MET: A special helping of broken chinoiserie - Hui He in slipshod re-run of Verdi's Aida 03.04.10 An aside on PBS re-airing of fall Turandot.

It is with the second heaviest Verdi role with which Hui He of Xi’an, China, graduate of Shanghai Conservatory made her Met and Met broadcast debut. She got heard as Tosca in a concert (semi-staged) performance, broadcast with the New York Philharmonic, approximately a year ago, Lorin Maazel conducting.

The part of Aida is versatile in its demands - elusive this way. Hui He made this much clear. It was just partly a case of nerves that obstructed her being able to start well lyrically, for which she placed back too far - to be careful. It thus made for cloudy tone production from her entrance on stage through end of trio with Amneris and Radames. She gained slightly more confidence for the large ensemble and opening of ‘Ritorna, vincitor’ to follow; her tone better opened out and more of a character began to emerge. Persistent pitch problems then began to compromise line; she lacked quite the control to scale voice down where, such as to start “L’inana parola’, the line is marked pianissimo.

There is attractive color here, for instance a smoky colored lower register, but pitch problems at the break and above killed her first go at ‘Numi, pieta’, that fortunately she repeated much better to end Act Two, Scene One. Gentle imploring of Amneris for news of Radames conveyed fine intimacy as same music taken more slowly during ‘Ritorna vincitor’ had in her previous scene. She then however opted for thickening her sound a little much, making intonation suffer once more, this time for her well felt despondent entreaties for mercy to a threatening rival ('Ah! pieta ti prenda').

‘O patria mia’, starting off the Nile Scene, revealed the effect of some wear and tear of singing Aida on essentially a lyric instrument. The right lyrical impetus was present, and feeling for emotions of the character, but for sake of maintaining control through some of the long cantilena in this aria, tone began to turn whitish under pressure and the high C just about misfired completely. Hui He then managed to quickly regain poise for by and large a quite successful Nile duet with Amonasro, with especially some fully spun out lines to close it, that she then made quite affecting. Through ‘Pur ti riveggo’ with Radames, she also revealed well toughness of the slave girl, alongside the vulnerability. Intonation again became for a few phrases very hit-and-miss for Hui He as the second big duet to include her required so much scaling down of the voice. Most revealing of having succumbed to effect of having had run across some questionable training was the reach-from-behind approach to ‘O, terra, addio’ which broke apart the line and again killed intonation, whereas she had started the Tomb Scene well.

Slight glibness apart, including through ‘L’inno nostro di morte’ in this final scene, a real character as Aida started to emerge, in such quasi-heroic attempt at it, but with so much faulty technique to just simply got excessively in the way. Not encumbered by such heavy demands, here is a lovely instrument, but, one would hope, not one to be quickly ruined soon by plethora of Tosca’s, Aidas, Amelia’s, etc. It would be good to report here that, from veterans of Met and other big house Aida’s, there might be some example for Hui He to follow Saturday. However, all to encounter here were only faint to mediocre reminders of what Aida, singing it, is about.

Salvatore Licitra was the Radames, appearing all eager, naïve, ambitious, guileless, stupid as any Radames should for ‘Se guerrier io fossi.’ All this was fine and well, just as long as Lictira did not have to reach much for the break or anything above it. What hint of anything like heroism that Radames should convey, such as from for instance a Bergonzi, fell seriously by the wayside. Licitra did manage to plan here and conserve energy better than he did last year in Munich with Gatti, singing Radames again, but still several high notes emerged as raw, even here. Clipping of ‘Nel fiero anelito’, inelegant lunging for long sustained F’s in Celesta Aida’ and poutish behavior for cabaletta to the Nile scene duet ultimately contributed to one anti-heroic Radames indeed.

In fact, one would have hoped that the priests, others in charge, once betrayal of the Egyptian forces has occurred, might have paused to consider how perhaps little of a factor Radames might have been in securing victory for which he has just been lauded. Once having done so, it might have been easy to release Radames as unworthy to the cause from the get-go to the Ethiopians to join his Aida in smelling i freschi valli of new jungle home down south. We could have then had a happy ending and no Act Four.

Dolora Zajick, for what seems the umpteen hundredth time - wear and tear on her voice to show for it - was the Amneris. She joined Licitra in giving, even solidifying well the following impression of lets say ninety minutes before curtain, loud stretch and yawn, ‘time to get derriere down to Lincoln Center, put on the Egyptian, and give it all once more what they came for..’ In other words, for the most part, other than to phone Amneris in, the cause was lost. ‘Hmm - how shall we nuance ‘Ah, vieni’ today? Let’s perhaps place each succeeding one even still a little further back from previous one this time.’ How imaginative! What extra gilding Zajick gave them did however succeed in derailing intonation. Zajick comfortably coasted through the ‘Trema, vil schiava’s’ of Act Two, Scene One, then after nice pause for extra half a second from Armiliato, indulged us of her chest voice on ‘Del tuo destino’, that starts and remains comfortably lower.

Marco Armiliato gave Zajick a fairly breezy tempo for cabaletta in the Judgment scene, instead of abetting her clipping it, such as happened earlier here in Houston. The forza for it still got compromised quite a bit. For arioso to precede trial of Radames, Zajick varied between good garden variety verismo and giving the princess’s special voicing of desperation for hope a few shimmers of real insight. There is still indeed an Amneris here, even quite the voice for it, though with chest register more separate from the rest than before, and one looking as though en route to shadow of her former glorious self.

Carlo Colombara made the lyrically achieved Ramfis, achieving proper gravitas and menace for some pages - temple scene with Radames for instance - and compromised, reach-from-above intonation for the rest of it. The profile for what once has been a very fine voice for the part is still there, but some edges now begin to show. Invocations of Radames’s name eventually went completely sharp. Stefan Kocan played the somewhat nasal, Slavic toned King of Egypt quite firmly, but also with minor intonation problems.

Carlo Guelfi energetically fletcherized a bit to put forth a fully rounded Amonasro across the footlights. Other than for several key lines, for instance at the end of the Nile duet with Aida, top notes were unsteady and sense of legato patchy at best. Clearly what continues mostly a character-baritone profile of the embattled and enslaved Ethiopian king emerged here. My expectations for Guelfi were lowest of all, but in context of this cast, he hardly did poorly at all. All three lowest male voices in this cast sounded best in negotiating exchange of recitative toward end of the Triumphal Scene, following Guelfi’s unwritten doubling of Hui He on all instead of part of her long second phrase to repeat what Amonasro just had in full to himself for ‘Ma, tu Re.’ He sounded, non legato, two dynamic levels louder than she did.

More heroic sounding than anybody else in the cast was the Messenger of Diego Torres, perhaps the one unqualified success here. Could he have been a double for Licitra? What could have things been like, had he been able to fill in? The Priestess (Elisabeth DeShong) however was a case, all the way around, of blatant disregard. Nobody, from the podium to backstage showed any evidence of care for how the music is marked, in terms of dynamics, balances, placement, or anything else. DeShong blasted her way through this at an unyielding fortissimo – not making enviable at all where the new Chinese soprano may have stood within grand scheme of things.

