Cher Public

Patrick Clement James

Patrick Clement James is a writer and teacher based in New York City. His love of opera began in high school, leading to studies in vocal performance at the Manhattan School of Music. He currently studies English literature as a Ph.D. student at the Graduate Center, City University of New York, and he teaches at Brooklyn College. As a writer, he is particularly interested in the ways that opera participates in the larger contexts of history and culture.



Tragedy in song

Despite a few hiccups, LoftOpera’s Saturday night performance of Rossini’s Otello successfully appealed to the essential kinetic energy of the operatic art form, an aspect that has lain dormant in productions elsewhere in the city this year.  Read more »

Reunited

There is nothing in particular to recommend the Met’s recent performance of Beethoven’s Fidelio, beyond the opportunity to hear the moving, majestic score performed live.  Read more »

Plummeting in love

The Met’s current production of Verdi’s La Traviata is something of a mixed bag. And nothing embodies this irregular quality more succinctly than the performance of Sonya Yoncheva, who was, last night, at turns both thrilling and inept in the house’s season premiere of the opera.  Read more »

Crazy in love

I am, perhaps instinctively, skeptical of those who commit suicide.

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Purists

Someone—a deranged purist no doubt—heckled Javier Camarena from the balcony of the opera house for withholding the infamous high F during “Credeasi, misera.”

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Sleeping with the fishes

With a cast of stellar singers and uneven direction by Mary Zimmerman, Dvorák’s Rusalka debuts in a new production at the Metropolitan Opera.

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It’s a Mantua’s world

Verdi’s Rigoletto returned to the Met Friday in the stilted “Las Vegas” production by Michael Mayer, with mostly competent singing from a good-looking cast.

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Not my dragoon

The Metropolitan Opera’s revival of Carmen began with a bit of drama Thursday night when tenor Rafael Davila replaced Marcelo Álvarez.

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You give me fever

Mortality is ugly—it smells, it makes uncomfortable noises, it takes its time; and then there is the overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness.

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A little off the top

Beaumarchais clearly delighted in this unobtrusive realm.

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