Great opera experience at THE MET

Only one more performance of the remarkable production of FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD and that is Saturday's matinee (December 5th.) If you can get a ticket, grab it. Just reading a synopsis of Janacek's final opera and you'd think it would be the farthest thing from a successful work. The opera has no plot, no lovers, no star roles, no women except for a nameless few who take up a few minutes of stage time, no arias, no conventional forms at all. HOUSE is merely a sequence of scenes of a prison camp and it's brutality, and the resultant inmate desperation--marked by many passages where no singing occurs and long monologues of several men and their sad former lives. Events do not lead to each other, they just occur. And for ninety minutes, Janacek holds you spellbound through his marvelous, rich score, here abetted by Patrice Chereau's (once the opera world's most notorious enfant terrible, now a respected interpreter) illuminating production. Everyone, including the extras who do not sing, finds a personal truth to his character so the large cast does not collapse under its own weight. Movement, stance, vocal inflection, use of the language, phrasing, color--every weapon in a singer's arsenal is brought out and the audience gets a great shot of emotion and humanity. The entire cast is memorable, but a few singers still manage to stand out: a wonderfully varied Kurt Streit as the half-mad Shuratov, who repeats parts of his pathetic story over and over; Stefan Margita as Luka, a raging terminally ill loner who hides a deep secret; Peter Hoare as Shapkin and (especially) Peter Mattei as Shishkov--each given a memorable monologue, the latter's following closely on the heels of the former's and building to a shattering climax. Only a genius could make such a musical sequence work as brilliantly as it does. And this production does the whole work more than justice. The few "diversions" from the printed libretto only enhance what Janacek has accomplished, never arbitrary or unmotivated. Even the end of the opera gains by a fresh apporach as the final outpouring of hope has been changed in this production from one of "physical" freedom to one of freedom of the mind. The original version that Janacek wrote has an eagle who was wounded finally fly free just as one of the prisoners is released. The inmates celebrate both the man's and the bird's freedom before they are forced to march off to work. In Chereau's take on it, the bird is made of wood and the men want to be set free so badly they "imagine" they see the eagle escape into the air, as a very old prisoner (a heart-breaking Heinz Zednik) hides it under his shabby clothes. The orders to march are all the more wrenching. The MET orchestra (rather sparse, just as Janacek wrote it) was magnificent, almost every instrument playing a memorable solo, including a fiendish one for violin near the beginning. The conducting of Esa-Pekka Salonen was all anyone could possibly wish. (In fact, one of the pleasurable jolts of this production comes at the VERY beginning, when Salonen takes his seat without fanfare, the lights go out immediately before anyone knows he's even there and the music starts. A brilliant stroke.) A sign of the spell this production casts: the opera stopped and the house was silent. The clapping started low and began to build until the lights and the curtain rose on the cast. The cheers only grew louder as each group took its bow. When the principals at last came forward, the sound was almost deafening. They bowed several times to even louder cheering (!) It did not recede when Salonen finally made his appearance.

If you do not get a chance to see it at The MET, a very good DVD exists of this production (with other singers) from it's previous performances at the Festival Aix-en-Provence in 2007. It is wonderful to have, but not quite a substitute for seeing it live. May The MET bring it back so I can experience it again.

Thanksgiving list

25 NOT YOUR USUAL ARTS-ORIENTED THINGS I’M THANKFUL FOR

25. Lesser-known works by: Samuel Barber, Bela Bartok, Ferruccio Busoni (which is everything), Aaron Copland, Sergei Prokofiev, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Richard Strauss

24. Broadway. (Plays, naturally, since I write them, but even a good musical. At their best, still one of the great American creations. At their worst...)

23. 20th Century choreography of great ballets, old and new. (Sorry, the 19th Century choreographers were a little too formulaic. Actually, the 19th Century a lot of things were too formulaic. Am I the only person that doesn’t love Rossini?)

