Joel Rozen is a culture critic, anthropologist, and audiophile living in New York. His doctoral thesis at Princeton—still underway—is based on some field research he did in North Africa a few years ago; since then he’s enjoyed teaching in the city and writing about music. His love of opera can probably be traced back to high school, when he used to poach from his girlfriend’s dad’s CD collection. The orientation has changed and so has the digital format. What hasn’t is the Domingo/Studer Otello, which remains awesome, and unreturned.
Between staging, music, and material, it’s hard to decide what feels most broken about New York City Opera’s American premiere of Brokeback Mountain.
Whether full-bodied and rich or comic and actorly, the baritone voice contains multitudes.
“Hey. Sorry to trouble you. I was wondering if I could have a word with my client.”
Heartbeat is, after all, a company that loves to tinker.
Doomed Lucia di Lammermoor was only halfway through her Mad Scene at the time of the incident.
For tonight’s distinguished premiere of Lucia di Lammermoor at the Algonquin Opera, there would in fact be far more blue hairs in the audience than blue collars.
b>Lawrence Brownlee, star tenor of stage and NFL games is a real “pillar of the community.”
Julia Bullock revisited a few well-trodden song cycles and lieder but pointed up their hidden politics.
Even dauntless Evan Ingersoll felt his nerves beginning to mount.
As far as prewar Italian verismo goes, L’amore dei tre re is a supernova.
After an early Saturday shift bar-backing at Aura Bar, Evan had trotted over to his friend Jesús Halévy’s for a late-night slumber party à deux.
Evan clicked over to the his favorite music critic’s weekly column, “Slings and Arias.”
Walls of tinted glass engirdled a heated portico-terrarium, where two figures could be seen polishing off the last of their Crêpes Suzette.
Wedlock, betrayal, sibling rivalry, feminism, and union strikes give the opera Morning Star much of its driving thematic material.
“Have you seen the lawsuit yet?”
They all wished, for reasons at once superstitious and deeply misguided, to avoid over-rehearsing the sextet.
At last, Jesús Halévy had found the right size. The small ecru sweater was buried beneath a stack of extra-larges at the Macy’s on Herald Square.
Supernumerary callbacks for the Big Apple Singing Theater Association’s spring production of Bison Don’t Cry were held later that night at the Mariachi Playhouse.
As if the corner of Broadway and 53rd weren’t already busy enough, Evan Ingersoll couldn’t believe the line leading into the Mariachi Playhouse where BASTA tryouts were held.
The day of the big BASTA audition, Evan found the flier Paul Upczuk had passed him the previous weekend at Aura Bar.
It was already nearly two o’clock in the morning, late for a work night, and Nixon Ben Mahmoud was ashamed to find himself crying real tears.
Mariachi bands travel the world, make appearances in Hollywood, and moonlight on Linda Ronstadt albums.
Jerold Offerman had spent the day readying the Algonquin Opera orchestra for a high-profile, high-stakes revival of Lucia, and things weren’t going well with the glass harmonica.
Touting an austere, governessy program—the hour-and-change Schubert/Müller cycle, Die schöne Müllerin—Jonas Kaufman fulfilled his long-awaited, high-profile return to Carnegie Hall last night.