Mercedes

Readers of New York Social Diary (as who among is not?) saw this one coming. According to the Fort Worth Star Telegram, Mr. Bass and Mrs. Bass say they “continue to love each other and remain good friends,” though at this writing it is not clear who will get custody of Yo-Yo Ma.

NYCO is leaving Lincoln Center, cutting staff and is going to “scale back its performance schedule” (is such a thing possible?) George Steel says the announcement of the company’s new home “would be made in weeks,” though, again, I’ll believe those sisters have moved to Moscow when they send me a postcard from Old Basmanny Street. All kidding aside, La Cieca is told that there will be a delay in any further signficant action while the NYCO board waits for approval from the state attorney general, part of the agreement NYCO made when they were given permission to raid the endowment. But, basically, this is just heartbreaking. [AP]

Meanwhile, AGMA’s Alan Gordon has emailed AP with a warning that Tthe musicians and stagehands could “strike and drive City Opera out of existence” if working hours and benefits are cut.

A board meeting, “widely expected to determine the fate of the company’s fall season,” is scheduled for today..

Expect an announcement—of some sort—from NYCO by week’s end.

EARLIER: La Cieca hears from a generally reliable source that James Levine has resigned from his post as music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Expect an official announcement later today.

No, actually, he’s jumping into two performances of La boheme, replacing Rolando Villazón, on September 6 and 9.

According to the information La Cieca has received,

By mutual agreement between the Vienna State Opera and Rolando Villazón, it was decided that he will give some “catch-up” performances later this season. The dates will be announced in due course.

The most prominent name among these is legendary artists manager Ken Benson, a fixture at CAMI for a quarter of a century.

Benson’s associate Robert Scott is also leaving the agency. Some of the artists they managed are being shifted to other CAMI managers, but La Cieca hears that at least one of their roster has already signed with another agency. Meanwhile, La Cieca hears, Director of Vocal Divisions Matthew Epstein has been tasked with “holding the biggest commission makers to their contracts.”

“After the evisceration of the vocal roster by [Alec] Treuhaft and [Jeffrey] Vanderveen when they fled for IMG” a decade ago and the “decampment” of Bruce Zemsky and Alan Green in 2005, our source laments that the top-heavy Vocal Division at CAMI is now being slammed harder than most agencies by the recession.

The raison d‘être of this particular showcase is undoubtedly the most polarizing contemporary opera singer, and whether you love her or hate her, a new Metropolitan Opera DVD of Thaïs is likely to reinforce your opinion

Acclaimed tenor/baritone/conductor/Live in HD host Plácido Domingo sets the scene on the Metropolitan Opera’s production of Massenet’s Thaïs in his pre-show introduction. After sharing that he’d love to sing the male lead but can’t because it’s a baritone role (this was filmed in 2008, pre-Simon Boccanegra; perhaps now he’ll give it a shot), he gravely intones: “And now, Renée Fleming in… Thaïs.”

An endless scene and a half transpires before the above-the-title lady in question finally makes her grand — and stunningly gowned — entrance, but to be sure when she does finally appear everyone onstage screams “Thaïs!” just in case we might have otherwise missed her. Fleming is not an exact physical fit for the role; her blond, dimpled good looks are more suggestive of a regional beauty queen (Miss Indiana? Pennsylvania, perhaps?) than the impossibly gorgeous and exotic lust object the libretto is constantly reminding us Thaïs is.

But her singing is mostly strong and accurate — and, for the most part, refreshingly free of the bad habits that earned her the nickname La Scoopenda. The bulk of the role lies in a comfortable soprano mid-range that suits her voice, and she handles many of the higher notes with grace and musicality. Her interpretation of “Dis-moi que je suis belle” at the beginning of Act 2 is a particularly moving and well-sung performance sure to please her fans. She only resorts to screaming at the very end of act 3, where Massenet wrote a repeated phrase escalating to high D (finally settling to a pianissmo high A) that could confound almost any soprano without a superhuman instrument. Even then she hits the correct pitches with at least fifty percent accuracy.

As for acting, the character of Thaïs is so ridiculous – a wanton prostitute (excuse me, “disciple of Venus”) so successful at her trade that the entire community riots when she decides to give it up and join a convent – that the production and Fleming settle for creating a series of Diva Moments rather than trying to make the character seem real.

