To take on the nerd stuff first: in general the tech now is pretty close to transparent. The projected image is clean and detailed, with a strong sense of light and shadow; textures of fabrics in particular I thought came across very clearly, without the super-sharp focus that tends to make everyone, even 19-year-old starlets with airbrushed makeup, look haggard. The sound is clear, though it is obviously mixed as a broadcast and not as a theater acoustic: voices are extremely present and the bigger instruments turned a bit strident as (I would assume) they overloaded the individual microphones worn by the singers. The orchestra was more plausible sounding, somewhere in the middle distance, and there was very little stage noise besides the banging and thumping that naturally accompany the beating of Masetto, for example.  I was particularly impressed at how the engineers managed to minimize the rumble of falling chairs during Donna Anna’s great act 1 recitativo accompagnato.

There were glitches and my sense was that they were somewhat worse than par for the course. For the first half of act 1, the sound would drop out for an instant every five minutes or so, though eventually that resolved. Worse was a signal loss during the finale ultimo, just at the point when Don Ottavio and Donna Anna sing their little “reconciliation” duettino. I took a bathroom break before leaving and then heard music as I re-entered the lobby, so I was able to return to the auditorium for the final moments of the opera. It seems like there should be some way for the local operator to skip back in the stream and show the missing moments, but at any rate it wasn’t a deal-breaking glitch.

That I was still interested to see that notoriously anticlimactic epilogue is a tribute to Carsen’s production. It may not have opened any new doors in Don Giovanni interpretation, but the fairly familiar theme of metatheater as manipulation was presented with flair, a lot of humor, and a visual restraint that is both chic in itself and self-effacing in throwing the focus onto the performers. Big-personality singers like Anna Netrebko and Barbara Frittoli positively bloom when styled in little black dresses and sleek coiffures. In fact, they closely resembled Anouk Aimée and Yvonne Furneaux in one of the all time greatest “style” films, La Dolce Vita.

What sets Carsen above a lot of other directors immersed in pop culture, though, is that he uses these elements not as ends in themselves. In other words, he doesn’t fall into the trap a hack director might do, and present Don Giovanni as a sort of rehash of La Dolce Vita. For example, La Netrebko is the only one here wearing sunglasses, nd even that modernist cliche is rationalized by the dramatic situation: she is attending a funeral for her father.

Where Carsen doesn’t quite pull the conceit off is where most performances of Don Giovanni come to a crashing halt, i.e., between Zerlina’s second aria and the graveyard scene. This big lull in the second act is, I think, da Ponte’s fault: he ran out of story and so the plot marks time for necessary (and beautiful) music movements. Carsen’s solution was in part to indicate “it’s just an opera, after all,” with the sextet flailing away in conventional gestures, lit by footlights, as Don Giovanni and Elvira’s maid enjoy the private performance. That left the two grand arias, of course, and there Carsen didn’t seem to have such rigorous ideas.

The finale ultimo (what we saw of it) seemed a bit half-baked too. Making Don Giovanni’s death a mirror image of the Commendatore’s felt a little too neat to me, and from the time the old man drew his sword it was all too obvious where the scene was going. That that the “death” was just another manipulative performance by the Don was a good idea, but I think its irony might have landed better if the death scene we just saw had been more conventional, the “standard” demise with flames and such.

The singers were all on a high level without any example of absolute brilliance. I was awed by Netrebko’s ferocious attack on “Or sai chi l’onore” and I love the sheer velvet of Peter Mattei‘s baritone, especially how he can suggest vehemence though emphasis of diction without pushing his lyric instrument into anything like an ugly sound. Frittoli and Giuseppe Filianoti in a way are similar performers in that they transcend non-stellar vocal material with dramatic intensity and superb musicality. That said, her voice is in poorish condition generally these days and his more generally good, though in Ottavio’s music he sounded tight, as if on the fence whether to sing out or to fabricate a “genuine” Mozart sound. (I wish he’d sing out.)  Štefan Kocán (Masetto) is an artist that bears watching, and not just because he’s so pretty!

The biggest letdown was Daniel Barenboim‘s conducting, which doesn’t belong in any opera house, let alone La Scala. After a slow, erratic and noisy performance, the maestro took the Maria Ewing coward’s way out in his curtain call, appearing onstage not alone but with the orchestra. Anyone that worried about being booed needs to find another place to work.

The performance starts at 6:30 pm and will be simulcast both in Times Square and in Lincoln Center Plaza, with pre-show coverage, including red-carpet interviews hosted by Deborah Voigt, starting at 6pm.

Live audio broadcasts may be heard on Metropolitan Opera Radio on Siriux/XM and streamed from the Met’s Listen Live site. These broadcasts will also include pre-opera coverage beginning at 6 pm.

As always, La Casa della Cieca will be open for your real-time discussion enjoyment. For longer reactions and post-performance musings, feel free to comment on this thread.

• Anna Bolena vocal score
• Anna Bolena libretto

Anna Bolena: Anna Netrebko
Giovanna Seymour: Ekaterina Gubanova
Smeton: Tamara Mumford
Lord Riccardo Percy: Stephen Costello
Enrico VIII: Ildar Abdrazakov
Lord Rochefort: Keith Miller
Sir Hervey: Eduardo Valdes

Conductor: Marco Armiliato
Production: David McVicar
Set Designer: Robert Jones
Costume Designer: Jenny Tiramani
Lighting Designer: Paule Constable
Choreographer: Andrew George

One of the very real joys of this program is hearing how Netrebko’s voice has changed and matured.  The excerpt from 2002’s War and Peace shows the young soprano with a crystalline lyric sound; it is striking how the voice has become more lush, womanly, and sensual in the ensuing years.  She has gained considerable power, richer and juicier tone, and sounds more confident and charismatic than ever before.

The excerpts are, of course, chosen to show Netrebko’s considerable strengths.  The weakest selection is the first, “Qui la voce” from 2007’s I puritani.  It was wise here to choose a piece of Elvira’s music that is slow and quiet, avoiding any of the treacherous heights and runs that were fudged a bit in the performance.  The singing is quite beautiful in this selection, but the character’s mental and emotional state doesn’t come through.

“Ya ne budu—Kak solnca za goroy” from the 2002 War and Peace, a brief scene between Netrebko’s Natasha, Hvorostovsky’s Prince Andrei, and the Sonya of Ekaterina Semenchuk, is an absolute delight.  Gergiev leads a sumptuous reading of this music, and Netrebko’s charming, fresh-voiced Natasha is wonderful, with an easy top; she imbues this scene with tremendous energy and vivaciousness.

