Springtime at the Met with Forza, Turandot and La Rondine

Soprano Lise Davidsen as Leonora in La Forza del Destino

My current day gig and other commitments have lately left me no time for writing, so I will use this opportunity to comment on three performances from the Met’s 2023-24 Spring Season.

In March, I saw the Met’s new production of Verdi’s La Forza del Destino, as set in a “contemporary city” which gave the impression of military dictatorship somewhere in South America. In a standard setting, the plot of Forza can come off as rather tortured to the point of tediousness with the various impersonations and disguises set against a deeply religious backdrop of the type that can only be found in post-inquisition Spain. While this update was not without some theatrically viable connections to the already challenged plot, the religious aspects of the story (monks, hermits and pilgrimages) did not translate as well into a modern police state.

Apart from adoring the Act IV duet between Alvaro and Carlo, I really came to this see this opera as part of my own sort of pilgrimage, that is, following closely the career and development of soprano Lise Davidsen. As I noted in my March 2022 review of Ariadne auf Naxos, Davidsen is probably the most exciting new voice in a decade at the Met and has quickly established herself, for my money, as the undisputed prima donna of the company. Her voice being of the jugend hochdramtischer soprano type, I was very curious to hear how she might handle the sweeping lyricism required in a typical Verdi heroine such as Leonora. But handle she did, and with an impressive ease and directness rarely heard. Davidsen is absolutely in command of her instrument which spans a palette of sound from silvery silken to a full, brilliant and piercing metallic. The challenge is that while the role of Leonora lies squarely in the spinto repertoire, Davidsen is a young dramatic soprano whose voice does not immediately lend itself to the traditional expectations of this role. Her lower register speaks with such a natural fullness that Davidsen rarely needs to call on her chest voice in this role, like many spintos. But it is the use of chest voice that marks the urgency and color we have come to expect in our Leonoras. On the other end, her flexibility in her upper range, while impressive, lacks some of the more nuanced fluidity of a typical Italianate voice. Still, listening to Davidsen easily sail through Madre, pietosa, I had the sense she was always holding back, almost respectfully, in this bel canto style that she is seemingly well aware will only enhance the growth and longevity of her voice destined for much bigger things. The scope of her voice was more apparent and satisfying in Pace, pace, mio Dio where her substantial sound was unleashed on house while still managing to spin long, silken lines in the final death scene.

Brian Jagde and Igor Golovatenko were magnificent in the portrayals of Don Alvaro and Don Carlo, the Act IV duet proving to be utterly worth the wait. Special mention to Met veteran Partick Carfizzi who slithery Melitone rounded out the luxury voice casting in an otherwise awkward new production.

The weekend before last was an all-Puccini affair with La Rondine on Friday and a matinee of Turandot on Saturday. I’ll start with the bad news. As much as it pains me to say, it may be time to retire the Zefirelli production of Turandot, magnificent though it is. It has served its purpose over the years but is showing signs of its age (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/20/arts/music/met-opera-turandot-technical-problem.html). The production also seems to have devolved into a cycle of uninspired casting. Gone are the days when the title role was reserved for only the largest and most unique voices sufficient to fill the house in this devilishly challenging title role. I am thinking of a voice like Eva Marton who sang the role on my first trip to Met in 1985 in this same production. Though I have seen some exciting Turandots since then, none have come close the wall of sound that was Marton. Instead, we have seen silly decisions of casting that have included the nonsense casting of Anna Netrebko who had no business singing this role, in any house, let alone the Met. Mercifully, she has been banned from the Met and the 15-year experiment of moving a mid-weight, lyric soprano into the heaviest dramatic roles before our very eyes has gone with her.

Last season, I was surprised to hear that Christine Goerke would take on the title role. Considered to be a leading House dramatic soprano, I have known her voice to be one of substantial weight but she has never had the vibrant, metallic thrust in her highest ranges called for in some of the roles she is assigned. This has led to a string of disappointments in such roles as Elektra and Brünnhilde in years past. Still, last season, I was pleasantly surprised as Goerke managed to somehow find the resources to portray a convincing Turandot though it appeared she was summoning every ounce of voice she could muster–an approach, I thought, might have future negative consequences. I was right. This year, Goerke was wholly unconvincing in the role. The voice was, at the most crucial times, uneven, pitchy and noticeably forced. In questa reggia was workmanlike but little more with short, cut-off phrases and high notes pressed into service. Straniero, ascolta! was an entirely different matter as this scene falls directly into her most developed range. Here, Goerke demonstrated the full ferocity of her sumptuous instrument. But the Figlio del ceilo! scene once again put on full display why this role is out of her reach as she twisted and distorted the excruciatingly beautiful, rising lines of scene, her first ascent to high C almost inaudible where the second was fully covered by the soprano section of the Met Chorus. In my opinion, Goerke needs to come to terms that she is not a hochdramtischer soprano and continue in those many roles that nevertheless would be well-served by a voice of her size such as Ariadne, Santuzza, Kundry, Ortrud and Cassandre.

Christina Goerke and Roberto Algana in Turandot

Joining her was the veteran tenor Roberto Alagna who lately appears in only the largest, dramatic tenor Italian roles such as Radames, Canio and, here, as Calaf. Don’t get me wrong. I have a great respect for Alagna’s decades of solid singing and careful preservation of his voice which itself is wonder given his smallish build and stature. That said, he is no Radames and certainly no Calaf–and certainly not at the Met. He never was. Impressive as Nessun dorma was, the total emission of sound was about half that of, for example, tenor Yonghoon Lee who sang Calaf a few years back. Combining his modest sound with Goerke’s technical issues made for an evening of anti-climatic duet singing, especially in Act III. But this was not the full extent of this underwhelming performance. The roles of Ping, Pang and Pong, so crucial to this opera, were cast with three recent graduates of the Lindemann Young Artist Program. In their various solo lines, each of them were difficult to hear and, at times (including as a group and especially while sining over any significant orchestration), they were almost entirely inaudible. I literally had to bend forward to sense any sliver of satisfying feedback from these three. But I do not blame them, mostly. I do blame the Met casting team for, as they have done many times before, thrusting young artists into roles they not ready for in this most unforgiving house.

The only redeeming part of this production was Liu of Gabriella Reyes and the Timur of Peixin Chen. These two stole the show in every scene they appeared. Reyes, also a recent Lindemann Young Artist Program winner, brought a solid lyric soprano with ample grounding and spin making her a natural, if still developing, Liu. Signore, ascolta! was a joy as Reyes evenly paced the aria from tender plea to a desperate cry, all with a round and balanced sound to a final and piercing Bb. Chen was rock solid as Timur and his final farewell in the Death of Liu scene was so tender and convincing there was hardly a dry eye in house. I found the conducting of Oksana Lyniv often dry and mechanical with ensembles, such as Non, piangere, Liu, plodding and non-directional causing singers to struggle within the texture. The Met Chorus was astounding, as always. I think I have seen my last performance of this production. Let’s start imagining a new production of Turandot at the Met for this generation. To the Zefirelli production: thanks for the memories!

The weekend was rounded out with a most lavish and entirely satisfying production of La Rondine. Leading the cast was soprano Angel Blue as Magda and tenor Jonathan Tetelman as Ruggero. Each brought their own strengths to their respective roles: Tetelman with a lean but piercing voice that easily traversed Ruggero’s soaring passages and Blue with her honest and smooth mid-weight lyric soprano that lent a certain grounding and elegance to Magda’s fickle character. While Blue’s Chi il bel sogno and Ora dolci e divine were not among the most ravishing I have heard, she nevertheless managed these and the entire role with grace and solid technique. The pair was supported by a lovely cast including the vivacious and exacting Lisette of soprano soubrette Emily Pogorelc, the bright and witty Prunier of tenor Bekhzod Davronov and stalwart and commanding Rambaldo of bass-baritone Alfred Walker.

Soprano Angel Blue leading cast of La Rondine

Among Puccini’s lesser performed works, the opera is nevertheless the very model of the composer’s extravagant gift for melody. Indeed, even the most mundane of action or text is elevated to a certain elegance and luminosity against the backdrop of Puccini’s caressing, delicate and often soaring melodic lines. Dramaturgic concerns aside, the sum effect is to find oneself, for just under three hours, elevated into another world where time stops and melody is king, and all the wearisome and tedious concerns of the world seem to slip away. Combine this with the wonderful cast, the Met’s ravishing scenes of Paris and the Riviera of the 1920s and the superb support of the Met Chorus and Orchestra, and it was, as my opera partner that evening said, “just what I needed to see tonight.”