After cancellation of Paolo Cargnani just slightly within one week of this run, came on Marco Armiliato to conduct this instead. Heavily misplaced accents in segue off the Judgment Scene duet for one revealed that, for Armiliato, there was nothing other than perhaps cosmetic that needed fixing since Gatti, the far more glorified (and more willful) routiniere who conducted this last fall.

The affectation, mannerisms with Armliato up there in Gatti’s place was at times exactly the same, as I have heard in a Munich Aida and more painfully the La Scala Don Carlo. The Met chorus most often sounded thin and unfocused. Strings were a bit ragged, even for prelude to Act One and mezzo-forte for what should be the magical opening of the Nile scene. Many phrase endings were loud and crude, often to a truly unwarranted extent, i.e. toward end of ‘Ma, tu Re’ during the Triumphal Scene for stretto right before closing phrase. This was shouted to extent that brief line of chord progression therein could have been mistaken for writing out of Utrenja or Moses und Aaron instead.

Obsequious yielding to his singers on stage, when in violation of Verdi’s rhythms, came across highly insipid. Dance episodes during the first two acts were clunky - the dance of the priestesses flat-footed and loud. Amneris’s slaves, even as looking forward to a few special privileges in lieu of the day being prep for her nuptials with Radames, sounded tired and disengaged – with loud, clunky harp to accompany them. What the Met orchestra and chorus has been able to offer before in terms of refinement under Levine and others seemed to have exited for left field entirely. The grandeur of such an occasion, to see Aida at the Met, with chorus sounding at times so thin, went almost entirely missing. Ira Siff’s comparative evaluation of this cast - for it to have been just as good for us in our own day as Toscanini’s of the 1908-09 season (Destinn, Louise Homer, Caruso) had been for that time, Verdi’s Aida notwithstanding - hit a new low.

Desecration from earlier this Met season of again a true masterpiece - what has so often now been left bowdlerized, with still the Toscanini butchered Alfano ending to it, was on display on PBS this evening. When bare-chested Pu-Tin-Pao came on stage, in the stage directions, for the Liu, I thought he could have been headed for either the somewhat raw sounding Turandot (Maria Guleghina) or Calaf (Marcello Giordani) instead, for what had happened to the shape of so many of Puccini’s phrases, pitch, etc. Andris Nelsons (Met debut), with deft touch for some of Puccini’s sonorities, made something close to muzak of the rest. - in place of ability for the modernism of Puccini’s score to make it to the fore. After shaky ensemble for passacaglia to flaccidly end Act One, one then picked up real garden variety Tommy Dorsey waltz of just about the entire Riddle Scene to end Act Two.

In Berlioz’s day, should this Turandot have occurred in Beijing then, someone would have had to step in to save even Nelsons, lest he not have been able to leave Tian’anmen with ears and nose intact after likely encounter with Pu-Tin Pao himself Otherwise, what would we be able to make today of what Berlioz wrote on the subject of penalties for desecrators? The Liu (Marina Poplavaskaya) practically or artistically emerged the victor of the day, even with her own moments of questionable intonation. Pu-Tin-Pao still perhaps had score to settle with her - for her execrable Elisabetta in Don Carlo weeks earlier in London.

The Zeffirelli, with the three ministers doing ‘this is what we do to look Chinese for the tourists’ act, looked as silly as any production of his has ever looked, all the excessive dancing around and posing with fans hardly less. Nelsons took the same bad cut to the ministers’ scene opening Act Two as usually taken. No gravitas was able to be found for anything, least of all either the tone of Samuel Ramey or Charles Anthony as senior figures on stage, or as to what Puccini’s final opera could have meant. It would have hardly mattered if the highly relevant Berio finale of today could have been performed. With both the staging and Nelson’s mix of chartreuse into Puccini’s sonorities, even for Puccini composed like he did – the cause would have most likely been lost anyway. What Turandot might offer in terms of grandeur got compromised by road-show quality work (including in number on stage) from the Met chorus.

Met: Verdi's Attila - a Met first - Ricccardo Muti (debut) conducts new Audi production - Verdi's scourge on early 21st century voices

It has always slightly baffled me that Attila has received as much currency as it has for even early Verdi, as opposed to several other operas that never get staged here. It does have its commercial appeal - its choruses, ieading bass part, larger than life notoriety of the great Hun. It even contains a few pet would-be Wagernisms, while still safe for Verdi to include such resemblances in his work. How many times have we heard, quite mistakenly that Otello and Falstaff owe a debt to the Nordic bard? No debt here is really owed anybody either, but naïve choral writing a few places, not to mention invocations to Wotan, Valhalla, other Norse symbology, does crop up.

Attila, along with the immature Oberto, is one of only two operas by Verdi in which the leading character is a bass. Today it begins to get easier to name what even early Verdi operas the Met has never put on instead of those the Met has, this is the Met’s first Attila, in new plenty abstract production by Pierre Audi. Playing it safe instead of choosing a work more obviously complex than this one is Riccardo Muti, who chose Attila as his Met conducting and broadcast debut. I still await the Met’s first Battaglia di Legnano and I Due Foscari, but listening to Meg and Ira prattle on yesterday, one might think that Attila holds a place close to that of Simon Boccanegra in the Verdi canon.

Riccardo Muti, during intermission, invited perhaps us a little too well to see perhaps an error in conceptualization or two in how he and the Met went about doing Verdi’s Attila. First of all, to roughly paraphrase what he said, a good approach to even Attila begins from the podium. Even though Muti is right, there is with a piece like this only so far one can go this way without missing something entirely. With the new abstract production the Met has put on - explained in part by either Muti or somebody for what spiritual values might get brought to the fore this way - there is something here too that can too readily invite misperception. In the ways that Wagner, Weber, Verdi coincide, better elucidated by Julian Budden than even I can muster, the naivete on Verdi’s part is obvious. Certainly there are some moments in Attila where Verdi pulls off a certain gravitas for lines for mostly his principal characters, but there are also stretches therein where such inspiration runs thin, even precariously so occasionally.

Remarkable about Attila, to distinguish it from Nabucco and other early Risorgimento classics, is at least underneath the surface here the betrayal at least to critical ears some loss of confidence in the movement - even as to why to compose for it and so brashly. Orchestra and chorus, to help make Muti’s argument, rose prominently to the fore - even exaggeratedly so at times for such brashness and foursquare construction to come across as two-dimensional as certainly it does. Consider Il Trovatore of six or seven years later, Trovatore is characterized, much of it, by a thrust, drive, projection forward that begins to engulf the characters just starting to get swallowed up in vortex of the action involving their very selves. Verdi, in closing Attila, chose the option of quartet for principals, involving expression of their individual emotions, reaction to what is going on, over nationalistic hymn. In doing so, even for Attila, he chose wisely – only to lightly contradict how one still should most likely characterize Attila.