The same energy and vivaciousness grace the next two selections, a limpid “Vedrai, carino” from Don Giovanni (beautiful but maybe a touch too limpid), and particularly in the delightful scene from Don Pasquale (2006) featuring Kwiecien, Alaimo, and Florez.  The singing by all four is joyous and charming, and Netrebko’s bumptious Norina is one of her strongest characterizations.  Maurizio Benini keeps the tempos bright and bubbly, bringing out all the comic possibilities in Donizetti’s rich score.

The selection of the Rigoletto excerpt seems baffling.  Instead of “Caro nome” or one of the duets with the Duke or Rigoletto, we get “Ah, piu non ragiono!”, the scene right before Gilda’s murder.  This excerpt is mostly about the Maddalena and Sparafucile’s music.  Eric Halfvarson and Nancy Fabiola Herrera are fine in those roles, but Netrebko’s contribution is somewhat lost amidst the noisy storm music.

I had the pleasure of attending two performances of Netrebko’s Gilda at the Met, and can testify that her “Caro nome” was one of the most detailed and womanly versions of the aria I’ve ever heard.  Netrebko “gets” that, in this aria, Gilda transforms from innocent playful ingénue to the first stirrings of sensual longing that will make her a woman.  Its exclusion from this tribute CD is inexplicable.

We get two excerpts from the 2007 Romeo et Juliette.  Juliette’s frequently-cut Potion aria is one of the glories of the disc.  Netrebko sings with passion, capturing the character’s terror while giving Juliette a steely resolve that makes her drink the potion at last; she takes us on a vocal journey that is meltingly beautiful in the singing and the phrasing.

Alas, the “wedding night” duet with Roberto Alagna, “Va! Je t’ai pardonne… Nuit d’hymenee”, some of Gounod’s most gorgeously romantic music, falls flat.  The fault must be laid at the feet of the plodding, one-dimensional conducting of Placido Domingo.  This duet must have two distinct sections—the romantic “pillow talk” of the young lovers and the sudden fear when they hear the lark and know that Romeo must hurry away.  Domingo leads an excessively sleepy reading, so slow that the whole thing seems about to fall apart, and then there is no sense of change when we first hear the lark.  Alagna and Netrebko sing well and there seems real chemistry between them when Domingo allows them to “get on with it.”

I was very impressed by the 2009 Mad Scene from Lucia di Lammermoor, though one senses that Netrebko will grow into this role and this scene if she continues to sing it.  She knows well that you can’t play madness by “acting crazy” and there are sections of the scene where she brings a very effective, eerie calm to the character that contrasts nicely with “Il fantasma”.  The only disappointment is that Netrebko does not take the final high E-flat; still, the long pianissimo B-flat is striking.

The disc concludes with a lovely “…chanson d’amour” from Les Contes d’Hoffmann in duet with a honey-toned Joseph Calleja and two excerpts from the 2010 La bohème,  paired with Piotr Beczala, Mimi’s “Donde lieta usci…” and the glorious duet “O soave fanciulla”.  It is in these final Bohème selections that the development of the Netrebko voice is most clear.  The sound is darker and more fluid, capable of much more interesting dynamics; it exudes sensuality.  Netrebko the vocal actress has also found far more emotional depth and sensitivity.

In the CD’s notes, Peter Gelb is quoted as saying, “In the prime of her career, she is our reigning superstar diva.”  This CD certainly shows us why.  It also seems clear that the girlish roles of her past are ready to give way to roles with more depth—I certainly hear such roles as Manon Lescaut and the Don Carlo Elisabetta in her voice.  The “rap” on Netrebko has always been some laziness in her process and a flawed bel canto technique.  With this CD, the soprano makes the case for a future in somewhat heavier roles that will play to her current strengths.  This CD serves as a showcase for an artist nearing the height of her powers.

SPOILERS BELOW!

4:30: “Although Donizetti is one of my least favorite ‘standard-repertoire’ composers, I enjoyed today’s Anna Bolena at the MET.  McVicar’s production is very simple and straightforward—nothing that the Sybil Harrington Trust would object to funding (although this was paid for by Mercedes and Sid Bass), with ravishing costumes against very simple monochromatic sets.  Mumford was an astonishingly boyish Smeaton, nicely sung although not as impressive as her Paulina last season.  Gubanova was awfully ‘plain Giovanna’ asSeymour, and not particularly suited to this repertoire with a very raw top.  Abdrazakov, a striking-looking Enrico, lacked the bottom notes but was incisive and secure throughout the rest of the range—I liked him a lot.

“I’d never heard Costello before and was very impressed by his singing, although the end of his first aria went a bit awry.  His stage deportment is quite another matter—I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a more awkward and disengaged performance on the Met stage.  If he ever made eye contact with anyone on stage, I missed it, and his hang-dog posture and vague expression got really tiresome by the end—and what was with the house slippers for ‘Vivi tu?’

“The eponymous diva of the moment started out sounding uncharacteristically rough—the first aria and cabaletta going for little.  After that, she seemed to find her form and character and gave us a highly dignified and impassioned Queen, in opulent voice for the rest of the performance.  Her launching of the stretta of the Act 1 was exciting as was her soaring D at the conclusion. I indeed heard the rising series of trills in the final cabaletta—not all of them fully voiced but at least attempted with some speaking more clearly than others—evidently she had worked on this sinceVienna.  Other than the long interruption before the final scene due to a stage elevator snafu, the most spontaneous moment was when Netrebko broke character during the huge applause after ‘Al dolce guidami’ to acknowledge the English horn player in the pit.

“Spoiler: This time the McVicar executioner stays clothed.”

3:10: “The Queen is dead!  It’s fine, though McVicar has some kitschy ideas. For the final scene, there’s the chorus of women in front of a wall, then the wall goes up (that was the crash we heard earlier), looking almost exactly like the transition into the Tomb Scene of Aida. The executioner is on top of the wall instead of Amneris. The ladies separate, and Anna is kneeling with back to audience, giving the impression she has already been beheaded.  There’s an open door with a smoke effect she sings into, she wanders for a while. Then Keith Miller and Costello arrive in various states of undress, Smeton fully dressed but all bloody. Before last pieta, there’s this big fussy business of Anna putting her hair up in a bun, marching upstage to the door, then turning and waiting for the orchestra to drop out before singing a high B-flat. There doesn’t seem to be much sense of musical choices, how to make the most effective points in the music. The chain of trills didn’t work. She sounds fine, but I just don’t think bel canto is her strong suit.”

