Feast of Music

Virtuo(u)sity

Opera can play many roles. It can move us through passionate, star-crossed characters who reflect our fears and trials. It can overwhelm us with magnificent set designs and music of incredible power. It can simply entertain.

But, opera does not typically inspire.

The Met is out to change that with its current production of Philip Glass' Satyagraha, the second of his three profile operas (Einstein on the Beach, Akhnaten) written in the 70's and early 80's. Satyagraha concerns itself with Mohandas Gandhi's early career in South Africa (1893-1914), where he developed his system of active, non-violent resistance that would eventually win independence for India and inspire Martin Luther King, Jr. to found this country's civil rights movement ("Satyagraha" is Sanskrit for "Truth force.") As if to drive the point home, ads have popped up all over the city asking: "Could an Opera Make Us Stand Up For the Truth?" and "Could an Opera Make Us Warriors For Peace?" 

My friend Jocelyn and I were fortunate enough to attend Monday's sold-out performance, thanks to the generosity of the Met's press office. For me, this was a pretty big deal: an acknowledgment by one of the world's great opera companies that this website - and others like it - are deserving of the same consideration as the mainstream press. It also reflects general manager Peter Gelb's enthusiastic embrace of digital media, be it the Met's own blog, or the free online streaming of at least one opera each week. To say I was grateful would be an understatement.

Others have already remarked (some disparagingly) on Glass' hypnotic, trance-inducing music, which conductor Dante Anzolini takes at a significantly slower pace than the original production, now nearly 30 years old. But, if you allow Satyagraha to work on you the way Glass intends, you'll find the repeating scales and oscillating themes enter into your head sideways, refusing to leave hours, even days later. Listen to "Protest" from Act II:

The direction, by Brits Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch, supplied an appropriately dreamlike atmosphere, filled with aerialists, stiltwalkers and 20-foot tall puppets made out of newsprint. They also chose not to use the MetTitles translation system, instead projecting selections from the libretto - a non-linear narrative adapted by Constance DeJong from the Bhagavad-Gita - on the set's corrugated iron walls. Each phrase was as sharp and clean as a dagger.

"When the motives and the fruits of a man's actions are freed from desire, his works are burned clean by wisdom's fire, the white fire of truth."

"If a work is done because it should be done and without thought for great benefits, then that is surrender in Goodness."

"By my creative nature, I consort with nature and come to be in time."

After nearly four hours of onstage stasis, the opera concluded with the transcendent "Evening Song": an ascending scale of eight tones repeated over and over by Gandhi (Richard Croft), standing alone at the front of the stage. He sang the words of the Hindu god Krishna, effectively making them his own:

"I come into being age after age and take a visible shape as a man among men for the protection of good, thrusting the evil back and setting virtue on her seat again."

Croft's sweet, pure tenor sailed out into the cavernous house, and as I looked up at the gilded ceiling, thinking about how I happened to be among the 4,000 souls filling the house that night, I have never felt so blessed. It was a transformative moment, plain and simple.

"I'm not sure what just happened," Jocelyn said as we were walking out. "I feel different."

While I won't claim a sudden burning desire to go out and join the Peace Corps, Satyagraha has certainly changed my perspective when it comes to the need for non-violent action in response to social injustice. As I write this, the Rev. Al Sharpton is in the final stages of mobilizing his National Action Network in a city-wide campaign of civil disobedience in response to the police acquittals in the Sean Bell murder case last week. Say what you will about Sharpton: there is no living American that I know of who has so persistently fought for those who have little-to-no voice in our society. And while Sharpton may bear little resemblance to the man known as "Mahatma" ("Great Soul"), you can bet your ass Gandhi would be marching right along side him.

(The Gandhi statue in Union Square Park)

                                          ***

Monday was also the final Connect at the Met event of the season, during which the Met hosts a reception on the Grand Tier prior to the performance, in this case for singles in their 20's and 30's. (They also host evenings for singles 40-and-up, as well as for members of the GLBT community.) The price, $110, would have been too steep for most 20 and 30-somethings I know (including your's truly), though that did include an orchestra-level seat, which would have cost just as much by itself.

