The event, “Jackie – Celebrating Marilyn Horne” will feature appearances by Horne’s colleagues, including a musical tribute by Stephanie Blythe (not pictured) and other surprises. Proceeds from the event will benefit the Guild’s education programs in New York City and throughout the country.

One vital point Zack brings out is that Scotto is “part of the first generation of ‘new-media’ divas,” and we therefore have lots of video documentation of her stage magic. As for example:

Zubin Mehta begins the evening by leading the Staatsoper Orchestra in a surprisingly intellectual reading of Wagner’s Rienzi overture, and then after some remarks by Holander himself, the concert gets underway. The big guns are brought out to open, oddly enough, and Plácido Domingo and Antonio Pappano step in for a passionate “Winterstürme.” They are followed by Nadia Krasteva’s performance of “Stride la vampa”, which is so good as to make me wonder why she has not yet been engaged at the Met.

A bumpy rendition of the Contes d’Hoffmann sextet follows, enlivened only by the astonishing Staatsopernchor. Two excerpts from Cosi, “Un aura amorosa” sung with great grace by Michael Schade and a slightly effortful rendition of the “Prenderò” duet by Barbara Frittoli and Angelika Kirschlager, are both conducted listlessly by Franz Wesler-Möst.

You may note already that the order of selections seems to be a bit without rhyme or reason, jumping from composer to composer as it does. The evening is organized to reflect the 40 premieres in roughly chronological order, which presents some odd programming choices. For example, Isolde’s Liebestod, sung with enthralling passion by Waltraud Meier, is placed in the middle of the concerts’ first half, not exactly a place of prominence for such a climactic moment, and is immediately proceeded by “O luce Di quest’anima”, from Linda di Chamounix, with Stefania Bonfadelli coping ably with twittering duties.

The Concert promotes homegrown artists alongside the superstars, such as Kratseva, Boaz Daniel (who gives a wobbly rendition of Herod’s aria from Massenet’s Herodias) and Adrian Erod (defying the fach system to be a striking baritone Loge). Hedwig Pecoraro definitely wins the “What on EARTH?!” award for an aria from the seemingly bizarre Der Traumfeserchen by Wilfried Hiller, which he performs in costume as the title character, a gigantic red ball with a devil’s tail and carrying oversized utensils (oddly, there is no conductor for this selection, I assume by order of the composer.)

While the Staatsopernchor get to shine in “Va pensiero,” the first half of the concert is otherwise dominated by star turns, some more successful than others. Ramon Vargas, who seems to be losing power these days, falters in “Amor ti vieta” from Fedora. Two Thomases, Quasthoff and Hampson, shine in excerpts from Der Schweigsame Frau and Guilliame Tell. Soile Isokosi struggles through an aria from Der Freischultz, but Leo Nucci gives a lesson in Verdian elegance with a piece from I Vespri Sciliani. Charm is provided by Kirschlager and Schade returning for a duet from Die Lustige Witwe and by Samir Pirgu in Rinuccio’s aria from Gianni Schicci. Diana Damrau turns “Ah non credea mirarti” from Sonnambula into a dazzling showpiece, completely obliterating memories of the preceding “Dove sono” (sung by Frittoli).

The second half of the concert begins with Vargas able to muster a successful, expressive Romeo in “Ah, leve-toi, soleil!” and then the quartet finale from Frau ohne Schatten, sung powerfully by Falk Struckmann, Johan Botha, Adrianne Pieczonka and Deborah Polaski.  Botha and Pieczonka both return for other selections, Botha for a remarkable “In fernem Land” and Pieczonka with Genia Kühmeier in a lovely rendition of the Arabella “Aber der Richtige” duet. Married Wagnerians Petra Maria Schnitzer and Peter Seiffert sing five minutes of the Tristan Love duet extremely well, only to be topped by an exemplary “Gluck, das mir verblieb” from Angela Denoke and Stephen Gould. Ferruccio Furlanetto proves again a peerless King Phillipe II in “Elle ne m’aime pas.” Piotr Beczala is glorious as both Faust and Werther, but Charlotte’s letter scene vanishes from memory in the hands of Roxane Constantinescu. Krassimira Stoyanova suffers the same fate in “Se come voi piccina” from Le Villi.

The audience greets each of these excerpts with cheers and applause, but nothing approaches the ovations received by Anna Netrebko following her account of Manon’s Cours-la-reine scene.  Her beguilingly, seductive rendition, with cleaner coloratura than I have heard from her in a long time, sends the audience into a frenzy unlike anything else in the evening. Natalie Dessay, who must follow this with Marie’s second act aria and cabaletta from La Fille du Régiment, is as charming as she can be but if Vienna’s reaction is anything to go by, Netrebko has “won” the battle of the divas by a landslide. (It doesn’t help that Dessay gets saddled with the one serious musical mistake of the evening, in which Marco Armiliato lets the chorus gets seriously out of synch with the orchestra.)

The evening closes out with Verdi. Violeta Urmana sledgehammers her way through  “Pace pace, mio dio;” conversely, Simon Keenlyside is rather underpowered but intelligent in Macbeth’s “Pieta, rispetto.”  Then the evening finally comes to an end with the glorious Falstaff finale, launched by Nucci.

The performance of the chorus and orchestra (barring the one serious mistake during the Fille excerpt) is remarkable throughout. The conducting is a little more varied. Wesler-Möst and Bertrand de Billy do the lion’s share of the conducting, each to uneven effect. Wesler-Möst is clearly at home in Strauss and Korngold while de Billy seems to come alive only in Massenet. Domingo, Armiliato, Pappano, Fabio Luisi, Mehta, Peter Schneider, Simone Young and Guillermo García Calvo step up to the podium for a piece or two. The most successful, on the whole, are Luisi and Pappano, with Domingo proving surprisingly expressive in the Romeo aria.