3:05: “Nebs nailed the mad scene. Once set went up, effective and quite handsome. Set is black white and red all over. Final image is of giant red satiny curtain (covers entire stage) falling as symbolic beheading. Effective and big!”

2:45: “Suggested headline: ‘Old Man Yells at Stagehands to Sabotage Met Opening Night’” [Apparently this is the "Franco Zeffirelli" moment of the production: the prison rises up on the stage elevator, or fails to rise, as the case may be. - LC]

2:25: “Singers pretty damn good and solid all through second act. Set malfunction at beginning of last act. Loud boom, set couldn’t rise. ”

2:20: “Huge crash backstage at the beginning of the mad scene.  Work lights came up and the music stopped.  15 minute break announced.”

1:10: “Initial thoughts post act I. Halfway through the act  it seemed that this opera was being hijacked by the men of Tudor. The opening scene was a bit disappointing with a Nebs entrance seemingly designed as a star entrance which wasn’t received as such, i.e., no entrance applause, and than an opening scene where she didn’t seem ‘on’.

“This was followed by Jane Seymour’s bedchamber in which Ildar as Henry was unbelievably hot, sexy, sensual and vocally amazing. This was a scene where he made Jonathan Rhys Meyers‘ Henry on Showtime look like a princess. The lovely 80ish year old woman next to me fanned herself during this scene- he controlled the stage and Ekaterina G. while good seemed to melt into the background.

“Next the park scene where Stephen Costello was in great voice and the audience with was him. Nebs returned and from here on, she was the Queen in all respects. Vocally anything tentative an hour ago was gone and you couldnt keep your eyes off her. She ended this scene by planting a big kiss on Ildar (Henry) that was charged to say the least.

“Her next scene with Costello was lacking the sexual chemistry that she had in that one moment with Ildar. They seem to not be melding together yet, and McVicar may want to work on manning up Costello especially with Ildar’s smoking hot king.

“The end of act ensemble was well done (albeit cut) and Nebs ended the act with a strong assured high D center stage that made it clear that even with the strong male competition it was still her show!

“Production-wise, the set is drab and Spartan (McVicar’s Tudors don’t have much in terms of home decor) but the set is movable and let’s the act play nonstop (no interminable set changes here.) The man knows how to keep up pacing and how to move the action on this stage. Costumes are where the money seems to have been spent- luxurious and really good looking from royalty to courtiers.

“One quibble- those two ugly wolfhounds who were paraded around Zimmerman’s Lucia (and even got some press out of it) are back! Do they have a deal that they must be in any new production of a Donizetti opera at the Met? Should we assume we will see them next season in Maria Stuarda and L’elisir?

“Orchestra was ok- overture was treated with too much omm pah pah playing but got better from there.”

12:50: “Sets are somewhat modern (minimal) but traditional (period). Very safe but effective.  No props other than candelabras, a few throw pillows and one bed. Dark brown, greys and black seem to be color scheme  Moving walls, trees for forest descending from flies. Smooth ‘a vista’ transitions between scenes. Costumes for chorus are pilgrim chic: black and white. Netrebko is singing quite well:  smooth, huge voice, though her acting is somewhat stilted.   Guberova is belting and quite shrill at times – ‘Slavic edge’ if you will.  Costello looks and sounds hot as hell. Mr Borodina is solid but bland, but looks good from dress circle. Isobel Lenard Tamara Mumford got a mid aria applause in scene before Anna enters. Orchestra sounds together as does chorus.”

12:37: “Anna sounds absolutely great, the voice big and luminous, though her singing does not, I think, have a lot to do with bel canto style. It’s beautiful but not electrifying. The part of Enrico is a bit low for Ildar, but he sounds fine. Stephen Costello is singing very well, not scooping, in tune. The production, well, looks like Anna Bolena: muted color, ornate walls that slide and reveal rooms within rooms. Otherwise it’s mostly people standing around singing; thus far there’s nothing you could call a coup de théâtre.”

12:25:  First reports coming in!

8:45: Honey, it hasn’t even started yet. Relax, enjoy your brunch, and check back later.

(Photo: Brigitte Lacombe/Metropolitan Opera)

* Write-in votes for Billy Budd, Die Dreigroschenoper, Elisir d’amore, Enescu’s Oedipe and Faure’s Penelope, Ernani, Götterdämmerung, Il Sogno di Scipione at Gotham Chamber Opera, Khovanshchina, Makropulos Case, Manon, Matos in Nabucco, Nabucco, Prima Donna, and The Enchanted Island.

La Cieca’s allusion, explained:

(Photo by Herbert, by kind permission of anna-netrebko.blogspot.com.)

Netrebko sings Trovatore

and there was more Verdi on the program as well:

Trio from I Lombardi

Translator’s comment: I think she’s pretty great and this is a fun interview. I think the critic she is describing is Wilhelm Sinkovicz from Die Presse in Vienna but I don’t have time to look it up right now. He is very picky about the lady singers he finds attractive.

The article is accompanied by an astonishingly trashy photo of Trebs and Erwin Schrott at Berlin Fashion Week, which I unfortunately can’t find quickly.

[Interview by Christoph Wirtz]

Do you read what is written about you?

Never. I also don’t have internet, I don’t like computers much. I’ve never had one.

Many don’t know that you sing other, serious things [other than light music].

I sang Pergolesi’s “Stabat Mater”  in a black dress. A critic wrote afterwards, “She stood onstage like widow!” I asked myself: what did he expect? The piece is about the pain of death! I invited a few people from society to the concert and excused myself beforehand, that there were 45 minutes of serious music and no Lehár as an encore.

But it really doesn’t matter what you sing. People will come, even if they aren’t classical music connoisseurs.

Maybe they weren’t connoisseurs beforehand, but that changed after the concert. Seriously: that’s why I said yes to these giant concerts in Berlin and Munich. At the beginning I was unsure, the amplification bothered me. But now I think that concerts are a good thing. You can take the family along, not dress up, and there are also less expensive tickets.

But you earn much more from concerts than from a state opera house.

Of course. And if I wanted to, I could immediately only give concerts and earn a lot of money. But you know what? That would bore me! One or two times a year is OK, to pay the bills. Other than that I love to do new things. My heart belongs to opera.

Have you sung privately for one of these infinitely rich Russian oligarchs?

