind unduly intervened on “Una furtive lagrima” this go at it.

What Filianoti had beforehand was the wit he put into so many scenes in-between the two arias – the rambunctious bounce he gave reprise of the chorus with his part in descant to them so early on. Also spot-on was his fulsome ecstasy in discovering the elixir, and insolence to others, as towards Belcore when things only seem to finally be going entirely his way. Filianoti pointed too the ease with which Nemorino can be so easily duped. He made a study in character acting here – requiring that he sing the part well - complete, not to mention very charming. His gently distraught ardor for “Ai perigli della guerra” – part of'Venti scudi' (duet with Belcore) that inspired Verdi’s writing of Gilda’s lines in quartet from Rigoletto, (as Gossett explained well) was most apt.

Gabriele Viviani also made fine casting as the haughty Belcore. With good command of line, he affected noble bearing well for his opening aria, “Come Paride vezzoso”, even the irony of it well. Just mostly to advantage, did Viviani revealwhat fulsomeness of voice he can command. Extra emphasis on bluster invited some strain, but the agility for runs and rapid patter, including in stern rebuttal to Nemorino’s entreaties Viviani clearly made known. Viviani commands a supple line, nuance thereof, especially when most relaxed - evident as Riccardo Forth throughout a Bologna Puritani seen here last year.

Nearly a week after the Puritani, courtesy of Rave and Emerging Pictures, Houston Grand Opera staged its Elisir d’amore, borrowed from Glyndebourne, starring Alessandro Corbelli as Dr. Dulcamara. By and large, let Corbelli be his own stage director, as Jack O’Brien (Met Trittico) and Giulio Chazzaletes have done, and out comes an artist entirely worthy of our trust. This Dulcamara was not only hilarious, but definitively revealed Corbelli’s love for both the part and the character. He even let on about chance of Dulcamara’s quackery catching up with him one day.

Corbelli made up for a little vocal stiffening that comes with age, with tremendous wit with the words. He commanded the stage here from first ‘Udite’ to both finish heralding his entrance and introduce his catalogue of wares and mostly elixirs with great aplomb. The awareness of all the highly varied whim and demand Dulcamara finds out on the street was acute, together with pointed parody of the clientele. Whatever trick might work with any of his clients, even if it is affecting amnesia, as with Adina, or befuddlement upon first meeting Nemorino (as though trying to keep pace with him) there was for us no mistaking it and no self-conscious underlining of the least bit. He even, upon reprise of ‘Io son ricco’ skipped a beat during the tune on purpose to affect catching himself saying something he should not, lest the cat get completely let out of the bag. Here was classic Corbelli, equal to any of the best he has given us in the past. With audience instead on or attentive to so much excess clutter, Corbelli too willingly took a back seat to it all, as he surmised what was demanded of him here in Houston. Such was our loss, but concerning Corbelli, all is definitely (forgotten and) forgiven now.

Guaranteeing that no number in this Elisir might seem least bit insignificant was Bruno Campanella on the podium. Take for instance the quasi-conspiratorial chorus (“Saria possible?’”) of girls, led by “Or Nemorino e milionario” that can so easily become so much marking of time. Between the very saucy Giannetta of Angela Mannino and Bruno Campanella’s highly attentive, but never obtrusive pointing of accents, it all instead turned out as much fun as all the rest of this very witty Elisir. Campanella’s leadership showed some awareness of ‘period’ in keeping string vibrato light, but without encrusting Donizetti with a level of tautology – of which it should never be in any need. While still keeping things a little subdued for it, he had the better shaping of ‘Adina, credimi’ during the finale to Act One than either Patrick Summers or Edoardo Muller. The animated passages that surrounded the moment of poignancy had all the air, lift, bounce, wit they ever needed. There was more detail heard throughout it all than we are most accustomed to hearing, not only for at times just Donizetti’s rhythms themselves – but for so very much that can infuse them with so much life.