The Staatsoper gets quite a strong showing here. Despite occasional pitfalls, the level of artistry is quite high. On another level, Since many of the business’ greatest stars are in attendance, and the programming is so varied, I suspect that this concert will provide, for future fans, a wonderful document of the state of opera singing in 2010.

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 Romanian soprano is a special guest of honor at the event to receive the Marcello Giordani Lifetime Achievement award. On the musical portion of the program, the tenor (in between performances of La fanciulla del West here in NYC) will offer Neapolitan and Italian love songs from  his forthcoming CD, “Ti Voglio Tanto Bene” with conductor Steven Mercurio.

He will then join Met colleagues Lise Lindstrom, Stephen Costello and a group of young artists for selections from Romeo et Juliette, Un ballo in maschera, La bohème, Pagliacci, Turandot, Il barbiere di Siviglia and Andrea Chenier.

If you’re at all like La Cieca, listening to all that singing will stimulate your appetite, and so you will be delighted to hear that following the concert there will be a lavish gala dinner catered by “Fresco by Scotto.”

Proceeds from the gala are earmarked for the organization of the first Marcello Giordani International Vocal Competition, to be held in Italy the Spring of 2011.

It’s all tomorrow night, December 8, at St. Jean Baptiste Church, Lexington Avenue at 76th Street, and a few tickets for the whole affair (or for just the musical part of the entertainment) are still available through the Marcello Giordani Foundation.

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.

Your doyenne recalls that when she first picked up this novel all those years ago in the Synthetic Seventies, she was more than a little disoriented by the simultaneously discursive and elliptical style adopted by James McCourt in relating his yarn.  In particular she found daunting the plethora of characters, whose chatter is very much in the foreground, and the relatively scant attention given over to plot.

Of course, this choice of emphasis is very much organic to the meaning of the work, La Cieca has come to realize over the decades, but in the meantime she thought it might be helpful to the first-time reader to single out certain milestone events in the Czgowchwz saga.

Spoilers lie ahead, so if you’re still in mid-read and desirous of being surprised, you might want to skip over this next section.

Mawrdew Czgowchwz unfolds between March 1955 and September 1956, set almost completely in “Gotham as it was, when it was truly fabulous.”

In Chapter 1 (March 17, 1955) diva Mawrdew Czgowchwz returns to the Metropolitan Opera after the resolution of some unspecified disagreement with the company’s new general manager. So devoted were her fans that they staged a hunger strike and chained themselves to the outside walls of the Old Met in protest of her unjust firing. On this crucial night Czgowchwz will sing her role debut in La Traviata, marking a change of fach from mezzo-soprano to “Oltrano,” a protean vocal category spanning over three octaves in working range. In a flashback to 1948, we learn of the diva’s “discovery” by the fan Ralph and the other members of the Secret Seven, her defection from Czechoslovakia to the West and her meteoric ascent at the Met following a controversial debut as Amneris opposite established diva Morgana Neri. The performance of Traviata surpasses all expectations on both sides of the footlights, and the reign of Czgowchwz as absolute diva commences.

Chapter 2:  Having sung 40 prima donna roles in celebration of her approaching 40th birthday, Czgowchwz has announced her first Isolde in a new production at the Met, opposite the Brangaene of her protégée, the Falcon soprano and erstwhile standee Laverne Zuckerman.  The oltrano’s conquest of the soprano repertoire has forced La Neri to announce her farewell for Christmas Eve, 1955, as Norma.

Chapter 3:  On December 21, the faithful gather at the Upper East Side townhouse of Countess Madge for dinner, Winter Solstice rites, and opera-themed tomfoolery climaxing in the reading of Ralph’s mock-epic poem “The Nericon.”

Chapter 4: As news of Ralph’s scurrilous opus spreads beyond the standing room line, Czgowchwz faithfuls prepare for the evening’s performance of  Tristan und Isolde. Meanwhile, a Neri fanatic, half-mad Old Mary Cedrioli, steals a lock of hair from Czgowchwz and casts a hex on the diva.  Poet Jameson O’Maurigan, overwhelmed by the first act, leaves the opera house with a casual pickup. During the third act, Czgowchwz, “as if possessed” bolts onstage and delivers an “oracular” performance of the “Liebestod” – in Gaelic – before collapsing into a coma.

Chapter 5:  The winter of 1956. The amnesiac diva’s friends determine that restoring her to health will require expert psychoanalysis and delving into the “missing” years before her fateful flight to Paris. Sleuthing in Dublin and Prague reveals the truth:

Chapter 6: Czgowchwz is the love child of martyred Irish patriot Maeve Cohalen and Czech poet/activist Jan Motivyk. Her memory restored, the diva makes a first public reappearance at the 1956 St. Patrick’s Day parade, then announces a return to the stage on April 30.  Once more she surpasses herself by performing a matinee at the Met of Pelléas et Mélisande, followed by a marathon song recital that evening at Carnegie Hall.

Chapter 7:  Czgowchwz finds both professional and personal happiness. She meets and falls in love with her male equivalent, countertenor (later oltrano) Jacob Beltane. They headline an esoteric music festival including the world premiere of an avant-garde opera by genius composer Merovig Creplaczx. After a celebratory gala in Central Park on the last day of summer 1956, Mawrdew and Jabob sail away to Europe and new adventures.

And now, cher public, your impressions?

Since then the production has been revived several times with galaxy of international mezzo-sopranos such as Jennifer Larmore, Sonia Ganassi, Olga Borodina and, just this past season, superstar Elina Garanca.