She mounts a ramp just to sing a single high C, then skitters back down to give Athanael the least romantic kiss seen at the Met since Karita Mattila licked the head of John the Baptist! She caps an aria by hugging herself and beaming adorably as the Met audience showers her with applause! She throws herself on a bed and laughs hysterically — then her laughter turns abruptly to weeping! She cackles; she burns incense; she waves her arms over her head!

Fleming’s musicality is strong enough to transcend this nonsense, but she does seem to have a gay old time playing a singing Theda Bara. However, those perpetual dramatic indulgences are a cinch to make the production more appealing for devotees of camp.

Thomas Hampson sings the role of Athanaël, which offers roughly equal stage time to the soprano part but far less musical or dramatic interest. Athanaël is a bit of a Norman Maine/Stedman Graham role – even when Thaïs is not onstage, he’s always going on about her -- but Hampson sings it beautifully, though perhaps his Athanaël would be more compelling if his singing reflected more of the character’s emotional turmoil. His acting skills are much more problematic, especially in close-up. His dramatic interpretation is limited to two emotions: tormented (this involves brow-furrowing) and boyishly gleeful (“Look, ma, I’m singing!”). Neither facial expression offers much insight into Athanaël’s tortured attempts to reconcile his love of Jesus with his lust for Thaïs.

Concertmaster David Chan offers the musical highlight of the DVD with a brilliant interpretation of the famous violin “Meditation” between the scenes of Act Two. The composition is undoubtedly the most beautiful melody in the opera -- Massenet liked it so much he repeated it almost non-stop for the third act as well -- and Chan gives an emotional performance that traces Thaïs’s difficult journey from the empty glamour of sin to the simplicity of saintly living. The Meditation is the one moment in the entire opera with true emotional resonance; it’s impossible not to be disappointed when it ends and the curtain rises on yet another closeup of Tom Hampson’s scowl.

John Cox’s physical production is a potpourri of Art Deco and period elements – dreadlocks for Athanaël and his fellow monks, Roaring Twenties costumes for Thaïs’s decadent circle of friends. The sets are mostly spare desert scenes or under-furnished interiors with the exception of the palace set in Act 2, a disaster in gold plate (even the palm tree sparkles!) that suggests Brighton Beach more than the banks of the Nile. The Christian Lacroix gowns for Thaïs are the one visually stunning element of the production; even the robe she wears to walk across the desert until her feet bleed is a stylishly draped off-the-shoulder number. Jesus López-Cobos (“my countryman,” Domingo helpfully reminds us in the introduction) conducts a dignified, nuanced reading of the score by the typically excellent Met orchestra.

The only special feature is a compilation of the intermission interviews that aired during the original HD broadcast. We are granted the opportunity to hear Domingo repeatedly pronounce Massenet as though it rhymed with “bassinet,” learn a bit about the costumes, and discover that Fleming is particularly fond of Thaïs’s Act 2 aria because it addresses the uncomfortable but eternal truth that “youth fades.” The (sadistic?) director chooses a tight close-up of the star for this interview, but it must be said that whatever you think about Renée Fleming in Thaïs, the diva looks good.

Here, in happier days.

UPDATE, 10:55 pm: The Associated Press confirms that Hildegard Behrens died early Tuesday, according to an email sent to opera officials by Jonathan Friend, artistic administrator of the Metropolitan Opera.

La Cieca has just received an as yet unconfirmed report that Hildegard Behrens died earlier today in Japan, where she was preparing for a Lieder recital and master classes scheduled later this week.

Thanks, folks.

Resilient soprano Christine Brewer has made a quick recovery from her knee injury, La Cieca hears. The soprano, missed so sorely this season in the Met’s Ring, will return to the stage tomorrow night for a performance of the Verdi Requiem with the Santa Fe Symphony. Ms. Brewer is jumping in (if that is the correct term) for Kallen Esperian, who is indisposed.

As you all know by now, Rolando Villazón is out of the rest of the performances of L’elisir at the Met. The Met press office held on to this news until after 7:00 tonight, which is perhaps some indication of just how bad the Met considers this news to be.

This is what La Cieca knows. Villazón was scheduled for a coaching of his music yesterday; obviously he either didn’t show or else didn’t sing up to a level that the Met management felt confident sending him on tomorrow night. 