The reading between the lines was also so complete, most of all in allowing deft space needed for his singers to make all of their words count – even at a few tempos mildly breezier than usual. All worked as though magically to the singers’ advantage. All backed off from contributing to a situation in which they might strain their voices. Much highly attentive rehearsal, sufficient time for such contributed so much – such that Campanella may have been denied months earlier in San Francisco; performance broadcast from that run did not lift spirits to the level this one did. All effervesced, bubbled here - even preceding excellent flute principal in the sinfonia - to extent as though no effort could have been put into it - indeed why to prepare Elisir so well.

Short work here can be made of the Tosca that followed. Andrew Davis’s conducting just about thoroughly missed it in line, sostenuto, and in sufficient necessary buildup, maintenance of dramatic tension. Past the dryly enunciated opening ‘trionfar’ on solo horn more color and nuance emerged for much of Act Three – taken less draggy overall than Act One. Even the dryly enunciated Scarpia chords opening Act One (with urbane manner for much of the rest of this Tosca) showed incomplete understanding of their import, even of the harmonic progression itself. Davis applied so much elision to in effect override scene of Scarpia’s murder that, as a result, he thoroughly deflated it. No, the heavy grind he made out of resuming the dirge that has moments before accompanied Scarpia’s writing of the safe-conduct did not help matters. Deborah Voigt could hardly be blamed for not knowing what to do with ‘Avanti a lui’, except to just do it by rote.

Deborah Voigt, in caressing so many lines, showed a very welcome feminine, even girlish vulnerability as Tosca that helped obscure some hollowness of midrange and wiry strain on top. It became a little too evident, however, during ‘Vissi d’arte’ a lack of grandeur of expression, but of course a very opposite way of playing the Roman diva has seldom worked well either. A little of such glibness carried over into Act Three, but not enough to ruin matters. The fear, anxiety in Voigt’s voice during tense moments with Scarpia rang true, especially as far as through the interrogation scene.

Vladimir Galuzin was out-and-out disastrous as Mario Cavaradossi – all thick bluster and little else, and even in effect, with as thick a wobble as he could let out, gave off ability to hit a good several pitches at once (at crest of 'Trionfar', for instance). It is such at which Buddhist monks in remote parts of Mongolia are adept - to depict varied states of nature, as host of PBS travelogue let us see probably the same Saturday afternoon this broadcast. First of two ‘Vittoria’s in Act Two wobbled out of control, followed by second one that seemed to get stuck on its second syllable. Number of sub-phrases Galuzin managed to sing softly could be counted on the fingers of one hand. There was little meaning to Cavaradossi’s defiance of Scarpia or of his circumstances, as so many lighter, more ardent passages contained the same bluster as well.

Garnett Bruce, for this restaging of the Met Zeffirelli production, spoke of the Russian pessimistic view of the final scene, regarding Cavaradossi, for Cavaradossi to be telling Tosca, ‘Don’t worry, honey. I will look good’ – in response to coaching of how to handle supposedly simulated situation at hand. One can not doubt Galuzin’s ability to look good, act well and have some feeling for Cavaradossi, but a much more relaxed approach to all this is necessary for any of it to come across vocally.

James Morris, seen soon thereafter as a disastrous Fiesco for Met revival of Simon Boccanegra, showed unerring command of the words and of even some of the gravitas of Scarpia, not to mention the to-be-feared aspects of this character. Voice was too dry to sustain well the legato for ‘Ella verra’, but he made much of the declamation in the Te Deum and of so many lines, playing off the vulnerable sounding Deborah Voigt, both in his Act One interview of Tosca and throughout the interrogation scene in Act Two.

Among supporting cast, John Easterlin (Spoletta), Paul Corona (Sciarrone) and sonorous jailer of Sam Handley distinguished themselves most, but weak Angelotti (Craig Irvin) and extra-buffo, vocally weak Dale Travis as the Sacristan less so. Angela Mannino made ideal a picture of boyish wistful innocence, as treble-toned Shepherd to help open Act Three.