When I arrived, I was issued a nametag and offered a choice of wine or soft drinks. One table was filled with hors d'ouvres; another was piled with hardcover copies of Arthur Herman's new book Gandhi and Churchill, free for the taking. On cocktail tables, there were brochures advertising the Met's Young Associates Program for 20 and 30-somethings, which starts at $500 ("Friend") and goes up to $2,000 ("Best Friend"). (No word yet on whether or not the development office has a "BFF" level in the works.) 

Jocelyn and I met a range of people (including some who were clearly no longer in their 30's): everyone from opera aficionados, to several folks who were at the Met (or any opera) for the first time. There were doctors, lawyers, staffers from Carnegie and Lincoln Center, and enough friends-of-friends to keep the mix interesting.

There was also a desert and champagne reception during the first intermission, where we got to exchange reactions. I heard everything from "This is not an opera!" to "I don't know what's going on, but I really like it." If I were the Met, I'd be pretty happy with that.

Opera and Popcorn

For the past two seasons, I've resisted attending the immensely popular HD simulcasts of the Met's Saturday matinee performances, on the principle that if you live in New York and you're going to dedicate 3-5 hours of your Saturday to sitting in a darkened theater, you should get your ass to Lincoln Center. I mean, how could watching opera in a movie theater possibly be better than attending in person? Especially considering you can get a standing room or Family Circle ticket for the same (or less) money.

But, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. After all, even the best opera glasses in the world aren't going to get you closeups the way that those cameras can. And, there was weirdly something appealing about being able to eat Jujubes at your seat. So yesterday, I decided to go check out what all the fuss was about.

When I walked into the BAM Rose Cinemas five minutes before curtain time, the theater was packed to the gills. (Fortunately, I'd bought my ticket to the screening weeks ago.) I grabbed one of the last available seats - in the third row - and had a look around. The crowd was 60-70% seniors, many of whom revealed themselves to be simulcast regulars. There were also numerous groups of middle-agers, obviously enticed by the ability to purchase four tickets for the price of a single Met balcony seat. I did find a few 20 and 30-somethings, though not nearly as many as the Met would have you believe show up for these screenings. In the end, these simulcasts have become - for better or worse - yet another New York institution.

The atmosphere was more relaxed than sitting in the Met, but far more intense than watching it at home on TV (which, btw, you can do every Sunday afternoon on Channel 13.) For one, the singers and sets are all projected larger than life (esp. if you're in the third row.) Everyone laughs and claps at the same time as the live audience (and they'll hush you if you make too much noise reaching for those Goobers.) And, in my case at least, the theater at BAM is situated in a turn-of-the-century performance venue, aiding the illusion that we were actually at the opera. (Unfortunately, BAM doesn't project the simulcasts in HD, and the sound is somewhat tinny.)

Then, there are the backstage features. Soprano Renee Fleming is a funny and down-to-earth host, literally shoving a microphone into the hands of singers as they come off stage, many of whom she knows personally. In the background, stagehands pushed scenery around and dancers stretched in preparation. Say what you will about the Met: they aren't afraid to show their stuff, warts and all.

The opera on tap yesterday, Donizetti's La Fille du Regiment, is a bit of bel canto fluff that normally I wouldn't be caught dead at. But, it was the last screening of the season, and the new production, by Laurent Pelly, has gotten pretty stellar reviews, largely due to it's top-flight cast.

French soprano Natalie Dessay has emerged in recent seasons as the opera world's great actor-singer, and she brought all of her manic energy to the role of Marie: an orphan who is adopted by a French army regiment and falls in love with a local villager. Dessay has a clear and beautiful voice that she isn't afraid to use when called upon (as in her stunning Act I aria "Chacun le sait.") But, she clearly sees herself as an actor first, with the music serving the drama, not the other way around.

"For me," she says in the program notes, "the music is not the goal. The goal is theater."

Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Flórez, who sang the role of Marie's lover Tonio, may not have Dessay's acting chops, but more than makes up for it with his golden voice, which can be showstopping. Literally: on opening night, Flórez performed the first solo encore heard at the Met in 14 years - and only the third in over a century - when he repeated the acrobatic aria, "Ah, Mes Amis," famous for it's string of nine high C's. Met director Peter Gelb, who gave the go-ahead for the encore from his box on Monday, stoked anticipation this week when asked if it might happen again during yesterday's performance.

"I don't know what will happen on Saturday, but if the audience in the opera house applauds as enthusiastically as they did Monday night, I would not be surprised if an encore of the encore took place."

Flórez nailed the aria, and both we and the live audience erupted in an ovation that went on for well over a minute. Finally, Flórez broke his pose, opened his eyes and took a slow, gallant bow. The crowd went bonkers. Their applause went on for at least another full minute, including audible shouts of "Encore!" before Flórez raised his head, smiled...and went on with the performance. After all, it's one thing to break a century-old tradition in front of 4,000 people; it's another to do it before an HD and radio audience of millions. (You can listen to the opening night aria with encore here.)

Together, Flórez and Dessay make an irresistible pair: they are like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo, complementing each other's abilities while pushing each other to new heights of performance, making you laugh all the way. And, this is apparently just the beginning: they'll be back together next season in the Met's new production of Bellini's La Sonnambula.

One key figure in this production who hasn't gotten much notice is conductor Marco Armiliato: an affable young Italian who's been working under a low profile at the Met for the past ten seasons as one of James Levine's key proteges. Armiliato kept things appropriately light and frothy, and had a huge smile on his face while leading the applause for Dessay's and Flórez's ovations.

Oh, yeah, and he conducted the entire opera from memory.

Watch and wait: if Armiliato plays his cards right, he's going to have his own opera house someday. Maybe even this one.

There were a number of technical gaffes during yesterday's broadcast - cameras out of frame, mics not working properly, etc. But, all that just served as a reminder that this was a live broadcast, where anything can happen at any time. Which, when you think about everything that can possibly happen during an operatic performance, it's a bit mad to even make the attempt. Kudos to broadcast director Gary Halvorson for managing to keep the wheels on.

Will I go again? Probably, though I doubt I'll make a habit of it. Watching opera on a screen will never come close to the overwhelming intensity of being inside the Met. But, it's not a bad way to spend a Saturday, esp. if you're with friends. (More pics after the jump.)

Make Music New York - Take 2

I actually missed seeing any Make Music New York shows last year, but fortunately, it's back again for a second year on Saturday, June 21. If you're a musician and want to play, or if you own a store and want to host a lineup, you can register here. 

Opera Is Fun

(Note: This was originally written for the City Opera blog, which will probably never see the light of day, now that the season's ended. Oh well.)

What is opera, anyway? Is it Music? Theater? Performance Art? Opera house directors around the world struggle to answer these questions every season, often coming up with decidedly mixed results.

Refreshingly, City Opera doesn’t seem at all conflicted about what opera’s role is supposed to be. If you want heavy, five hour-plus sagas, go across the plaza. But, if you want to have a relaxed, enjoyable evening out with better-than-average music and stagecraft, City Opera’s your place. That ethos is what, in part, drew Gerard Mortier to become City Opera’s next General Manager: in his remarks at the Morgan Library last month, he came down clearly in favor of opera as entertainment (though Mortier’s idea of “entertainment” may take some getting used to for conventional audiences.) 

At the performance of Leonard Bernstein’s Candide I attended last week, I noticed casually-dressed couples watching the opera with their arms around each other, acting as if they were at the movies. I wonder how long it’ll be before they let patrons bring refreshments to their seats (pop corn, anyone?)

It also helps if your opera has memorable tunes, and Candide has no fewer than three: “It Must be So,” “Glitter and Be Gay,” and “Make Your Garden Grow,” all of which have emerged as standards. And, the brief, breathtaking overture - which Bernstein orchestrated himself - is unquestionably the greatest ever penned by an American: the New York Philharmonic used it as an encore on their recent program in North Korea.