Here is the rub. It is a given that one is not going to make Attila work from just having a strong presence on the podium and accompanying attitude of high seriousness in any form so much. Of course, in terms of tight rhythm, making the more subtle pages of Attila count, such finesse as Muti calls for is to be reckoned extremely valuable. One though, including even Muti, must keep a little of the naivete in mind, or else one will come up with somewhat stilted results. Such is a trap, even after all the years Muti has conducted Verdi that he did not quite entirely avoid here. The thing most lacking in this Attila for either Muti or it was heroic voices. More than anything else, this was what was lacking.

Julian Budden cites Marini as being either the first or a very early Attila, a basso cantante for the part – in discussing the prologue duet between Roman general and Attila. Ildar Abdrazakov filled this bill somewhere between halfway and two-thirds well, depending on one’s perspective. He clearly sounded the Attila of the cantante variety, not the profondo;’ most of the duet with baritone Ezio, fluidly moving about in thirds worked very well for him. Otherwise, before ensemble following the papal confrontation at end of Act One for instance, Abdrazakov tended to push, and then his voice immediately became tremulous, wobbly, lacking in true line or legato. I even perhaps detected a few accents of the Sam Ramey interpretation and type of production Abdrazakov apparently had invited or sneaked in here and there. Sure enough, at end of Act One, there was Sam Ramey to stand right before this new Attila at the Met. Making way out of this moment and into later scenes, Abadrazakov more effortlessly relied upon naturally dark color and more relaxed means of production, attitude of sobriety to make something haunting out of much that followed. The part does in places hold promise for what is to come in mature Verdi – Fiesco, Guardiano, Procida, Ramfis, etc.

I speculate here, but what could have perhaps prompted an immediate rethink on Abadrazakov’s part, approximately halfway through Saturday was the brief stand-off with Ramey as Leone and anticipation thereof from his aria “Mentre gonfiarsi.” Muti gave the underpinning of “Di flagellar” all the forza one could ask for, but Abadrazakov lightly splayed on the D-flats to extent that practically all weight to his lines dissipated, giving ‘Di flagellar’ something of a Flying Nun intensity. Ramey’s Leone, once down several notes to A-flat from D-flat may have disintegrated into wobble, but his initial top D-flat or two matched Muti for sufficient heft with which Muti backed him.

Odabella is a part hybrid between Abigaille warrior maiden and lirico spinto. Violeta Urmana is more convincing as the former, but perhaps not by much. Her top, when not pressed upon, does sound lyric, much as Jessye Norman could often sound like a lyric soprano above the staff, and a mezzo much of the rest of the way down. Norman, however, stayed away from Odabella and similar. These are, after all, still two quite different singers. For more heroic accents in Odabella, Urmana mostly has them as far as making it to top of the staff, but above the staff, the tone turns hard, tight, and when pushed, really strident. Some of Odabella’s tessitura is slightly above where height of it should normally be for Urmana. By contrast, lower notes sounded full with time to prepare them well, but while rapidly so instead, slightly wan.

Most curious, in taking on such a part, Urmana’s voice now starts to show breaks between what might be detected to be as many as four, perhaps five different registers. There was in a way more of an Amneris on stage for this than really an Odabella, except when notes at the break, for instance F’s at end of ensemble closing Act Two, would also go slightly loose on Miss Urmana. In leading choral, ensemble passages, one or two in unison with the Foresto of Ramon Vargas, had both of their voices blend into, instead of lead the ensemble - such as to end the banquet scene (Act Two). The great romanza that opens Act One came across slightly cloudy – decent expression, legato otherwise – with smudged, yodeled sextuplets in cadenza toward its conclusion.

Foresto again was entrusted to quite pure Rossini-Donizetti lyric Ramon Vargas, whose top has already appeared to have again come a bit loose from middle and below, as it had often early on. I found it curious how fine a match he and Urmana made, with what heavier assignments are commonplace for her, throughout this. Vargas relaxed well on lyrical pages, such as especially for romanza to open the final scene of the opera. Notes, even for such, were at once both lightly bench-pressed and placed in head voice. Whatever forza Foresto must get across that a secure lyric spinto tenor like Bergonzi mustered very well, was nowhere to be found, however valiantly attempted.. Such valor brought from Vargas the bitter fruit of choppy line and at times questionable intonation. The Manrico-Leonora type cabaletta ending one long duet had to rest content for Urmana and Vargas to merely coast through it.

Most successful of the four principals was a relative unknown in Giovanni Meoni, to replace Carlos Alvarez on short notice, as Ezio. Nothing occurred here to overwhelm one’s impression of Abdrazakov; one sensed from Meoni too a little squeeze above the staff in reaching notes there. He had the most comfortable time though, essaying his lines, finding fine variety of color to nuance them and make, if a somewhat lean, still a forceful impression, even at the Met. The fine bloom on his voice, musical sensitivity and fine profiling of his lines throughout the brief afternoon made a few passages of Ezio’s music sound the best that they could. Russell Thomas was the equally incisive Uldino to the Foresto of Ramon Vargas, though obviously assigned the simpler task – Thomas first introduced to many of us at the Met in HD Macbeth as Malcolm.

The prelude to Attila started things off well, with good ominous color from lower reaches. Color Muti drew especially out of the Met winds and mostly flexible support he very capably gave all his cast offered much promise.. Even if this could have been an Attila without singers, Muti’s success with Attila one would still best judge as qualified – even with his having made his work in Verdi of practically legendary status at La Scala, drawing higher standards of playing and choral singing there than is most likely still possible today. If there was way in which one found a lapse in the quality of Muti’s work, it was not all due to Muti curiously not placing it quite entirely in perspective the thinness of inspiration in some of Verdi’s writing here. Such first became conspicuous from clean, but wan sounding violins during the prelude on their unison lines over brass.

Imbalance of voices toward end of Act Two that failed to make ensemble closing it calibrate as well as it should have was beyond Muti’s control, as was Abadrazakov’s solo entry of recitative between mostly a cappella concertato and stretto therein, restoring intonation back up almost a quarter-tone to where it belonged. Instability of Met tenors and at times of Met chorus overall was practically as disturbing as usual; this could only be fairly referred to as an internal problem.

Excessive clipping of part of the storm interlude toward the end of the Prologue was however mostly indiscretion on Muti’s part; towards what, it was hard to tell – except for pedantic accenting of major choral announcements moments later also evident. Much compartmentalization of rehearsal time that has taken place at the Met as of late is also likely a culprit. If however he did not secure optimum tone from his choral forces, Muti showed particular insistence on tight rhythmic accuracy and point from them, such that was very clear and very welcome. Muti managed to make closing passages of Attila cohere very well, with fine cumulative sense to them well anticipated and delivered.