The Latvian mezzo-soprano has achieved a dizzying ascent to the highest echelons of operatic stardom in only a few years. She possesses all the ingredients the modern operatic world considers necessary to reach the A list: a pleasant voice, an even more pleasant stage presence, and a photogenic quality for glamorous CD covers. (An exclusive contract with a major recording company is arguably the single most important component).

Although Ms. Garanca introduced herself to the Met audience with Rosina and Cenerentola, I would not consider her a belcanto specialist. In general her coloratura is more than acceptable; however, my distinct feeling is that this repertoire is not like a second skin to her. She lacks the nonchalance and insouciance that a true belcantista wields when tackling those interminable florid musical figures.

The skill of true belcanto specialists is to make the audience believe they are doing acrobatics in mid air without a protective net. Obviously, they do have a net, their ironclad technique, but the audience is supposed to be sitting on the edge of their seats, mouths open in awe and suspense. In Miss Garanca’s approach to pyrotechnics I detect a certain sense of caution that slightly detracts from the feeling of utter elation one should experience at the end of such a tour-de-force as Angelina’s rondò.

My exacting standards are allowed only because we live in an age rich with true Rossini specialists. Not too long ago a performance like Ms. Garanca’s would have been considered flawless.

Overall, Ms. Garanca is an impressive Cenerentola, and even by today’s high standards her performance can ultimately be qualified as a success. Her voice is velvety and mellifluous. She sings tastefully and knows how to shape a phrase, with lovely portamentos and messe di voce, with an even, equalized production throughout her range.

Finally, she is breathtakingly beautiful. She is in fact perhaps too beautiful and regal as the rag-wearing Cenerentola, so that when she later appears in a magnificent evening gown, the contrast is not so striking and dramatic and as it should be.

Ms. Garanca is one of those magnetic artists who automatically galvanizes the audience’s attention, even more so on an HD video, which captures her stunning features, innate elegance and captivating smile in vivid detail. She is not the most humble and unostentatious Cenerentola I have seen; her supermodel looks may have something to do with that.

Her Prince Charming, on the contrary, does not cut a very romantic figure. As much as I would like to ignore it, there is no denying that tenor Lawrence Brownlee’s appeal is severely limited by a less than dashing physical appearance. His somewhat ungainly acting, confined to a few stock gestures, does not help.

His voice, one the other hand, is far from rigid and wooden. To say it plainly, Mr. Brownlee is a first class vocalist. He knows how to sing “sul fiato” producing a homogeneous sound from top to bottom, with no hint of the nasality that often characterizes this type of tenors. His high register is rich with overtones, full of squillo, his bottom sonorous and well supported.

His rendition of “Sì, ritrovarla io giuro” is illustrative of his skills; he is at ease both in the high parts, such as the cabaletta “Dolce speranza” with its exposed high Cs, as well as in the mid section, the Andantino “Pegno adorato e caro”, which, in contrast, lies quite low. Mr. Brownlee is, in a few words, a full lyric tenor gifted with a very wide range and a masterful command of coloratura.

Alessandro Corbelli, perhaps the leading Dandini of the ‘80s and ‘90s, is now singing Don Magnifico with the experience of a long career spent tackling much more virtuosistic roles. Unlike many buffos, he actually sings his part with a real, rich voice; he never speaks or barks his notes. The Italian baritone completely masters the art of rapid-fire patter, of which Rossini arguably wrote the most arduous example with the aria “Sia qualunque delle figlie”.

The role of Dandini is in my view the most difficult to cast. It requires either a buffo able to cope with very flowery singing, or a virtuoso with comic skills, and it’s no easy task to find both qualities, in exactly the same measures, in the same artist. And so, normally, opera companies tend to hire a buffo who will somehow survive all the agility. This Dandini, Simone Alberghini, seems to belong in the latter category. Although he is extremely effective on stage, Mr. Alberghini, whose voice is on the dry side to begin with, tends to aspirate, flatten or slide over the coloratura, and this does not work for me.

Neither am I enthusiastic about John Relyea. The Canadian bass’s instrument has noticeably deteriorated since the first time I heard him in this opera a decade ago, now sounding metallic and unwieldy. Alidoro’s role is virtually limited to one single but major aria; “Là del ciel nell’arcano profondo” is essentially an opera seria aria, with huge intervals, tricky high notes and intricate ornate writing, to which only belcanto masters of the caliber of Samuel Ramey or Michele Pertusi can do full justice.

The roles of the two stepsisters are thankless, with a lot of stage time and no chances to shine. Rachelle Durkin (Clorinda) and Patricia Risley, repeating their roles from the previous revival, are a comically smooth and well tried team. I would prefer a less acidulous sound from Clorinda, who, like Elvira in L’italiana in Algeri and Berta in Il barbiere di Siviglia, is the dominating and most exposed female voice in the ensembles.

Maurizio Benini is a brilliant conductor. In his hands, the famous overture is both a delicate lacework of rarefied and nuanced sounds, and a game of vivid and bright reflections; the famous crescendos are achieved without accelerating tempos, a regrettably all too common trick. He has impeccable timing and draws a musically accurate, polished yet zestful, bubbly performance.

The production by Cesare Lievi, with sets and costumes by Maurizio Balò, was first unveiled in 1997 to mixed reviews. As it is by now a familiar production, I will not dwell on it too long. Personally I like Lievi’s conglomeration of Magritte and Lewis Carroll allusions and do not completely agree with those who find it marred by excessive busyness. Yes, it’s hectic, but after all it is an opera buffa. I do agree that recurring to elements like cracked mirrors, three legged sofas, peeling wallpaper as symbol of moral decline are (and were in 1997) already a bit too bromidic.

