Well, wouldn’t you? [NYT]

Your doyenne has two problems with this kind of talk—Anthony Tommasini‘s, she means, not Katharina’s: the Bayreuth doyette, as pointed out before, doesn’t say much, but what she does say is pretty level-headed if hardly revelatory.

Now, first of La Cieca’s Tommasini-issues (you see, she’s already thinking in German) is the factual question of what exactly was “Hitler’s favorite Wagner opera.”  Was it indeed Meistersinger? Well, some think so, yes, mostly critics writing in English. But not everyone agrees. Some say it was Rienzi the Führer most favored, in fact, Katharina herself agrees with that idea. Other sources (you can look these up yourself) suggest Lohengrin, Parsifal or even Tristan und Isolde.

So I think the only thing that’s really safe to say is that Hitler was not a huge fanboy of Das Liebesverbot, though La Cieca as always stands ready to be contradicted on that point. But the “favorite” might be one of several, with the question further complicated by the “fact” that Hitler’s real Lieblingsopern were the non-Wagnerian works Tiefland and Die Lustige Witwe.

So anyway, just for the sake of the argument, let’s say we have some solid documentation that Hitler said at some point or another that Meistersinger was his favorite opera. And…? What’s the relevance here? We are talking about a complicated matter of personal (and certainly not entirely aesthetic) taste here, and then assigning that taste, what, a strong political and moral meaning? Or is there a suggestion that there is something inherently insidious in Meistersinger (Rienzi, Lohengrin, Die Lustige Witwe) that, what, appealed to Hitler’s depravity, enhanced it, inspired it?

Or is it just one of those non sequiturs that journalists occasionally throw in just to keep the reader interested? (“Among Michelle Obama‘s closest chums in that third grade class were Lady Gaga and Kim Jong-Il?”) Or is it the guilt-by-verbal-proximity Godwinning so favored by the likes of Manuela Hoelterhoff both in print and in conversation? (The answer to that question, La Cieca thinks, is probably the former: Tommasini is simply not the Evil Genius type.)

Because, you see, it’s hard to convincingly criticize the criticism (as Kellow does in the “current” Opera News, but don’t bother to check because it’s not online) without having heard the thing criticized.

BK goes on to rip Anthony Tommasini‘s coverage of Leonard Slatkin‘s ill-fated foray into Verdi, even going so far as to say that Tommasini’s review “[wound] up causing the withdrawal of a respected conductor.”

But as always it seems La Cieca’s on the wrong side of the argument, because she thought that the Slatkin review showed a welcome hint of snarky spine in Tommasini, who, for all his moistness over barihunks, is after all a well-trained and intelligent musician.

For once (or for rarely anyway) AT worked up a bit of righteous anger over what he saw as a massive artistic blunder. He didn’t explain it away by saying Slatkin had an off day, or maybe his old war wound was bothering him, or, you know, Traviata is such a rare and difficult gem that he deserves kudos for even making the attempt. No, Tommasini yelled “tripe” when tripe was served, to paraphrase one of those early sixties sitcoms La Cieca is talking about so much today.

Kellow does make one solid point, which is that Tommasini might have made “a point-for-point case for how [Slatkin] failed at various points in the evening,” that is,offering specific examples from the score of what went haywire and how. To attempt such an analysis in a daily paper would be folly, of course, even in the capacious pages of the Times. But blog space is cheap, and the NYT even has the advantage of multimedia capabilities.  They could have done a score animation, for example, demonstrating the same passage as led (differently but with equal validitiy) by a couple of recognized experts, as contrasted with the Slatkin stumbling.

Or, then again. As fond as La Cieca is of examples (ask any of her writers what her edits invariably ask for more of), there does come a point when, if only for reasons of convenience, the general reader wants to let the critic do the heavy lifting and then deliver a few carefully-chiseled adjectives to sum up: “is this worth my $200 or should I stay home and catch up on my Real Housewives?”