Most of all, this Attila lacked voices – juice that must flow from such quintessential for really practically any Verdi - Otello and Falstaff only being partial exceptions.

Met (in HD) - Boccanegra from Domingo, Levine & Co of mostly weightless quality

Much anticipated has been indeed the debut or series of debuts by Placido Domingo in the part of Doge of Genoa. In fact, I do not quite know in starting out to write, what I should be reviewing here – either Verdi’s opera Simon Boccanegra or status of Placido Domingo, given how certain powers that be might direct me to write what I do here.

Let me blow my own cover by saying I opted to sit at home with score open instead of report to cinema to re-audition Giancarlo Del Monaco’s production from the Met – after I had shut it off at end of Act One, when PBS aired it around 1996. Placido Domingo played Adorno then - in fact so energetically he somewhat disproportionately upstaged the Doge (Vladimir Chernov). If one sought a Placido Domingo & Co Simon Boccanegra, one could not have departed from what has transpired Saturday much disappointed. However, there is much more here than mere star vehicle for anybody.

James Levine conducted a Boccanegra well tailored to supporting Domingo’s best efforts for the most part. One however gathered little sense from Levine here, as opposed to with his Macbeth recently, what makes Simon Boccanegra in its standard revised 1881 version - Meg and Ira constantly reminded us - special. Except for during obvious place as the last five minutes of the Council Chamber scene, at which doge confronts Paolo, and the easier Act Two, one heard, came across simply a little too much compromise for either Levine’s good or for that of this piece. Numerous specific dynamic markings, proper balancing and interaction making use of getting chorus placed right - and of fanfares during Act One both offstage and on - and even correct spacing between chords (such as to begin Il lacerate spirito) went slightly too often amiss, streamlined or ignored.

Pianissimo marked strings introducing Amelia’s aria sounded heavy, Met flutes replying delicately - marked dynamic level louder than the strings. A nearly perfect cloudless day over harbor of Genoa could have only appeared so scenically; it did not musically. Co-ordination of most onstage ensemble, moments for such worked quite well, other than for the Met chorus sounding more strained than they should. Sympathy for the Verdian idiom Levine certainly has some mastery long by now. With Simon Boccanegra, one seeks hopefully a little more – not alone for what special occasion this has been touted to be. With openings of arias in both the first two scenes of the opera, Levine risked falling under spell of a generic blandness, less offensive for start to Fiesco’s scene in the Prologue than here in 2006 (for which Patrick Summers entirely ignored contrast of dynamics starting out). Summers however achieved good delicacy for opening, by contrast, the sunniest passage of this entire work - the first scene of Act One.

Most consistently good in an uneven supporting cast here was the Paolo Albiani of Stephen Gaertner, taking place of Nicola Alaimo on relatively short notice. He was paired with a Pietro, Richard Bernstein, clearly more sonorous than the Fiesco, it certainly sounded. Gaertner made the conniving, menace, bitterness of the Doge’s mortal foe quite riveting, and good abettor in motivating Domingo to making a real challenge out of his address to Paolo to conclude a long Act One. Adam Herskowitz made forthright, dutiful, but somewhat pitch uneven Captain late in the opera.

Adrianne Pieczonka was the both enraptured and bold sounding Amelia Grimaldi, in most wisely taking on lyrically this part. Vaguely remindful of what Gina Cigna may have said of Callas, one had at times impression with Pieczonka, especially through Act One of hearing at times three voices instead of one – the way in which there lacked facile connection between shifts, registers – such lack audibly so at times Saturday. When especially descending stepwise down a line, all would go smoothly, but once she had to make any leap whichever direction, one had to take on a little faith that one would be hearing everything intact. A little tremulo around the break affected the famous (or by now infamous) trill during the Council Chamber Scene. In contrast to what I have read several ftimes about Pieczonka – just recently having made her HGO debut in Lohengrin – I find her ease in achieving legato better in the Italianate repertoire than in the German thus far; such was achieved with mostly very even, lovely results for last half of Saturday. Approach, though tense, to high notes was always fearless, but especially early on at risk of sounding unsupported on them. Even with what vocal lapses might have been occurring, she sounded the more consistently engaged than did Domingo through their recognition scene in Act One together.

With approach to production somewhat similar to that of Domingo, Marcello Giordani sang Gabriele here. He is the one character to be first heard offstage, and predictably enough, registered awkwardly enough so, as though being heard from echo chamber not far offstage for his first entrance. He sounded uncharacteristically less loud once on stage in his first scene than he did off a moment before. One had to wonder if Amelia could have had trouble as to where to find him. For such earnest jump at trying to sound heroic here, Giordani, with just fortunately at least at times a little more subtlety than stock tenor mannerisms at his command, found himself with an entirely unreliable, unsupported top. Throughout any of Act Two past his big aria, he sounded almost completely lost in regards to placement altogether - after fishing for proper placement of repeated A-Flats several lines before lyrical refrain to "Sento avvampar." He fortunately recovered both semblance of voice and good behavior for Act Three.

Entirely lacking in both low notes and anything resembling gravitas, outside of prudent care for Boito's text, was James Morris as Jacopo Fiesco. The voice is now a shell of its former self, for what indeed here became a comprimario Fiesco. In duet with Giordani during Act One, even Giordani’s unsupported top unsettled matters less than did much lack of solidity underneath. Levine’s bland conducting of Fiesco’s first scene - all to eloquently frame “Il lacerate spirito” - most certainly undercut Morris for its entirety. Morris did however manage to achieve decent approximation of legato for noble refrain to the aria, as he did several moments later for "Se conceder" during following duet with Domingo. Both passages, with dignified reserve, reminded of better days for this singer. His failure at anywhere nearly being able to underpin the closing quartet in the opera made one episode therein positively sound like Offenbach, barcarolle-like, for having indeed become weightless. Fiesco’s facing off of Boccanegra - informed by seniority combined with implacability towards aspiring corsair - made no impact.

The vocally aging-defiant Fiesco of increasingly distant memory in my experience is Cesare Siepi (in place of indisposed Ghiaurov) in Houston in 1984 – at 63 years of age, opposite a somewhat weightless, at times tremulous Leo Nucci as Boccanegra. It was last spring that Domingo sang at Met gala the Act One recognition duet with Angela Gheorghiu in good form - quite effectively to anticipate taking on such a hefty assignment as faced him last Saturday and previously in Berlin. Domingo sang the duet at the gala as lyrically as if it had been bel canto. Such, though it may not have promised very much, turned out just quite aesthetically pleasing.