Bernstein, who would have been 90-years-old this year, originally conceived of Candide as a Gilbert-and-Sullivan style operetta, and it was initially produced as a work of musical theater. This landmark 1982 production, by veteran producer Harold Prince, maintains the theatricality of Candide, casting Broadway stars Daniel Reichard (Jersey Boys) as Candide and the hilarious Richard Kind (The Producers, Spin City) as Voltaire/Dr. Pangloss, along with a supporting cast of young, attractive singers. But, it goes deeper, amplifying the music with orchestral magnitude which serves to drive home the philosophical issues raised – and skewered – by Voltaire. It has been presented almost exclusively in opera houses ever since.

Most importantly, Prince’s production keeps things fun. My friend and I sat in the third row of the orchestra, where we were surprised to see Candide sidestep through the entire aisle directly in front of us while singing “It Must Be So.” I can’t remember ever being that close to a singer in full voice: it literally sent shivers up my spine. The entire cast of principals repeated the move in Act II, while Pangloss tossed sheets of paper filled with axioms from a first tier box to our left. (As a fringe benefit, we sat too close to see the supertitles, which normally can aid apprehension but in this instance were an unnecessary distraction.) 

Afterwards, my friend and I were invited to a champagne reception on the Grand Promenade after the performance, where we mingled with cast members and City Opera staffers for the better part of an hour. The party came courtesy of City Opera’s Big Deal program, which, if you haven’t caught on yet, is one of the best deals in town for patrons under 40. And, with a free Time Out New York subscription and at least two parties every season, it practically pays for itself.  

So, think about City Opera the next time you’re planning to bring someone to the movies or a Broadway show. Sure, it might not be as glamorous as the Met, but the price is right. Not to mention a lot more fun.

Senior Special

This is my dad, James Matthews. He lives with my mom in the house where I grew up in New Jersey, about ten miles northesast of NYC. And, though he may not look it, he's a senior citizen.

Last night, we went to the Met together for the first time. Dad had only been to the Met once before: in 2004, to see Giacomo Puccini's Madama Butterfly with my mother, a Christmas gift from your's truly. They told me for weeks after how much they loved it: the singing, the sets, the costumes.

But, Met tickets are expensive and, in part because my dad's on a fixed income, they haven't been back since. Enter the Met's Agnes Varis and Karl Leichtman rush ticket program, which offers two-hundred $20 seats to every Monday-Thursday performance throughout the season. These seats, which normally sell for $100, are located on the fringes of the Orchestra: not the best in the house, but a helluva lot better than the Family Circle.    

The program, which requires patrons to purchase their tickets in person two hours before curtain, has been immensely popular: I tried to get rush tickets a couple of times last year, and got locked out on both occasions. But this year, the Met instituted a loophole: patrons over 65 can purchase their tickets over the phone or online starting at noon on the day of the performance. And, best of all, seniors can purchase up to two tickets each.

I told Dad about the program a few weeks ago, and we agreed to give it a try. We checked the Met's calendar, and zeroed in on last night's performance of Puccini's La Bohème : not necessarily something I would have gone to see on my own, but a perfect choice for someone's second-ever visit to the Met.

Bohème is the most popular opera in the world, and with good reason: it's a story about the lives of everyday people, full of joys and sufferings that are familiar to most of us. It's filled with stirring melodies, but is never cloying. And, it is one of the most tightly constructed operas ever written, with every note precision-placed for maximum impact.

Although Bohème was primarily my dad's choice, there was something in it for me, too. I'd never seen this acclaimed production by the Italian director Franco Zeffirelli, which just set the record for the most performances of any opera in Met history. The cast featured bona fide stars Angela Ghiorghiu as Mimi and Ramón Vargas as Rodolfo. And, it's been completely sold out for weeks.

So yesterday, Dad forked over his credit card info, I logged onto the Met's website, and by 12:10 p.m., we had our tickets. Dad picked them up at the box office an hour before curtain, giving us just enough time for a quick bite at O'Neal's across the street.

Our seats ended up being far better than I expected: Row K, five seats in from the right-side aisle, with a completely unobstructed view of the stage. They were, by far, the best seats I've ever had at the Met. (Well, at least legally...)