Met Chorus and Orchestra Star in the Verdi Requiem

The Verdi Requiem is singular in the oratorio canon being distinguished by its dramatic, and decidedly operatic, setting of the Catholic funeral mass, which was a source of early criticism of the work that persists today. As such, it requires the resources of top-notch soloists alongside a large double chorus and orchestra and, for this reason, can be challenging to mount for most organizations. But the Metropolitan Opera is not just any organization and, given its vast resources, this should have been an easy assignment. And, yet, the odd casting of soloists made for an uneven performance last Saturday evening which nevertheless allowed the spotlight to shine squarely, and deservedly so, on the mighty Met Chorus and Orchestra.

Opening with the piercingly, soft strains of Requiem and Kyrie, the chorus produced the kind of piannissimo–velvety, hushed tone with cavernous depth–that is only possible in a large ensemble of trained singers. I always find myself on the edge of my seat during this first movement waiting for the initial entrances of the four soloists. It is a stunning piece of musical drama as the each, in turn, trumpets the words “kyrie eleison, christe eleison.” Leading the charge was tenor Matthew Polenzani, a curious casting decision indeed. I am huge fan of Polenzani and, to my own surprise, was delighted with his recent performance in the title role of Verdi’s Don Carlo. But Polenzani’s voice is, at its core, a light lyric tenor, albeit one that has extraordinary dynamic and breath facility which allows him to step into certain heavier roles where other tenors in his fach would surely court danger. But Requiem’s Tenor soloist calls for a voice with at least some metal and certainly full resonance throughout the range, qualities simply not within Polenzani’s capability. His voice, for all its limpid and effortless beauty from Eb and above, has little distinctive color or metal in the mid and lower range. Not surprisingly, Polenzani’s opening “kyrie eleison” was underwhelming. While he admirably sang the sweep up to the first A, the voice simply could not command the full stage and lost some of its natural beauty in the calculated exchange for volume. His Ingemisco sounded unbalanced with the lower ranges difficult to decipher and the upper notes somewhat pushed, while never fully arriving at the fullness we would expect on this stage. Polenzani was more at home in trios and quartets though his sound was often lost among the other voices, two of whom were clearly more at home in the repertoire.

Soprano Leah Hawkins has a lovely, though not quite full, lyric soprano voice. The voice speaks directly with a slightly straight tone delivery which is a quality usually associated with more dramatic voices. In Hawkins’ voice, this quality can be somewhat limiting where she sometimes falls short of achieving the “spin” and pliancy expected in a lyric soprano. Without this natural spin and lacking in the heft of a full lyric or spinto soprano, she is at a disadvantage in Requiem. In her initial “kyrie eleison,” Hawkins easily navigated the line but without the force or roundness we would expect in this movement. Her slender, incisive delivery worked to her advantage for the precision work required in Agnus Dei and the delicacy in the final Requiem aeternam, the latter being an evening highlight. Hawkins was less successful whenever she had to work above the massive sound emanating from chorus and orchestra which, in this work, is quite often for the Soprano soloist. In Libera Me, Hawkins appeared to bring all the pathos and urgency to the opening, haunting lines but, as the movement progressed, she fell just short of delivering the dynamic level needed to read in front of this orchestra in the 3000-seat Met Auditorium. As the final number progressed, Hawkins continued, undaunted but was no match for choral and orchestral forces behind her. At times, her sound simply disappeared in the vast texture. Her final ascent up to high C was well placed and technically sound but her voice simply did not and could not distinguish itself over the ensemble that was operating at full hilt.

Mezzo Soprano Karen Cargill has full, rich mezzo and took a decidedly lyric approach to the Mezzo soloist role which, though lovely, occasionally became too intimate to read in the hall. But she and Bass Dmitry Belosselskiy were clearly more at home in this repertoire providing the richness and volume lacking in the higher solo voices. Cargill sang a commanding Liber sciptus while she was able to easily blend her substantial voice with the lighter Polenzani and Hawkins in Quid sum miser and in the quartets. But the highlight for the soloists came during the Lacrymosa, a movement where the Mezzo and Bass are prominently featured. Cargill and Belosselskiy harnessed the fullness of their rich voices over the dirge in the orchestra after which Hawkins’ laser sound added a layer of seraphic sound above. As the chorus was layered underneath, the entire ensemble rocked and mourned in a most astounding effect, giving near perfect expression to the solemnity and profundity of the text. This is perfection in music, in ensemble singing, and of the kind of musical magic that can only be attained with forces such as these. While both Cargill and Belosselskiy were perfectly capable of managing these roles on the Met stage, neither possesses the kind of dramatic Verdean sound that would effectively front an orchestra and chorus such as this. And while both gave firm performances, Verdi’s operatic writing (and I count Requiem in that ilk) tends to favor high voices. In the end, without prominent soprano and tenor soloists, the entire work suffers.

The final and highest praise goes to the Met Orchestra and Chorus under the baton of Yannick Nézet-Séquin. To witness the thunderous Dies Irae as we did last Friday was a breath-taking experience that happens only a few times in one’s musical life. Nézet-Séquin expertly led the ensemble through Verdi’s pulsating and tempestuous score opening with the startling and vivid brass figures of the first measures. This led to a literal explosion from the chorus followed by an immediate and eviscerating chromatic descent, as if into the fires of hell, all frighteningly punctuated by the massive bass drum. The ability of an ensemble to drive this level of ferocity, while maintaining such musical exactness, leaves no doubt that the musicians of the Met ensembles are simply among the best in the world. With each movement, the outstanding performance of this ensemble simply outclassed the soloists at every turn.

Knowing this work to be as unforgiving as it is, the Met missed an opportunity here in failing to cast soloists with world-class and undeniable Verdi credentials, each with enough voice to truly stand out as soloists in this work, on this stage. Drawing from the current Met roster, here are singers I would have considered casting as the soloists: Soprano: Angela Meade, Lise Davidsen or Liudmyla Monastyrska (each, by the way, playing leading Verdi soprano roles on the Met this Season); Mezzo: Ekaterina Gubanova or Olseya Petrova; Tenor: Brian Jagde or Michael Fabiano; Bass: Greer Grimsley. Just sayin…

Lise Davidsen’s New York Debut Recital Signals A Promising Future as Leading Wagnerian

There was a great deal of public anticipation leading to Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen’s recital at the Met. Following her Met triumphs as Ariadne, Chrysothemis and the Marschallin, Davidsen has been heralded by this and other critics as the brightest among the new Met stars and likely to lead the next generation of great Wagnerian sopranos. Thursday’s recital gave every indication that Davidsen is well on her way to making operatic history. Still, a piano and voice recital at the Met is a dicey proposition for any singer, given the challenge of presenting intimate art song settings in the cavernous house. But Davidsen met the challenge by presenting an ambitious program that explored the depth and versatility of her artistry as well as the full scope of her formidable instrument. Davdisen’s voice has the beautifully metallic and straight-tone quality one would expect in this jugendliche-hochdramatische category which makes for ease and mezzo-like clarity in lower ranges. As she ascends, the energy and scale of the voice increases quickly while broadening significantly where, above the staff and on up through high B and C, it rings, or rather trumpets, with firm clarity and energy all while maintaining a luminescent tone quality. These same characteristics, however, can limit her interpretive abilities, especially in the middle and lower ranges where much of the art song repertoire lies.

Joined at the piano by James Baillieu, the two-hour program included a broad spectrum of art songs and several operatic arias. The evening opened with six songs of Edvard Grieg. The first three, in Davidsen’s native tongue, quickly established an artist of poise and natural, but not studied, movements. Grieg’s songs are colorful with an easy folk quality such as in “Til min dreng” where Davidsen whittled her voice down for this simple and tender song to her baby son. Davidsen interrupted the set to introduced the next three Greig German songs and sharing the story of when her agent called her to sing this recital at the Met. She took several more opportunities throughout the evening to speak directly to the enthusiastic New York audience about the program and her journey thus far in music, which only enhanced the personal and intimate connection between singer and audience.