As it is clearly noted on the DVD back cover, this production was made possible by Alberto Vilar, who has just made headlines one more time for being sentenced to nine years in prison for wire fraud, securities fraud and money laundering.

I find no fault in Gary Halvorson’s DVD direction. As usual, he seems to know the score in detail and has an acute sense of what to highlight. There is nothing distracting in this direction, and this is more than sufficient for me. The only minor flaw I noticed was to show the wedding cake from above, revealing the steps and thus spoiling the effect of the two protagonists climbing on top of it.

Thomas Hampson is the host of the performance. Except for a brief introduction, his interviews with the artists are included in the DVD’s extras. The most interesting information comes from Ms. Garanca, who reveals her intention to drop La Cenerentola from her repertoire very soon and dedicate herself to less acrobatic, more dramatic roles. She does not say it here, but in other interviews she has declared that her biggest goal is to sing… Amneris.

An appropriate feeling of uncertainty and discovery accompanied the audience through the darkened Museum of Natural History as we were led down one hall, then another, then to an elevator, then through antechambers and lobbies, before finally reaching the spacey landscape of the planetarium.

Even as the orchestra tuned up, it was evident that their  sonority was choked by the deadened acoustics of the room, and the sound wilted like flora in an oxygen-deprived greenhouse. It seemed self-defeating to stage this work amid such logistical constraints, in exchange for the few benefits of having planetarium technology at the ready. Working with a small staging area, the performance was given essentially “in the round,” with audience spread widely around the cramped, domed auditorium. But imagination and musicality flourished in spite of these constraints.

Haydn’s opera is one of several in existence based on the libretto by Carlo Goldoni, the influential Venetian playwright whose works bear a beguiling yet piquant humanist message. The story concerns a plot by several youngsters of both high and low standing to win the hand of aristocrat Buonafede’s beautiful daughters. The fake astronomer Ecclitico, knowing Buonafede to be a gullible fool, sells him a phony trip to the moon by giving him a potion that that is really a sleeping agent. When he awakens, the youths put on an elaborate hoax, welcoming him to the “moon” and satisfying the whims of his wild imagination. Once he is putty in their hands, they secure his blessing to wed.

The inventive and impressively efficient staging, by Diane Paulus (of Broadway’s Tony-winning Hair) utilized a campy sense of sass and double-entendre that also had a winning spark of romance. Though she never stooped to dodgy, tasteless humor, she certainly relied on some flimsy gags, such as the anachronistic nightclub dancing that broke out in virtually every orchestral interlude. Still, there were cute innuendoes in the recitatives, and admirably balanced comedic hi-jinx with warm generosity and theatrical aplomb.

The outrageously complex physical blocking used three tall, rolling scaffolds to hoist the cast up into the audience’s line of sight, using the projections dome as a canvas. As supers moved the scaffolds, the costumed cast moved with a floating quality that perfectly matched Haydn’s lithe, buoyant phrases. Silly neon-lit costumes distracted a bit from the planetarium dome’s constellations during the Moon scenes, but acrobatic supernumeraries and complex set changes moved in jaw-dropping synchronicity with the lighting and projection work by Philip Bussmann.

Voices did not bloom in the unforgiving space, but neither were they distorted. Marco Nisticò, on loan from the Met, was a pitch-perfect comedic buffo and his dark, pliant bass-baritone shone well from top to bottom. Young tenor Nicholas Coppolo, somewhat strained in the higher register, created a stylish and dapper Ecclitico, showing both musicality and wide emotional range.

Hanan Alattar (Clarice) offered gentle but impassioned phrases of clarity and restraint. It was a pity that the padded room failed to flatter her seductive and elegant lyricism. So too Flaminia, sung by Albina Shagimuratova, who sometimes sounded thin and squeaky in spite of an impressive and bell-like coloratura top. Lisette, sung by mezzo-soprano Rachel Calloway, had the least presence of this uniformly young and light-voiced cast, but she hammed up her sexy French-maid shtick with comely enthusiasm.

Haydn’s opera was given in a cut-down 90 minute version without intermission. The evocative, yet economical and fleet score has moments of chiaroscuro that compare favorably with Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte. Gotham Music Director Neal Goren led a tasteful if overly cautious reading, intuitively supporting his cast through difficult transitions made even trickier by the awkward layout of the theater. He was particularly successful in the finely-blended ensemble finales, momentarily filling the room with an impressively large and impassioned sound that did not lack for precision and style.

This Gala fundraising premiere was attended by a star-studded and well-dressed crowd of older, tony elites mixed with downtown arts-scene denizens, all of whom arrived and departed in cheerful spirit. One hopes this success will serve their ambitions and spur more stylish and inventive productions of such high musical and theatrical quality.

It was one small step for space; one giant leap for Gotham Chamber Opera.

Ute Lemper, goddess of contemporary cabaret, professor of sentimental song, and ironic interlocutor of musical memory, is at Joe’s Pub through Sunday Dec. 13 singing a program entitled “Last Tango in Berlin.” The program features some lovely songs by Piazzolla, including her wacky extemporization on “Balada para un Loco” in which the New York City resident spins its lyrics to reflect our manic town. But the real magic of this musical fondue lies in the sensual charm lent to her beloved German Weimar songs and French chansons by the generous sound of the Argentine bandoneón, played here by Tito Castro.

Long and slender in a gentleman’s tuxedo and top hat, she began her set with women’s stories  – Brel’s almost-heroine in “Chanson de Jacky”; then Piazzolla’s bittersweet song of regret, “Maria de Buenos Aires.” But the mood gained buoyancy with the rousing “Port d’Amsterdam” in which she set the true direction of the evening – an apotheosis of the cabaret itself. She is the living translator of that lost café of memory, and treasured throughout the world as one of our greatest exponents of the international popular repertoire. Explaining her way through this musical history lesson, Ms. Lemper’s show is an Ars Poetica of cabaret, and she is our Virgil of its smoky demi-monde.