22. Old movies. (Meaning anything made before I was born. A partial list of directors whose works I would gladly watch over and over: Alfred Hitchcock, Preston Sturges, Billy Wilder, John Ford, Akira Kurasawa, Jean Renoir, Ernst Lubitsch, Ingmar Bergman, Michael Powell-Emeric Pressburger, Charlie Chapman. A partial list of directors whose works I find painful to watch over and over: Cecil B. DeMille, Fritz Lang--yes, I know he was influential, but that doesn’t make them any better, Frank Capra...every one of his films has a completely ludicrous villian and an exasperating “oh, come on!” moment.)

21. Old movie scores. (A partial list of favorite “movie” composers: Bernard Hermann, Elmer Bernstein, Alex North, Max Steiner, Alfred Newman, Erich Wolfgang Korngold. Least favorite? Dmitri Tiomkin. So he wrote a few pop tunes that are good. Big deal. Mostly his scores don’t even support the story well: happy music for “sad” situations, cuts that go on too long, starts at the most inopportune moments, slivers of music that are far too short. He is the Frank Capra of movie composers: grossly overrated.)

20. The recorded legacy of Mstislav Rostropovich. (He knew everyone who was anyone in music during the 20th Century. And so many great composers wrote masterpieces for his immense talent. I only heard him “live” once...at Carnegie Hall, a magical place anyway. I will never forget it.)

19. J. S. Bach’s slow movements (in every “form” he wrote in. I love them all. See? I threw in someone even morons have heard of, so no complaining.)

18. The delightfully one-of-a-kind dances of Merce Cunningham. (He will be missed.)

17. The Metropolitan Opera (Far less conservative than it used to be, and still a home for great singers--if a few too many not-so-great ones--and great operas you won’t see anywhere else around here, like War and Peace, Kat’a Kabanova, Lulu, Moses und Aron, Les Troyens, Rusalka, etc.)

16. The works of British composer--just in case you haven’t heard of him--Harrison Birtwistle that scare the masses (meaning three quarters of them. But, contrary to popular belief, some of his pieces are taken in stride by most of the British.)

15. The wonderful writings and public advocacy of Tony Kushner. (And another new play is coming to New York! Not to mention the revival of Angels in America.

14. The operas of German composer Hans Werner Henze. (Okay, any form he writes in.)

15. Really cleverly written animated movies, old and new. (Go, Pixar!)

14. Great recordings of musical works I will probably never hear “live”. (Like works by Per Norgard, or Frank Martin or Roberto Gerhard or Thomas Ades--though I have heard one of his pieces “live”.)

13. Living in a city that has some of the greatest art in the world. (I live in New York of course.)

12. Popular music from circa 1920 to circa 1955. (From some of the greats like Gershwin, Arlen, Ellington, Berlin, etc. and recorded by Horne, Sinatra, Garland, Fitzgerald [!] Armstrong, etc.)

11. Every note Alban Berg wrote.

10. (Almost) every note Benjamin Britten wrote--he wrote a some music when he was young that isn't so hot. (He could write wonderfully for any instrument or group of instruments or voice or voices in any-and-all combinations thereof, in any “classical” form, large or small...but especially opera. He was the 20th Century Mozart, though he lived to be much older.)

9. Stephen Sondheim’s entire oeuvre. (He would probably hate that word. I REALLY want to meet him. I may become a stalker.)

8. Berlioz--everything by him and about him. (Read his autobiography and then the two-part biography by David Cairns. Great stuff!)

9. Poetry. (From ancient Greek plays to the latest issue of THE NEW YORKER. Most of the major poets, especially Dante and Shakespeare [see, I named someone else that any moron has heard of] Walt Whitman and Dylan Thomas and e e cummings and T. S. Eliot, though you need footnotes for some of his. And too many not-so-major ones who are nonetheless worthy. Try James Merrill for a great poet who has been somewhat forgotten but is one-of-a-kind.)