LOC 2009-2010: Verdi's Ernani - of definitely routiniere, concert-in-costume class - deserving of better

Lyric Opera, in addition to Kat’a Kabanova, for most interesting part of their repertoire last season, gave this relatively routine, safe revival of Verdi’s Ernani. In being so safe, it partly missed what Ernani is about, except to present it as period or museum piece.

Lack of contrast between more forceful accents and cantilena during the prelude set the tone just almost too well. Here was leadership slick and efficient, content to just supportively accompany the singers, that did not miss so much in connecting line in Verdi’s music, but what might be any driving passion behind it. In fact, in a derivative sense, it much resembled James Levine’s conducting of Ernani from over twenty-five years ago (as seen on dvd with Leona Mitchell and Pavarotti), but even Levine put more fire into this than has Renato Palumbo. It all still fit within context of an entirely concert in costume Ernani, with generic abstract sets and painstakingly historically accurate costuming – in Samaritani production (not the one Lyric used here) the Met employed.

Salvarote Licitra made an eager bandit Ernani, delivering opening aria, “Come rugiada al cespite” with fine curve and swagger to the line, if some strain on top. He, together with Sondra Radvanovsky, the Elivra, coasted his way through the extended concertato finale to Act One, not wanting to risk more than minimal input of passion into what he was singing, but with still having to bench press high A’s for closing portion of it. The character of Ernani got denied being any challenge to situation at hand. Forza was similarly lacking for Act Two terzetto with Elvira and Silva and confrontation of Elvira right afterwards – contrast for duettino with Elivra ‘Ah! morir” to follow thoroughly insufficient; once into it, Licitra invested the passage with more feeling than had been the norm thus far. The final scene elicited good lyrical shape for easier lines, but caution to avoid excessive strain again ruled the day for what proved too timid a bandit by half.

Sondra Radvanovsky, albeit with uneven placement of breath, elicited fine sense of the cantilena line as Elvira, including for “Ernani, involami”, a little better diction than Leona Mitchell as Elvira as well, but minimal passion. Whereas the ardor for Ernani was there, the enterprising, risk-taking nature of this Verdi heroine got compromised by retiring and flaccid accents, no less than during her reply to Carlo’s first advances to her during Act One, and on brief refrain replacement of cabaletta for Elvira (showing early sign of fatigue by Verdi to write cabalettas when there are available, such as this, better options) right before ‘O sommo Carlo’ during Act Three.

Giacomo Prestia made for a retiring Silva, who had it only so far for the lyrical pages of this, but for instance on ‘No, vendetta’ to Elivra and Ernani, had he tried giving it more voice or vitality, it could have gone hoarse. Palumbo gave Prestia assistance in making waltz step out of Ernani’s oath with which Silva reminds him several times during Act Four – solemn enough in what it then requires of Ernani, one would think. Phillip Gossett reports that in Milan in 1982 there had been rumor that Ghiaurov got spared singing Silva’s cabaletta in Act One for no longer quite having the voice for it. Prestia, less stable than 1982 Ghiaurov, attempted singing it nevertheless. Ghiaurov, especially by today’s standards was still capable of it in 1982. Paul Corona, Kathryn Leemhuis and Rene Barbera ideally acquitted themselves for their three supporting roles.

Best of all in this cast was Boaz Daniel as the king, Carlo. Carlo’s first wooing of Elvira, outrage of whom made flaccid by La Rad, combined lyricism and heft very well. Sense of being goaded, treated duplicitously by Silva (‘Lo vedremo di ribelli’) had good force, feel of menace. Palumbo undercut Daniel for ‘Lo vedremo, veglio audace’ by breezily streamlining its accompaniment, but Daniel held his own with fine legato and strong marking of text especially toward cadences, with Prestia in obbligato as Silva to Carlo fitting in well with Silva in so obsequious mode as occurs here. “Vieni, meco, sol di rose” alone for Boaz Daniel came off a bit heavy, but with Palumbo cutting its repeat and choral interlude before vis-à-vis the libretto being cut illogically creates an imbalance. Silva’s loyalists forever miss what is due them musically out of choral text that the king’s retinue gets privileged to have alone. As proper both Levine and Palumbo affect being, what could have ever authorized this cut?