I had between 50 and 80 such offers last year alone. I accepted one of them. The date worked very well, it was a matter of half an hour, and really was a lot of money.

And?

The oligarch had to leave Russia right beforehand. So much for that.

Let’s talk about opera in the 21^st century. Will it keep going slowly but steadily?

Opera is unbelievably old-fashioned, the stories are mostly boring and long-winded for our fast-paced time. The texts are mostly frightful and, even worse, they’re often sung in a foreign language. But opera fascinates us anyway, because it has something in it that we are looking for: the authentic, the passionate. The heavenly music, the voices… this beauty is timeless.

Many people are scared of opera, or find it all boring.

What? Everyone loves Puccini, everyone loves Verdi! These are of course very easy to love. But then come Richard Strauss, Wagner. It stops there. You have to prepare yourself, otherwise you won’t understand anything.

Many productions don’t help much, either, or…?

Opera has to change. The audience wants a show, something has to happen onstage. It can’t always be the same performance as decades go by.

But grand opera is a part of your Russian soul.

Maybe. Look how I dress in private: always a little spectacular? No. But I like it a lot when people dress fashionably at the opera. You don’t need a lot of money, a black dress from H&M is plenty. [She obviously is thinking of the dress I wore to the Anna Bolena premiere in Vienna. – UZ.]

But isn’t it part of high culture, to turn you nose up at such things?

It’s all the same to me, honestly. I love it when the women at the Salzburg Festival show up in their outfits. People aren’t paying so much money for tickets only to hear the music. They want to drink Champagne and be part of society. That’s part of it! Opera has always been a social event.

Surely many people exalted words from you about your sublime art.

Maybe they want to hear that I’m smart? Serious? That I sit for hours in the library? Prepare difficult roles for years? Uninterrupted practice?

And?

I’m not like that. I think about my job only when I’m doing it. Before and after I live in a whole different world. I practice only when I have to, when I’m preparing a role. My life doesn’t revolve only around opera. It was different when I started. Then music was everything for me, always and everywhere. But since then I’ve drown up, and there are things that mean as much to me, a few mean more. God, I’m getting old…

Listen to you, you’re fishing for compliments!

No, honestly. I’ve been singing for 15 years. At some point I understood that I wouldn’t develop any further if my entire life revolved around music. You come to a point when there’s something else in life. I won’t name any names, but I have colleagues who don’t grasp this. And you can see it in their performances.

But doesn’t a little spirituality matter to a great artist?

That’s totally old-fashioned. I love my life, life is really great! There are so many wonderful things to see and to experience, I don’t want to lie solely in the world of music.

[After some discussion of the restaurant that has already been quoted:] Eating is like music. The popular stuff is often a little banal.

I don’t think so. We’re speaking of two different things. Why don’t classical singers value crossover singers much? Because they earn more money? Because they’re more popular? They sing the old stuff too! Everything else is just a different kind of art.

And often kind of tasteless.

That happens everywhere. One doesn’t need very much to turn something very beautiful into something very cheap, kitschy and sentimental. As well, a lot that is artistic and accurate lacks passion. And at the end of the day you don’t like the music you love anymore.

Speaking of restaurants, which music writer’s brother seemed a good fit to manage a top-stratum eatery in one of New York’s cultural centers — until he was blackballed by said venue’s top honcho, who has his own family connections at the scribe’s publication?

EARLIER: La Cieca has just heard from a Met insider that the following cast changes have been made to the company’s Japan tour, set to open June 4: Anna Netrebko and Joseph Calleja and Mariusz Kwiecien have all reportedly canceled. (“Ms. Netrebko changed her mind because of the emotional weight of having also lived through the tragedy of Chernobyl. She didn’t feel that she would be able to present her best performances and didn’t want to disappoint her Japanese fans. Mr. Calleja also had last-minute misgivings about performing in Japan at this time.”) 

Barbara Frittoli will replace Netrebko as Mimi in La bohème; the role of Marcello is TBA. Piotr Beczala will perform Rodolfo as scheduled on June 4, 8 and 11, with Marcelo Alvarez taking over the role on June 17 and 19.

But wait, there’s more!

With Frittoli busy singing Puccini, Marina Poplavskaya will replace her as Elisabetta in Don Carlo for all performances. Rolando Villazon will return to the Met for a one-night stand as Edgardo in Lucia di Lammermoor in the June 9 performance, replacing Calleja, then Alexei Dolgov (who?) fills in on the 12th before Beczala performs as scheduled on the 16th and 19th.

The “gala” concert on June 14 will include neither Netrebko nor Kwiecien and currently lists only orchestral works, with vocal soloists TBA “Diana Damrau, Barbara Frittoli, and Piotr Beczala will join Mariusz  Kwiecien for the Suntory Hall concert on June 14, replacing Ms. Netrebko. The program for this concert will be announced shortly.”

Earlier cancellations for this tour have included Jonas Kaufmann, Olga Borodina and the Met’s music director James Levine.

Meanwhile, back at Wikipedia, I learned this about the Stabat Mater:  “It was previously stated on this page and erroneously reprinted on hundreds of other pages, that it was commissioned by an order of monks, but rather a group of pious and charitable gentlemen such as existed in cities all over Italy. It was this group that presented an annual Good Friday meditation in honor of the Virgin Mary; Pergolesi’s work replaced one composed for the same forces by Alessandro Scarlatti only nine years before, but which was already perceived as “old-fashioned,” so rapidly had public tastes changed.”

So let’s see. “Pious and charitable gentlemen” with a thing for Our Lady and her suffering, as demonstrated musically by male alto and soprano. Add in a sense of fashion—as though an order of musical monks wasn’t gay enough. No wonder this record found it’s way to Parterre.com. But wait: It gets gayer.

The whole thing appears to be a diva project built around Anna Netrebko, and in this regard, it’s pretty much by the book. First, disguise the fact by calling it something else (in this case, “a tribute to Pergolesi”). Get a middle-of-the-road chamber band (Orchestra dell’academia nazionale di Santa Cecilia: modern fiddles and bows, light vibrato, and light on attitude toward 18th-century music). Hire a good-but-not-bossy conductor (Antonio Pappano).

Rope in a moderately accomplished but no-contest second-bannana (mezzo-soprano Marianna Pizzolato), who won’t be able to match on glamour, but could use the exposure. No, I’d not heard her, or of her, either. Seems she’s a Rossini specialist of sorts — Tancredi and all that. Italian, obviously. Pretty, but in a non-threatening sort of way. In other words, she’s not Cecilia Bartoli.