On musical values alone, Lemper is a phenomenon. Unleashing both wild roars and gentle purrs, her instrument is in terrific shape, and her passionate lyrical arches never resort to belting. Her “Mackie Messer (Mack the Knife)” is the authentic interpretation of our time; stripped of Bobby Darin’s or  Ella Fitzgerald’s fond adornments, she served it up in virtuosic, theatrical style. Her alt-Berlin dialect in this crowd favorite files it once again under “classic thriller-ballad,” alongside Schubert’s Erlkönig. It was eagerly lapped up by her enchanted audience, whom she enlisted to whistle along its tune.

For one who sells out gala-priced tables at Café Sabarsky and the Carlyle, Lemper is astonishingly comfortable wedged among the foreign tourists and burger-munching hipsters at Joe’s Pub. The service is a little choppy, and food was served throughout her set. It seemed something akin to sacrilege when I considered finishing my meal in her presence. (Alas, I was too distracted by the show.) But Lemper takes it all in stride, clearly in love with the approximate authenticity of the cabaret setting – its tinkling silverware, hushed chatter, and unpredictability.

Lemper shifts beguilingly from the winsome to the garish. A medley blended the nostalgic Dietrich hit “Ich habe einen Koffer in Berlin” to a masculine and cocky “All that Jazz” (with the authentic Bob Fosse moves) and finally to an improvised and comedic scat on “I’m a Vamp.”  Her mischief is all-encompassing, and she’s happy to use unsuspecting guests in the front row as bawdy props, then mimic a trumpet serenade in the Louis Armstrong style (“Here, baby, Ein kleines Geburtstagständchen für dich!”) or sing “Happy Birthday” á la Marilyn Monroe. She finished “Vamp” by biting the neck of a shy girl in the back row.

She finds both grotesquerie and an imagined, idealized past in her adaptation of Weill-Brecht’s “The Bilbao Song.” Her spoken intro riffs on German Expressionism: the bloated moon, she speculates, is overweight – overfed, diabetic, pockmarked. (Her postulate: Too many American hamburgers?) So much for romance. But her version of the song reminds us, by replacing the name of its little café with “Joe’s Pub,” that we never had it so good – the moon is out tonight, this is that café of memory, and our song is coming up.

Between heartfelt ovations from a grateful audience, Ms. Lemper took requests for her encore  - it was Piaf’s “Ne me quitte pas.” With a wink, she turned the tables: “Aw, now you made me sad!”

Ute Lemper sings through Sunday at Joe’s Pub.  Three shows remain – visit www.joespub.com for tickets and information.

Saving New York City Opera?

New York City Opera is currently enmeshed in controversy over contract issues with the American Guild of Musical Artists, AFL-CIO, the union that represents the singers and production staff at NYCO. The outcome has yet to be determined, but the question has been raised whether NYCO can survive the current crisis. Both NYCO and AGMA have issued press releases, letters, and e-mails, taking their fight into the public forum.

It has been interesting to hear comments and read postings on Web sites such as Facebook and Parterre Box — many by people not directly involved in either NYCO or AGMA. I won’t go into all of the various viewpoints and opinions, but one of the recurring sentiments is that NYCO needs to be saved at all costs. I will leave dollar amounts and budget issues to those who are equipped to deal with them, but I wonder if people have contemplated what “at all costs” truly means. What exactly are we trying to save? 

NYCO, under the newly appointed General Manager and Artistic Director, George Steel, has announced a greatly reduced 2009/2010 season which — in spite of the existing legal AGMA contract guaranteeing 26 weeks of work for the chorus — calls for only 33 total performances of five operas and one gala concert in a greatly curtailed season. While Esther would use the entire 32 members of the regular chorus plus 20 associate choristers, Don Giovanni, L’Ètoile, and Madama Butterfly use partial choruses, and Partenope uses no chorus at all.

Peruse any operatic catalog, and you will see the vast majority of operas use chorus. In an e-mail sent to company members on May 5, Mr. Steel praised the work done in the 2009 VOX Festival, but made no mention of using the chorus in next year’s festival, which could help satisfy the contractual guarantees. The unconscionable choice of next season’s productions — seemingly selected to underutilize the chorus — combined with other recent actions, raises the question as to whether the NYCO administration ever intended to honor the signed legal contract with AGMA.

It is interesting to note that NYCO had been in a similar situation before, when it was also believed the company would not survive. In 1952, box office sales were down, donations were down, the company was in debt and funds were desperately needed. Additionally, the Company had just fought two protracted legal battles: one with New York State over theatre rent issues, and a nasty court case against Laszlo Halasz over his dismissal as Artistic and Music Director.

The newly appointed General Director, Joseph Rosenstock, had only a few short months to pull together a season. He sought to curtail the length of the season, but was prevented from doing so by the AGMA contract, which guaranteed performers fourteen weeks of work. Not only did NYCO honor the AGMA contract, but the 1953 season repertoire included La Cenerentola, Regina, Carmen, Die Fledermaus, La Bohème, Don Giovanni, Hansel and Gretel, Tosca, La Traviata, The Marriage of Figaro, The Trial, Madama Butterfly, Rigoletto, Salome, The Tender Land, Show Boat, and Falstaff.

New York City Opera was founded in 1943 with the aim of being an opera company with performances financially accessible to a wide audience, innovative in its choice of repertory, and a home for American singers and composers. Unlike manufacturing companies, NYCO produces no tangible product such as a car, or a hamburger, or a pharmaceutical. The company exists to perform opera. The artists—the soloists, the chorus, the orchestral musicians, the dancers, the directors, the stage managers, the costumers, the stagehands — are the product. These people are the company.