The mood set, Davidsen moved onto Verdi. While she is wise to train in the bel canto repertoire, like her famous predecessors who shared similar vocal qualities, the Verdean style is not without its challenges for a voice like hers. Though Davidsen certainly possess the heft and musicality to sing both Desdemona and Amelia, she has not yet fully mastered the Italian language nor the more subtle aspects of the bel canto style. In the opening lines of Morrò, from Un Ballo in Maschera, Davidsen’s was unable to consistently tailor her voice to match the tender opening lines resulting in vowels that were sometimes lost in expanse of sound. This continued to occur in the aria’s dramatic upward lines but was less problematic given the excitement resulting from the fullness of tone. But Verdi sopranos are known for their ability to achieve highly contrasting degrees of dynamic and lyric articulation. Davidsen’s account of the Ballo aria, while gorgeous throughout, was limited in this respect. She was more successful stylistically in Ave Maria from Otello with its narrower dramatic range. Still, even here, while the Davidsen’s tone was lovely and warm, at times, it overtook the delicate lines of the prayer and inhibited more nuanced responses to the text. Davidson’s ending triadic rise to Ab was ravishing.

The next four songs by Finnish composer Jean Sibelius were a perfect fit Davidsen, given the sweeping and operatic nature of both music and text. Notably, this set was recorded by Kirsten Flagstad and Birgit Nilsson, both of whom can be considered the natural predecessors to Davidsen, so that this programming could be understood to telegraph to us her intended future operatic ambitions. Davidsen was in her element in Var det en dröm (“Was it a dream”) as she was able to layer waves of tone throughout the song’s upwardly, melodic lines. My favorite new song of evening was Flickan kom infrån sin älsklings möte (“The girl came from a lover’s tryst”) where Davidsen so effectively inhabited both mother and daughter as well as the tragedy of first love and first heartbreak.

Davidsen fittingly ended the first half of the concert with a personal ode to the Met Opera house itself in Wagner’s “Dich, teure Halle” from Tannhäuser, singing what she was born to sing. From the opening, trumpeting line, her voice filled the entire hall with warm, golden tone without any apparent effort throughout and on through to its exhilarating finish. Here was history in the making: the early performances of this aria from one who will likely soon take her place as one of the leading interpreters of this role. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvNFUX7M8Gw

Davidsen began the second half of the program in a stunning gold sequin gown and tore into “Uzh polnoch blizitsya” from Tchaikovsky’s The Queen of Spades with velvety and urgent, yet unforced, tone. Tackling the great Schubert, she was most successful at long, dramatic lines of Gretchen am Spinnrade and the menacing Erlkönig where her large, focused instrument enhanced Schubert’s melodramatic writing. She was less successful at the deceptively simple An die Musik where, again, the meditational text and limpid lines were somewhat lost under the weight and fullness of her voice.

She was in more favorable territory with the songs of Richard Strauss with clear advantage in Zueignung and Cäcilie, the latter was which was among the best I have ever heard, save possibly for that of Jessye Norman. But what Davidsen currently lacks in Norman’s interpretative variation she certainly made up for in sheer, undaunted vocalism, taming this most difficult song of the Strauss canon. Befreit‘s long, luxurious vocal lines were pure aural pleasure in Davdisen’s voice. After one hour into the program, however, it was not surprising that Davidsen was less successful in Strauss’s more tender works of Allerseelen, which came off as rather wooden, and Morgen, where her opening note was so round it almost read as sharp. Contrasted with Baillieu’s exquisite playing, Davidsen voice never seemed to settle in the tender, quiet aesthetic of the song. To his credit, Baillieu was a constant and reliable partner to Davidsen demonstrating forceful, operatic expanse of interpretation when needed, as well as an ability to coax a sensual liquidity that, at times, transformed the piano’s sonority to more an orchestral effect.

Davidsen ended the program with playful and exuberant Heia, heia, in den Bergen ist mein Heimatland from Die Csárdásfürstin. (If anyone is paying attention at the Met, the next New Years’ Eve performance of Die Fledermaus should include Davidsen as Rosalinde.) She capped of the program with I Could Have Danced All Night from My Fair Lady which, if perhaps just a bit of fluff, read as a rather unsubtle message that Davidsen is, indeed, directly following in the footsteps of Nilsson who famously sang and recorded this aria with a resounding high C at the end. Following thunderous applause and numerous callbacks, Davidsen sang two encores which included Vissi d’arte from Tosca which, after singing such a program, was as astounding statement of the solidness of her technique, with long, spun lines and ease of production, capped with a perfectly aligned descent from Bb to the end of the aria. A most auspicious New York debut recital for Davidsen who appears, by all accounts, to be carefully mapping out a career that will no doubt, if all goes well over the next 10 years or so, lead us to new era of such roles as Brünnhilde, Isolde, and Elektra.

Bach’s St. Matthew Passion at the New Geffen Hall

J.S. Bach’s monumental St. Matthew Passion is an oratorio of astounding beauty and depth. Based the Gospel of Matthew, it recounts the Passion of Christ from the days leading up to the Last Supper, through his arrest, sentencing and crucifixion. Bach’s intricate and harmonically complex writing is a challenge for every member of the ensemble including chorus, orchestra, conductor and soloists and requires, from each, a clarity of the period style but also, and most importantly, a confidence of technique and skill that is singular to Bach’s sacred vocal works.

Saturday evening’s performance also marked my first visit to newly renovated David Geffen Hall, home of the New York Philharmonic, at Lincoln Center. The lobby, with shades of dark blues and purple, is welcoming and cozy but feels less expansive than the former hall. Inside the auditorium, we were greeted with some rather surprisingly, multi-colored seats which gave a rather midwestern-community-theatre feel. The textured walls and detailed millwork throughout the hall appear to be the basis of the much-touted accoustical improvements. The main stage is enlarged using some of the former audience front section and the area behind the stage was also expanded to include ample seating for either a large chorus or penny pinching audience members. No longer the austere grandiosity of the former Avery Fisher, this new Geffen Hall was clearly designed to be everyone’s hall for the people of New York.

Conductor Jaap van Zweden led the ensemble with the conviction and authority of one who understands and holds great reverence for this work and the musical style it requires. He was joined by key members of the NY Phil, an enhanced Musica Sacra and the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. The opening “Kommt ihr tochter” was riveting in its urgency and despair. Throughout the oratorio, and without a baton, Zweden was always in full command, moving the work along with excellent pacing while clearly communicating the intimacy of the most intricate and delicate parts of the score. His support of the recitatives allowed for remarkable expressivity by the singers while urging a forward motion necessary to keep the audience engaged.

Taking on the pivotal assignment of the Evangelist was tenor Nicholas Phan. Phan has a fine, if not particularly beautiful, light lyric tenor with suitable weight and leggiero coloring that should have provided the basis for a successful reading of this role. To be fair, in many respects, this was a solid performance from Phan who managed much of the role with relative ease, forthright expression and a grounded technique. Unfortunately, this is an unforgiving role of punishing length which requires a tenor who can continually sing above and near the passaggio while following a dramatic arch that increases the demands of the tenor toward the end of this 3 and 1/2 hour work. By the end of Part I, Phan was cutting some phrasing short and inelegantly reaching for A’s. By the middle of Part II, this became more common. At the moment after Peter has betrayed Jesus for the third time, the Evangelist is required to sing upward to high B, sweep down and immediately back up to A (“und ging heraus und weinte bitterlich”). Here, Phan gave up on his core and ended up in falsetto as the phrase ascended. Thereafter, he was unable to fully recover the second upward motion and, in doing so, completely lost this key dramatic moment. In the final scenes, Phan worked valiantly to maintain consistency but never really assumed his position as the chief driver of this performance, as the Evangelist should be. That distinction could only be given to the Jesus of bass-baritone Davon Tines who vocal presence, confidence and conviction elevated this often supporting role into a lead performance. Eschewing the standard oratorio black tuxedo in favor of more Christ-like appearance, Tines sported a white, body-length, sleeveless frock over black pants and black elevated (Prada?) boots. Costume aside, Tines voice was full and vibrant throughout the evening, such that he was able to easily imbue the most famous quotes with credible mystery and gravity.

The four soloists, who also doubled as minor characters in the Passion play, were up to the task though not without some exceptions. Soprano Amanda Forsythe displayed elegant baroque vocal style and phrasing but her rather light lyric soprano diminished too easily in the expansive Geffen Hall. Still, she was able to spin out long, crystalline lines in “Aus liebe,” to ravishing effect. Taking on the four alto arias was mezzo soprano Tamara Mumford. Though less stylistically grounded as Forsythe, Mumford’s more generous middle weight mezzo spoke better in the hall and was perfectly suited to the noble lines of “Können Tränen” but was at a distinct disadvantage in “Ach, Golgotha!” where more of a true contralto sound was needed. Disappointed as I was with Phan’s depiction of Peter’s betrayal, I was certain Mumford would save the day with the immediately following number, “Ebarme dich,” an aria of startling beauty and one of Bach’s finest. Alas, Mumford seemed content to just keep pace with the gentle, forward lilt of the orchestra and violin soloist, unable to harness the intricate writing into a coherent expression of this heartbreaking text. The duet for soprano and alto (“So is mein Jesus”) was a wonderful collaboration between Forsythe and Mumford, followed a the thrilling and thunderous chorus (“Sind Blitze, sind Donner”) with the singers of Musica Sacra amply demonstrating why this group, under the direction of Kent Tritle who doubled at the organ, remains New York’s premiere chorus.