Boaz Daniel combined well sense of destiny with scheming tone for start to Act Three, and dignified both ‘Oh de verd’anni miei’ and ‘O sommo Carlo’ with secure line and release with even, oaken timbre. However, accompaniment for the latter again got streamlined by Palumbo to extent it might make one surmise that Verdi missed writing in extra accents, tenuti for this music, this moment especially, to receive the gravitas it needs. Boaz Daniel, for the big Verdi baritone parts, does not have quite the full range of color and expression, but has good size of voice, the secure technique and intelligent musical and dramatic sense to pull it off. Anticipation of hearing Daniel as Carlo made listening in worth it, if little else. He shows considerable readiness for all but several or so biggest Verdi roles for baritone - even potentially as a fine Iago in Verdi’s Otello.

Palumbo paralleled Levine well in limning a beautifully played bass clarinet solo for start to Act Three just fine, but so much of this Ernani was flaccid, lacking in necessary vitality, bloodless. Choral preparation by Donald Nally proved fine, but at times undercut by stiff accenting and even on occasion clipping from the podium. The four beats marked for the central Congiura of Act Three got cut down to very nearly three, denying opening to it more than anything else a feeling of mystery. Self-conscious attention to stylistic genre of this music typified Palumbo’s efforts to point things steered clear of invoking any Risorgimento fire here – note streamlining of the Trovatore accents of Elvira and Ernani’s unison refrain response to Carlo during Act One. Just as fatally, this Ernani emerged free of any ideas at all of his own as to how it should go.

I can not fail to again find inclusion of Silva’s Act One cabaletta insipid, its dragging of the dramatic argument at hand, and not fitting at all well anything else in its having been copied and pasted over by a basso, Marini. He wanted it not only for 1842 Barcelona revival of Verdi’s first opera Oberto, but for their Ernani as well two years later. For performances, copies of Ernani that predate the critical edition that very much mostly Philip Gossett and others helped painstakingly prepare, there are presumably only orchestral parts, with winds, brass, percussion added in for the Ricordi edition (with what errors it may have therein) with preceding cadence for Silva’s cabaletta included and nothing for the parallel segue into the much more forceful and dramatically cogent recitative to instead immediately follow it (starting with ‘Uscite!’).

Gossett then made the highly questionable claim that Riccardo Muti, in excising the cabaletta (‘Infin che un brando vindice’), used the Ricordi-included cadence for the cabaletta, yet without the cabaletta. Could have Muti realized his mistake, intervened with who did the sound for filming the new Ronconi production that marked Muti’s debut at La Scala and EMI Classics (that picked this up live) as well to cut the revised cadence on dominant chord for F Minor (C Major) and cut and paste in its place instead the original that clearly ends on tonic chord in F Minor? I doubt it.

Whatever the case, the heckling of Muti while the music played on, ‘Il cabaletta, filologo!, Gossett reported, got picked up on neither dvd nor compact disc. What did get recorded then had to have been during a subsequent performance to the opening, so I still find it doubtful that there may have been any changes made for subsequent performances. If not, most likely it is not, then Gossett has perhaps hoped that in reckoning that Muti used the Ricordi edition – it likely not being possible to have done differently at the time – we might have overlooked, for passage of two measures, on what chord Muti had things land – and necessary adjustment to half a measure of continuing sixteenths in violins leading into it.

Where Muti slipped, we all can agree with Gossett, is in having publicly for La Corriere della Sera perhaps made excessive claim of having achieved philological purity in addressing all this. Where Gossett also may slip is in revealing a patronizing attitude, harmonizing well with Milano loggionisti, in taking a very patronizing attitude toward Luca Ronconi’s production (with admittedly expensive sets by Ezio Frigerio). It is absolutely brilliant, even with its mixture of costuming styles from different periods of history. The philosophical import of it, the intensity and vitality it draws out of its cast, especially from Domingo and Bruson, but also from Freni, Ghiaurov and supporting cast is all riveting.