Saturday it was instead the complete role. Domingo’s model for Otello was primarily the fine Chilean tenor Ramon Vinay. Vinay graduated downward to Iago for a Dallas Otello (Mario Del Monaco) that possibly also included Domingo – on visit from Ft Worth Lucia - as Cassio, legend has it. Vinay also sang Telramund at Bayreuth several years later. If I had to pick just one major baritone role for Domingo to add, it would probably be Amfortas. I seriously doubt that Telramund would work for him, as sure as I am that Iago most certainly would not and that Vinay never attempted Boccanegra – and neither, for being so well versed in Verdi if not particularly idiomatic for it - Fischer-Dieskau (well known for both his recorded Iago and Telramund). Had it however been Fischer-Dieskau at peak of his powers today instead of ‘then’, the unanswerable question today would then indeed be ‘why not?’ Thomas Hampson, like a young Leo Nucci, has near as weightlessly as Domingo got some of this and with it obvious a lieder artist’s sensitivity for text – that one could have slightly more reliably picked up from Fischer-Dieskau.

The difference between then and now is that a greater number of singers - and during a time there were more great singers than there are today - knew better, knew they should be daunted by such an assignment as this. For Domingo to have achieved as much success as he did with it, though limited, Saturday, at age of sixty-nine, certainly speaks well enough for itself. The valor, the courage to do so is already such to automatically be able to become legendary. Attempt at this in a barn such as the Met I would normally reckon however slightly vain. Even so, it was most certainly the way to be heard the most places and simulated (not in person) live any great number of places around the world. One can only go so far to demean such a feat.

Domingo’s production here certainly sounded phlegmatic enough, especially in early scenes here, to have been mistaken for Germanic in place of Italianate. “V’amplesso” started off eager enough, if also with curiously phlegmatic feel for expressing uncertainly as well. The always-readily engaged Domingo showed up in Prologue as at least halfway decent match with the young Boccanegra. The stunned “Morta’s” replying to Fiesco’s news of the death of Maria resounded well as the grief of a young man – a bit amazing, coming from someone pushing seventy. “Sublimarmi a lei spira” sounded forth with good valor, fervor, almost as eager enough to take anything on, but ‘Sul mar nel lido’ a little more generically espressivo. “Qui sempre silenzio si tenebra” came across Viaay-esque foreboding enough - of uncertain future ahead.

Rougher sailing lay ahead for Act One. Uncertainty as to proper placement - even as to where correct tessitura, approach to it lies tended to over-ride expressive considerations for the first scene at seaside - mostly the recognition duet with Amelia. Levine mostly accompanied supportively enough, but as slightly too eager through piu animato for marcia that so poignantly recalls Act Three duet from Luisa Miller; he also pushed excessively through closing Iago anticipating exchange between Paolo and Pietro.

“Messeri, il re” started off right, but then Domingo made continuation of it sound like equally likely recitative out of Ernani. A certainly dark enough “Tutto e silenzio” got immediately undercut by weak, generically phlegmatic “Ecco i plebi”, instead of eruption of most deeply ingrained, cynically mixed rage and irony. The great address, ‘Plebe! Patrizi!” started off badly, with uncertainty of pitch and very choppy line, with still some incipient whine to it, up until a well couched, enveloped “Piango su voi’, even while still tight on F-sharps. This finally prepared contrastingly well for with Simon’s implacable address to Paolo - Levine and very fine bass clarinet with it all every step of the way - that recalled some of Domingo’s best days as Otello - as for instance during the Venetian delegation scene. Domingo’s real menace in forcing Paolo to repeat curse was no affectation, but somewhat compensated however for his perhaps jumping too quickly at “Sii maledetto”. Gaertner replied with good shudder, horror here.

Domingo found fine rhetorical eloquence for the last two acts, making something very affecting of the death scene; he had in previous scene sufficiently reckoned line about the bitterness of the taste of water to even who wears the crown during Act Two well. His blessing on both daughter and forgiven rebel Gabriele together with extension of clemency to Fiesco and hope for peace to all sounded sincerely heartfelt if slightly untethered vocally – with passionate cry of Maria’s name capping everything off. One felt however that towards such a fine ending one had not witnessed it for a Doge having come down from even near supreme heights as one should.

Meg and Ira sounded taken up with notion that we had arrived at a great moment of history, that we had a piece during their show of all that went on during year the revised Boccnaegra had its 1881 world premiere, all the way down to outback that year for execution of bandit Ned Kelley. Most jarring perhaps would have been to turn on right after attending this Boccanegra the 1982 La Scala dvd of Ernani Muti conducts that also stars Domingo. It is so well produced, performed for that one practically has Ernani even ape momentarily belonging to same class as we normally reckon Boccanegra and Otello – no less for what Domingo invested therein on that occasion. With Boccanegra again, one ascertained at least a somewhat humble sense on Domingo’s part of approaching end of career toward eventual end of life - something here that at least carried some poignancy - with as backdrop Saturday this great score. Verdi reckoned too that he only had so much time left in his craft for what valecdictory statements he was making here.

One had to have left this experience grateful, but also slightly confused, confounded that it is indeed still Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra; it is that for sure with which we all must contend. Such is true with the master no longer alive - this yet again being the shoddy Del Monaco production the Met brings back – and no longer able to defend himself.

Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra however still endures, beyond how mere mortals may undercut, weaken its impact on our feeble psyches, minds, emotions. The apparently endless cycle of sea and sky, with its hues, colors, interaction in change of light and of mood informs all of Verdi’s score. This is even so as the engine that as while even ontologically fueling the wrath of provoked mobs also provides balm for our still more frequent need for consolation, time to reflect. The sea is something, as depicted here, always for plebeian and patrician of Genoa alike – hard for me to perceive how anyone can live happy too far for long from it where one might reside – that has endured over generations and centuries. Nobody so far has out-endured it and nobody ever will.

ROH Don Carlo (revival - Nicholas Hytner): Escuriel in two dimensions - Semyon Bychkov. Jonas Kaufmann the Infante.

This marks second time to have covered airing of the Nick Hytner production of Verdi’s Don Carlo - in interest of hearing several singers and Marina Poplavskaya repeat Elisabetta. Previous comments date from June 30, 2008, weeks after this production first opened – and can still be found at BCCLS opera listserv.

Semyon Bychkov took over from Antonio Pappano this time. He invested more imagination into several passages, darker tinta overall, but moreover a verticalization of Verdi’s orchestral fabric to extent that structural cohesion of numerous passages sometimes would give way. Toward accommodating cast members, some other compromise factored in.

Remindful too soon of Radio Norway with Shostakovich last month was Lisa Simeone’s claim on NPR that what we would be hearing would in effect essentially be the 1884 Milan four-act version of the opera. It is indeed more compact than any of the five-act versions, including the 1886 Modena version. What we got instead was still the 1886 Modena – its last four acts - because if this really had been the Milan, Jonas Kaufmann then would have had the aria “Io la vidi” to sing – with altered recitative then newer version of the aria written a whole tone down.