I’m not saying that’s a bad thing (and I’ll get to Cece’s version later). Meanwhile we’re supposed to be having a tribute to Pergolesi. Since the Stabat Mater is just over 37 minutes, then we have some disc to fill. How about that barn-burner, the Sinfonia from, Li prodigi della divina grazia nella conversione e morte di San Gugliemo duca d’Aquitania, a “sacred drama.”  What’s a sacred drama? Five minutes of generic music, that’s what. It took me as long to type the title.

But on the Sinfonia’s provenance (and most every other point) the liner notes are mum. Instead of boring details, such as background on the pieces (or the mezzo, other than her report that she “worked hard”), or a translation of the texts, we get 3 pages of discourse on Anna Anna Anna: her thing for Baden-Baden (Tolstoy liked it, too), where this was recorded; how this disc documents her risky venture to entertain the summer folk taking the waters by singing something other than the Russian stuff; how she and Antonio met while working on Manon. And so on. Don’t forget some campy pictures of the singers, garbed in funereal black (boy, that says summer music festival), striking a few earnest, devotional poses in front of stained-glass windows (somewhere in Baden? Who knows.)

Ah. Now I get it. They recorded the dress rehearsal at the Festpielhaus, spent a few months engineering out any bulges, and are putting it on the shelf for CD buyers, some of whom might have heard Anna’s rendition of this on tour (and according to her web site, most of these performances, alas, have been canceled).

In addition to the 5-minute instrumental fillers, we’ve got a couple of vocal fillers, some secular cantate, one per cantante. Ms Pizzolato is mostly effective in “Questo é il piano.” Without a score, I’m really just guessing about the finer points. The basic timbre of her voice is lovely, but not really distinctive. The color is consistent from top to bottom, but I felt like she was holding back a lot of the time, which seems a very 1980′s approach to the Baroque. Her florid signing is agile and generally accurate. She doesn’t always aspirate her coloratura, so when she did I’m guessing it’s for effect (effective? well…)

Ornamentation on the da capo sections seemed idiomatic but safe, like what you’d hear on a graduate recital. Shifts in musical mood and tempo were mostly well contained and small scale. I wanted more variety, drama, and texture: risk. When Pizzolato let things bloom, the sound was interesting, particularly up top. Down low she doesn’t have much to offer. Despite being listed as a contralto, she’s not (and she made me wish I was hearing Ewa Podles – and watching her Pez-dispenser method of vocal production).

I better start talking about Anna. Back in the liner notes, Warwick Thompson (a self-confessed Parterrian: hi, Warwick!) let us know that “The preparations for the concert were happy but nerve-racking” and that it was “a journey for all.” Also, we’re told that Netrebko’s solo turn (“Nel chiuso centro,” one of those Orfeo things, I gather) is something she sang once, early on in her career.

Unfortunately, I think I could hear that fact in her rendition. Maybe it’s just my problem, but I have a bear of a time un-doing the mannerisms of pieces I learned as a young singer, and it can be sort of startling to hear largely eradicated tics sneaking back in. In her case, the short-comings were most pronounced in the talkier recitative sections: the diction is rather laissez-faire (while, as one would expect, Ms Pizzolato’s Italian’s very good). I won’t presume to know Netrebko’s thoughts, but the singing’s got that phonetic sound: I don’t hear words, and I certainly don’t hear ideas or specific drama, really.

She fared better on the arias. First, it’s “Euridice, e dove sei?” though even here, I was denied even some of the more rudimentary gestures (softer on repeated phrases — we’re talking basics). Cadences sometimes got a ritardando that would make Furtwangler blush. She pulled it all together in the rapid-fire final aria, “O d’Euridice n’andro fastoso.” In spite of the limitations, though, I am drawn to her glamorous and distinctive instrument, and not really out of familiarity: I’ve not listened to her very much. But her best singing on this disc made me want to hear her in Anna Bolena.

Okay, let’s get to the heart of the matter. Stabat Mater is well represented on recordings, which range from prior diva vehicles to a long list of more recent, historically informed versions. I’m not sure we really needed another diva-ish version, and if we’re getting it anyway, there should be a good reason. Is there? In the final analysis, I don’t think so. The up-sides: these women generally achieved a pleasing balance and blend. At some of the bigger moments, it was nice to hear them let it rip. Their vocal production is often full-bodied, operatic. I like that (or rather, I don’t think that is a barrier to a valid reading on this piece).

The down-sides: Diction was sometimes pretty dodgy. Final “s” sounds were often way too long (“gladiuSSSSS”), while ending “t’s” were in the wrong spot (tongue too far back–too dry). Any conductor’s got a tough assignment with this work, as the music is often at odds with the text, and as some of the most recent original-instrument versions demonstrate, there are aspects of the piece that are plain weird (in a good way).

I’m not really persuaded by Pappano’s overall structure. I usually like things fleet, but here, in rushing things along, I think he missed several opportunities to show off these women to their best advantage (and this music, frankly, doesn’t begin to challenge the orchestra). The crux of the story is the eighth line: she saw her Son dying, forsaken, and he yielded up His spirit. I think it was just too fast. Same for the next number. If the tempo markings in the Breitkopf and Ricordi scores (I know, I know) are to be believed, this “Andantino” was not a slightly sped-up walk, but more like a skip.

Speaking of diva projects, I had to drag out my one recording of the work: Dutoit leading a Montreal chamber group with June Anderson and Cecilia Bartoli. Granted, the sound is, by current standards, hopelessly unfashionable. But I prefer Dutoit’s overall sense of the work (not to mention those ladies’ grand manner). It is generally slower, with the sadness prevailing; grand; musically and dramatically coherent in a way that this version just never seemed to find.

In addition to the missed opportunities in the booklet, for something brand-spanking new, the CD loads into iTunes in an annoyingly basic way: every track’s “Artist” is “Netrebko, Pizzolato, Pappano.” Lazy. No artwork (not even the cover photo, with Anna looking like a severe Milanese widow: black v-neck dress, natural-look make-up, no jewelry but lots of leg). I’ll hand it to Netrebko for venturing out of her comfort zone, though I think it’s too bad that she didn’t involve a more suitable conductor. Partially because this gave me a chance to audition the alternatives, I doubt that I’ll be listening to this rendition again.