No physical perils face any of the cast, of which a few people including Gossett have made excessive emphasis, to parallel an Andrei Serban production of Lucia di Lammermoor to have surfaced once, or at least equally bad or worse the Zambello production of also Lucia the Met back in 1993 had to immediately mothball. The video quality, in being up to date or not, may not be the most brilliant of any dvd’s I own, but I must even almost shamelessly reveal my own bias to report here that it is the most brilliant staging of a Verdi opera I have probably seen yet in any medium. Apart from Il Trittico perhaps, there is no Ronconi production to be preferred over this.

Dr. Philip Gossett (University of Chicago) was the excellent guest for one intermission, tacitly helping make Lyric a referendum on how bad it is for the Meg and Ira show to have replaced what we could still honestly call the Met intermission features. He got close to addressing – with me all ears – the Silva cabaletta philological issue at hand, but shied away from it, content with providing listeners the Saturday Ernani was on with other very fine musical and historical insights. Gossett is honest and thorough in citing the cabaletta’s inclusion in Ricordi without it existing in any of the other extant editions of the opera. I will make further effort to look into the controversy even beyond how he has addressed it in his recent, otherwise never to be doubted book Divas and Scholars.

Let us not forget the lifelong, selfless service Dr. Gossett has provided us in terms of helping revive unjustly neglected Rossini operas, musical preparation, and most of all very fine, extensive editing work that we could have at least ninety-nine percent of the time the best editions possible of these and of so much else. We all owe Gossett a debt we may never be able to pay for the love he has shown the art and all of us so interested in it. Any comment I may have made amiss, I will return here to edit in due time.

Best singing heard on this broadcast belonged to Giulietta Simionato, who other than perhaps very early on had no part in Ernani, but nobody has any doubt her fully deserving the loving retrospective Lyric provided during first intermission feature for Ernani. There is nobody quite worthy to replace her today, for the beautiful voice she possessed, her love for the art, for then only after that and her love for her colleagues, her love for taking good care of her voice, not to mention, remembered by others, sense of humor. I can only stand to envy anyone who might have known her in person at any time, but her recorded legacy lives on.

MET - Rossini: Armida (Met premiere). Rare must-see gem of masterpiece faithfully played, blandly produced. Triumph for Larry Brownlee. 01.5.10

Regardless how it may turn out, a production of Rossini’s Armida is a great event.

Long before the World Cup, Rossini experimentally wrote a trio for three tenors that the world cup trio, to best of my recollection, never touched. What revivals of Rossini’s Armida there have been have been rare. There was the famous 1952 Firenze revival with Maria Callas, also featuring Mario Filippeschi as Gernando and Ubaldo and a young Gianni Raimondi (in Act 3) as Carlo. Tulsa Opera, of all companies, put it on in 1992, for very unique observation, I recall reading, of Rossini bicentennial that year.

Armida marks Rossini’s only thorough engagement of the supernatural in one of his operas. Third among his Neapolitan opera seria, it served to reopen (after bad fire) the San Carlo in Naples. For this, Rossini expanded upon significantly what he could thus far make an orchestra do. Of the story of a sorceress’s seduction of a Crusades knight, Rossini capitalizes most of all on making this a love story between Armida and Rinaldo. As enhanced by his employ of exotic harmony and color, at peak thus far of intellectual acumen mixed with his passion for Isabella Colbran, who created the part, Rossini crafted this narrative with commanding subtle complexity. Its simplicity of design also becomes arresting to anyone who becomes intimately familiar with this work.