Jonas Kaufmann took Rolando Villazon’s place as the Infante. One missed some Latin warmth and intensity from Villazon, but less so persistent intonation problems he has been having. Kaufmann had some of his share as well. Presuming youtube excerpts to be from same opening night as this broadcast, the evening for Kaufmann got to a somewhat rocky start. Word has it that both Kaufmann and Poplavskaya used ‘Fontainebleau’ as warm-up for the next act.

Break in legato off tied B-Flat for “Di qual amor” from Poplavskaya instantly became desecrating, plus later instances she’d break up the line to accommodate what vocal shortcomings she has. Kaufmann’s mezza voce high B in “Io lo vidi” practically scraped the throat. Intonation was sour and legato proved unfeasible while stuck in the throat. However, matters improved well for him for most of what followed - until final duet with Elisabetta.

Kaufmann succeeded best while onstage with Simon Keenlyside (Posa), but had success too with Act Two duet with the queen. The deeper, more phlegmatic, less explosive temperament of this Carlo next to Villazon’s meant also less specificity about the Infante than with Villazon. It is lovely, when not too self-conscious or phrasing from behind in doing so, to hear Kaufmann caress his lines and reveal as well, perhaps less keenly than his baritone colleague, a lieder like sensitivity for words, such as ideal in either Schubert or Schumann. And yet in early duet with Keenlyside, Kaufmann’s focused “Tristo me” leading into friendship cabaletta revealed such metal that momentarily it could have been a good second-tier Otello doing this. Kaufmann’s purposefully dull waking up from swoon into which Carlo has coalesced in front of Elisabeth carried both distinctive poetry and verisimilitude.

There is still more personality to draw out of Verdi’s Carlo than Kaufmann provided; safety net of mezza voce eventually became a cliché a good ways through this. From what we know now, portraying Carlo as person hard to get to (really) know could be insight one can draw from hearing either Kaufmann or Domingo. One could look to Carreras for Karajan (preferably 1970’s EMI) for a slightly more valid extrovert approach, or with less than perfect intonation, Villazon.

Marina Poplavskaya made a vocally fragile queen this time – more so than interpretively. She somewhat blasted through “No, pensate a Rodrigo” to Kaufmann moments after “Tu che le vanita” with wodge encircling the passaggio - recalling late-career Scotto. There were fine moments still, to recall Poplavskaya’s better lyricism in approaching this – cause for some optimism – such as her reply to Eboli near start of Act Two garden scene. Her “Non pianger” was still sensitive, though lacking secure reach over crest of its arching line. Bychkov then rushed her slightly through “Ben lo sapete” (during confrontation scene).

“Tu che le vanita” was just disastrous, though unlike with Cedolins so off key (with Gatti) it became hard to recognize what it was, here the aria was still fully recognizable. One sought in vain legato for both “s’ancor si piange” and its later reprise. Marcia altogether lacked vitality and in effect ‘farewell’ barcarolle with Kaufmann was both choppily phrased and accompanied, through final tastelessly bench pressed, punched out (by both singers) “e sempre Addio” right before Inquisitor and King enter, both hardly to mind their mowing both of them down. Perhaps neither should we for the effect on what Verdi wrote. Lovely stage appearance apparently was inadequate toward providing good vocal countenance - with legato as between worn and patchwork as Ricciarelli’s (DGG); this being so, it is hard to explain what interpretation remained, except for having heard her earlier with Pappano. Intonation was more intact and Pappano more supportive, conventionally so.

Marianne Cornetti was the light voiced Eboli, with lovely top, until pressing upon it hard. Several choked low notes hither and yond indicated verismo effect and/or perhaps just some lapse in technique. The veil song went reasonably well, though with some rushing, rhythmic distortion to accommodate rolling from break to top – given how soprano in timbre Cornetti is up high. She definitely proved the weak link with male colleagues in Act Three. Top notes for “O don fatale” were vaguely supported and penitent middle section was placed back to extent of making Eboli sound somewhat over the hill. Ganassi was last year’s Eboli, but with better established record in Rossini; such did not qualify her either for taking on this qualitatively dramatic soprano part.

Ferruccio Furlanetto most notably repeated Filippo II from last year. He resorted to excessive shouting and pouting in the part when this production opened, some of which he has internalized by now. For what wear and tear on the voice has ensued, he became more prudent here. He sang as movingly as I have ever heard him do so both “Oso lo squardo” at end of Act Two and opening lines to his fourth act aria; he and Bychkov agreed on maintaining more conventional line for “Dormiro sol”- out of which perhaps more could have been said. It was already obvious last year, clear by now that the Hytner/Furlanetto Filippo II is somewhat a diminution thereof. One felt pity for this Phillip, but less than full appreciation for the King’s dignity, with which Verdi fully invested him.

The best two dramatic events that occurred between both performances broadcast occurred with this revival, for two passages over which hard to favor any – even most anything in Aida - duologue for King with Posa and same with the Inquisitor. As somewhat Bychkov undercut the meeting with Posa, he fully rose the occasion for that with the Inquisitor (John Tomlinson, in place of Eric Halfvarson). Keenlyside last year had to drop out for indisposition for unstable Kostas Paskalis protégé Dimitri Tillakos to replace him. Keenlyside sounded a little darker this go-around than what little I have heard from him last year and slightly more compromised in legato. Interpretively he was ideal here, in standing up guilelessly beseechingly, to the King and in also revealing for Posa on last dying breath particular weakness for inciting Carlo.

Bychkov undercut Keenlyside by denying him full space to ideally encompass expanding lines in “Per me guinto” - by conducting phrase-ending a cappella lines from violins too strictly. Keenlyside evinced too considerable grace and charm as Rodrigo, such that the King might envy him at what chances toward winning Eboli exist, but also nobility with darker tone ideally enhancing some calming influence on Carlo Rodrigo has. “O Carlo, ascolta” may not have yet been the most moving account (accompanied by extra wide trumpets at its outset) of it I have ever heard. Apart from mariachis accompanying him, from the Royal Opera pit, he still transported it forward through a telling intimacy, free parlando, plus complete grace and poise.

The other triumph from this cast was as Posa’s nemesis – yet after the insinuating way Keenlyside referred to Carlo , i.e. “la vendetta del Re” – John Tomlinson indeed alone was the true epitome of a real nemesis; there could not have been possibly any worse since Martti Talvela, in almost very equal power struggles with a still young Nicolai Ghiaurov. I would rank both instances as among best handful of performances I have ever heard. Tomlinson essayed his lines with absolutely steady tone, a hint of the visionary though venomously misguided, his flexibility in being able to needle the King into getting the Inquisition’s way. I would have liked however for Furlanettto as King to have been able to stand up to the Inquisitor a little more. The despondency with which Furlanetto addressed Tomlinson – “Mio padre” – was heart-rending for what clearly is defeat for the King. It was perhaps here that Philip, in Hytner’s take on things, became again three-dimensional in full. This was not so much great music-making as theater, but still fine music-making indeed – with it hardly more Bychkov could do than step back.

