As part of a whirlwind trip to New York and Philadelphia last weekend, I witnessed the wild and wacky happenings at the Licia Albanese-Puccini Foundation Annual Concert.. La Cieca and I arrived outside of Alice Tully Hall and almost bumped right into Jerry Hadley walking frenetically up Broadway. Mr. Hadley looked surprisingly harried and we speculated that he might have been having a hectic day juggling both his appearance at the Licia-thon and rehearsals for Rake's Progress at the Met.

Amidst the gathering throngs, we spotted sopranos-of-yore Elinor Ross and Elizabeth Carron, plus the notorious "Opera Fanatic" Stefan Zucker. As introductions were made and conversations struck up, the crowd suddenly began to stir: ecco Licia! We all burst into spontaneous applause as the legendary verista made her way into the lobby of the theater. However, she looked quite sullen and made a dismissive gesture in the direction of the ovation. Albanese was indisposed and unable to sing the National Anthem: NOT happy! In spite of her illness, Albanese was an amazingly spry (if mute) participant in the proceedings, dispensing numerous awards and trophies throughout the afternoon. She still walks with the ease of someone half her age. I admire and respect Albanese's dedication to passing on the "sacra fiamma."

Alas, few of the young singers chosen from the foundation's vocal competition seemed worthy enough to be invested with carrying on the grand tradition, much less a lucrative scholarship award. The best was soprano Ji-Yeun Cho Lee who sang "Piangete voi . . . Al dolce guidami" from Anna Bolena. In addition to possessing a beautiful lyric instrument, Lee was musical and expressive. Her phrasing was heartfelt and dynamically varied. The audience sat on their hands for this distinguished piece of singing but roared its approval for a wearying parade of barking baritones, strangulated tenors and oh-so-grand divettes. I mean, is a black velvet evening gown with voluminous purple train THE most appropriate ensemble for "O mio babbino caro?" I expected nothing less than "Suicidio" in that outrageous drag! And the singing was pure Miss America talent contest material.

Among the men, there was one promising baritone named Chen-Ye Yuan, who delivered a musically suave and mellifluous performance of the Pierrot Lied from Die Tote Stadt. However, he didn't seem to have a clue about what he was singing or how to inflect the text with dramatic purpose. Still, Yuan has a pleasing baritone voice and he uses it well.

Among the old-timers billed as presenters/performers at the gala, only two ended up cancelling. Anna Moffo was announced as being "very ill," but no mention was made of what was ailing her. The tone of the announcement was serious and I sincerely hope La Moffo is recovering. We were also told that Blanche Thebom "could not make it from California." Whatever that means. Aprile Millo presented an award early on in the gala, but did not perform. How disappointing! I was really expecting her to trot out that "Vissi d'Arte" she's been wowing them with in Barcelona and Milan.

Of the current crop of stars, only Jerry Hadley actually sang. He performed a Beniamino Gigli specialty, but the name of the song or aria escapes me now. I would consult the program but whatever the guest artists sing is never listed among the scheduled festivities. Hadley did not sound at his best but did an amusing imitation of a Neapolitan-style tenor. At the end of the number, he bowed in the direction of a Gigli bust set up on a pedestal near stage left. In fact, the whole shindig was dedicated to the memory of caro Beniamino.

Samuel Ramey was given a Lifetime Achievement Award by the Foundation but did not honor the assembled company with a song or aria. Instead, we got some real flat attempts at humor, including a running joke about how Hadley had been bribed by other basses to convince Ramey to take this award and retire already! Nothing flat about Sam's hair, though: the bass sported the biggest bouffant of anyone onstage. That ''70's do just keeps getting poofier!

Not unexpectedly, the truly great singing of the day was offered by several veterans. Lucine Amara announced that she would be singing an aria "she had never sung before," namely "Io son l'umile ancella" from Adriana Lecouvreur. I would like to suggest she take on the whole role immediately! Mamma mia, who could have imagined that Amara would sound this good in 1997? If anything, the voice is more rich, more mellow, more exciting than at any previous point in her career. Not only was she in great vocal shape, but the phrasing was long-breathed and exquisitely nuanced. And to hear her demonstrate so eloquently the sentiment of Adriana's great credo . . . well, the tears were flowing. We all went NUTS after this astonishing performance! The entire audience rose to its feet, screaming its acclaim. The ovation went on and on until our mistress-of-ceremonies Patrice Munsel returned to the podium and quipped: "Well, we must TRY to go on with the afternoon!"

