David Lang is, per The New Yorker, a “postminimalist enfant terrible,” best known for the Pulitzer Prize-winning little match girl passion. I am not familiar with his work, but the little match girl was extolled to me in the highest terms by a total stranger on the subway platform (Nevins Street) going home from the loser, and in New York there can be no more exalted gospel. Read more »
Aside from being the choice of the revived New York City Opera for its opening double-bill this season, you may wonder what Rachmaninoff’s Aleko and Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci have in common. Read more »
At the Caramoor Bel Canto Festival’s performance of Aureliano in Palmira (a North American premiere, I believe), a friend who doesn’t go to quite so much opera said, “The music’s fun, but doesn’t Rossini repeat himself?” Read more »
You don’t often hear the grand operas of Benjamin Britten on smaller stages.
Ezio was an inspired choice for Boston’s feisty Odyssey Opera to open its “When In Rome” festival.
The grand illusion is that we know it all. From four hundred years of opera, we’ve distilled the worthy survivors.
In how many operas does the heroine drink poison and then go lengthily mad?
The seventeenth-century works of Francisco Cavalli may be easier for modern audiences to accept.
With six leads in Gioconda, you can reliably hope that three or four will be worth listening to, or why would they have revived the opera?
Othello in the Seraglio is the rather unfortunate title bestowed by the ensemble Dünya on its “coffeehouse opera,” ossia The Tragedy of Sümbül the Black Eunuch.