Tenor Paul Appleby displayed a full mastery of the style and technique in the two difficult tenor arias. His compact, sweet lyric tenor balanced lyricism and ample resonance to Bach’s challenging lines so much so that I considered whether he might have been better cast as the Evangelist. Appleby sang “Ich will bei meinem Jesus” with stirring conviction and gravity as his voice effortlessly traversed the virtuoso lines, each time increasing the intensity of the repeated, sustained Gs. In “Geduld”, Appleby expertly handled Bach’s jagged writing while melding effortlessly in tender opposition to the vivid viola da gamba playing of Matt Zucker. Bass-baritone Phillipe Sly has a lovely, full voice but was the least convincing as a period stylist, which is unfortunate since Bach uses a bass voice in four arias and numerous character lines. The arias require a broad range for a bass voice that must be deployed intimately while carefully managing Bach’s challenging vocal lines. Sly sang “Gerne will ich” and “Mache dich” with conviction but Bach’s repeated, large interval leaps, ever present in both arias, caused him to lapse too often into uneven tone and inelegant phrasing. Sly was more in his comfort zone in the faster paced “Geht mir meinem Jesum” but was unable, like Appleby, to foment a convincing collaboration with the viola da gamba in “Komm, süßes Kreuz.”

In the end, much credit is assigned to the orchestra and chorus under Zweden’s leadership that made this a most successful St. Matthew Passion. The penultimate chorus and quartet scene (“Mein Jesu! Gute Nacht”) shimmered ever so gently throughout the new hall, an effect that might not have been possible with the acoustics of the former hall. Zweden’s expert handling of the final chorus (“Wir setzen uns”) was nothing short of majestic with all forces united in a solemn farewell.

Catching Up at the Met with The Hours and Peter Grimes and a Fond Farewell to the Frisell Aida

The last few months of 2022 were filled with the usual holiday madness on top of a change in jobs which left me little time to focus on writing reviews. But now that I have completed my transition into the new gig, I will use this submission as a mid-Season catch up for two of the Met’s earlier 2022-23 Season offerings, Peter Grimes and The Hours, as well as for last Saturday’s Aida.

On November 5th, I saw one of my all time favorite operas and likely one of the greatest operas of 20th Century, Britten’s Peter Grimes. Leading the cast was tenor Allan Clayton who is, without doubt, the best Grimes I have ever heard. This is an astoundingly difficult role and requires singing that is full throated, incisive and subtle. Clayton’s voice is large and clear, with a point to his sound of the type usually found in lighter, lyrical tenors, lending an almost icy inception to phrases and making his voice a perfect fit for this role. With these tools at his disposal, he was particularly effective in the Prologue duet with Ellen and in “Now the Great Bear and Pleiades” in the Act I tavern scene. Throughout the opera, Clayton’s singular vocal presence made him stand out, and fittingly apart, from the rest of cast. He displayed menacing character and tone in the Act I Duet (“And do you prefer the storm“) where he was matched at every point with the equally capable Balstrode of baritone Adam Plachetka. The Act II duet in front of the church with soprano Nicole Car, who made a slender but somewhat elegantly steely Ellen, was nothing short of terrifying as Peter turned on Ellen vocally and physically.

Allan Clayton as Peter Grimes.

In the final Act III, “mad” scene, Clayton’s voice expertly writhed and twisted among Britten’s breathless and chilling lines evincing a man descending quickly into insanity. A fine supporting cast included a vocally challenged Denise Graves who still managed a respectable, and somewhat comical, Auntie; and the fearless, rather full-voiced Boles of tenor Chad Shelton. As usual, the Met Chorus stole the show with the compositional genius that is the villager’s own “mad” scene in Act III (“Who holds himself apart, lets his pride rise“). In this excerpt, that is unique in the operatic canon, the full force of the Met chorus, soloists and orchestra were on display with a ferocity of sound and clarity of intention making for a virtually unmatched musical experience, save for perhaps the end of the Mahler Second Symphony or the Verdi Requiem.

On December 1st, I accompanied a large contingent to the premiere of Kevin Puts’ The Hours, based on the Michael Cunningham book. There was much publicity and hype leading to this run largely due to the star trio of Renée Fleming, Joyce DiDonato and Kelli O’Hara in the lead roles. Fleming’s voice has neither the presence nor the heft of her prime but she nevertheless excelled in this part that was clearly written with her particular strengths in mind. As Clarissa Vaughan, Fleming managed Puts’ high, windy and lyrical passages with ease, grace and excellent diction. Although, and perhaps because, Joyce DiDonato’s voice production is somewhat uneven and not particularly appealing, she is nevertheless always fully committed to her inhabitation of a role. DiDonato’s Virgina Woolf was so dramatically compelling that she lent the entire production level of credibility that is critical to a new work depicting the modern era. In the role of Laura Brown, Broadway legend, Kelli O’Hara was given some rather challenging and awkwardly high writing. It seems plain to me that Puts did not write to her vocal strengths (nor to her limitations) in the way he did for Fleming. And while O’Hara handled the part with her more than respectable technique, it would have been better realized in the hands of an experienced, high lyric, operatic soprano. As a result, in terms of vocal character presence, O’Hara was the weak link of the trio.

Kelli O’Hara, Renée Fleming and Joyce DiDonato in The Hours.

Though there were moments of searing beauty, such as the scenes between Richard and Clarissa (beautifully sung by baritone Kyle Ketelsen), overall, I thought The Hours lacked unity and a compositional vision. In his effort to create “separate dimensions” for each of the heroines, Act I came off as a series of tableaux with little to connect and support the dramatic arc of the story. Act II was more successful in this regard though the rather static compositional style of the final ending trio, lovely though it was, did not effectively communicate the essence of the story as I think Puts had intended.

Last Saturday, January 7th, we rang in the new year at the Met with Verdi’s Aida. This will be the last mounting of Sonja Frisell’s monumental production which has been the longest running in Met history and a standard for more than three decades. I will admit, I love the Frisell production and it is with some sadness that I see it go. This production has been with me for the entirety of my 25 years in New York City. In 2000, I paid $300 for a pair of orchestra tickets from a scalper to see it with Pavarotti as Radames. We had barely made it thru “Celeste Aida” when an usher kicked me and tenor Jeff Picon out after the real ticket holders arrived. (Obviously, they could not know that I was a future patron, nor of the integral role I would play at the Met over the next decades!). Over the years, I grew more fond of the production’s great stone edifices, the statues of Memphis, the starry skies over the Nile, and the onstage horses. And I saw many great singers cycle through these devilishly difficult parts with the highlight being Dolora Zajick as Amneris. (Mercifully, I missed Anna Netrebko in the title role).

Act II Set of the Sonja Frisell Aida.

Leading Saturday’s cast was soprano Michelle Bradley as Aida. Act I started on unsure footing for Bradley who, though she has the right instrument for this role, began the evening with unsettled tone and inconsistent breath support leaving high notes in the Act I trio and Ritorna Vincitor somewhat pushed and unfocused. By Act II, Bradley gained better grounding in her duet with Amneris though I would call the match for the latter. Bradley ended the scene with an alarming break in her voice as she attempted a portamento to high Ab at the end of the duet (“..del mio martir…speme non v’ha..”). At this point, I was certain we were in for vocal problems ahead but Bradley came out punching in the Triumphal Scene with vigor and backed down from nothing in the full Act II ensembles, though her triad ascent at the end of “Ma tu, Re, tu signore” ensemble did not quite make the high C. Completely confused, I felt certain the true test was coming in Act III’s “O Patria Mia,” and it did. While Bradley gave a honest reading of the aria, it lacked real consistency of line and the limpid nuance expected of an Aida at the Met. The test over, Bradley managed the remainder of the opera respectably with the highlight being her duet with Amanasro.

Brian Jage and Michelle Bradley in Aida.

