Mother and Child

Last time in this column, I wrote about the first three operas I saw at Glimmerglass, and the tone, I admit, was approving but not enthusiastic, sort of "very nice, but�" Well, that 's how I felt until the final day of my stay, when the matinee of Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein's The Mother of Us All (July 26) quite simply knocked me over. This is what opera is supposed to be: engaged, angry, passionate, demented, put over with the sort of energy that is born of love and understanding of the material.

The superhuman effort of Joanna Johnston, a young dramatic soprano with the forceful voice and dramatic magnetism of a young Varnay, set the tone for this piece about the joys and torments of greatness. It would be easy to present Susan B Anthony simply as an icon, but Johnston delved into the dark side of genius as well: disillusionment, self-doubt, abrasiveness, unwillingness to compromise.

From the very first (pre-overture) moment to Susan B's final enshrinement, Ms. Johnston rarely left the stage, and never seemed to relax. Her powerful, steely voice perfectly suited the take-no-prisoners style of the great feminist as limned by Stein; she attacked the heavy declamatory vocal writing head-on, pouring out almost frightening quantity and richness of tone. This young artist still needs to learn to pace herself, for some of the soft singing in her final "Life is strife" aria slipped out of focus. But correcting that minor flaw should require no more than living with the role for a while.

Ms. Johnston's performance could hardly have happened without the loving attention of a great director. Christopher Alden unified the sprawling, dreamlike action of the libretto by setting the opera in a 19th-century schoolroom . The various historical figures, who seemed to be students in Susan B's class, performed their vignettes pageant-style, with great attention to detail and above all a really ferocious energy.

Alden did (perhaps in response to our the depressing state of politics in today's America) add a few sinister touches here and there. Angel More wore the wrist bandages of a suicide attempt; the "Cold Weather in Winter" scene included some disturbingly ogre-like snowmen. One or two of these ideas did not agree with me. Should sweet-but-dim Jo the Loiterer be so surly and bitter? Must Lillian Russell's "conversion" to the cause of women's suffrage be read as a tragic sell-out? But, by and large, this is real political theater at is most passionate, the sort of performance that inspires the audience to run out of the auditorium and start a riot in the street -- or at least (at Glimmerglass) to argue feminist politics on the way back to the parking lot.

We had plenty to discuss leaving New York Grand Opera's Trovatore on August 5, but it wasn't politics, it was diva worship. The Azucena was Marisa Galvany, who retirement in the mid-1980s left bereft a cult following who mobbed her every appearance at the New York City Opera and various US regional companies. I remember very well her Lady Macbeth at New Orleans Opera back then, all predatory arm gestures, train-kicking, clarion high notes, and a "filth" chest voice to waken the dead. And her stage demeanor would make Faye Dunaway seem wimpy. At one point in the banquet scene, she signaled Lady M's rage by kicking a chair and then side-arming a chorus member. He went over like a bowling pin.

So it was with great queenish anticipation I waited for Galvany's return, and I wasn't disappointed. Once she warmed up, all the camp mannerisms were right back where I remembered them. But, to my surprise, Galvany transcended camp with a moving and musically adept performance. Captured by di Luna's soldiers, she suddenly recognized Ferrando, the only surviving witness to her long-ago crime, and, without missing a vocal beat, she traversed the emotional path from shocked recognition to numb fatalistic resignation: As her shoulders slumped, she seemed visibly to grow older. Galvany lavished elegantly sustained legato singing in middle voice and a well-supported piano in "Ai nostri monti,", caressing each phrase like a woman who is savoring the sweetness of a life that is soon to end. Let us hope that La Galvany has more time left than that: she still has much to offer as a performer.

James Jorden