Rachel Willis-Sorensen, 25, a soprano from the Tri Cities area in Washington State, also earned a winner’s spot. While very gifted, she may have a period of self-examination ahead of her. With her gleaming voice, capped with big top notes, she was impressive in “Elsa’s Dream” from Wagner’s “Lohengrin” and “Come scoglio” from Mozart’s “Così Fan Tutte.” Straddling the Wagner-Mozart vocal divide is not easy, and Ms. Crocetto may have decisions to make. [NYT]

So, here’s the thing. La Cieca thinks a critic is free to like what he hears or not like what he hears. A critic can say, “We’ve found our new Lohengrin!” or he can say “Someone needs to tell that girl she is not ready to sing Adalgisa.” He can even get a little weasely and hedge, “Well, yes, she obviously ran out of steam in the coda, but that can be chalked up to nerves, bronchitis and a nasty bout of that dysmenorrhea that’s been going around.”

But La Cieca insists that it’s presumptuous and schoolmarmish for a critic to tsk-tsk and sigh and murmur “festina lente.” You’re not their mother, Tony. Isn’t it bad enough when you act like their creepy uncle?

The background is a discussion of a piece by (you guessed it) Anthony Tommasini, discussing “Boomer” composers. This one commenter reflects that

… this Tommasini article, and other things he’s written in this general vein, cannot be understood completely without reference to his hero, mentor, and sometime-object-of-study, Virgil Thomson. Both Thomson’s outlook and values a musician, and his beliefs about the proper role and responsibilities of the newspaper critic are mirrored in this piece. Seriously, A Composer on the Aisle is totally the Rosetta Stone for understanding Tommasini’s think pieces.

And then Another Greg says:

Except that the real Rosetta Stone was useful in unlocking something interesting and valuable.

On the evidence of the above quip, La Cieca (a Boomer herself) feels that it is not at all too soon to pass the baton to the next generation.

José arrives and tells Carmen he loves her. She tells him that she has just danced for his officers. (She is trying to make him say he’s jealous.) Once he says, “Yes, I’m jealous,” she responds by pretending to believe it’s the dancing is the specific reason for the jealousy. “Very well,” she says, “I’ll put on a little dancing show for you, just as I did for them.” She even says in a mock-grandiose style “Je vais danser en votre honneur.”

The point is, the dance is a ironic game Carmen is playing with José: she’s taking his words literally and acting on them, a sort of pun. Now, a director could choose that he gets into the little comedy and plays along, e.g., pretending to be a serious audience member. Or he might be flustered, not knowing how to read what she’s doing.

But what seems to La Cieca to be out of bounds is simply to abandon the idea, so plainly expressed in the text (and, it can be argued, in the formality of the music) that Carmen is doing a deliberate performance here.  In fact, what could be more revolting than the idea that she should say, “Now I will show you exactly how I danced for those other men,” and then commence to dry-humping José’s leg?

Ironic humor is part of Carmen’s appeal; so why should you just chuck all that out because you have Ms. Garanca available (and, so far as we can tell, unable to learn how to play castanets)?

The New York Times has decided they are going to start charging for content “in early 2011.” So, in a year or so, you won’t have Tony Tommasini to kick around any more. Or, to be perfectly accurate, you’ll be able to kick him around, but you’ll have to pay to find out what you’re kicking him for.  [NYT]

Which is pretty fucking impressive, considering that the last time TT heard an “unenhanced” opera performance in that space was more than 10 years ago. 

La Cieca wonders, just what was Tony’s golden yardstick for measuring purity of aural experience? Could it have been Madama Butterfly with Oksana Krovytska and Barton Green under the baton of Guido Johannes Rumstadt? (How long ago was that, you ask? It was the NYCO premiere of the Mark Lamos production of this opera, that how long ago it was.) Was it Le nozze di Figaro featuring a “strapping” Dean Ely? (“As an actor he was hearty, yet light on his feet…”) Or could it have been the “naked splendor” production of Orfeo ed Euridice?

Ten years is a long time, but apparently not for this Mary Tudor of reviewers, after whose death, La Cieca suspects, we will find “acoustical enhancement” written on his breast.

Incredibly, about halfway through his critique, the scribe manages to disclose director Patrice Chéreau‘s most spectacular coup de théâtre, which (duh!) is meant to be a surprise, Tony, and next time why don’t you just tell us the psychiatrist was dead the whole time?