Robert Lloyd, former Phillip himself, made Friar - one of both quite estimable (and also noticeable) age, experience - of considerable gravitas. Pumeza Matshikiza was the eager, but slightly quavery Tebaldo. Robert Anthony Gardner and Eri Nakamura made fine casting of Herald (and Lerma) and Celestial Voice, with resonant choral forces led very capably by Roberto Balsadonna.

Semyon Bychkov has indeed the heart for Verdi’s Don Carlo. There was though much compromise with his singers, leaving the structure of what Verdi himself penned down almost in the lurch. Granted, there was certainly much more semblance of an interpretation at work here than at La Scala’s opening night a year ago. One noticeable moment was for the duet in the last scene – bump intruding legato lower strings in obbligato to “Ma lassu ci vedremo” to go with the utter non legato of voices above. Passages of this score under Bychkov, instead of being varied components within a connecting line, would occur in blocks. Of note were several instances of accelerando or sudden change of pace to usually faster. Posa’s first solo during Act Two duologue started flat-line from Bychkov, then to infuse quasi-scherzo accenting halfway through to make agitation welling up in Rodrigo’s mind seem to have externally come about.
Opening of the prison scene was too fast - accents on lower middle line in the strings jabbed to extent of sounding positively Slavic. Other unmarked accelerandi, following convention, sounded applied from without. Bychkov does have some feeling for Verdi’s music and idiom, but his language for conveying it being conspicuously vertical at times though trips him up – such as with starting both monastery scenes (that bookend the 1884 Milan version). He certainly sounded most engaged during the two duologues, during much of Carlo and Elisabeth’s Second Act duet, and brought out more darkly than with Karajan, the diaphanous, insinuating textures of womens’ chorus just earlier starting garden scene and of Carlos awaiting audience with the queen, starting Act Three. One might surmise that Bychkov could have mistaken some of the latter for introducing scene out of Parsifal.

Entrance of royalty during the auto-da-fe had fine gravitas. Concertato started by Flemish deputies proceeded with fine, well limned solemnity. Mannerism abetted by influence of von Karajan was some alchemy between producer and maestro here calling for certain amount of mezza, sotto voce to convey intimacy between characters; more direct delivery of numerous lines would still leave us impression of dialogue occurring in private. Bychkov believed for obsequiousness to some of his cast in keeping so subdued the accompaniments that they then robbed cantabile vocal line above, of ebb and flow, except for singer who could enliven it all on his/her own, which Poplavskaya and Cornetti mostly failed at on their last two arias, respectively. Bychkov also confusingly made lumbering viola and cello triplets underneath Philip’s Ah si maledetto 1866 version (Maudit soit le soupcon infame) thirty-seconds (but on different pitches than 1866) in place of the 1886 sixteenths.

Supposed intimacy with characters for the audience broke down - with hardly any irony on Hytner’s part – subtle wall to remain up between the two parties, not to put us at ease, but for us to process information we receive from onstage for ourselves. Stage direction for actors to in essence do our work for us, provide us with our response to what goes on, is very irresponsible.

Addition of new assistant inquisitor (Teo Ghil) to the auto-da-fe is excessive - fortunately, as opposed to with Pappano, not shouting over music for banda for interrogating the condemned men he administers. He sounded this time placed further back. Watching 2008 youtube, I take issue with portraying the condemned heretics almost equally contemptibly as the Inquisition. Any self-respecting Catholic will look down upon both the horrific abuse that took place in 16th century Spain and abusive neglect by the Church since. Sorry to say, but Hytner victimizes the heretics, afresh perhaps, by also dehumanizing them. Fine skill is apparent, but such a narrow aesthetic grasp - hardly at all with Don Carlo alone. Sweeping contempt for organized religion is long familiar by now, but not some more effectively creative way of putting it across?

Don Carlo was never a good piece by which to lift the weight, cares of this world off one’s shoulders, yet Verdi seldom provided us with as complex thinking and empathy for all his characters involved so well as here. Long do we pine for escape to a better world - so remote also to those once inhabiting the Escuriel; we toil, wax and wane for seemingly long hours, yet especially while compared with the hereafter, our time is short.

Bavarian St Opera Aida: a la Gatti step - Egyptians, Verdi in flats

Barbara Frittoli was originally to have sung in this production of Verdi’s Aida, but whether it was the heaviness of the title role for a lyric, the lack of any clear beat to happen from the podium, or confusion surrounding the staging (by Christof Nel) in question that led her to backing out may still remain an open question. On paper then, that is still including Frittoli, this appeared to be a somewhat promising outing with Verdi’s Aida, on terms of its three principal singers. Lyric bass Giacomo Prestia has had some success before with Ramfis at other houses too.

Kristin Lewis, soprano from Little Rock, Arkansas, with certainly some attractive qualities, took Frittoli's place. There is a warm, thick molasses to the sound here that is quite attractive and should continue to help her find work in more lyric repertoire than the title role of Aida. I certainly hope she has not added Tosca or Amelia in Ballo to her repertoire as of yet. Lewis is said to have a degree of acting ability that apparently, according to one other writer who has written in, said that the rest of this cast lacked. Lewis’s first entrance, in trio with Amneris and Radames, a good ways already before becoming necessary for a lyric, involved quite a degree of pushing the voice - evident too during “Su del Nilo" several minutes later how flat she could become above the staff.

Most worrisome, for singer I estimate to be in her late twenties, was the pushing down on not only low notes to reach them, but also doing so on pitches around the break. The perils of doing so, for sake of the longevity of a career just starting out especially, should be blatantly obvious by now. She certainly won some sympathy for the part, but also had to stick at times to coasting through things, glib expression should any going nearby get rough. “O patria mia” certainly suited Lewis better than did “Ritorna vincitor,” but high C and high A at the end, though in tune, were unsupported. From what clip of this Aida I have seen, there are certainly some fine dramatic and musical instincts here that Lewis presents - all threatened however by taking on an assignment that is too big for her voice and too demanding of more secure technique.

Ekaterina Gubanova made overall a lyric Amneris, fairly even across her range, and with the expected Slavic coloring along with the rest. She still effectively managed to convey some of the imperious manner with which Amneris should carry herself, and if not rising to the most vocally resplendent tragic heights of inspiration during the Judgment scene, certainly did not eschew musical and dramatic involvement. Through several of the most dramatic moments in the part, she relied heavily upon Gatti to provide the clipping of note values she might have needed to keep lines she was singing sustainable, including her threatening lines to Aida during first scene of Act Two. While on that, her “Vieni, vieni, amor mio”’s starting Act Two became curiously stuck, tremulous around the break – a needed fix for which Gatti did not show much ability to come to her rescue.