La Cieca also has heard from several sources that representatives of the Met’s artistic administration have been phoning around since late last week trying to line up tenor replacements for the next four performances. These efforts at recasting are ongoing — for example, La Cieca has heard that as of tonight the Met still does not have a tenor signed for Saturday the 11th.

Also heard is the story that since early in March the Met has been discreetly sounding out leading tenors about appearing in next season’s new production of Les Contes d’Hoffmann.  Which leads La Cieca to the very sad conclusion that this is the end for Villazón at the Met.

UPDATE: La Cieca now hears whispers that the Met is in talks with Massimo Giordano to star in the “new” Don Carlo (!!!) scheduled for 2010-2011.

La Cieca really, really doesn’t like to say this, but the truth seems to be staring us in the face, so here goes. We have seen the last of Rolando Villazón at the Met. Even though he’s announced as having canceled only the first two performances of Elisir, it’s pretty clear that he’s just not able or willing (or both?) to get his voice and confidence into solid enough shape to appear in New York.

Nemorino is (as tenor roles go) not a particularly difficult sing, and it’s a role that’s always been central to his repertoire. But now it appears Villazón can’t sing even Nemorino up to Met standards, which means he basically can’t sing anything.

As a friend of La Cieca said on the phone a few minutes ago, “It never happens to the ones you want it to happen to,” and, sadly, that’s the case here.

La Cieca is of course delighted to learn that dear John Waters intends to have Pink Flamingos adapted into an opera — though, sadly, he might as well forget about having the work premiered in his home town.

La Cieca can’t imagine which currently active composer might be up for the daunting task of setting to music the text “Now, Mama, that’s just egg paranoia. I think you’re being very silly. There will always be chickens. Why, there are so many chickens now that we can eat some and let some of them live in order to supply us with eggs. Chickens are plentiful, Mama. The world will never be without chickens. You can be sure of that.” 

But she (La Cieca, that is, not Babs Johnson) is ready to entertain discussion on how the opera should be cast. And she’ll warn you right now you get zero points for the obvious suggestion of Lauren Flanigan for Connie Marble.

UPDATE: An old favorite, but still the front-runner, so far as La Cieca is concerned.

On the other hand, some people look right at home in a turban:

Which brings La Cieca to our competition. La Cieca challenges you to choose a current diva (operatic or otherwise) and then adorn her with a turban using online utility The Turbanizer. Email the resulting photo to your doyenne at lacieca@parterre.com.

La Cieca will select the top five finalists and you, the cher public, will decide upon the most gloriously beturbaned femme of them all, and the winner will receive an amazon.com gift certificate.

Here’s an example (created using the Turbanizer) to get you started:

[Our Own Gualtier Malde (along with a few thousand other people) attended the public dress rehearsal of the Met's new production of La sonnambula this morning. Here is his report.]

Innocence, rustic naiveté and virginity just don’t get no respect no more. I should know, I grew up way out in central New Jersey and couldn’t get a date (a male one that is) at all in high school. I didn’t get no respect and sadly neither does Vincenzo Bellini and more importantly, Felice Romani these days, at least at the Metropolitan Opera.

These two men, one a poet in words, the other a poet in sound, deeply loved and respected the simple Tyrolean villagers in their opera semiseria La sonnambula a simple tale of love, marriage and misunderstanding. The creators of the current production of La sonnambula feel that the plot, characters, words and music are something that the audience must be distracted from lest their simplicity offend hipper-than-thou sensibilities. 

The problem with this work since the end of the nineteenth century has been one of genre. Modern directors, critics and audiences understand tragic opera and comic opera but the sentimental genres in between have a tendency to be dismissed as flimsy and inconsequential. “Opera semiseria” is a genre that really got going with Paisiello’s Nina, ossia pazza per l’amore a proto-Romantic work that had a simple heroine in the country who went mad believing her lover had been killed but is restored to love and sanity in the end. It is a type of sentimental drama where we fall in love with the innocent heroine, watch her life and love imperiled by outside forces, weep over her sufferings and rejoice as she is restored to safety and the waiting arms of her lover – usually in a lovely pastoral setting.