When one thinks of NYCO, names are what come to mind. Names such as Beverly Sills, Placido Domingo, Norman Treigle, Phyllis Curtin, Dorothy Kirsten, John Reardon, Frances Bible, Virginia Haskins, Sherrill Milnes, Shirley Verrett, Catherine Malfitano, June Anderson, Rockwell Blake, Carol Vaness, Sam Ramey, Jerry Hadley, Diana Soviero, Richard Leech — the list goes on and on. Many received their first significant exposure with City Opera. These singers were hired season after season, often for several productions within a season. The artists came to regard NYCO as their home. Audiences became familiar with them, and grew to love them as part of the NYCO family.

But in recent years, there no longer seem to be “house” soloists. For whatever reasons, NYCO has not reengaged leading performers as frequently as in the past. Present-day roster artists such as Carl Tanner, David Daniels, Mark Delavan, Mary Dunleavy, Lauren Flanigan, Elizabeth Futral, and Amy Burton are absent from NYCO more seasons than they actually perform there.

Therefore, the company identity is now sustained by those artists who still continue year after year: the chorus, the orchestra, the weekly soloists, the dancers, and the behind-the-scenes stage directors and stage managers. Audiences recognize and cheer these artists, even if they are not performing the title roles. Collectively, these professionals represent hundreds of years of NYCO experience and expertise. Most have a Bachelor or Master Degree in their field, and have spent years studying their craft. They cannot be replaced by hiring people off the street.

NYCO has been slowly reducing its company members. Fifty choristers were hired for the first NYCO season. There are only 32 currently, and Mr. Steel would like to cut the number even further. The company once had a permanent corps of dancers. There is only one salaried dancer left. The only two remaining weekly artists, Don Yule and William Ledbetter — who have a combined ninety-three years of history with the company — have not been reengaged next season. NYCO has slowly bled away its pool of experienced company talent.

Yet, George Steel and NYCO want to do away with even the few remaining members of the company and/or the guarantees that protect them. This past year, the AGMA contract kept NYCO from losing its vital talent while renovation work to the Koch Theater precluded a normal season. If Mr. Steel and the board are successful in their efforts to break the AGMA contract, or through negotiations slash the chorus, cut the weekly solo artists, do away with the dancers, and halve the number of stage directors — what exactly will be left of New York City Opera? An empty shell? A booking agency? Just a name?

Who would be left to carry on the essence of New York City Opera? The administration staff members? Many are new to their job in the last two years, and have not yet fully integrated into the company. The Board? It has guided NYCO to the point of ruin with their ill-advised decisions of the last three years. The Artistic Director? Tony Amato is Amato Opera. Michael Spierman still is the guiding force behind the Bronx Opera. George Steel, on the other hand, has not yet been responsible for even one staged production at NYCO. It remains to be proven if he can become an identifying force for the company.

I submit that no organization, not even an “institution” like New York City Opera, deserves to continue if it has lost everything that made it worthwhile in the first place: the dedicated performing artists who return every season to give the company its identity and history. The fight between NYCO and AGMA is not just about money and guarantees. Yes, the outcome could determine whether the company lives or dies. But, if all that survives is just the NYCO name, its very soul will surely be dead.
George Steel and New York City Opera, even though confronted by seemingly insurmountable financial and administrative problems, must do everything possible to hold on to the talented, seasoned artists who make the company special. NYCO has been on the brink of ruin many times in its history. I believe it can be saved once again, still keeping the company — the people — together to thrill audiences with innovative, dynamic, and memorable opera.  — Douglas Purcell

The writer has been a member of the New York City Opera Regular Chorus since 2004. Previously, he sang with the NYCO Associate Chorus for six seasons. He has been a member of the Metropolitan Opera Extra Chorus since 2006.

New Kid on the Plaza Drammy writes:

April 9, 2009. A traditional Otto Schenk production featuring Diana Damrau as Gilda and who cares but.. Frizza conducting, Viktoria Vizin as Maddalena, Calleja as the Duke, Frontali as Rigoletto, Aceto as Sparafucile.

Stellar performances from the entire cast, excepting poor Mr Frontali. The set was phenomenal – this coming from someone who has now seen 3 operas live to date…i.e. I’ve low standards and I can’t stomach Regie – yet. The first set change – from Duke’s court to shady courtyard – took a whopping 5 minutes and people were getting frisky. I wondered when Gelb would be coming out to announce the death of a certain principal and her replacement.  Singing in general was EXCELLENT. Tenor and coloratura soprano outdid themselves. Damrau lost a lot of air during “Addio addio” and dropped out a few lines…and according to my lovely friend Luis Murillo the tenor opted out of the optional high D-flat. Frontali sang “Si vendetta” too piano, according to Luis again [I know nothing about music so I’ll just defer to the real singer, namely Luis]. I didn’t really like Frontali – have been spoiled by the Dresden Rigoletto featuring Mr. Zeljko Lucic.

“Caro nome” was so good my hands were shaking and I couldn’t hold the binoculars straight. Hey, don’t judge me. How can such exquisite coloratura passages and such silvery timbre come out of a human being?! Still don’t believe she is for real, anyways. “A nymph or a goddess?” – Lo frate ‘nnamorato. Most hilarious pickup line ever, and very relevant. “Bella figlia dell’amore,” the quartet, was damn amazing. I rather liked the duettos with Gilda and Rigoletto ; Gilda and Duke. Hell, I rather liked anything and everything involving Gilda. I basically fixated on Gilda during “La donna e mobile,” because Calleja has neither the dramatic presence nor the eye-candy-ness to trump Frl. Damrau.