8. Songs, cantatas, operas, oratorios by: Dominick Argento, Hector Berlioz (yes, I know I already mentioned him) Emmanuel Chabrier, Anton Dvorak, Georges Enesco, Carlisle Floyd, Berthold Goldschmidt, Hans Werner Henze (yes, I already mentioned him, too, but I like him so much, he’s worth repeating), Jacques Ibert, Leos Janacek, Reinhard Keiser, Gyorgy Ligeti, Frank Martin (another repeat), Per Norgard (ditto), Jacques Offenbach, Sergei Prokofiev (okay, I’m repeating myself a bunch, but this is vocal music especially), Roger Quilter, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, Franz Schreker, Michael Tippett, Viktor Ullmann, Ralph (not pronounced “Raife” like some people think) Vaughan Williams, Kurt Weill, No X (sorry, I hate Xenakis), and Alexander Zemlinsky. This doesn’t mean I don’t love all the more famous composers, but everyone would say them.

3. Meeting so many composers, musicians, dancers, actors, artists, etc. in New York since I’ve been here. The arts surround you here, if you just stop to notice.

2. Performing music so new, no one has ever heard it before. (Thank you, my friends, for writing for me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have the honor.)

1. Making music with the man I love. Happy Thanksgiving, my genius musician, wonderful friend, best ambassador for the classical saxophone in the world, lover, beautiful husband. May we make music until we’re too old to hear it anywhere but in our dreams.

And if you're wondering who any of these people are or why I like them, just ask. I could write books. Maybe I should.

One Man's Wobble

Since I began to study singing as a student, I've heard, read, listened, pondered, argued, and quietly spoken about what makes up great singing. And I have been forever puzzled and bemused (and occasionally horrified) by the myriad opinions on what "great singing" means. From a technique stand point, most students and teachers worth their salt will say they strive for singing from lowest note to highest note that is all of a piece--no discernible breaks, no "weaknesses" in one register or another, fluidity between all of them. Singing should be free of strain, free of a wobbly, uncontrolled vibrato, free of pitch problems, free of a breathy, unsubstantial "core" sound. Dynamics should be possible high or low, leaps should be reached easily, words should be heard and understood (except, perhaps, at the highest notes), "coloring" the voice to express emotions should be one of the ultimate goals.

So why do so many "famous" singers, or, hell, even EMERGING singers lack so many of these technical accomplishments? And why do so many people "worship" these singers and "despise" singers who DO have great technique and great expression? Why do so many opera "fans" have a litany of "great" singers from the past that they use to "prove" singers of today are so inferior? When did "loud" become synonymous with "emotional"? Why can so many "experts" lack the skills to hear poor pitch, differentiate between "coloring" the voice rather than having problems with certain registers which force a different sound, understand "technique"?

I have no idea. But the MET roster is filled with singers with what are (to me obvious) vocal deficiencies. The MET seems unable or unwilling to find performers for the more taxing roles that are not ridden with vocal "faults" (Domingo being the exception that proves the rule.) Of the roster of returning singers performing the heavier works, only Violetta Urmana can be said to be vocal proficient for the works she sings--but even she can strain at climaxes. NO ONE ELSE SINGING THE HEAVIER REP AT THE MET HAS ANY BUSINESS DOING IT. Yes, I just said it and I mean it. And, yes, I know that many popular singers are singing these roles anyway. That doesn't mean they should be. Not if the definition of "great" singing is in those attributes students and teachers strive to instill. But this does not just extend to the most extremely difficult works. I find it hard to believe that some singers who have careers in Europe like, say, Anne Schwanewilms, who sing medium weight roles, have no place at The MET just because they do not command a high enough public profile. (Or of a previous generation, Inga Nielsen, or Hillevi Martinpelto.) Where is baritone Roderick Williams? Why is a singer with such a beautiful, well-trained , expressive voice not being heard regularly here? He's singing constantly in Europe. Or why was Robert Brubaker only used in "one-off" roles occasionally when he was in his prime? He could easily handle medium weight tenor roles and did so (and probably still is doing so) in other parts of the world. Or why was Bruce Ford not a household name in Rossini and Donizetti? He is as good a singer of these roles as we have had on records. But he is now singing a small tenor role in Armida. Hardly a way to treat such an artist, even if he is in the latter part of his career. All of these singers have left audio and / or video proof of their worth. All these recordings were readily available (and some still are.) So they are (or were) hardly unknown. But they were infrequent (and certainly unheralded) performers here, if at all.