The star of the evening indisputably the Radames of tenor Brian Jadge. This must be the season for great tenors because Jagde was simply the best Radames I have ever heard in live performance. The voice is a brilliant spinto with consistently brassy, resonant tone from top to bottom. There is no forcing or manufacturing on the low end and the top range rings clear and true 100% of the time. In short, Jagde was a fearless Radames who dominated every scene in which he sang. He spun off “Celeste Aida” like a folk ditty though I found it odd he chose to forego the traditional sustained “ah” on an F preceding the first repeat. In the closing of the Act I Consecration Scene (“Nume, custode e vindice“) Jagde’s voice soared above the orchestra and was unfazed by the competing and formidable men of the Met Chorus. The same was true in the Triumphal Scene where Jagde carefully managed to stay present and clear over the massive ensemble sound without pushing his voice beyond its limits. Act III brought even more consistency and fearless singing in his duets with Bradley, where, apart from the ferocity of “Pur ti reveggo“, Jagde displayed surprising tenderness in “La…tra foreste virgini“. Needless to say, in the hands of Jadge, Radames‘ final declaration as a traitor (“Sacerdote, io resto a te“) was mind blowing and, for me, the opera could have ended there.

Singing the role of Amneris was mezzo-soprano Olesya Petrova whom I reviewed in this role in 2019. At that time, I wrote that she was “young, fresh and understandably careful…but her reliance on natural head voice and mix in the lower ranges left the audience missing some important phrases and dramatic pivots so necessary to this role”. Petrova has grown into this role and Saturday’s performance demonstrated a confidence and vigor that was still in formation four years ago. She is still careful in lower ranges but she now understands that she must use her chest or stronger mixed chest voice in key phrases and did so with intelligence and discernment. She and Jagde provided a finely balanced opening trio with Aida where Petrova’s low lying phrases still spoke well in the house. Petrova wisely highlighted her strengths in lyrical and soft singing in the opening of Act II (“Ah! Vieni, vieni amor mio“) and with strikingly authentic results in opening lines of her Act IV interview with Radames (“Gia i sacredoti adunansi“). But where it mattered most, Petrova has truly grown and excelled. She sang with undaunted force in the Triumphal Scene, matching Bradley note for note, and demonstrated superb balance in the Final Judgement Scene where she expertly managed Verdi’s punishing lines with heartbreaking pathos and devastating abandon to the very end. It will be exciting to hear as she continues to grow in this role.

Supporting cast standouts included baritone Luca Salsi, who managed a fierce yet, at times, exceptionally lyrical, Amanasro; and Christian Van Horn’s formidably antagonistic Ramfis. Conductor Paolo Carignani opted for a more lyrical opening overture that never fully arrived at forecasting the urgent nature of the forthcoming drama. And while the orchestra often lacked the ferocity of the Levine era, Carignani’s more restrained leadership provided moments of unexpected tenderness and subtlety that I had not fully appreciated in prior live performances.

Gagnidze Dominates While Fabiano Sings on the Principal in Tosca

On Thursday, a small group of friends joined me for what was billed as the “1,000th Metropolitan Opera performance of Giacomo Puccini’s Tosca.” There is truly nothing so splendid as seeing David McVicar’s sumptuous production of this opera at the Met. Act 1’s set of the Church of Sant’Andrea della Valle, with its massive pillars and ornate religious icons, could easily pass for the real thing. Act II’s imposing Palazzo Farnese chamber is the perfect backdrop for this torture-murder scene, and Act III’s roof of Castel Sant’Angelo, set under the brooding, Roman dawn sky, completes the vivid scenery for this most famous verismo melodrama. But all of the scenery in the world does not make up for the significant challenges faced by the two principal leads, namely, questionable casting, on the one hand, and overzealous singing, on the other.

I admit, I booked this performance specifically to hear tenor Michael Fabiano, who has received much attention and acclaim in the last few years, sing the role of Mario Cavaradossi. I first heard Fabiano in the Met National Council Finals in 2007. Even at 23, he was an astounding natural talent with a large, barrel-like tone with all heft of a young Jonas Kaufman but with strong, buzzing squillo, earmarking him early as a Verdi tenor. Talent aside, I observed back then that he tended to sing at full tilt and that the voluminous resonance and sound he produced in his mid and mid-upper range was not always consistently produced at Bb and B. Still, there was no question Fabiano was going to have a world class career and I was certain he would sort out these issues. He did not. The problems I noted then are much more prevalent now. To be sure, the voice has grown in breadth, depth and a prevailing baritonal resonance which, while not uncommon in the largest Italian spinto-dramatic tenor voices, must be tempered against overindulgence at the risk of compromising the top. On Thursday, Fabiano sang nearly every scene with same high-octane, forte approach and little dynamic variation. Astoundingly, throughout the opera, the force of his middle range rivaled and often exceeded the sound of his lower-voiced male colleagues! Of course, while there is an argument that such an approach is well suited to a good portion of this quasi-heroic role, singing any role at this level requires a degree of artistic variation in tone, dynamics and color. Fabiano delivered Recondita armonia magnificently with a masculine intensity and warmth of tone and only the smallest hint of pushing. Throughout Act I and in Act II, Fabiano’s voice captured our rapt attention with its considerable sound and driving intensity though, in the most demanding scenes, he was unable to consistently brandish such ferocity toward the top of the role’s range. He also faced a serious challenge in E lucevan le stelle where a tenor must tenderly negotiate upward through his passaggio to an A. Here is where Fabiano demonstrated the cost of his consistently full-throated singing. As he ascended, Fabiano switched fully into pure falsetto above the staff. As result and not surprisingly, there was a sudden loss of resonance and clarity of tone which returned rather jarringly when he ricochet back, in the same phrase, to full voice with little transitional tone. It is a mistake of larger male voices to assume that their falsetto is an acceptable substitute in passages that require a true piano. It is not. But because Fabiano resorted to this approach in several other similar phrases throughout the evening, I can only assume this is a clear technical deficiency–one that is likely a symptom of a larger problem.

Fabiano was joined by Polish soprano Aleksandra Kurzak. Kurzak took a split approach to this typically spinto soprano role. On the one hand, she displayed a remarkably pointed and forceful chest voice perfect for some of Tosca’s most dramatic moments (“Sogghigno di demone…”). But such exclamations, thrilling as the may be, belied a large, full voice as one might come to expect in a Tosca at the Met. Unfortunately, at the high end of her range, Kurzak is no spinto and her, admittedly lovely, voice markedly narrowed as she ascended to Bb and C showing the true lyric quality of the voice. Apart from the fact that her top was clearly at odds with her forceful chest voice, this role requires require a voice that can consistently sustain weight and brilliance in these upper ranges in order to effectively communicate Tosca’s most famous, often brutally dramatic, scenes. In these moments, many of which occur in Act II, Kurzak, simply could not deliver beyond the limits of her moderate-sized voice. Her Vissi d’arte, however, was a thing of beauty and demonstrated a truly, solid technical ability in light of opera’s other requirements. Unfortunately, the role of Floria Tosca is much, much more than the momentary elegiac beauty of Vissi d’arte, leading me to conclude that Kurzak is not right for this role, especially at the Met.

The two love duets found both of these singers demonstrating extraordinary passion and musicality but tempered by the limitations I have discussed. In the Act I duet, Fabiano sang with urgency but too often the drive to Bb caused the voice to lose focus. Kurzak was most successful when singing alone but often drooped under the pitch in trying to maintain against Fabiano’s consistent wall of sound. The Act III duet began with extraordinarily consistent singing from both but veered off course at “O dolci mani” which requires at least some attempt at tender singing from Cavardossi where Fabiano again employed his falsetto/forte approach, much to our disappointment.

George Gagnidze as Scarpia

As Baron Scarpia, baritone George Gagnidze was the clear star of the evening and demonstrated once again why he is one of the most sought after dramatic baritones in the world. While tearing into Act I with ferocious and menacing sound, Gagnidze never compromised his rock-solid technique employed to support his full inhabitation of this role. Here is a voice that is suitably dark, while clear, consistent and connected from top to bottom. You can literally observe his body lengthening and expanding to match the demanding force and range of this role. His Te deum was a vocal and dramatic study in the calculated and gradual descent into the depths of depravity as Scarpia exlcaims “Tosca, you make me forget God!” In Act II, Gagnidze demonstrated sinewy and spasmodic, yet controlled, vocality while the character’s brutality was effectively communicated with alarming and deliberately insidious intention.