Briefly: Tommasini loved everything about the production, the music, the direction, the naked guys. So now you don’t have to read his review.

And now La Cieca believes she is entitled to a well-deserved facepalm.

“Mr. Okulitch and Mr. Hardy have matching black briefs over which they each wear half of a single suit: Giovanni, the jacket; Leporello, the pants. When they switch identities, they trade suit parts, again a vivid metaphor, and made more striking because both singers are so buff.” [NYT]

“…this stage still has a tendency, it seems, to swallow some of the bloom and resonance of voices…. For both works, the orchestra came through just fine. Less so the voice, though the sound was honest and clear…. the amplification did not make these singers much more audible than those who sang the old-fashioned way…. Yet the sound of the pianos, placed behind a scrim, seemed distant.” [Need You Ask?]

No, cher public, you’re wrong, because I’m not talking about barihunks; NYCO hasn’t a monopoly on those, and the Times scribe in fact has of late moderate his wonted zeal for the strapping earthy darlings of the lyric stage. No, no: it’s something else. 

For the longest time, Tony’s tip-top topic, amounting almost to an obsession one might say, was the subject of the sound enhancement system installed in the New York State Theater a decade ago.

Over the past ten years, TT has returned to his subject, uh, occasionally.

If La Cieca were feeling less charitable, she might call the Tommasini v. Microphone feud an idée fixe, but La Cieca is feeling charitable, so she’ll just say, well, at last Tony has got his wish.

Though, as TT himself notes, an acoustic theater does not necessarily mean a voice-friendly theater; so we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?

Anthony Tommasini‘s Sunday Times think piece about opera direction (fetchingly adorned with the Susannesque headline “Halfway Won’t Do”) is online now. La Cieca thinks TT’s heart is in the right place (and of course she’s still all aglow after the Babs interview), so she’s going to stay mum about that Herbert Wernicke production of Die Frau Ohne Schatten that he and so many others seem to regard as the bees’ knees. 

However, your doyenne would be remiss if she did not challenge Tony’s reasoning behind the candle business in Tosca. You can read the article yourself (hey, it’s free) but essentially he builds the case that the Sarah Bernhardt dumbshow that can so be so effective in the theater necessarily has a thematic meaning, i.e., as an expression of the diva’s deep and abiding Catholic faith.

Unfortunately, this reasoning strikes me as circular, and La Cieca would even go so far to say that in this instance Tommasini begs the question.  And you cannot even know how overjoyed your doyenne is to have a chance to use that expression in its correct sense. But hold your applause for my usage until you hear out my reasoning.

It seems to La Cieca that audiences (among them Mr. Tommasini) tend to fasten on to a somewhat sentimentalized characterization of Tosca as “deeply religious,” based at least in part on her business with the candles and the crucifix. And since she is deeply religious (that’s already been established, you see), the placing of the candles must surely then be an expression of her sincere faith. And how do we know that faith is sincere? Well, the candles, stupid.

Now, La Cieca is perfectly willing to agree that the traditional business is consistent with deep religious conviction, but she does not think that only a deeply religious woman would resort to this action. Placing the candles is also consistent, I think, with a rather childish, superstitious woman who thinks she is breaking a jinx she has placed on herself. Or, for that matter, it could even be the behavior of an unbalanced diva who lives her entire life as a sort of grand performance; the candle bit, then, would be just the Bill Sampson touch to round out the murder with a touch of the romantic-gothic.

But if it can be conceded that Tosca might be something other than the Tommasini-prescribed Mother Teresa in a tiara, then the whole “she has to do this because she’s so religious” argument falls apart. This is not to say that a singer and a director cannot decide they want to portray Tosca as “deeply religious” (after all, this interpretation is consistent with the text) but simply that this portrayal is not the only valid one.

So the fuss about the candles is, I think, overblown. It is (or anyway was) an extremely effective piece of stage business, great “theater,” and no one is suggesting it be permanently discarded. But it’s not nearly as meaningful (or crucial) as some more literal-minded spectators seem to believe it is.