Alas, Damrau’s costumes were not quite up to par. Had a baggy blue number all the way up to her neck during Act I, switched to a -very- lowcut white number after ducal rape…was this a symbol of newfound putain-hood? As curtain closed on Act II, her girls were quite literally popping out of the lowcut frilly white number. Same issue she had in Tucker Gala “Glitter & Be Gay”. I wonder if this constant boob-tastic exhibition is on purpose. L’attaque du décolleté, n’est-ce pas? Act III, she had on a Red Riding Hood’s male alter ego’s outfit. Last outfit was actually decent, IMHO. The dress in the blue room Dresden Rigoletto was definitely plus sexy, en tout cas.

Someone in a parterre box, stage left, was snapping flash photos at curtain calls. The usher lady on Dress Circle was unkind and snapped at us when we were on the wrong floor. We wandered into Starr Theatre before we got to the Met. The Met is really posh. The Met program sucks compared to Chicago Lyric’s – craptastic little mag without all the gratuitous targeted-at-wealthy-dowager advertisements of Renee Fleming pimping a Rolex or a bottle of La Voce. The Met museum and Met shop are both pretty cool. Chicago Lyric take a leaf outta the book, please. I didn’t see the Chagalls – where are they, incidentally?

So I run down from the grand tier box 39 towards the stage door, getting a few nasty looks on the way. I was the first there, but then figured I was in the wrong place so I ran around those tunnels blindly for a bit. Then I returned and there were two Quebecois. Snobs, both of them. I ask in French, “Do you come from France?” [To be fair to me, they didn’t sound nasal =at all=!]. Them: NON, [stupide] … nous venons de Quebec. Then they proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the time – but what gives? I probably look like a rabid fan and a philistine to the untrained eye. When in reality, one ought to admit that I know next to nothing about music and have questionable taste – Callas is bad, giusti dei.

Well anyways, a nice fellow young woman [not yet on Medicare] came up and we chatted while I worked myself up into that obligatory pre-diva frenzy, tapping my heels loudly on the floor. Fairly early on, Viktoria Vizin came out. That lady is -tall-, must be 5’ 10’’, je te jure. Her dress was the only hot piece of clothing in the entire opera – the duetto with her and the duke was leggy and smokin’. It was weird hearing perfect English [one was convinced she was an Italian dancing girl of questionable virtue] come out of her mouth as she bid all the creepers adieu and briskly made her way to the parking lot. She didn’t make nice with anyone and some guy came out shortly after Ms. Vizin and was all “A star is coming…wait, you [creepers] let her through? Wow.” Then later another orchestra member came and sniffed at Lois or Linda and said “She’s a regular.”

Back to stage door – Linda and Lois made their way in too, right on cue. One of them – I think Lois, was let in backstage by some fellow ol’ lady. Security served her a plate of rejection and she wandered back out shortly. Schadenfreude ensued. The line began to grow in 3 directions, as people clumped around the tenor and baritone. There was a pretentious young man in a suit who said loudly “I plan on singing at the Met one day. I am a singer too.” I hope he’s a tenor…HA. And later, this gem from him to Frl. Damrau, “So why did you choose to retire [Queen of the Night]? Was this decision artistic or stylistic?” My internal monologue: “Wow, quel stupide!” Damrau gave her canned “it’s too intense” response.

I said Bravo inaudibly to Frontali and he said Grazie!

When Damrau came out, I blurted out ‘Oh my God!’ as the people began to clump around her. She was accompanied by a big-eyed, overbearing man with a Riccardo Muti haircut. Looked Italian or Spanish, but apparently I’m wrong and she has no Italian/Spanish boyfriend. I rushed over there and stood awkwardly for a bit…then she signed my copy of Des Knaben Wunderhorn. I was speechless. I then blurted “OMG can I take a picture with you?” In that voice one employs with very sensitive, very special small children, she says “Of course.” And then the mahvelous K. took a pic. I then rushed out so as to not keep R. waiting.

Those of you who may be toying with the idea of a trip to the city this fall to check out the New and Improved York City Opera may be interested to hear the performance schedule for the company’s fall season. Remember these dates are provisional they should give you an idea of how the repertory sorts out.

November 5  Gala
November 7  Esther 
November 8  Don Giovanni 
November 10  Don Giovanni 
November 12  Don Giovanni 
November 13  Esther 
November 14  Don Giovanni 
November 15  Esther 
November 19  Esther 
November 20  Don Giovanni
November 22  Don Giovanni

This vastly superior caption replaces La Cieca’s original, “Rebecca Glasscock back on the pipe?”

[Danielle de Niese in Acis e and Galatea at The Royal Opera, photo by Bill Cooper.]

(At the Met 125th Anniversary Gala, Angela Gheorghiu models a “replica” of Christine Nilsson‘s Marguerite costume. Nilsson photo from the Met archives; Gheorghiu photo by Ken Howard.)

Renée Fleming, known as “The Beautiful Voice” and “Diva of the Future,” has won a new whaddyacallit, a new, uh, sobriquet.

Courtesy of commenter Camille, Ms. Fleming will henceforth be known as “Opera MILF.”

(At last night’s 125th Anniversary Gala, La Fleming rocked “a costume based on the one worn by Maria Jeritza for [Die Tote Stadt's] U.S. premiere in 1921.  Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera.)

More photos from the gala may be found on the Met’s website.

La Cieca (not pictured) invites you, cher public, to listen to the broadcast of the Met’s 125th Anniversary Gala (on Sirius or RealNetworks) and comment to your heart’s content!

The (projected) program is availabe as a pdf from the Met’s website.

“Renee Fleming wears a dress by John Galliano created specially for the Gala Opening of the Metropolitan Opera on September 22, 2008.”