Kevin Short’s splendid singing made of most Angelotti’s brief appearances while Rodell Rosel was an appropriately oily Spoletta. Christopher Job was an imposing Sciarrone. And I could have done with less belting from boy soprano Luka Zylik as the Shepherd Boy. Carlo Rizzi masterfully led a massive Met orchestra with the opening, fortissimo and rather con slancio, chords matching the impressive sets. Putting the singing aside, if one can, it is impossible not to enjoy this opera with such musicians in the pit. The Met Chorus was splendid throughout though, as they do from time to time with their tremendous sound, they unwittingly dominated the main stage action, and Kurzak herself, during Act II’s offstage cantata scene.

As I left the theatre, I pondered my concerns with Fabiano’s singing. Was I being to…er…critical? No, I think not. Years ago, I made a similar observation in the case of tenor Rolando Villazon whose comparable approach to singing lead to a mid-career crisis from which he never regained his former, and relatively short-lived (less than 10 years), glory. Fabiano’s performance on Thursday, while certainly incredible at times, was seriously undermined by a dearth of dynamic variability and resulting technical challenges. Even my classically trained opera partner in the next seat noticeably flinched on a few occasions in response to Fabiano’s ‘take-no-prisoners’ vocal style. No doubt, such singing can be very exciting. But at what cost? Another singer friend later reminded me of words of the great Leontyne Price: “always sing on the interest never on the principal.” Fabiano is deep into his principal. I hope Fabiano is working with someone to correct these issues because his is a rare, once-in-a-generation, voice. But there is a difference between having a great voice and being a great singer. Comparing him to the great Cavaradossi’s of the past, Fabiano has the former but has not yet achieved the latter.

The Met’s New Rigoletto Does the Trick, But Little Else

On Wednesday, we saw a new production of Verdi’s Rigoletto at the Met which producer Bartlett Sher set “during the era of the Weimar Republic.” While I am generally fascinated by the Weimar period, it wasn’t immediately clear to me how this opera, originally set in 16th century Mantua, would benefit from being set in 1920s Germany. As the curtain rose on Act 1, we were greeted with a single spacious and rather stern room with walls of deep red and framed with ornate gold columns and moldings. I couldn’t help but think of the Reich Chancellery in Berlin of the 1930s. Combined with the Prussian-type military costumes worn by the Duke and his courtiers, as might be worn by the elite Junker class of the period, I was left more with a distinct impression of the early years of Hitler’s Third Reich than Weimar Germany. Was Sher was attempting to frame the Duke’s abominable personality in Hitlerian terms? We never really learn the answer because this is where the production’s setting ends as an interpretive device. The remainder of sets, including Rigoletto’s flat, which could have doubled for the Archie Bunker’s house minus of few decades, or Sparafucile’s place, which might be used in at least 100 scenes of most any other opera, did nothing to support the Weimar setting.

Leading the cast was Quinn Kelsey as Rigoletto. Kelsey has lovely, full Verdi baritone voice and reminds me of the late Cornell MacNeil. On Wednesday night, however, his singing was inconsistent. In his Act 1 duet with Gilda, there were early signs of mild distress in several vocal onsets while some of the many sustained, high passages found him jockeying to maintain consistent tone. Thinking perhaps I was imagining this, at those exact same moments, I noticed that my opera partner, also a singer, was darting a concerned look at me over her mask. While this was initially concerning for all, Kelsey did not appear alarmed and managed to self-correct every few measures and from section to section with the result that he never missed a beat, a note or lost his voice. Still, the final measures of the Act I Gilda duet, though largely well sung, never ventured beyond the tentative. My only conclusion is that he was sick and was engaging his formidable technique to stay on course. And stay on course he did. By Act II, the voice sounded more grounded as Kelsey tore with abandon into Cortigiani for which he likely paid the price later in more sustained passages of Tutte le feste al tempio…Si, vendetta where his singing, while more solid than in Act I, still bore occasional signs of vocal uncertainty while even still managing a fearless Ab to cap off the scene. Still, Kelsey never veered off course, which is simply astounding given that Rigoletto is among highest and most challenging of Verdi’s baritones roles. Kelsey voice finally settled into solid production by Act III. His final scene was heartbreaking and delivered with seamless legato though he wisely eschewed the final, optional A. It is unfortunate that Kelsey was not at his best but it was nevertheless clear over the course of the evening that, had he been, he would have single-handedly elevated this somewhat lackluster performance.

Soprano and Met regular, Erin Morley, was a rather light, if sympathetic, Gilda. The voice is slender and elegant with complete ease of access up to high E beautifully on display in Caro Nome. Perhaps in an effort to compensate for her lack of natural heft, Morley’s soft high attacks, of which there are many in this role, consistently start with a lovely onset followed by a quick release into a small, but noticeable, bleat which tended to distract from the overall line. This aside, Morley delivered the role with poise and vivacity, especially as she admirably fought off her kidnappers in Act I. As on this evening, the role of Gilda is often miscast with a light soprano when Verdi requires of Gilda some rather full, lyric sound such as in her duets with Rigoletto and most of Act III. In these key scenes, Morley voice was merely serviceable and did little to enhance their dramatic intensity.

As the Duke, tenor Stephen Costello gave another solid, if somewhat underwhelming, performance. Unfortunately, for him, the Duke’s role is a never-ending high-wire act and any discrepancy in a tenor’s range is immediately hoisted up on display. I recall a younger Costello who sang with fearless conviction though his voice always tended to the leaner side of lyric tenors. The voice is more lean than I recall and, while he can always access his upper register above A, the tone with Bb and above are less than consistent and sometimes bear markedly different timbre, generally less squillo, than the range just below. The result is a rather disjointed presentation by a tenor who, though nevertheless managed requirements of role, never let us forget how hard he was working. Questa o quella came off more as an aside than what should big opening introduction of the leading rake. The Act II opening scene found Costello as his most challenged with punishing lines of Parmi veder le lagrime causing him to move, rather unceremoniously, through registers. By the entry of the mighty Met men’s chorus to the end of the scene, Costello was simply overwhelmed vocally as his sound was largely lost among the sea of formidable tenor and baritones choristers. That said, like Morely and despite his limits, Costello delivered a fine performance and, like Kelsey, never allowed the role to overcome him. The problem with all these serviceable individual performances is, in the end, we were left with a completely acceptable but rather dull evening at the opera.

Among the supporting case, the lead standout of luxury casting was the Marullo of Jeongcheol Cha whose voice dominated the few scenes in which he sings. Ante Jerkunica’s Sparafucile was a bit unwieldy but perfectly fine with a more than noticeable low F while Yulia Matochkina’s Maddalena was buoyant and a refreshing. Craig Cloclough’s Monterone was certainly very emphatic if maybe a tad over played.

The Met Orchestra was expertly conducted by Karen Kamansek and I do believe this is the first time I have seen a woman on that podium. Kamansek’s conducting was thoughtful and largely singer driven as is necessary when shepherding the singers through Verdi’s sinewy writing. Hopefully, the appearance of women conductors at the Met will be less uncommon in the future. The Met’s men’s chorus made Verdi’s intricate choral writing for the Duke’s courtiers a thing of joy.

Zefffirelli’s Turandot Still Impresses After 35 years

I never tire of Franco Zeffirelli’s production of Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot with its resplendent Act II set depicting the Royal Palace of Peking, at some time in the distant past, bathed with gold light and rising majestically up through the furthest reaches of the Met’s massive stage area. This was the first opera I ever saw at the Met in 1987 when I heard the great Eva Marton blast the house away with her magnificent instrument. Since then, I am very picky about who should sing the title role, one that should be reserved for a certain, rare type of dramatic soprano with steel in her voice and, yes, ice in her veins.

So, when I heard a few years ago that Anna Netrebko would be taking on the role, I was horrified and absolutely refused to see it. Ms. Netrebko started her career as a high, lyric and bel canto soprano. And while I was not a fan of her bel canto singing, which I found somewhat lacking in point and inexplicably disingenuous, I couldn’t help but admire her for her rock solid technique. And over the years, she became simply unstoppable becoming the undisputed reigning diva at the Met with a voice never seemed to experience anything approaching fatigue even as she ventured into heavier and heavier repertoire. Even with all her success, I couldn’t begin to imagine why she thought she could (or should) sing this role. But, surrendering to a type of operatic “if-you-can’t-beat-em-join-em” mentality, this Season, I decided it was high time I heard her Turandot for myself where we would settle, once and for all, whether this former lyric soprano could deliver the goods and make a case that she might join the great Met Turandots of last 50 years. Alas, the Met’s dismissal of Netrebko, following the invasion of Ukraine, has made this impossible and I am afraid the world will never be able to read my review of Netrebko singing the this role. (For the record, I agree with Met’s decision to fire Netrebko. She is more than just another opera singer. With her notoriety and worldwide brand, it was incumbent on her to make her position on this unjust war–and its instigator Vladimir Putin–unassailably clear. She did not.) Indeed, I suspect Nebrebko will be singing very few Turnadots anywhere in the world, which is probably for the best since I am 99% sure I would not have given her a positive review for the simple reason that I know Netrebko’s voice and she is, quite simply, no Turandot.