As for the performance, a note in the program announced that Elena Evseeva would sing in place of Ghiorghiu, which turned out to be a blessing: Evseeva's understated soprano suited the sickly Mimi far better than Ghiorghiu's overpowering voice, which dominated the Met broadcast a couple of weeks ago. It also allowed the other players to strut their stuff - particularly the Spanish soprano Ainhoa Arteta, who showed huge stage presence as the sassy, scheming Musetta.

But, it was Vargas' night. The Mexican tenor made me think immediately of Pavarotti - who sang Rodolfo at the Met dozens of times - in his teddy-bear warmth, if only slightly less so in his voice. Still, Vargas had the chops when it counted: the final garret scene, where Rodolfo screams "Mimi! Mimi!" over his lover's dead body, felt so real it made my entire head and back tingle.

As for Dad, his favorite was the ensemble scene in Act II, set outside a cafe in Paris' Latin Quarter. It was indeed a spectacle: a chorus of 200 townspeople filled the square. Live horses pulled carts across the stage. A full marching band trotted through. Stirring and brilliant.

If you haven't already seen it, the final performance of La Bohème this season is this Friday, April 18. Unfortunately, rush tickets aren't available for that one, but the same $20 will get into standing room in the rear of the orchestra, which, from past experience, isn't half bad. They'll be on sale that morning at the box office or online.

Thanks to Ms. Varis and Mr. Leichtmann for their generosity. Thanks, also, to Peter Gelb and the Met for coming up with the idea in the first place. And, most of all, thanks Dad. Let's do it again real soon. (More pics after the jump.)

Quotable

"I am Music, who in sweet accents
can calm each troubled heart,
and now with noble anger, now with love,
can kindle the most frigid minds."

(Prologue to Monteverdi's L'Orfeo, 1607) 

Pocket Opera

The Birmingham Music Contemporary Group, which is in residence at Zankel Hall this weekend, was founded 20 years ago by Simon Rattle, culling performers from the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, which he then led. Since then, it has established itself as one of Europe's leading new music ensembles, having premiered over 100 new works.

In recent years, the BCMG has championed the music Irish composer Gerald Barry, whose chamber opera, The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit (1992), received its long-overdue New York premiere last night. Barry, who has a strong reputation in Europe, is not well known in the States, which may account for the less-than-half full hall last night. (Miller Theater offered a Barry portrait concert back in November.) Those who did make it out were treated to a rare and virtuosic performance.

Triumph, which runs about an hour without intermission, is an allegory which purports to depict the age-old struggle between beauty and time, truth and deceit, pleasure and...all of the above. The opera was inspired by Handel's 18th century oratorio The Triumph of Time and Truth, and uses the same all-male cast of tenors and countertenors. The music, which was both astringent and accessible, moved at a manic pace, giving both singers and players a vigorous workout.

The performance was led by British composer/conductor Thomas Adès, who is this season's holder of the Richard and Barbara Debs Composer chair at Carnegie. Adès is no stranger to conducting, nor to the BCMG, having served as their music director for several seasons. In 2006, I saw Adès lead a knockout performance of Stravinsky's Les Noces at Birmingham Symphony Hall with the BCMG, four pianists (including Jean-Yves Thibaudet and the Labeque sisters), and Russia's Pokrovsky Ensemble.

Adès returns with the BCMG tonight in a program of his own compositions that will feature him as both conductor and pianist. (He performed a solo piano recital at Zankel back in November.) The concert is sold out, but you can try for returns at the box office.

Love and Death

A check of the FoM archives reveals that I've yet to post a review from the Metropolitan Opera. Which is bewildering to me, considering I've been attending operas at the Met since at least 1993, when I was an assistant PR manager for Herbert Breslin, representing singers such as Luciano Pavarotti, Renee Fleming and Deborah Voigt. Since then, I've seen at least one Met production every season, mostly from standing room.

More often than not, the operas I've seen were written by Richard Wagner, the lionized and controversial 19th composer who cultivated a rabid fandom unique in music history: to this day, there are Wagner Societies throughout Europe and America devoted to preserving his legacy. His operas - he referred to them as "music-dramas," emphasizing the primacy of his self-scripted librettos - are sprawling, slow-moving beasts of chromaticism that push music to the edge of tonality: Wagner is generally credited with being the first "modern" composer, setting the stage for the innovations of Mahler, Schoenberg and others.