All three of the Bel Canto titans had a great success in the genre – Rossini in La gazza ladra, Donizetti in Linda di Chamounix and Bellini in La sonnambula. Felice Romani was a respected man of letters whose poems are still read in Italian universities and his verses for La sonnambula have a tender early Romantic sensitivity – particularly the text of Amina’s arias which are delicate and full of imagery that evokes nature to illustrate her inner world.

Here is the director’s note for Mary Zimmerman’s production of La sonnambula verbatim from the program:

Mary Zimmerman’s new production is set in a contemporary rehearsal room where the cast is preparing a traditional production of La sonnambula, set in a Swiss village. In that rehearsal space, all of the events and relations of Bellini’s characters happen to the performers in their own real lives. (The one exception is the signing of the wedding contract, which is merely rehearsed as a fictional event in the opera.)

Amina and Elvino are played by two singers (also named Amina and Elvino), who are, like their fictional counterparts, lovers. The chorus constitutes the population of the Swiss village, and Lisa, the innkeeper of La sonnambula, is the stage manager.

There is a show curtain of a large reproduction of a nineteenth-century color print of the Swiss alps with a village but a pair of metal doors, scuffed and industrial, are set almost two thirds down right. Lisa with glasses and a notepad rushes through the doors and the scrim is pulled up to show a realistic modern loft rehearsal room with a stairs to the left and a door to the right surrounded by large floor to ceiling windows with a modern city buildings beyond. This is the one unit set for the opera. The change of scene is indicated by the setting being written on a large blackboard (“A Room at the Inn. Night”, etc.)

The entire cast is in modern rehearsal clothes, rehearsal skirts, sweatpants, jeans and pullovers etc. Dessay wears a smart black pantsuit number and Florez enters in jeans and leather jacket. Dessay enters in a smart white coat with a red muffler, mittens and cap talking on a cell phone. Immediately this creates a dissonance with the simple rustic heroine of Bellini’s and Romani’s drama. During her rapturous opening cavatina “Come per me sereno” where Amina wonders at the beauty of this day which seems colored by her love and happiness, Dessay was receiving a costume fitting and during the trills mimed being tickled by the wardrobe mistress and getting the giggles. She also tried out and rejected various shoes during the second verse and in the cabaletta “Sovra il sen” expressed disdain for several wigs (including one that I swear was the blonde braids that Angela Gheorghiu and Joseph Volpe fought over at the premiere of the Zeffirelli Carmen production).

The audience laughed and it was cleverly staged and superbly performed by the dexterous and agile leading lady. However, at what price was the cleverness achieved? This opening aria is supposed to make us fall in love with our heroine and wonder at her unspoiled innocence and radiance of soul. Instead we were laughing at a ditzy prima donna taking over a rehearsal. Enter Juan-Diego and we have a little backstage romance that blossoms after they run through the notary scene. It all seems to work fairly well and we almost seem to be in some kind of Woody Allen movie with neurotic actors stuck in a silly show and their neuroses played out against the corniness of the musical they are rehearsing.

The first scene is mainly character introduction and scene setting. However with the entrance of the errant Count Rodolfo (bass-baritone Michele Pertusi) the dramatic conceit started to unravel. Who is this man? He comes in with an entourage in a lovely camel hair or cashmere beige coat and seems to be a wealthy producer – maybe a movie executive or perhaps an ageing movie star or divo like Placido Domingo? Who is he? Why does he have to sleep in a rickety prop bed in the rehearsal studio? – can’t he get a room in a hotel or stay with friends? – the wealthy and powerful don’t have to rough it. Where does Amina sleep that she would wander into the rehearsal room late at night? Doesn’t she have her own apartment somewhere far away where Juan-Diego has an extra key and his own toothbrush in the bathroom? (I have kept a toothbrush for Juan-Diego in my bathroom for years and he doesn’t even know me and hasn’t even met me…)

Why is the chorus so furious at Natalie for having a one-night stand with Michele Pertusi – don’t they all read those singer’s chat rooms where all the sopranos and mezzos swear that though tenors are for romance, you want baritones and basses for sex? Don’t union rules forbid any of this nonsense from happening and wouldn’t all of them be fined for using rehearsal spaces as hotel rooms and then trashing them? At this point the framing device is actually obscuring the plot and making it less credible, not more so.