Elegantly and unobtrusively shot by video director Brian Large, the opera as recorded unfolds with all the forcefulness of the original production seemingly undiminished. Under Carlo Rizzi’s baton, the Wiener Philharmoniker overflows with explosive energy. The still, suspenseful moments in Verdi’s score pulse with a heart-stopping electricity, while the faster ones race ahead irresistibly, always threatening to escape Rizzi’s control but only rarely doing so as the tragedy’s plot hurtles forward like a runaway train toward its destruction. This approach often reveals the opera as a study in extreme states, foregrounding the way it anticipates Verdi’s later, more expressionistic works.

In this regard, Decker’s mise-en-scène is perfectly in tune with Rizzi’s interpretation. Decker dispenses with the damasks, corsets, and candelabra—in short with all the romantic images, décor, and dress of Italian verismo (abundantly in evidence in Franco Zeffirelli’s resplendent Met production)—and reveals Verdi’s opera as an early forerunner of expressionism and the Neue Sachlichkeit, gently reminding the viewer that the space between La Traviata and Lulu is perhaps not so great as it might at first appear.

When the chorus enters in act one, it storms onstage, a teeming phalanx, all men (including Flora and the female singers), all devoid of individual identity and all wearing the same black, three-button suit, black shoes, white shirt, and black tie: in short, the anonymizing uniform of bourgeois capital. The carousing in “Libiamo ne’ lieti calici” is more sinister than mirthful, and at each reappearance, the chorus grows only more threatening, with the gypsies’ dance in act three, performed in masks, becoming downright nightmarish.

Complementing these uncanny effects, set designer Wolfgang Gussman has conceived of the space as a massive room framed by a single, curving wall, spanning the width of the stage in gleaming white. Spartan, sterile, and comfortless, a more arresting metaphor for La Traviata’s world and the exacting economy within which its characters operate could hardly be imagined.

Violetta, wearing a cocktail-dress of eye-smarting crimson brocade, acts our her tragedy in this highly compressed space from which no escape is possible, while the final minutes of life tick away on an enormous, ever-present clock. Eerily—and gorgeously—lit by lighting director Hans Toelstede, the glossy walls of the space glow in dreamy blues and rich pinks, draining the performers’ bodies of all human warmth and making them appear as though they were wearing a ghastly whiteface.

The leading performances are uniformly strong. The three principals spend much of the opera throwing themselves around the space restlessly, fumbling frantically at one another’s bodies. There is something in the way they flail that suggests a half-drunken, half-caffeinated state: life has become a party that’s gone on far too long, so long that it only makes sense now to stay awake, force oneself through its motions, and await its harrowing end. As they tear about the stage, they frequently run out of breath mid-line or drop the final syllables of phrases, their acting every bit as physically exhausting and as emotionally ferocious as their singing.

Thomas Hampson brings to Giorgio Germont a soaring, lyric quality and a clearness of tone that are unconventional for a role more often reserved for darker baritone voices. In the character’s most deliciously sadistic moments in act two (for example, in “Un dì, quando le veneri”), he offers a more sympathetic interpretation that runs against the grain of the music’s viciousness. Hampson’s Giorgio is less the familiar melodramatic villain and more desperate, pleading, and pitiful. He’s a patriarch who can barely control his own emotions, let alone the actions of others—in short, a nicer guy than Giorgio often is—but, Decker’s production makes clear, a patriarch nonetheless.

The Mexican tenor Roland Villazón proves himself a singularly impressive Alfredo Germont, and brings tremendous voice and personality to the role. Outwardly a bit unheroic and unprepossessing, he nevertheless captures the outsized passion of the young idealist poet with an astonishing vocal athleticism. His early “O mio rimorso” is pure thunder. Later, he roars through “Ogni suo aver tal femmina,” the camera catching every flash of his eyes as he pours down cruelty unstinted upon Violetta’s helpless frame, ultimately stuffing his winnings into her cleavage, her mouth, and between her thighs, a revenge tinged with rape fantasy. A dynamic and expressive performer, his intensity onstage is matched only by Anna Netrebko in the role of Violetta.

Hailed by the New York Times as having given “the performance of her young career” in Decker’s Traviata, the soprano does not disappoint in this recording. She commands the stage and the audience’s full attention from the first notes of the overture to the opera’s final chord. As a soprano, she is fuller-voiced and more earthy than one often expects for Violetta: she doesn’t flutter or scintillate through the vocal acrobatics of “Sempre libera” but instead seems sometimes to push through them by sheer force of will.

In this instance, however, far from detracting from her performance, this earthbound quality only reinforces the audience’s sense of the character’s inability to transcend her own situation. Elsewhere, the depth and richness of her tone works to magnificent effect: her “Amami, Alfredo,” performed barefoot and with hair disheveled, communicated in halting gestures to Villazón kneeling before her, is nothing short of glorious. Again, the DVD reveals every facial expression, every minute gesture, and Netrebko—as effective an actor for the camera as a she is musician for the opera hall—does not disappoint.

The Deutsche Grammophon DVD of Decker’s Traviata is a remarkable document of one of the defining operatic events of the first decade of the twenty-first century. Revisiting the production via DVD more than five years after its Salzburg premiere, it still seems remarkably fresh. It’s possible that the New York premiere will confirm its status as a contemporary classic of sorts, but much will depend upon the changes in its cast and conductor.

In a recent interview with New York Observer reporter Zachary Woolfe, Netrebko was reported as having said, “That production [i.e., Decker’s Traviata] was pretty big a few years ago, and I don’t think it’s going to be the same after four or five years. It was [a] very specific production, very specific time, and specific partners. I don’t think its going to be the same. I think somebody else can do it if they can.”

On December 31st, conductor Gianandrea Noseda steps in for Carlo Rizzi and performers Marina Poplavskaya, Matthew Polenzani, and Andrzej Dobber take over for the Salzburg production’s three principals: watch this space for news of how the Metropolitan team lives up to their predecessors.

[Editor's note: This performance is now also available in Blu-ray, with breathtaking sound and picture: the first opera in this new high-def format La Cieca added to her collection!]

The gala, for those unfamiliar with its format, starts early (6:30 p.m.) and runs straight through with no intermission, to make sure the big-gun donors who paid for the post-performance dinner on the Avery Fisher promenade would not have to wait too long to fill their bellies.  At a running time of nearly two hours, this was hard on some audience members, who began to leave on a rush to the bathrooms before the final numbers were sung.  Except for a brief introduction by Tucker’s son, there were mercifully no speeches, and not even any announcements of the singers, so you needed to memorize the program to know who was singing what, or look at it by the light of your cell phone, which most of us did.  Maestro Marco Armiliato conducted members of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, and the New York Choral Society, in tiered ranks at the back of the stage, lent their massed voices where needed, most notably in the Finale of Act III of La Gioconda, which closed the program.