Not to be outdone, Marta Eggerth Kiepura took to the stage for her vocal contribution. After some witty banter about how she discovered the Schubert Theater in New York had nothing to do with the composer of that name, Eggerth sang a medley of Vienna-inspired tunes, culminating in that beloved chestnut "Wien, Wien, nur du allein." For the next three or four minutes, time just ground to a halt. I could swear a lighting cue had taken place on stage, but, no, it was just this wonderful diva casting her spell on an enraptured audience. Eggerth exuded presence, charisma, fascination. I felt the nostalgia for a Vienna long gone in her artful delivery of the notes and text. This was a textbook definition of stylish singing. Again, a wild, impassioned ovation from the audience.

Among the male veterans, Robert Merrill sang most of "Torna a Sorriento" with the same incredible tonal resources he commanded during his long career at the Met. He delivered the song to Licia herself, who took her place near the piano, mouthing the words and encouraging the audience to join in the refrain. Among the non-singing presenters were such luminaries of yesteryear as Brenda Lewis, Mary Curtis-Verna, Ezio Flagello and Shirley Verrett, who seemed as regal as ever in a purple day dress with matching sequin-covered picture hat a la Maria Jeritza!

As the almost four-hour event lumbered on, everyone kept wondering when the other honoree of the day was going to make his appearance. Well, finally, around 5:30 p.m., out walked the greatest artist of my experience. "BRAVO VICKERS!!!!!!" I was on my feet screaming my head off for this great tenor who I esteem above all other opera singers. Vickers accepted his Lifetime Achievement Award, then delivered a stern but right-on-the-mark speech about what it means to be a great singer: honoring music through humble service and devotion to the art form.

One could not write a review of the Licia-thon and not sing the praises of our ever-lovely hostess Patrice Munsel. What a beautiful, classy woman! Her speaking voice positively oozed sophistication and those blue jokes about the size of everybody's awards were priceless. The afternoon's great moment of camp arrived when Munsel delivered her self-composed "Difesa della Licia" aria, set to the tune of "Hello, Dolly." Albanese looked right proud as her booing exploits at the opening of the Met's 1994 Madama Butterfly were recounted in song! A hearty brava to Munsel for supplying such a lovely narrative thread throughout a long afternoon. 

La Cieca and I went backstage after the event and rubbed shoulders with the celebrities. I brought along my camera in the hopes of snagging a photo with the great Vickers. Well, dreams really do come true. Vickers walked into the receiving area and was besieged by a horde of fans. He was a perfect gentleman, signing numerous autographs while introducing his son who had accompanied him to the event and thanking his admirers for their good wishes. I asked the great tenor if I could have my picture taken with him and he replied: "Of course." I shook his hand and told him his singing had changed my life. Vickers smiled with a hint of embarrasment and said: "That is very kind of you. I appreciate your respect for my work." I was floating on air for hours afterward. For me, Vickers IS opera.

The night before, we saw Turandot at the Met. Ghastly -- a generous helping of slovenliness by the world's supposedly greatest opera company. James Levine and the Met orchestra were on automatic pilot for the night. And with the cast on hand, who could blame them? Kristjan Johannson's Calaf was a parody of bad tenor singing: arms mechanically extended at climaxes, self-indulgent phrasing, loud and coarse bellowing, etc. There was a moment of unintentional hilarity when the orchestra ground to a halt after "Nessun dorma" in order to accomodate applause, just as they had rehearsed it when Pavarotti was in the cast. However, there was NO APPLAUSE in the silence that followed, making the inserted "concert ending" to the aria totally pointless.