Dessay’s entrances as a sleepwalker are coups de theatre and I won’t spoil them for you. However, here is a taste of what happens in the last scene. Dessay is seen in a dangerous place sleepwalking and is guided into the room by Lisa. Amina bumps into the blackboard as the lovely instrumental introduction to the recitative leading into “Ah non credea mirarti” plays. Dessay turns over the blackboard and takes a piece of chalk and writes the word “ARIA” on it and the audience laughs before one of the most heart-stopping poignant arias in the bel canto repertory. The room darkens and the chorus disappears leaving Dessay to another coup de theatre that I won’t spoil.

With the aria over and the tenor and Teresa (Jane Bunnell) holding Amina in their arms, she awakens. The chorus all run on dressed in lederhosen and dirndls like refugees from Sound of Music. They throw a silly dress on Dessay and the green shoes she admired in the first scene with a flowered wreath on her head. Florez gets a doofy hat and some green suspenders and the set suddenly gets turned backwards showing that it is a mock-up. The jaunty, lilting introduction to “Ah, non giunge uman pensiero” starts up.

The dancers start doing a hoe-down landler type dance that is reminiscent of the disastrous movie adaptation of The Song of Norway with Florence Henderson and Edward G. Robinson. Dessay does a clunky rendition of this dance with the boys behind her during the first verse of the cabaletta. The whole thing looks seriously like “Springtime for Hitler” in the The Producers – Dessay just doesn’t have big pretzels stuck on her bodice. Dessay is lifted overhead by the male chorus as various formations dance around her. All of this is to tell us that this ecstatic piece of virtuoso writing and the Swiss setting are ridiculous and we can laugh at them and feel superior.

Bellini’s music is entirely without irony and totally sincere. It is reasonably well-served. Dessay’s voice is in good latter-day condition. She doesn’t attempt many very high or difficult cadenzas (her ornamentation of “Ah non giunge” is fairly restrained). That leaves a lot of lyrical singing in the middle and upper-middle register. Her coloratura is agile enough though as I said she is not ambitious with the fireworks. A few high notes do emerge as thready and the loud ones can be a pitched scream. But the basic sound is still attractive and fairly youthful in quality.

A bigger problem is her rather pointilistic vocal approach. Dessay has very strong vocal attacks immediately followed by a kind of diminuendo so the line is continually broken up. The phrasing is usually rather breathy and short-winded but when she attempts a long-breathed mezza voce legato line (not often enough) the voice can float hauntingly. Dessay and Florez both fail to synchronize or even attempt the unison trills in the “Son geloso” duet.

Florez’s slender and bright sound is also used rather punchily at times. Most of his high notes are attempted fairly loudly and brightly when a soft-floated voix mixte would be more romantic and stylish. Both leads needed to use the piano dynamic and contrast loud and soft phrases in their music. The nasality that can afflict Forez’s voice was seldom evident and he cuts a boyish, romantic and very natural figure onstage. He never loses his dignity no matter what happens around him.

Jennifer Black as Lisa has a dark, pliable tone that is more evenly produced and firmer than the prima donna’s. Pertusi has a handsome cantabile tone in his one big aria and solid throughout. Evelino Pido shapes the melodies lovingly and caters to the singer’s better instincts.

Mary Zimmerman did not take a bow at the end with her production team and there was no question and answer after the show. Peter Gelb in his opening comments said that not all operas have librettos that are the equal of their beautiful music and that Bellini’s La sonnambula was one of these. Mary Zimmerman’s framing device was an attempt to find a worthy substitute. Bellini’s music demands honesty and truthful expression and that was not what this production had in mind. — Gualtier Malde

[La Cieca's old, old, old friend Camille attended Montserrat Caballe's Valentine's Day duo recital earlier this month. Her reactions -- which she admits it took her some days to sort out in her mind -- follow.]

After some reflection and reviewing Caballe’s Orange Festival Norma, once again, I can merely pipe up with my opinion that she belongs to such a rarified class of singer that it is not for mere mortals to quibble about her dalliances or far-fetched caprices.

THAT SAID, this recital was not, however, in the category of wonderful self-parody, a la Freddy Mercury/Barcelona, or even the absolutely mind-boggling appearance I saw on Dutch T.V. in 1995, when I watched in orrore extremis as she actually did sing, in duet fashion with some other old Dutch mole, “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones.