And who is filling these roles instead? A well-recorded (but why?) and well-received soprano of wobbly, strained, forced but certainly loud singing who is being acclaimed as the last in a long line of "great" Strauss / Wagner singers. A once well-recorded tenor whose once-lovely lyrical voice is now thread-bare and shrill through singing roles he has no business singing. Not one but TWO "new" very lyric sopranos whose hype (and lavish applause and recording contracts) have put them into a limelight they cannot bear up under. (Ten years or less and they will be gone.) An American singing "actress" of more emotive skills than singing ones who sings all the mid-weight Italian--esp. Puccini--works (but shouldn't be.) And her American "cousin" who made her name in rarer Verdi and has now moved into even heavier Verdi roles where her lack of beautiful tone, limited facility and little to no beauty in her top fifth or so, and obvious "breaks" between registers will now become even more apparent. (At least that she is not showcased the way she once was...at least not at the MET.) An Italian tenor whose "skill" is singing loudly and with a noticeable legato. Subtlety and characterization and individuality are completely missing. And this is but a short list. (I did not name names because that would be impolite and unbecoming a fellow singer. But if you are aware of who is singing at the MET...and around America...you can probably guess who I am writing about.)

My big question is "WHY?" If no one can sing Turandot...don't do Turandot. If you can't cast The Ring Cycle with appropriate singers, don't mount it. Is ticket selling all, artistry beside the point? It's such a cynical way to think, but I fall into cynicism. Of course, Fleming, Dessay, Hampson, Flores, Graham, Blythe, Di Donato, Gheorghiu, the ever-young Domingo, even such elder statesmen as (Thomas) Allen, Opie, Langridge, and Tomlinson, (just to name male British singers) can still be heard. And they are the reasons I go.

Technology, technology, everywhere

Every few decades the world of technology infects all the arts and it eventually arrives at set design for stage productions of all kinds. Not that technology and projections have been absent from stagecraft. Dance has been using projections forever. Twenty something years ago, I saw a performance of wonderful pieces by Merce Cunningham (and how sad I was when he died) and the only sets for all of them were projections on a cyclorama that seemed to have no bearing on what the dancers were doing. This was a tenet of his work--all "aspects" of performance were independent of each other. But they were often beautiful--projections and dances--and I was always engrossed. And, of course, Peter Sellars has made his name as a "genius" (he did get a grant) for his mixing of media. (Just how many works DID he stage with piled up televisions?) Certainly at least two works by Steve Reich have been accompanied by a wall of screens (which helps, if you ask me.) And the projections during the Paris production of Les Troyens in 2003 were wonderful in an effectively "sparse" staging. But starting in Beijing during the opening and closing ceremonies of the Olympics, technology changed and everyone seemed to have had the same ideas about how to use it. I think we are at the beginning of a Golden Age of creative design and I hope it lasts and expands and enriches. London's (and then Broadway's) production of Sondheim / Lapine's Sunday In The Park With George was one of the most creative use of projections I have ever seen. The audience gasped when everything went white and then pencil strokes slashed across the stage, as if we were seeing George's paper as he was sketching. And the MET has created another projection extravaganza in La Damnation de Faust and there were plenty of ideas to make one gasp. The moment when Faust falls into the water and slowly spins around is an unforgettable moment in an opera-ish work (Berlioz called it a "Dramatic Legend") that has previously been mostly unsuccessful when put on a stage in any way but a concert version. The MET version seems to have solved its "problems" and added a dazzling production that has a good shot at becoming a (semi) staple of the rep, like Lulu or the Janacek operas. I'm sure we are in for more. Some people have worried that this is just more distraction from the "singer" and the art of "singing". Maybe it will effect how we see and hear. No way of knowing this soon. But surely this Faust is just a new form of the older generation's massive moving parts, such as the MET's Aida and it's spectacle of giantism. When it was first introduced, critics complained the sets dwarfed the singers. Now audiences and critics have gotten to know it and appreciate it. May the "new" technology get the same chance to shine.