Yesterday I attended the Met HD transmission of Orfeo ed Euridice and, once I have told you my reactions and feelings about this show, I cannot wait to hear what members of your cher public who saw or heard it have to say about it. And I must let it be known immediately that I don’t purport to be able to critique this work with the sophistication or depth and breadth of knowledge displayed by so many of your correspondents. My views should be considered vox pop so I hope your readers will bear that in mind.

First, the piece. Gluck. Who knew? Maestro Levine, on camera before the show, described it as a “truly great, great masterpiece of music” and while I am used to the hyperbole with which conductors and directors describe their piece of the moment, in this case I don’t know how one could argue. One thing which surprised me was that it didn’t sound one bit derivative of anyone else’s work. Not like Mozart of course who was only, what, seven years old when Gluck wrote this Orfeo? But not like Handel or Purcell or anyone else with whose work I am familiar. This was sui generis – and how exciting for that. The writing is rich, colourful and shows a respect for the drama as expressed in the libretto in a way that alas is rare in opera of any period. 

Other than the Dance of the Blessed Spirits and “Che faro senza Euridice” I knew none of the score. How could I have missed the magnificent choruses all this time? How did I not know the music given to Orfeo which, while having been written for a castrato seems such a perfect fit for the (right) mezzo-soprano? It goes without saying that Levine and the orchestra were not just simpatico. As I sit here and remember the playing I think “ravishing” best describes the sound.

Okay, now tell me. Is there another mezzo-soprano on earth who currently can match the beauty of sound and musical intelligence of Stephanie Blythe? If she is not a superstar within the next 24 months then there is NO justice! No growling in the low register and no shrieking in the higher stuff. Just a totally seamless, mellifluous and truly gorgeous sound. It’s a big, big voice but she uses it in a way that says “I don’t need to shout. My merest whisper can bounce off the rear walls and stun you on its way back!”

My limited musical vocabulary doesn’t enable me to do justice to all Ms. Blythe brought to this performance. The shades of expression, the nuances she brought to this tragic tale. I believe that both David Daniels and J.D.deF. have both sung this piece relatively recently. I hope they didn’t hear Ms Blythe yesterday, for much as I like the voice of both those singers I cannot imagine they would not have heard themselves being totally out-classed in this role. I can hardly wait to see what star vehicle she is offered next. The Manhattan telephone book, you say? Are tickets still available? I am so there!

Both Mark Morris who was responsible for the production and choreography, and Isaac Mizrahi who designed the costumes, came in for a good deal of flack from the theater audience yesterday. As they left the auditorium I talked with people about the show (I was there representing Portland Opera) and many folks thought the dancing and the costumes were a big distraction. I kept hearing comments along the lines of “What was all that dancing supposed to mean?” That wasn’t my own view.

I don’t know Mark Morris’s work but I was rather pleasantly surprised by the dance pieces in this Orfeo. They were very , um, balletic(is that a word?) as opposed to being modern dance and while there were lengthy stretches where I wasn’t quite sure what the danceers were supposed to be telling us about the drama being played out before us I was quite happy to enjoy the dance as a purely abstract interpretation of the music. After all, no one asks what a minuet “means.” I can see why people may think that Mizrahi dressing the chorus as historical figures is somewhat chintzy but I liked it. My only criticism of the costuming would be that I found the modern dress of the dancers – including suits and ties, strangely at odds with the more historical look of the chorus.

But what the hell, most of the time I was listening to Stephenie Blythe anyway and when my attention was on the chorus it was because of the amazing sound they made. What has Donald Palumbo done to them this last couple of years? They have gone from being, I thought, rather ragged, to being very well disciplined and musically of the highest order. He must be cracking his whip in a most efficacious manner.

I have seen all of the Met movies save the Gala opening. I think I enjoyed this one the most. And ultimately that can be attributed to Gluck and Stephanie Blythe. Huzzah for them both, I say!

Given the probable continued volume of news concerning the New York City Opera, its new General Manager, and the various melodramas thereto, La Cieca will institute a new policy starting today. A single post will serve to anchor all the NYCO news for the day, with updates as needed. This will also help to centralize discussion on this topic which has already proven itself of more than passing interest to the cher public.

For Saturday, then, we can start with a moderately scathing piece from the Dallas Morning News by Scott Cantrell, the précis of which might be “Dallas to Steel: Drop Dead.”

UPDATE: For those of you who weren’t able to peep in at the New York City Opera’s Winter Gala Thursday night, the blog Guest of a Guest offers photographic glimpses of this “classic classy New York culture night.”

Followers of the cultural scene on the Left Coast will be interested to see that Michael Capasso (of Dicapo gala notoriety) is apparently involved in the production of A Christmas Carol at the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles. Although the graphic promises “John Goodman, Jane Leeves, Jane Seymour, with Christopher Lloyd . . .  and a special appearance by Gene Wilder,” the fine print warns us: “Please note that Jane Seymour has cancelled due to illness and due to limited tech time, a special appearance by Gene Wilder in a hologram will not be used & a supporting actor will be playing Marley’s Ghost.” Let’s think quickly now: are there any holograms on Lombardo’s roster?

To purchase tickets for this concert benefiting Blue Gargoyle and its literacy programs, you can click here.

As of this evening, the company’s website still advertises “Daniela Dessi, Fabio Armiliato, Francisco Casanova, Aprile Millo, Francesca Patané and others” even though certainly Millo is not appearing (she says she never agreed) and, per paddypig, all singers’ names have disappeared from the advertising for the gala on the Jazz at Lincoln Center site except for Renata Scotto as hostess. So what’s the deal with the sudden shift in personnel: snow emergency or bad planning?