Rossini left open the option of a company having only to hire four tenors instead of six for Armida, by having two tenors double up on available parts. Three of the tenor parts are fiercely difficult, those of Rinaldo, leader of the paladins Goffredo and the jealous Gernando. The Met opted for hiring six tenors and for two earlier performances in the run, had found them. Two cancellations however unfortunately ensued, those of Bruce Ford as Goffredo and then Jose Manuel Zapata as Gernando. John Osborn, here last fall in Houston for other than vocally disastrous Elixir of Love, replaced Ford, cleanly so. Barry Banks added Gernando to being cast as Carlo.

Mary Zimmerman, of last-season La Sonnambula notoriety (for which Natalie Dessay, unqualified, joined her as co-producer) staged this, the Met’s first Armida. Only hinted at, fortunately, was silly post-modern feeling of play within play of Armida, compared with Sonnambula staged as rehearsal thereof. An always mute, cherubic figure in pink, Amor, was first to enter the stage (with sign proclaiming E allora fu), cloyingly becoming annoying right away. Zimmerman gratefully made mostly more deft use of this mute part past the first half hour or so of Armida. Put however two sofas on stage for Act One, set during first Crusade at camp outside Jerusalem, and the set design in light tan with motif of palm trees would be easy to mistake for lobby of a large La Quinta Inn. Deflating so well indeed was the costuming for the maitre-d’ and waiters, oh the knights, to make up Act Onemen’s chorus. The costumes resembled so much quasi plastic thin metal for tank top breastplate over teletubby approximating red flannel. Fortunately solid-with-trim costuming of lead characters, simple along Napoleonic era lines, worked very well, apart from the all slightly loud and coy light magenta among three gowns Fleming wore

Riccardo Frizza, on Met podium with Rigoletto last season, made his Met in HD debut with Armida. Rossini, with very fine orchestra at his disposal in Naples, wrote in much infusion of often exotic color into his scoring to just both good extent for him personally and a little beyond what could be expected at the time, where best serving his purposes both musically and dramatically. It is all by now so subtle to our ears as we hear what was so innovative of him at the time, thus the only sufficient way to listen to Rossini is as though, best we can, with good approximation of how people heard things during his day. Facing what little Frizza saw on stage here, it may have become easy to settle for casual minimum in bringing out the fine color in Rossini’s orchestration.

Frizza led the Met orchestra through this with optimum rhythmic and stylistic clarity for most of it, plus good support for his singers, but often unimaginatively. What he is capable of accomplishing can be heard on recordings of Matilde di Shabran and Fille du regiment (that he also conducted in Houston in 2007). His orchestra in Genoa on Fille du regiment, with horns of Tyrolean flavor, brings out more color than one normally suspects that score calls for.

There were such highlights here as well, particularly with the ballet music in Act 2, with incisive spring and charm to its rhythms and colors, and atmospherically idyllic introduction to open Act 3 Frizza characterized equally well. Solo winds and jousting antiphony of solo horns (in the Sinfonia) gave always of their very best. Rafael Figueroa got pushed for whatever reason through his Act 2 Rinaldo/Armida duet cello solo introduction, for playing proving anything but sensuous or demure. David Chan was hardly more subtle for parallel concertmaster solo in Act Three. Choral work for the men lacked heft for Rossini’s proto-Trovatore writing assigned them. Good handful among nymphs looked the aging butter-and-eggs variety, sounding it as well If these be nymphs, I divert mine eyes from how the used up may appear. With better than streamlined rehearsal time for drawing out the color in Rossini’s scoring, thereby to infuse this music with consistently driving passion, Frizza could have given it his all.

John Osborn delivered first vocal splendors as Goffredo. He managed to find good vocal placement, showing fine rhythm and rhetorical sense for the brilliant writing in front of him. A hint of steel in his voice fit very well too, with no loss of agility. Rossini with this religiously zealous leader of the paladins subtly reveals in Goffredo’s writing what chinks are in his armor in ability or not to resist Armida’s charms. He also had in Giuseppe Cicimarra a singer who was, according to Richard Osborne, dramatically weak. Rossini had had to compose Iago for him and did so in a way widely considered low-key, with exception of several pages therein. Osborne, however, added in perhaps one or two pieces of ornamentation too many, such that took him through a squeal of a high C – little more sign of weakness than Rossini had in mind. Donald Kaasch, from Pesaro (1992), is still less considerably capable of so much embellishment as he throws in. He and Daniele Gatti are also both too lavish about embellishing Rossini’s rhythms.