I've become familiar with most of Wagner's operas thanks to the Met, having attended Lohengrin, Die Meistersinger, Parsifal, and the complete Ring in 2000 and 2004. My partner in crime for most of these performances has been my friend Pat, whose girlfriend Ramona made the wise and generous Christmas gift of seated tickets to this afternoon's performance of Tristan und Isolde. And, having never seen this particular Wagner Gesamtkunstwerk myself, I decided to tag along.

The nearly six-hour opera (including two intermissions) concerns the old Celtic myth of Tristan and Isolde, who fall in love as a result of a magic-potion mixup, thereby bringing to themselves, "unrelenting eternal pain, instead of quick death." This is Wagner as desperate romantic, insufferably so for much of the opera. But, the prolonged exposition is worth enduring for the many extraordinary musical moments: the prelude with it's famed "Tristan chord," the dark, groaning bass at the beginning of Act 3, Isolde's shattering and monumental Liebestod ("Love death") that ends the opera.

Tristan und Isolde makes extraordinary demands on its performers, particularly the two lead roles, which are generally acknowledged to be the most difficult in the entire operatic repertoire. Deborah Voigt, a seasoned Wagnerian, delivered a larger-than-life performance as Isolde. Veteran Matti Salminen, well known to Met audiences as Hagen and Hunding in the Ring, let his huge bass fly as King Marke. Michelle DeYoung, who sang Fricka in Die Walkure earlier this season, was outstanding as Isolde's maid, Brangane. The Met's music director - James Levine, perhaps the world's greatest Wagner conductor - led the performance, showing more passion and energy on the podium than I've ever seen from him. 

But, the biggest applause was reserved for tenor Robert Dean Smith, who stepped in for an ailing Ben Heppner, thus making his Met debut. His voice occasionally wavered and didn't quite fill the house the way Voigt's or Salminen's did, but he hit all the notes and delivered a fine, dramatically solid performance. Give the guy some credit: singing Tristan in the Saturday matinee broadcast as your Met debut is like being called up from the minors to pitch Game 7 of the World Series. You will be hearing from Mr. Smith again.

Yesterday's performance was broadcast live over the radio and in HD to movie theaters around the world. I'd be curious to know if anyone saw the telecast, and how everything looked up close. (Picture of Pat & I with the composer after the jump.)

P.S. I've since learned that this run has been plagued with cancellations: Smith was already the third tenor to sing Tristan (after John Mac Master and Gary Lehman), and during the second peformance, Janice Baird replaced Deborah Voigt mid-duet when Voigt ran off stage with the stomach flu. Alex Ross has the whole story here.

Long Haul

It's intermission after Act 2 of Wagner's Tristan Und Isolde, and we're already past the four hour point. It's good - great even - but I think I need to chill out a bit after this marathon. More pics once I get in front of a computer.

A New Venture

Those of you who have been reading this site for awhile know that I am an enthusiastic supporter of New York City Opera, having joined their excellent and affordable Big Deal program for young patrons last season. That support turned into full-blown admiration after City Opera announced they had hired Gerard Mortier, the Director of the Paris Opera, as their next General Manager, starting in 2009.

So, when I was approached by City Opera to become a contributor to their new blog, I jumped at the chance. For those who think this somehow compromises my objectivity as an independent blogger, I have been assured that I will be able to write whatever I want, without censorship. More importantly, what's taking place at City Opera is the single most important development in New York music since Lincoln Center opened nearly 50 years ago, and is one of the biggest things happening anywhere in the world right now. Mortier is dedicated to making City Opera an international destination for cutting-edge productions that honors the repertoire not only as musical masterpieces, but as vital works of theater that speak directly to our generation. Who wouldn't want a front row seat for that?

My first contribution, covering Mortier's appearance last night at the Morgan Library, can be read here. More pics are below.

My second post will cover tonight's performance of Henry Purcell's King Arthur, directed and choreographed by Mark Morris. Somehow, I need to figure out a way to get it done before I leave for Austin tomorrow.