Operatic duds

I come not to praise Wagner but to bury him. A few weeks before the start of The MET season, an "illustrious" critic for an "illustrious" publication wrote that a new opera he had just seen and heard needed to have cuts to be more effective but he wanted to assure his readers that some operas, even some long ones, are perfect at their actual length. He sighted Wagner's Parsifal as a perfect opera that needs all five hours to make its point(s). He actually said six hours, but he seems to be counting the famously long intermissions at The MET as opera time. He went on to say perhaps the most cliché "accepted truth" in all opera: that works like Der Rosenkavalier (a perenial choice for this "truth") need their (usual) cuts to keep from being "boring"--intimating their composers (for some reason, invariably it's Strauss) are lesser beings than opera "gods" like Mozart or Wagner. Anyway, he made me think (more than he has poor taste) that many "accepted truths" hide actuality. (At least as I hear it.) I don't care how many people claim Wagner as a genius that must be heard in full--he wrote more than one "dud". And Parsifal is the dudest of the duds. A 20 minutes or so here and there in each act of "good" music that is meant to be profound does not a masterpiece make. In fact, I don't trust anyone who thinks Parsifal is a "perfect" five hours. At five hours, it's perfectly dreadful. As is Siegfried. Maybe an hour and a half of truly great music is hidden in an atrocious five hour monstrosity. And, yes, the other operas of The Ring Cycle are much better and the events depicted in Siegfried need to be told. So get someone to play a highlights disc while a narrator explains everything you need to know. There. Three and a half hours saved. I could go on. In fact, other than a few operas by Wagner (and I love much of his music so don't think "I just don't understand him") most of his works would be more effective with cuts. Even Gotterdammerung, my vote for his greatest "masterpiece", could do without a few minutes here and there that seem superfluous. (The Norns really add little and their music is merely "good." Cut 'em, I say.)

So, any other suggestions for "repertory" works you think are duds? (Or at least, not worth the time to get to the end.) A rule first: they have to be works heard around the world and recorded at least once. And please, no "atonal" works. We know, you just don't understand what everyone hears. Got it.

Why the same "old" operas?

Now that The MET has officially opened, the opera critics come out in force and the love it / hate it / don't understand it wars begin with a vengeance. The new Tosca was a case in point. No two people seemed to agree about anything. This is not exactly bad for the MET. Critic wars make news. And Peter Gelb certainly gets his opera company in the news. I think this is healthy for the venerable company and good production (Madama Butterfly) bad production (Sonnambula), people are coming and noticing. The war of words between Zeffirelli and Bondy certainly didn't hurt. (The comment that Zeffirelli was just merely "...Visconti's assistant" was one of the more cutting put-downs of recent years.) Of course, all this talk about productions and (even) singers doesn't really disguise the fact that the rep is still pretty set in stone. And we know this and occasionally complain about this but to no avail. The Lulu's and the From the House of the Dead's are few and far between (as are performances of them.) Even a piece like Hamlet will swoop in for a few seasons and certain singers will triumph in the two main roles and then it will fly right out of vogue just as quickly. And I doubt seriously that even the great artist Renée Fleming can make Armida a popular recurring addition to the roster. None of this is new. The reasons are myriad but one of my strong beliefs is people have to be "taught" what is good or bad, and no one is "teaching" Armida. I learned from others (fans, singers, teachers, etc.) the works that were considered "great" and I set about to understand why. "Learning" Le Nozze di Figaro is relatively simple. We've heard this harmony and these kinds of melodies everywhere, whether we know it or not. The more "debated" or shall we say, less performed and recorded works I had to discover for myself. And I worked at it and studied them and tried to learn the "language" that each composer was using. And I discovered quite a few "masterpieces." But I sometimes fear I am in a strong but wavering minority. Your majority opera listeners don't have the time or inclination--they want ready made "masterpieces" or at at the very minimum, lesser works by confirmed "geniuses" (mostly from the 19th Century unless it's Handel.) And often they take "genius" on faith and accept the faulty syllogism that if A) a composer is a genius and B) he wrote a piece in his adulthood at the "height" of his powers then C) the piece must be a "great" piece. So they listen and they listen until they "know" it by the time they hit their seats. And they accept as fact that the mutually agreed upon "masterpiece" is one. Which leads me to my next blog...but first, what do you think? Any answers to the age-old question? Any solutions?