Yeghishe Manucharyan made an ideally Mozartean Eustazio. As weak a character Eustazio is – as balance to his brother Goffredo and the furious Gernando – he brought fine measure of dignity to the simple part. Barry Banks, stepping in for Jose Zapata, was the new Gernando, proving two-dimensional at it. For numerous lines that start on low notes and also cover a wide range, Banks invested more snarl than tone. A mildly cracked tone emerged for most of this. When he returned, well rested, for his originally scheduled part of Carlo, Banks then emerged at his lyrical best - good and firm too in showing outrage at Rinaldo; he supported Brownlee very capably for centerpiece of Act 3 - an only now on cusp of familiar trio for three tenors. Filling out the rest of that equation was Kobie van Rensburg, quoted in interview of Ubaldo (like Gernando) having been composed for bari-tenor Claudio Bonoldi, proved musically sensitive, adept, but tonally weak, even slightly cracked for ability to provide optimum support during the trio.

Renee Fleming pleasantly proved still capable of singing the title role, apart from several high notes by now a little tight. As said elsewhere, this was a sorceress on low ebb or smolder - denying even of fully open sensual allure to have debauched more than the most impressionable knight. Together with plethora of glottal stops, light guttural attacks, there was an incipient split-second hesitation before taking on many dauntingly virtuosic lines in this part, including during Act One quartet - moment at which we need Armida to make the strong Circe-like impression with which she should indulge us. Such should ring true also for the mesmerizing theme and variations of Act Two, with which to set down pat a complete seduction of Rinaldo. So many aspirates in coloratura only hint at folly the amount of time Fleming has committed to singing bel canto.

Fleming’s acting of Armida also raised questions. Taken with somewhat verismo vocal means, there is a postmodern glib irony to it all. Even conventionally, Armida makes use of irony in a conniving, manipulative way toward both getting her way and gaining as much control possible over the knights. This however is something a little different. Rossini’s infatuation with Isabella Colbran comes through in the great allure of his writing for the sorceress. As part however of Armida being a star vehicle for Renee Fleming, here is way of playing the sorceress as victim to lace the part with irony as device for merely artistic ingenuity’s sake – to portray being on the defensive. Those evil, plundering Christian knights, it is easy to see why.

The creamy, warm sound, good depth in lower register and bright top, it is good to report still are intact, even for Rossini. The glottal stops, guttural business, though still there, get applied less broadly than how she went about things in Pesaro, but with voice now slightly less free, flexible than surely it had been at time of doing that. Though still in mildly generic verismo manner, Fleming did manage to put her all well into the final scene of the opera to play jilted lover incisively as we expect - except that in her way with Armida, Fleming makes the outcome feel anticipated from considerably earlier in the opera than has Rossini. Curious indeed was the blues bend, blend she and too easily allured head-voiced Lawrence Brownlee gave their brief Act 3 duet ‘Soavi cateni’ – not to mention how much more cute Larry and Renee looked together on stage for this than they had already. ‘Soavi cateni’ now might make newest crossover hit for Captain and Tenneille – might they still be up to it. It is great how Fleming still encourages, promotes careers of young singers so much - singers from such a diversity of backgrounds as highly gifted Tianjin born bass Shenyang to previously, as suggested, Youngstown, Ohio boy Lawrence Brownlee.