No, “A Special Valentine” was all just kind of sad. She really should not appear anymore. For any reason. Let us keep our memories. 

My take on the recital was that it seemed to be a goodwill tour of sorts to launch this fellow Nikolay Baskov‘s career as a “serious singer.” As he also sings concerts with her daughter, Montserrat Marti — he seems to be a sort of family pet.

Mr. Baskov is not just a pop singer, he has a fine instrument, far superior to, e.g., Rolando Villazon, and deserves to have a chance in some provincial house, singing Lenski and Il Duca, Nemorino, etc. He has already studied seriously enough to make a good start towards an operatic career, with a debut as Lenski with the Bolshoi, but got sidetracked into the popular thing as he had the kind of looks that appeal to young girls and (I would imagine) middle-aged housewives from Odessa, and could make gobs more money. Although he looks like a sort of blond Ken doll, he really did not preen or act conceited, in notoriously tenor fashion and had a sort of old-world, old-fashioned courteous aplomb.

The really, truly frightening thing about this concert was, for me, the lurking suspicion that Caballe is having a senior-moment love affair with this fellow. As I played hostage-witness to one of my female singing teacher’s obsession’s with a tenor protegé forty-five years younger than she, I know for fact that this sort of senior diva-dementia is very real and is very scary and further, brooks no opposition nor does it accept any opinion but its own. They just can’t accept that they are no longer Carmen (in my teacher’s case), nor Salome (in Caballe’s instance). The fact that she included a bit from Herodiade was very telling for me as I heard her sing it in Rome, in 1986, and with another tenor pet of hers, Jose Carreras. Amazingly, she actually sang it here with more voice, albeit transposed down a whole step, if my ear heard correctly.

I must also include that this not my idea. I wanted to preserve my memories of her; but I’m glad I did go:
to see the audience (lots of screaming hags muttering “BORIS….COME HERE!” mobs of mobster Russians, and working girls in furs and Carrie Bradshaw stilettos, the like of which I have not seen for a coon’s age) but the illusion of Caballe as a demi-goddess was indeed besmirched; that her DIVINITA was, apres tout, subject to the laws of gravity and mortality the rest of us are, with the singular and notable exception of Mme. Galupe-Borszh. ( To Mme. G-B, I have only to say “You go, GURL!”)

Her gowns, her wig(?) were all classic Caballe; she looked uncannily like herself of thirty to thirty-five years ago. I saw her first in about 1971 or 1972, in a gym in Orange County, her West Coast concert debut. She looked mightily annoyed at the upraised basketball hoop over the stage and sang unevenly, even then, but with a hair-raising ability to embroider; I remember only “Nel cor non piu mi sento” Paisiello, which was spectacularly rendered. Next up, 1979 concert at Carnegie Hall, which is and was, and remains, the most demented thing I’ve ever seen; the audience was shrieking and moaning in extasi. Then a pretty horrific, voiceless Agnese di Hohenstaufen in Roma in 1986, butchering the great aria, ‘O Re del cieli’. Last time, a few months later, was the aforementioned Herodiade, in which Carreras made a very good impression; quite a noble style of singing in that one instance.

She wore in “Act I” a beautiful, pale gold overcoat/mantle with a black, discreetly sparkling bejeweled gown underneath. She was assisted on stage by the accompanist and seemed pretty wobbly on her feet, never a good sign for singing, as the lower body support is so important. “Act II” was a different ensemble, a gorgeous, glittery black/gold overdress with triangled edges over a crimson full skirt — very a la mode espagnole and very beautiful. I found her stage presence, at times, to almost be that of yore; she is, in my opinion, a real maga and practices some sort of Spanish sorcery. [Program notes "MEET THE ARTIST" sez..."Montserrt Caballe remains the authentic embodiment of what it is to be a DIVA". No argument with that, only it should read "was."]