Netrebko was replaced this Season with Ukrainian soprano Luidmyla Monastyrska, which may or may not have been the Met’s way of driving its point home. Monastyrska has a generous spinto voice with dramatic tendencies but I would not count her a full, dramatic soprano. Her rich, lustrous slavic sound has only a hint or tinge of metal, making her credible in this role, but her voice, in its most natural mid-range dynamic, does not demand the kind of aural attention that one would expect in this role, in this house. Still, perhaps because of her more lyric gifts, last Saturday, she sang with exceptional precision and confidence. In her voice, In questa reggia was unusually intimate and tender, especially in those lines telling of the trials of her predecessor Lou-Ling. Monastyrska certainly attacked the final pages of the aria with sufficient declamation and sang the rest of the role with well-paced, if somewhat careful, aplomb. At the end of the evening, in her final solo bow, Monastyrska appeared onstage wrapped in a large blue and yellow Ukrainian flag to thunderous applause from a rapturous audience. Anna who?

On the one hand, tenor Yonghoon Lee, as Calaf, was refreshing in that you never feared he would tire or over sing to the point of cracking which was too often the case with some Met tenors of recent memory. Lee’s voice is stalwart and direct, with compact, baritonal resonance that uniformly ascends up the scale. But he projects an odd, inward resonance that somehow limits the scope of dynamics leading to even more limited musical choices. The result is a two-dimensional Calaf with little in musical nuance. Still, the familiar Nessun dorma was absolutely solid and well paced which, of course, brought roars of glee from the house.

As Liu, Emonela Jaho, with her mid-weight, high lyric soprano, favored Liu’s more limpid and graceful lines. Jaho gave an elegant and tender reading of Signore ascolta ending on an effortlessly placed final piannissimi Ab to Bb. Tu che di gel sei cinta was less effective since it requires full lyric or spinto declamation, like the final ensemble of Act I, which was beyond the reach of Jaho whose sound, at its fullest, could not compete with the Met’s formidable orchestra and chorus. As Timur, it was lovely to hear the famous basso Ferruccio Fulanetto whose musicality and nuance was, for my ear, the fullest realization of Puccini’s score among the singers on stage. Even so, at 73, his is also a more lyrical portrayal of this role. The same is also true of the baritone Alexy Lavrov whose restrained Ping was not quite the undisputed leader of the trio Ping, Pang (Tony Stevenson) and Pong (Eric Ferring), nor the terrifying instigator of torture in the Death of Liu scene, but, nevertheless, well sung throughout. The three men gave a particularly affecting reading of Ho una casa nell’ Honan.

The Met Orchestra was expertly handled under the veteran baton of Marco Armiliato who managed to reign in the full battery of sound when needed, while never sacrificing the interplay of refinement and elasticity in Puccini’s magical score. But the undisputed star of this production was none other than the Met Chorus. The crowd scenes are some of Puccini’s most moving and intricate with the chorus often acting as chief antagonist. Made up of a large group of professional solo voices, always expertly rehearsed, this is an unparalleled ensemble capable of an astounding wall of unified sound and delivery that is rare in any house, but most effective when deployed in true grand opera style, as here.

While this cast of Turandot was not one for the history books, this production, maybe because the cast was not extraordinary, shone a light on the immense capability of the chorus, orchestra and artistic and production staff of the Metropolitan Opera, reminding us of the importance of a house and its special place in preserving the tradition of grand opera.

Polenzani Redefines Don Carlos

Matthew Polenzani (Don Carlos) and Etienne Dupuis (Posa)

Last Saturday, we saw the final performance of the the Met’s new production of Verdi’s Don Carlos, complete with all five acts restored, in the original French. This glorious production by David McVicar is set in 16th Century Spain and France. The Gothic Renaissance-themed set and along with bold uses of red, gold, grey and black, provide a darkly majestic backdrop to one of Verdi’s most consequential scores.

Once again, Matthew Polenzani has demonstrated that he is a singer of the highest caliber and in supreme command of a most unique instrument. The role of Don Carlos is generally considered the province of spinto or lirico-spinto tenors. In assuming this role, at the Met no less, Polenzani was making a bold career move into what can be treacherous territory for any high lyric tenor. Of course, categorizing Polenzani simply as a “high lyric tenor” is somewhat problematic. While it is true, especially early in his 20-year career, that he has superbly sung some of the most challenging of the high, bravura bel canto and leggiero roles, such as Ernesto, Lindoro and Gerald, he is equally accomplished in the squarely lyric roles of Rodolfo, Tamino and Alfredo. Whatever he sings, be it the vertiginous Leicester in Maria Stuarda or the full-throated Hoffman in Les Contes d’Hoffman, Polenzani fully inhabits a role by calling on his numerous vocal resources to provide depth and nuance within the context of an unassailable technique. Of course, all voices have limits but, I am here to tell you, Matthew Polenzani has not yet reached his. With this performance, Polenzani has single-handedly redefined what it means to be a Verdi tenor. Most light lyric tenors, when confronted with typical Verdi roles, cannot resist the need to make more sound in the middle and low voice. Polenzani makes no such mistake. Because he is the master of his voice, he brings the music to his voice and can command an opera house even when his voice, lacking in natural weight in the mid to low ranges, nevertheless exceeds in forthright energy, vibrancy and point. So where others might simply sing like a baritone, Polenzani caresses and imbues Don Carlos’s middle lines similarly to way he might approach a phrase in Pearl Fishers. It is a most astounding accomplishment and one which I have never heard before in a tenor of his voice category. On the higher end of the Carlos’ range, the volume and resonance of Polenzani’s high notes is as impressive as any Verdi tenor I have heard in the house and, in many respects, much more thrilling simply because of his ease of access and remarkable consistency.

Bringing in a very close second for the evening, Etienne Dupuis gave a magnificent accounting of the role of Rodrigue, Marquis of Posa. With pointedly resonant and easily produced tone, Dupuis’ gave hints of a heavy tenor, though there was never any doubt, given the fullness of his sound throughout his range, that this is a young Verdi baritone. The most exciting moments vocally and, frankly, dramatically were the scenes between Dupuis and Polenzani. Instead of the stand-and-bark opener we have grown accustomed to, the Act II duet “Dio, che nell’alma infondere” (I will be referring to musical numbers by their more familiar Italian names) was a tender exchange between two close friends as the men’s voices glided elegantly through the coupled triplets. While the potential love relationship of these two male characters has been a controversial subject among opera cognoscenti, there is no question that such an alternative plot line is easily read in the libretto that continually evinces an unexpected intimacy between these two characters. Adding Verdi’s romantic often sensual writing, and a savvy director, and you have all that is needed to support this gay narrative. And, in the hands of master singers such as Polenzani and Dupuis, it was hard to see it any other way. The Act IV Death of Posa sealed it as Dupuis, dying in Polezani’s arms, sang the sweeping, elegiac lines of “Io morro, ma lieto in core,” which includes the recalling of the Act II duo leitmotif that is reminiscent of Amina’s Sleepwalking scene where she recalls the her love duet with Elvino. The return of Posa’s original farewell melody is every bit as ethereal and heart wrenching as Gilda’s final farewell in Rigoletto or the final love duet in Aida. That this “special” friendship is so central to this opera is further supported by the Grand Inquisitor’s obsession with destroying Posa. All of this made it hard to pay much attention over the course of the evening to the central love pairing of Elisabeth and Carlos, let alone Eboli’s tiresome machinations.