I have almost already had to stop myself short of calling the opera Rinaldo for what Brownlee contributed to this. His manner of phrasing, tone color is what one might call little less typical for Rossini than that of Juan Diego Florez, except that Rossini was so diverse in branching out to find color with which to infuse his parts, even outside of bel canto convention - in many instances far from purely so. At 37 years old, nothing is too effortful for Brownlee in this part that, like Pirro, Agorante, Otello, Rodrigo (Donna del Lago) was composed for Andrea Nozzari. Tenore di forza aspects of Rinaldo here might, in comparison with a Bruce Ford or Chris Merritt before, be understated, but Brownlee’s stance in being authoritative with so many lines was still secure. He communicated a wealth of acting, stage savvy to back himself up on too - should variety of tone color not be quite complete for subtly complex assignment as this.

There was nobody on stage who sounded more lyrical Saturday, with sufficient bloom to enhance so well the lilt and ardor that characterizes Rinaldo, over indeed very treacherous terrain, covering a very wide range, with leaps occurring of well over an octave. His manner of embellishing the line was the most subtle, judiciously applied of the entire cast. He made all this happen with fine agility and judiciously again with opening out of much with which one should endow Rinaldo Peter Volpe filled in as drily voiced Idraote - Keith Miller the physically agile and vocally sufficiently even Astarotte.

Producer Mary Zimmerman did intermittently contribute several clever touches. Slow motion swordplay anticipation of Rinaldo and Gernando really having it out worked very well. Though distracting from overall dramatic flow and attention getting for its own sake, the choreography (Graciela Daniele) for the Act Two ballet was incisive, beguilingly complex in pattern for well striped tailed demons creating havoc across the stage. As for the mute parts of Amor and Vendetta - too much diva props during final scene of the opera, Vendetta played by bare chested walking ad for Mens’ Health or Gold’s Gym - the less seen the better. It is better to opt for the good lighting design available here to accentuate Armida’s even willfully quick vacillations between two conflicting emotions so beautifully and dramatically delineated by Rossini than for so much leaning back and forth between two such silly figures on stage. Deflating too is having a wall cut off most of the Met stage behind Fleming for the final scene, as doing so cuts off so much perspective. There is this great uncertainty at which Rossini leaves things, concerning which direction his sorceress will turn to next.

Intermission features for this in-HD Armida turned out dreadful. Lawrence Brownlee walked in, chaperoned arm in arm with Renee Fleming over to Deborah Voigt. For neither any man nor woman is Brownlee house boy in the least. Fleming had already appeared solo before Deborah Voigt. It could have been a bright idea to have entire time taken up by conversation with Phil Gossett - apparently on board for musical preparation here - in company with all three,. What, could have Met staff feared that Gossett might again pull out a funny quote, such as obscenity Rossini inscribed on one page of Otello? Instead we got one big worship-LaRenee-fest for good half of everything. No mention of the San Carlo, Isabella Colbran, Andrea Nozzari, orchestra in Naples, Rossini’s multicultural emphases in his scoring, traditions of ornamentation was made - except for La Renee to compare the latter with blues or gospel improvisation.

All the talk of being a great team player also got annoying fast - scripted partly by the little Napoleon who behind scenes runs everything at the Met. One might think the U.S. now enters its own phase of the old and rightly so heavily derided social realism of forty-plus years ago. What is good for the corporate welfare state is what we should expect as best for the arts we patronize - standard by which the arts should now always comply. That included Saturday promo of the new production of the Ring at the Met that as Debbie explains, just simply tells the story.

All art, theater, recreation of it, is representational. Especially in our day and age, there is really no such thing anymore as just simply telling the story – just so much horseshit – and with the paltry way in which things get rehearsed so often. The Met’s show of playing Armida, sets and costumes wise, on the cheap, was deflating. At least as planned, the casting for this new production however was indeed luxurious.

This was still Rossini’s Armida. One, if not yet, still absolutely must go see it. In the end, all the parody of diva conniption with the small wand that Fleming carries around with her as Armida between her and Voigt was cute, but ultimately just so silly. Fact of the matter, neither one of them has one.

It appeared as though few of the men on Met stage for this Armida had one either.