MONTSERRAT CABALLE   NIKOLAY BASKOV

A SPECIAL VALENTINE

ACT I

N. Piccini Se il ciel mi divide – from Alessandro nelle Indie – CABALLE
V. Bellini Malinconia – BASKOV
G. Donnizetti Una lacrima – BASKOV
Niedermeyer Deja la nuit s’avance — from Marie Stuart — CABALLE

pause

P. Tchaikowsky Kuda, kuda — from Eugene Onegin — BASKOV
A. Catalani Canzone egizia — from Dejanice — CABALLE
G. Puccini E lucevan le stelle — from Tosca — BASKOV
J. Massenet Salome…Jean — from Herodiade — CABALLE AND BASKOV

ACT II

F. Cilea Non voglio no pensar — from Tilda [This was not sung. (I happen to know as I am Cilea freak enough to own the music for his fifty-year memorial in 2000-2001 or so, in which all three Cilea pieces are included.) She instead offered "Ciocciara bella", which is, in fact, written for mezzo, but no one would know, or so she thought...]
D’astri e viole — from Gloria
R. Leoncavallo? ??? [A quite beautiful song, which I had never heard before and which I was quite taken with, i.e., an interesting adaptation of the Nedda/Silvio duet "Silvio, a quest'ora!", from Pagliacci. Love to get my mitts on the music.]
S. Cardillo Core ‘ngrato — BASKOV
Traditional Dorogoy Dlinau — BASKOV ["Dorogoy Dlinau" is Russian for, omigod, "THOSE WERE THE DAYS, MY FRIEND" --- god, I didn't know, neither did my companion. The audience sang along. It was a hochstelustpunkt for the Russisch guyzunddolls.]
D’Hardelot Because — BASKOV

pause

P. Sorozabal No corte mas que una rosa — from La del manojo de rosas — CABALLE
No puede ser… — from La tabernera del Puerto — BASKOV
F. M. Torroba Subir, subir — from Luisa Fernanda — CABALLE AND BASKOV
M. Penella Si torero quiero ser — from El gato Montes — CABALLE AND BASKOV

The accompanist was Manuel Burgueras (Caballe’s habitual piano-player who sounded bored to death).

[NOTA BENE: To get a professional opinion of the format that this konzert took and to which I found an marked similarity, access Will Crutchfield's review of March 1987.  She did the same schtick; especially with the finally warming up with the Spanish portion of her concert which was, even here, markedly better than the rest; I mean, Alessandro nelle Indie was ABYSMAL!]

THE ENCORES:

Caballe — She sang the Zapateado from the zarzuela “La Tempranica” (again, unannounced but known to the author as I wore out my zarzuela album with Victoria de los Angeles on which this piece resided).

Baskov & Caballe — Occhi chorneye (sorry, I don’t spell Russian) duetto style – and for a glorious moment, it sounded like she was going to do a “Barcelona” style swooping/arpeggio/overlay to his straight singing–it didn’t quite jell but it was kinda fun.

Baskov — GRANDE ERRORE. This guy had the due palle to sing ‘Vesti la giubba’. Big boo-boo. No chest resonance, ergo, no drama. He has, according to program notes, recently made a video thing of this same aria with Giancarlo Del Monaco directing him (vergogna, he should know better), but even Baskov realized, with a shrug, that he hadn’t pulled it off.

and FINALLY –

A very sweet rendition of the Merry Widow Waltz with the pair. He even grabbed her hand, which was clutching on to the piano the whole time for dear life, and bravely dipped a two step with Monster for about 30 seconds, before she once again collapsed onto the piano. It survived.

THAT’S ALL FOLKS!!

I wonder if Sutherland will come out of retirement next?

It seems I was the only one spent much of last night’s letter scene peering through her binoculars at Karita Mattila‘s fine acting, because I see no report on your site of last night’s mishap (and if it isn’t on your site, then it obviously hasn’t been reported anywhere!)

As you can see in the photograph below, the nightgown which Tatiana wears for her letter scene has a couple buttons in the middle that hold the front together, though it’s still split a little bit even when fastened. 

Mattila came out with the buttons unbuttoned, the gown open to her midriff.  

As she kept rearranging herself on the bed at the beginning of the scene, every time she leaned forward, the gown fell open enough for you to see, well, an entire breast once or twice and a real eyeful otherwise.   The beginning was the worst, but there were a few more close calls thereafter, and a significant amount of side cleavage throughout.

I wondered if it was intentional or an oversight, but she fussed with the buttons a couple times, leading me to believe that something did, indeed, go wrong when she dressed prior to the scene, and she was aware of the problem (if unable to solve it or unwilling to compromise her acting to hide it).

As if to make up for revealing herself unwittingly in the first act, she wore a significantly more chaste dress in the last scene than Fleming did.