Most of the singers were known quantities in the full tide of their careers, though a couple of relatively unknown young tenorinos, James Valenti and Pavol Breslik, stepped before the gala audience with the assurance of veterans.  Valenti, winner of the 2010 Richard Tucker award and therefore prominently featured in the gala, is a tall, dark and handsome young man with a sharp profile and a strong, if as yet relatively featureless, lyric tenor voice.  He opened the program with  “E la solita storia del pastore” from Cilea’s L’arlesiana and later sang in the ensembles “Bevo al tuo fresco sorriso” from La Rondine and “Bella figlia dell’amore” from Rigoletto, making a positive, if not overwhelming, impression.

Slovakian tenor Breslik, a photogenic blond with a square jaw and five o’clock shadow that would get him props in a fashion layout, essayed “Una furtiva lagrima” with forward, focused tone and a tight vibrato with an ingratiating ping (we like that in a tenor), if not quite idiomatic in the Donizetti cantilena that can make this aria irresistible in the right hands.  The other gen X (or is it Y? or Z?) representative was lyric soprano Lisette Oropesa, who showed a lot of teeth in “Caro nome” and was fairly accurate in her pitches in the final unaccompanied cadences of this well-known aria (though she didn’t get to do the pianissimo trills of the coda).

Of the more established singers, most showcased familiar strengths and weaknesses.  Bass Ferruccio Furlanetto gave a soulful, if soporific rendering of the little-known aria “Riez! Allez!” from Massenet’s Don Quichotte, then followed up later with the crowd-pleasing “This Nearly Was Mine” from South Pacific, dragging the tempo so insistently that frustrated Maestro Armiliato had all he could do to keep the orchestra together behind him.

Latvian mezzo Elina Garanca, whom the Met is pushing as their new sexpot Carmen, unfortunately has neither the temperament nor the vocal allure to back up her admittedly good looks (memo to Peter Gelb:  opera – it’s about voice and stage presence and, hopefully, acting ability – not pretty faces and slender bodies).  Garanca was dull, dull, dull.  Both of her gala pieces should have been full of Spanish fire – “Carcelaras” from Ruperto Chapi’s zarzuela Las hijas del Zebedeo and the final scene from Bizet’s Carmen – but in both she came across as reserved and impassive.

In particular, her Carmen, opposite Brandon Jovanovich’s Don Jose (with whom she is sharing the Met stage this season in the ugly new Richard Eyre production) was so slack and non-present that she might as well have been in the sound booth phoning in her performance.  Much of that scene has to do with Carmen’s reaction to Don Jose as his pleas turn into threats – her silence has to be alive with contempt, impatience, challenge, anger, triumph, fatalism, something, anything.  But Garanca just stood there with the vacant expression of a miscreant appearing in traffic court with lame excuses.

Jovanovich, another looker who just got featured in the Times as the 40-year-old tenor whose moment has come, didn’t show off to his best.  In the aria, “Freunde! Das Leben ist lebenswert” from Lehar’s Giuditta,  his voice could barely be heard above the orchestra, which made one wonder how loud this cock will crow in the heavier repertory he is now being assigned.  He did however acquit himself decently if unremarkably in the Carmen scene, though with Garanca such a lackluster partner it was hard to judge his performance fairly.

Marcello Giordani, a more seasoned tenor, made a much stronger impression, though his sound, by now quite familiar to New York audiences (he’s the Met’s default tenor for heavy Verdi, Puccini and verismo roles) is neither beautiful nor elegantly produced.  Still, he can knock the high notes out of the park, so no wonder the gala committee gave him “Nessun dorma” for his solo, to which challenge he rose with his usual nasal, pitch-perfect bleat.  Unfortunately, in the middle of the aria, a trickle of blood began to streak down his chin (a shaving accident?), a gaffe to which Maestro Armiliato called his attention during the applause following the aria with lively gestures (“chin” – “blood” –“wipe”).

Butch but sensitive barihunk Simon Keenlyside gave an impassioned, richly intoned rendition of Massenet’s “Vision fugitive” from Hérodiade, marred however by a prop he had brought with him onstage, a clear plastic cup half-filled with some dark liquid that he kept nervously passing from hand to hand throughout the aria, as if he were dealing three-card monte.

Beloved diva Deborah Voigt made one of the most highly anticipated appearances.  The formerly overweight dramatic soprano is now, in her slimmed-down, post-bariatric surgery incarnation, the Met’s new babelicious diva; she is prominently featured, decked out with curly auburn tresses and a haughty glare, in the Met’s publicity stills for the new Robert LePage production of Die Walküre, in which she sings her first Brunnhildes next April.  She showed up at the gala, looking glamorous in a black strapless gown, to sing “Sola, perduta, abbandonata” from Puccini’s Manon Lescaut.

Now, I’m a huge fan of Mme. Voigt, and can only applaud her reaching her goal of fitting into the little black dress that caused such a scandal a few seasons back at Covent Garden (look it up if you don’t know).  But the voice is another matter.  I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to notice that her voice, which used to be plush velvet on a core of steel and could reach to the back of the house with seemingly effortless freedom, seems now to have lost that core as well as a bit of the plush.  She used to be indomitable, singing with an ineffable combination of power and sweetness; now one worries, not so much about the climactic notes, as about all the rest of them.  I worry about your upcoming Brunnhildes, Debbie.  Prove that I worry in vain.  Please.

The no-shows, for the record, were the Slavic baritones Zeljko Lucic and Mariusz Kwiecen.  The surprise guest was mezzo Susan Graham (“I just ran into her on the street yesterday,” said Maestro Armiliato in his charmingly accented English, “and she agreed to perform for you tonight.”)  Instead of announcing her aria, Graham, an audience favorite,  simply said “you’ll know this tune,” before launching into Handel’s Largo, “Ombra mai fu,” from Xerxes, whose long legato lines she sang with elegantly shaded inflections, and without repeats.  (Whenever I hear this aria, I can’t listen to the text, “Ombra mai fu, di vegetabile, cara ed amabile, soave più,” without thinking of the words Bunthorne sings in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Patience: “If he’s content with a vegetable love, which would certainly not suit me, why what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be.”)

