Harry Rose
The ballet I have grown to love, admire, and ponder the most is Stravinsky’s first collaboration with George Balanchine, Apollo.
As long as women have been preyed upon, Don Giovanni has been relevant.
Over the past two decades, the understatedly beguiling Sasha Cooke has inched chronologically inwards in her subtle conquest of swathes of mezzo concert repertoire.
While Russell Thomas admirably goes toe to toe with Otello (and Otello) in a thoughtful and self-aware way, the assumption feels like a work in progress if not an outright mismatch with his vocal gifts.
Christian Gerhaher delivers a Kindertotenlieder of such conciliatory tact that it erases all others.
Tosca, as it exists now, can’t be real, spontaneous drama-it’s just Camp.
Is there any opera that can take more of a beating while still making an impact than Eugene Onegin?
“Non mi dispiace” seemed to be the general consensus in the loggione December 7 when Verdi’s Attila came roaring into La Scala to open the 2018-19 season.
In crafting his musicals, Sondheim’s focus, regardless of genre, tends towards the processive.
The singularity of Stephen Sondheim contributes to the conception of him as a camp figure.
Patrice Chéreau‘s Elektra brims with ideas beyond its eschewing of the opera’s standard, hysterical trappings.
Lohengrin descended upon the Wiener Staatsoper this month like American college students to Oktoberfest: loudly, spastically, not especially coherent, and in full lederhosen and dirndls.
The whole performance reminded me of what Butterfly as I have never known it, but often herad about it, can be.
Logistically, a large-scale revival of the operas of Giacomo Meyerbeer is an unreasonable request, much less an expectation.
Uneven operas, like Verdi’s Ernani, which just recently finished its Scala run, more often work as theatre on the micro level than the macro.
This new production of the 1847 original version of Verdi’s first stab at Shakespeare features the extraordinary performances of Luca Salsi and Anna Pirozzi as the Thane of Cawdor and his merry wife.
Verdi’s Attila is hardly a rarity in Italy the way it is in the United States.
America’s longest-standing theatrical lightning rod, Robert Wilson premiered his ethereal, time-collapsing production of Le trouvère.
I was overjoyed by the coincidence that Santa Fe Chamber Music Festival would be presenting Façade.
The Barber of Seville turned out to be the most overall solid production of the year and even a bit of old-fashioned fun.
I mean, how often does one get to hear Bernstein’s gorgeous, rollicking, and varied score nursed by a full orchestra and the artistic resources of an opera company?
A regular day in 2018 Washington, D.C., or Verdi’s Don Carlo?
If opera as a genre in justified in its claim to one particular story, history confirms that the Orpheus myth would be that story.
Out of a literal perforation in the horizon of the Nebraskan prairie emerges Proving Up, the most convincing case I have ever seen for modern American opera.