Salvatore Licitra displayed the lyricism for Radames, along with some of the nobility, plus about all the guilelessness, romantic ardor, naivete, stupidity true of Radames as well. “Celeste Aida” had good sustained line, but through which Licitra coasted his way, toward being able to make some still strained B-Flats; at the temple of Phtah, he managed to go sharp several times in his duet with Prestia. Good characterization persisted through the Nile scene, but Licitra could not hide bench-pressing he started engaging in even for the slower, more lyrical part of Nile duet with Aida. Lewis, having to go about its cabaletta in ‘hail Mary’ fashion, provided suitable distraction unfortunately for what trouble Licitra had here as well. The fatigue for what is really not a very long evening fully set in for Licitra by the Tomb Scene – in which past his sensitive opening phrases to it, he emitted some raw sounds. It has been said that this guy can hardly act his way out of a paper bag. One does not evaluate a Radames so much on that as being able to sing the part - one that sits quite often uncomfortably in the middle of the voice. One need only look back to Carlo Bergonzi, however, to know how well it can be done.

Christian Van Horn, apart from several doubtful low notes, provided a very sturdy, stalwart King, with pleasing dark timbre to voice that hopefully will not (too soon) encounter being forced onto assignments too heavy.. Angela Brewer, with voice placed too forward, was found to slough off phrase endings and unsteady as the Priestess. Kenneth Roberson (Messenger) was fine, except for being rushed off his lines by Gatti.

Audibly painful high F’s, far placed back wobbly unsteady tone characterized most of all the Amonasro during the Triumphal Scene, that for which no amount of incisiveness from Gatti was able to compensate during “Quest’assissi” - starting point for enslaved foreign monarch. Marco Vratogna then had us encounter overt touch of sprechstimme for the entirety of one phrase during “Ma tu, re.” The slightly long held acuti that start off lines in the violent part of his Nile duet with Aida indicated possible membership in the Fiorenza Cedolins school for singing acuti a whole tone lower than pitch - possibly learned from last year’s Don Carlo at La Scala – should real pitch not be attainable. Both singers involved here, as assisted the best they could by Gatti, coasted through the Nile scene duet with only just as much as they were able to give it.

Giacomo Prestia started Ramfis well, with writing lyrical enough to handle, but on “Noi t’invochiam” during the temple scene, a repeated pitch on low B-flat for several measures changed four or five times over span of three measures. It must be, given how slithery this Ramfis was – including on calling out Radames’s name during the Judgment scene - that here perhaps in this staging as having been raised in the backwoods of Tennessee as priest (or minister) who has spent a little too much time at his contribution to the snake-handling division of his vocation for attaining top of the ladder. The worried tone that this Ramfis developed for his third calling out for Radames to respond to his indictment seemed to indicate that should there be present defense counsel among priests, he must have fallen asleep on the job. We can leave it to Calixto Bieito or Peter Konwitschny as to how to find more clever way to change the plot to Act Four.

As for Gatti, this Aida was not quite the disaster which Don Carlo at La Scala had been. That can be taken as pretty much a given. Aida is forty-five minutes shorter or so than the four-act Don Carlo - with duet between Carlo and Phillip that Gatti restored for it during the prison scene. That is the good news. However, this was more not so much an interpretation of Aida as a marginalization of Verdi’s score and of its most distinctive tendencies found therein. Tempo relationships were frequently questionable, as for anything to make dramatically or musically cumulative sense. Gatti's ability to draw some tinta out of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester was admirable, except for streamlining some of it away and thus leaving so much relatively undefined.

The Triumphal scene benefited by not being overstated, certainly; Gatti shaped the difficult ‘Ma, tu Re’, to have included such an unsteady Amonasro, circumspectly. Accenting however in the framing choruses for the big scene was found to often go awry and at times in what made accents sound as though they would do so at just about always the most awkward times too - with such a casual step through it all as well. Contours to Gatti’s work for the second half of Aida sounded more secure than first half. Partly due however to not having sufficient voices, the Nile Scene went by as aone of the most anticlimactic renditions of it I have yet heard. As for the dances in Aida, rhythmic shape was slightly lacking for Priestesses at the temple, pacing casual for the Moorish slaves in Amneris’s boudoir. Following where there was no acoustical spacing for whatever reason between trumpet led sections of the triumphal march came uneven leadership overall of the ballet, with vulgar jerking about of first F Minor episode therein.

Choral work overall veered between acceptable to mediocre, sounding ‘glee club’ to start the Triumphal Scene. One issue at stake was the uneven, flaccid beat the chorus would get quite frequently from the podium, and also their awkward placement on the stage - with violated sounding priestesses during temple scene for being placed too forward.

On program I do not find led very well, concerning issues that affect our country and politics - (ABC) This Week with Stephy - I learned a new word that could indeed become quite useful at times, if used sparingly. The topic at hand was ‘breakdown in discipline’ (quoth Ed Gillespie) during Hillary Clinton’s visit to the Congo last week – to what is - pause for breath here, i.e. how evil - ‘a male-dominated world’ over there. Well, yes, with frequent rape, genital mutilizations, other forms of gender violence, it sure must be bad, as Donna Brazile mentioned. All this was during an episode she as pure aside admittedly quoted Ronald Reagan - trumpeting a very accomplished Hillary Clinton’s prerogative to show a little emotion.

First of all, what verb should be conjugated here? I do not know, but the new word found above, can it be found in an Ebonics dictionary? I just wonder how legitimate I may be to attempt using this word myself. Somehow it morphs together two verbs with which we are all familiar – ‘to utilize’ and ‘to mutilate.’

Why am I so off topic here? Is it some knee-jerk reaction I have to watching priests on stage for little I have seen of this each throwing one among many strapping youth head first over their shoulders – I certainly should hope not resulting in any type(s) of mutilization. I wonder too about the white slaves in this production – as Aida Americana - that from the appearance of things, does seem to have at least a few clever ideas. As these get sorted out and any unsalvageable be found among new breed of indentured, do they then have to be submitted before the ‘death panels’ that Sarah Palin has told us exist now, supervised from Washington DC?

How about instead utilizing the new word to apply to an insecure podium for partly undue accommodation that results in mutilating or in effect mutlilizating Verdi’s rhythms? It happened frequently here, and (supposedly) for benefit of more than just Miss Lewis. Gubanova needed help in the cabaletta to the Judgment scene duet with Radames (as did Dolora Zajick, Gatti’s Eboli last year in Don Carlo – also when she sang Amneris here last time in Houston with Carlo Rizzi). ‘Ritorna vincitor’ got all kinds of help as well – most notably “Numi, pieta” close to waltz time - in three-four.

Gatti himself hardly ever needed any excuse as to what a specific singer on stage might need at any given time. I just naively happened to think I was tuning in to Bavarian State Opera of Munich instead of second cast from New York City Opera or at Houston Grand Opera, but after all if the inherent right is to show a little emotion – whether in diplomacy on world or on world operatic stage, then ‘so be it.’ At least, to answer someone else who has written in, it has to have been more comfy to do so in flats instead of heels. That at least Ms. Brazile would know.