A final justification La Cieca would like to propose for the sometime omission of the candle business is that it is so familiar as to have lost the bulk of its impact, which at least at the beginning was based on the element of surprise. Naturally, when Sarah did it, it continued to hold interest, because it was Sarah doing it.  Over the years, though, the candle bit has been done so often that it has become a ritual, and as too often happens in the repetition of a ritual, the original meaning and purpose is slighted as the precision of the performance becomes fetishized.

La Cieca’s curiosity is always aroused when a journalist probes with really penetrating questions. For example, how long is too long? Is bigger always better? And which is more satisfying: cut or uncut? That’s the thrust of Tony Tommasini‘s hard-hitting column in today’s NYT.

Now, if you’re ejaculating, “This thing looks familiar,” well, that’s about the size of it, because it’s a retooled version of a 2000 piece:

Later in the act, Walther sees Eva and, overcome, sings his song for her straight through. This somewhat spoils the effect of the song in the third act, where it should come upon Eva, and the mastersingers who are judging the contest, as a revelation. You could argue that the first performance is private and the second, more lavishly orchestrated one is public. My guess is that Wagner knew he had a hit tune here and could not help milking it.

George Steel recently gave Anthony Tommasini a sneak peak at his bulging Koch Theater. The Times scribe, “dodging sparks from welders and ducking under hanging cables” soon realized that the “boyish” intendant is just like President Obama, sort of. [NYT]

What does it mean when the purported star of the show is out sung by the two newcomers? It means that I was at Central Park SummerStage for the first of the Met’s summer parks concerts.
 
The singers for the evening were Paulo Szot, Lisette Oropesa and Alek Shrader. I have some quibbles with programming choices. For instance, “Finch’han  dal vino” seems like a piece of fluff for a recital concert. It’s an extremely difficult aria to bring off well, and unfortunately, Mr Szot didn’t. Rhythmic values were fudged throughout.

This was followed by “La ci darem la mano,” joined by Lisette Oropesa. From the moment she started singing, I knew the evening would be redeemed. Ms. Oropesa got off to a wonderful start; I don’t believe the duet is worth excerpting for a setting such as this, but it didn’t help that Mr. Szot didn’t rise to the occasion.
 
The first star turn of the evening came with Alek Shrader singing “Il mio tesoro” – beautifully, with accurate coloratura and ardent characterization.
 
Ms. Oropesa returned for “Ach, ich liebte”, from Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail. She’ll be singing Konstanze with Welsh National Opera and she proved tonight that she has it in her voice. Her voice is lovely, and even throughout its range, and proved herself equal to the technical demands of the aria. Her high notes rang out without sounded forced.

Mr. Szot returned to sing “Deh,vieni alla finestra”. He achieved some lovely effects, particularly in the second verse, but he his vowels, to me, sounded too dark and covered, when they needed to be a bit brighter.
 
Ms. Oropesa and Mr. Shrader returned to sing “Tornami a dir” from Don Pasquale. It seemed to be the perfect music for this lovely evening in the park. It wafts as gently as the breezes. Ms. Oropesa was lovely, her singing well controlled and her trills distinct. Mr Shrader, on the other hand, attempted to sing the entire duet in pure head voice. The balance of the duet was lost because his head voice is the least interesting thing about him. It sounded undersupported and his rather fast and attractive vibrato, so evident in mezzo forte and forte singing, disappeared, leaving him with a nearly straight tone throughout the duet.
 
Mr. Szot then sang “Come Paride vezzoso”, from L’Elisir. This was better.
 
“Caro nome” is one of those pieces most opera buffs could hum in their sleep. I never get tired of hearing it, but I was unsure about tonight. An announcement was made before the concert started that rather than sing “The Doll Song” from Hoffmann, she’d be substituting “Quando men vo”. Speculation was that her high notes might have been a little off this evening, but as she did with the Mozart, she proved again that her voice was solidly in place. She is quite young herself, so she was believable as Gilda. The voice is as lyrical as you could want, but her coloratura and acuti were spot on. And the high notes were gorgeous.
 