As Elisabeth of Valois, Sonya Yoncheva was in excellent form. A somewhat dark-hued, full lyric soprano, she sang with conviction and lovely tone throughout her range. Where many sopranos struggle with the Act V demands of “Tu che la vanita,” Yoncheva showed no signs of tiring and managed the aria’s wide range and sweeping lines with expansive, consistent tone and true legato. Jamie Barton is always a joy to watch and hear and this performance was no exception. Eboli is a curious role with writing that can be awkwardly nimble for a dramatic mezzo while also, at times, demanding of full range and volume. Barton credibly focused her voice for the more flexible, lyric lines of “Nei giardin del bello,” though sometimes here, and in other parts of the opera, her upper range can become unusually narrow for her voice type, depending on the approach. However, in “O don fatale,” Barton displayed the full complement of her declamatory and lyric capabilities, leaving no doubt she remains one of the leading dramatic mezzos on the circuit.

I was most excited when I heard Eric Owens was cast as Philippe II. Sadly, he was not in the best form. Every time I have heard Owens, he has delivered magnificent, cavernous sound that is consistently and effortlessly produced. From the beginning of the evening, he sang this role in rather guarded manner with about half the sound he normally produces. Only in a few phrases of “Ella giammai m’amo!,” did we hear the fullness of Owen’s voice that we all know. The effect was to reduce this pivotal role to that of minor character. I will not begin to opine what this presages for Owens, but will stick to reporting on what I heard. Of course, Owens’ disposition on this evening did not bode well for the interview with the Grand Inquisitor which was sung by bass-baritone John Relyea. Contrasted with Owens’ protective singing, Relyea was clearly favored in this scene as he dove into the full depths of his lyric bass-baritone voice. Still, Relyea was simply not suited to the commanding requirements of this dramatic bass role in this house. At times, he appeared to approach the vocal edge while his obvious physical vitality belied a 90-year old, blind Dominican friar. The overall result was disappointing. This scene, which should be a riveting interplay of the tension between church and state, as sung by two formidable, low men’s Verdi voices, simply failed to reach its full potential.

Completely occupying the pit, the full Met Orchestra was conducted by Patrick Furrer with clarity and intention. While we were lavished with full Verdean swaths of orchestral sound, this was balanced by an unusual elegance which paired perfectly with the lyrical and often bel canto approach of the lead singers. The Met Chorus was splendid, as always, making the gloriously gruesome auto da fé scene almost, er…fun.

A New Reigning Diva at the Met?

On Wednesday night, we returned to the Metropolitan Opera to take part in the 2021-22 Season. Either the restless, masked New York crowd or the unusually foggy and humid weather that night, or elements of both, might account for an indeterminate but palpable buzz in the air. More likely, it was the crowd, owing to a collective excitement at what was, for many, the end of two years without live grand opera.

On stage this evening was the cast of Richard Strauss’ Aridane auf Naxos. My opera partner for the evening, someone who rarely goes to opera these days, consented to join me because he has a soft spot for this quirky Strauss opera. And quirky it is. Set at a “private theatre in the house of the richest man in Vienna,” the opera consists of two acts referred to as “Prologue” and “The Opera,” the former being the backstage preparations and rehearsal for the latter. Like many Strauss operas, the lead roles are fiendishly difficult and written with very specific vocal requirements. This is an opera that requires precision casting in the four leading roles . I am here to report that only two of the four really met the high standard one would expect of this house.

In the title role, Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen dominated the evening. At the age of 35, this is a true jugend hochdramtischer soprano in apparent and full command of her instrument. Typical of this rare type, her voice reads with brassy metal color throughout the entire range. In the lower and mid ranges the metallic quality speaks with little vibrato sometimes leading to occasional wooden phrasing but this large voice finds equilibrium beyond the second break (G) as she easily develops a full-throated wave of abundant, shimmering yet piercing sound. In the opening of The Opera, Davidsen slowly built “Wo war ich?” adding layer upon layer of rich, well-placed sound, never needing to sing anything more than mezzopiano to communicate genuine intention. While the lower ranges of “Es gibt ein Reich” might tempt others to over sing, Davidsen’s voice type, much like Jessye Norman’s, lends itself perfectly to this role and I found myself imagining her as Seiglinde. But unlike Norman or even the formidable Christina Goerke, Davidsen’s top has no discernible limits, making one wonder if we may be witnessing the making of a Brünnhilde, Isolde and, dare I say it, perhaps in 15 years, Elektra?

Bringing up an honorable second, was the Bacchus of Brandon Jovanovich. Brandon is the workhorse of the American dramatic tenor circuit and for good reason. His large, round, if somewhat spaciously hollow, tenor is consistent and, for the most part, pleasing to the ear which is not always the case where large, anglo-tenor voices are concerned. The role of Bacchus is short but brutal in its tessitura and long, linear requirements. Jovanovich’s unapologetic approach effectively met the roles’s requirements with zealous and consistent tone. While no real match for Davidsen, he held his own in their final duet scenes only slightly showing signs of fatigue at the final moments (“eh denn du stürbest aus meinem Arm!”) which was completely understandable given the role’s punishing phrases.

As Zerbinetta, Brenda Rae’s lean, lyric soubrette voice did not initially read well in the house. Spritely and active, she improved over the evening and overall managed to rouse herself to a serviceable essay of this role which sits at the pinnacle of bravura singing for this voice type. The use of “serviceable” is less a criticism than a genuine nod to a singer who manages to meet the many requirements of this most difficult role. The voice is lovely and well placed if none too distinctive and somewhat lacking on the lower resonance which, even in this voice class, is needed at a house like the Met. Though our expectations were limited by second act, Rae nevertheless gave it her all in “Großmächtige Prinzessin” proving herself to be unfazed by the aria’s winding and high-flying turns. And, for the record, I absolutely disagree with the audience member in the side Grand Tier who felt the need to rise at the conclusion of this aria and yell “you have no technique!” before storming out. https://operawire.com/metropolitan-opera-to-ban-heckler-from-future-performances/ Obviously, this is entirely inaccurate and just rude. Rae is a skilled singer and presented a most respectable performance.

The big disappointment of the evening was the late cancellation of Isabel Leonard in the role the The Composer. Like Zerbinetta, The Composer is a most difficult role and, similar to Octavian in Der Rosenkavlier, is often beyond the capability of many mezzos. Leonard was replaced by mezzo soprano Olivia Vote who was simply not ready to sing this role, particularly at the Met. Vote’s lyric mezzo read more like a lyric soubrette in the house and, rightfully nervous, she began the evening visibly and audibly uncomfortable in the role’s wide range and constant upward flourishes. As she approached the signature aria (“Sein wir wieder gut”), we braced ourselves. There was simply no path to success in this aria given what we had thus far heard and we were correct. Vote was simply overwhelmed by the aria’s soaring lines required against the formidable orchestral accompaniment. While she did manage through it, there was none of the confident, rich and billowy/creamy mezzo texture we would expect to hear at the Met. I am not sure what the Met was thinking in casting her but I have to imagine they had simply run out of options. For Ms. Vote, she is obviously young and has a lovely, light voice but, on this evening, too much was asked of her, too early in her career. The Met’s artistic management should be better caretakers for their young singers.

Other standouts included the Harlequin of Sean Michael Plumb whose nimble, fulsome baritone was perfectly matched for this role in the house. And the Music Master of Johannes Martin Kränzle whose confident, rich baritone set the gold standard of this key but somewhat thankless role. Baritone Wolfgang Brendel also proved an excellent choice for the prickly Major Duomo. We thoroughly enjoyed the lovely well-balanced trio of water nymphs of Deanna Breiwick, Tamara Mumford and Maureen McKay as well as the generous casting in the three players Brighella (Miles Mykkanen), Scaramuccio (Alok Kumar) and Truffaldin (Ryan Speedo Green), the latter group managing some rather impressive dancing and hilarious antics although the final quintet with Zerbinetta and Harlequin may have been a tad messy.

This was the first time I have seen Elijah Mohinsky’s 1993 production of Ariadne but I found no visible signs of age and was delighted with the level of detail of the Prologue contrasted with The Opera’s simple and dramatic design strokes such as the giant, multicolored dresses of the three nymphs and Ariadne and Bacchus’ noble attire. The Met Orchestra was led by Marek Janowski who may have been overconfident in the opening scenes with some ensemble problems but found his footing by the middle of the Prologue. The scoring of this opera can often range from intimate chamber like, including piano interludes, to full Straussian orchestra and the Met players with Janowski’s leadership certainly provided the full range of contrast.

I end with the triumph that was and is Lise Davidsen. Reminiscent of a young Deborah Voigt, her performance was so special that I think she may very well be the best this Season has to offer, which I know is a risky pronouncement given that I still have six more operas to see! But with the recent, hasty exit of Anna Netrebko, might we be looking at new leading soprano at the Met? It would be a nice change and high time to have one in this dramatic voice category filling that assignment.