The true standouts of the evening were two sopranos, one up-and-coming, the other at the top of her career and her craft.  The up-and-comer was Angela Meade, a young lyric spinto with vocal heft and impeccable agility in passaggio, a killer combination.  Her Norma at Caramoor this summer was a revelation, and needs to be unveiled at the Met, the sooner the better.  For the gala she sang “Era desso il figlio mio,” the final scena from Lucrezia Borgia, with stunning ornaments and rapidissimo scales so clean you could see daylight between the notes.  To polish it off, she ended with a powerful high E flat true as an arrow, thrilling as a kiss in the dark.  It didn’t hurt that she looked wonderful, an ample woman with an abundant bosom that filled out her black gown with sparkles over the breast, and wearing pendant earrings of drooping brilliants so oversized it looked like she had stolen the chandeliers from the Paris Opéra and hung them on her ears.

But the pièce de résistance of the evening’s entertainment was, hands down, Anna Netrebko.  This wildly popular Russian diva is the real goods – an accomplished musician and a total and utterly shameless stage animal.  There is nothing she will not do to make an effect, as anyone who has seen her Elvira, Lucia and Violetta can attest.  When she puts her hands on her hips, you had better run for cover.  Just as in the carnival barker’s description of Little Egypt, “She shimmies, she shakes, she crawls on her belly like a rep-tile.”

First of all, she showed up in an electric blue clinging satin gown, with a huge Lady Gaga bow tilted upwards from her right breast as if it were trying to hail a taxi (the bow, not the breast). Then she launched into a frenzied account of Emmerich Kalman’s Magyar revel “Heia in den Bergen” from Die Csardasfürstin, which she accompanied with such raucus stamping and whirling, that when she whipped around to face the chorus, her jewels flew off and had to be recovered by the concertmaster.

But that was nothing to what happened later, when she joined Giordani in a sizzling account of the St. Sulpice scene (“N’est-ce plus ma main?”) from Massenet’s Manon.  He looked visibly shaken as Netrebko vamped, slithered and curled around him like ivy on a tree.  She seemed to be channeling Ursula the Sea-Witch (“Never underestimate the power of body language!”), Maria Montez in Cobra Woman and Divine in Pink Flamingos all at once.  To top it off, she ended the duet by embracing poor sweating Giordani (no doubt his chin started bleeding again) in a lock-lip clinch that lasted at least 30 seconds.

The reaction in the audience was electric, with the kind of whistles and screams usually heard at a rock concert.  And this was from a gala audience, most of whom were on the shady side of sixty.  Of course, all this would have been of little account if she had not been delivering the vocal goods as well; but her soprano, which has matured into a plummy, multi-hued instrument, not only managed to negotiate all the notes with accuracy and subtle intonation, but was fully engaged in her acting, so that her visual shenanigans and vocal effects supported each other – quite a dazzling cocktail.  The audience didn’t want her to leave the stage.

Now I’d like to see her Carmen.  I can’t wait till her voice is ready for it.

I was barely seated in my trademark family circle coin sacre, making sure my new stilettos (with a carefully arranged glimpse) combinees avec mon mink and matching turban covering my auburn hair are noticed by the whole audience (a.k.a. my subjects) when Jimmy showed us his long and hard baton.

The minute I saw James Levine I knew something was wrong.  On his way to the pit, he could barely walk, even with his cane.  The first and second act the orchestra kind of conducted themselves and no wonder, after a 45 minute intermission, it was announced that the maestro was sick and the remainder of the performance will be conducted by some other James (nobody was able to catch his name, even the handsome gay couple sitting by my side who made me feel as their Norina.)  [Joseph Colaneri] did a finer job than Jimmy Boy.

Thank you for reading until now.  The remainder of the review will be a more serious one.

Don Pasquale is a belcanto “standard” written by one of the most productive opera composers in the history of opera.  This, the 64^th of Donizetti’s known 66 operas, was first performed in 1843 at the Comedie-Italienne in Paris.

Anna Netrebko herself admits it is time to convert from girls to queens in her latest interview with Opera News.  She is right.  The woman has a gorgeous tone, yet the voice is heavy for the part.  As per my voice teacher Ira Siff, she should be singing Manon Lescaut.  He is right.  Yet it’s with always great pleasure one watches and appreciates performers like her who truly have the time of their life on the stage, purely enjoying what they’re doing and radiating all along.  Those who haven’t heard her live after the baby:  It’s true, Anna’s voice got surprisingly bigger, especially in the middle.  Above the staff she was still cautious and covering, perhaps saving it for the next Saturday matinee.

Matthew Polenzani is a very fine musician, who (still) keeps amazing me with his unparalleled pianissimi and heartfelt legato.  Perhaps he is not very skilled as an actor, nevertheless his rendition of “Come’ gentil” was triumphant and the audience loved him.  He finished the serenade with mezza voce instead of the traditional forte.

John Del Carlo has a huge basso buffo instrument, genuinely suited to this repertoire.  He had done a fantastic job as Bartolo in Barbiere few years ago.  Some of us may wish to see a more Italian and suave approach like Enzo Dara’s, yet his acting combined with musicianship proved to be great.  One wonders why Mariusz Kwiecien is spending time and effort in belcanto repertoire when he should be singing Onegin.  He has one of the most beautiful baritone materials in the world today, and the stage presence is remarkable.

Overall, duets were much better received than solos in this performance.  Especially “Cheti, cheti immatinente” at the end of third act (which was partially encored!) and “Tornami a dir che m’ami” were executed divinely.

Whe  it comes to the production:  It is the original era.  The decors are still fresh since it is a young production and one doesn’t need more than that.  Changes between scenes were executed pretty rapidly, unlike some other productions (Boheme, Aida, etc…)  The world’s best opera chorus does a wonderful job in its very short appearance.  The orchestra had no apparent difficulty adapting itself to the unexpected new conductor.

My issue with the production was my frustration about Norina and Malatesta’s relationship.  I don’t know if this was Otto Schenk’s perception of them or because it was simply Anna and Mariusz:  There was a huge sexual tension between those two.  By the end of their duet, they almost made out on stage. I have seen a number of Don Pasquale productions and this stood out with this unusual interpretation.  It was, I think, unnecessary.  Thus, the title of my review.

This Don Pasquale is really a good production, I highly recommend it.  Not only because of a first grade cast who truly enjoy their art, but the simple, yet stupendous music takes one away from one’s daily struggles, questions and doubts.  After all, life is fair and everything is fine the way they are.  Art is here to soak us into another dimension, a deep level where, even one note of music, makes a miracle.  And that is happiness.

(Photo: Marty Sohl/Metropolitan Opera)