Mr. Shrader than sang “Cessa di  piu resistere”, Almaviva’s final aria from Barbiere.  All the coloratura was solidly sung. His voice is evenly produced from bottom to top. He also cuts a rather handsome figure on stage. I described him last night as looking as if he stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad or should be rowing crew somewhere. One thing I noticed though, is that he seems to sing with a lot of tension in his jaw; his teeth appeared clenched through much of the singing.
 
The first half closed with another throwaway piece of fluff, “Zitti, zitti, piano, piano”  from Barbiere.  Surely there are better trios to show off soprano, tenor, and baritone. It was pleasant but unmemorable.
 
Following the intermission, Mr. Szot sang “Votre toast” from Carmen, and proved once again that he’s an unmemorable and adequate operatic baritone, but could have quite a career on Broadway.
 
Mr. Shrader than sang what has become his calling card, “Ah! mes amis”, from Fille du Regiment. Glorious singing. His high c’s rang out and the rest of the aria was charmingly sung. Ms. Oropesa next sang the “Quando men vo”.  She was adorable, and sang it beautifully.
 
Next was one of the moments I was most looking forward to, because I was curious what would happen when Mr. Szot had so sing opposite Mr. Shrader in “Au fond du temple saint”, from Bizet’s Pearl Fishers . I thought that Paulo sang this better than anything up to that point, and the Alek had gained a measure of control over his softer singing. They blended rather well together.
 
The rest of the program was show tunes.  Lisette sang a terrific “I could have danced all night”, Mr. Shrader gave us a beautiful “Maria”, including perfectly judged head voice (finally), and Mr. Szot sang “Some Enchanted Evening” and “If Ever I Would Leave You”. He sounded much more at ease in the show tunes.

I so have some quibbles. One, he takes breaths in odd places. For instance, during the final phrase of “Some Enchanted Evening”, he sang “never let her [breath] go”, which destroyed the line and the effect it could have made. And his vowels are so covered that on the occasion when he would allow them to brighten, there was a noticeable difference. His operatic voice might make more of an impression if he allowed that to happen more often.
 
We had encores, too. Mr. Shrader sang a Neapolitan song quite charmingly and Ms Oropesa sang a lovely and fiery Spanish song, but since neither piece was announced, I can’t tell you what pieces they were. [La Cieca's note: the songs were "La danza" and "Zarzuela."] Mr Szot sang “Besame Mucho”. He’s gorgeous, but for someone trained as a dancer, I don’t think he moves well.
 
Mr. Oropesa has the makings to be a star. She has a wonderful lyric instrument, but can also sing coloratura (she is currently singing Lucia in New Jersey), and she’s lovely on stage.

Mr. Shrader is an exciting tenor, who can obviously handle Bel Canto and French coloratura tenor roles, so it will be interesting to see what direction he takes.

Mr. Szot is still hot.  — Sanford

Dear departed Shelley Winters knew a thing or two about the diva experience, and one of her most apt mediations on the topic may be found in her memoirThe Middle of My Century.

She was starring in the Broadway production of A Hatful of Rain, and during rehearsals she stumbled on the heavily raked stage, fracturing an ankle. As such, she had to open the show on crutches. After one performance, Ms. Winters continues:

I was resting in my dressing room when Joan Crawford came backstage. “Well, Shelley,” she haughtily informed me, “you were very powerful and had the entire audience weeping, but if I had a role with a drug-addict husband, was seven months pregnant, and had a broken leg, I could make the entire audience faint.”

La Cieca is not sure exactly how this all relates, but she vaguely intuits it has something to do with two opera-related pieces in today’s New York Times.

To put it briefly and bluntly, yeah, sure, in La traviata Renée Fleming may have “conveyed emotional ambiguity, the coquettish facade of a kept woman determined to convey pride and sexual allure, while her shame lurks just below the surface.”  But she didn’t do it in a wheelchair, did she?

An entirely new plot element in a Shakespeare text?

The story turns on a dispute between Oberon, the manipulative king of the fairies, and Tytania, his willful wife, over the guardianship of a changeling boy. Oberon badly wants that boy as his henchman. But Tytania, who has seen the brutal way her husband sometimes bullies Puck, does not want him near the child…

The seasons alter indeed when not only stage directors but now critics invent drama out of whole cloth.