Hei Kyung-Hong delivered a stunning piannisimo on "mi hai sorriso" in the first act, but her attractive lyric soprano never really took wing as the evening progressed. There is a dark, covered quality to her singing that sounds a tad manufactured, a la Angela Gheorgiu. The fact that Hong does not possess an authentic Italianate sound would be less noticeable if she handled the music with some degree of style. But no, this is Puccini for the 90's: senza portamenti, senza accenti, senza rubati. Of course, we know now from that esteemed master Roberto Alagna that such effects were the evil legacy of such "lazy singers" as Beniamino Gigli, Renata Tebaldi, Franco Corelli, etc. I do not wish to minimize Hong's accomplishment. She was definitely the class of the cast. She looked exquisite and the audience adored her. The voice is fine but I want more in Puccini. This Liu was lovely in its way but I'm awarding no cigar.

Buzz phrase of the evening: "What is the DEAL with Jane Eaglen?" Folk, let's get real here. I've been reading for weeks now about the second coming of Birgit Nilsson and what I heard was an overparted Fiordiligi. Comparing Eaglen to Nilsson, even in an era known for all manner of ridiculous hype, is beyond absurd. The high C's were inaudible, the voice carefully produced and the phrasing without any shape whatsover. There was sharping and flatting galore, plus a number of clumsy, appliqued stunts like the misfired crescendo on her final "Amor!" And this was supposed to be some kind of tonic for the much-maligned Marton, Dimitrova and Jones? COME ON! For all their well-known flaws, these three ladies possess instruments of the size, scope and grandeur necessary for the title role. In addition, they could act and phrase Eaglen into the wings. As the curtain descended, one old-timer exclaimed: "God, even Mary Curtis-Verna gave you more bang for your buck than this woman!" Eaglen's obesity would be a non-issue if her singing were not so devoid of thrust and the delivery of the text so lacking in bite. As it is, she looked very ill-at-ease negotiating all the steps and staircases of this production. Her face and body seemed disconnected from the drama, without energy or tension. No matter what side you take in the debate about Eaglen's girth, the fact remains that she is a dramatic cipher. The idea that companies the world over are building productions, planning seasons and resurrecting repertoire around this no-thrills soprano is a sad commentary indeed on the current state of opera.

The evening's most noteworthy event was the technical disaster that kept the first few minutes of the second scene of Act Two in the dark. Isolated lights popped off and on, revealing supers stumbling around in a state of panic. At the most unmusical moment possible, the lighting levels are corrected with the subtlety of an atom bomb explosion, prompting tongue-in-cheek applause from the audience. Suddenly, in the dialogue between Emperor Altoum and Calaf, a large fresnell lighting instrument comes CRASHING ON TO THE STAGE FROM THE FLIES!!! It landed on a platform stage left, with a loud thud and the breaking of glass. It came within TWO FEET of killing a super playing one of the palace guards. The chorus was understandably terrified and kept staring upward as the performance continued without interrruption. As a former stage manager, I find this decision to continue utterly appalling. Is the Met so unconcerned about the safety of its cast that they will allow lives to be placed in jeopardy? The sensible thing to do would have been to stop the show, allow the technical staff to assess the damage and then continue the performance once it had been determined that it was safe to do so. I have no doubt that Volpe and his henchpersons got an earful the next day from the union representing the chorus.

I am not a fan of the Zeffirelli production. I would have traded all the busy sets and stylized movement for a few moments of high-impact vocalism. The first act looked like a beginner's aerobics class held on the set of Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome. I half-expected Tina Turner to appear in the infamous flying budoir, take one look at Johannson and sniff: "But he's just a Raggedy Man!" The sets are cheap, gaudy and hideously noisy. What was Zeffirelli thinking when he used all that rattling bamboo for the walk spaces? 

That controversial Iphigenie en Tauride at the New York City Opera turned out to be a lot more interesting musically than dramatically. Francesca Zambello's direction had its risible moments, particularly the delighted cackling of the men's chorus as they tied up the captured Oreste and Pylade, right out of some old high-seas pirate flick. And why deprive Diana of her deus-ex-machina? The chaste goddess of the moon was dressed like a Croatian refugee and she had all the nobility of Nancy Walker playing Gertrude, thus making her climactic appearance in the drama a real letdown. In Zambello's favor, it should be noted that she coaxed highly committed performances from her cast. 

Enough ink has been spilled over the production concept and I have very little to add to the debate, except to note that Zambello and company are not alone in exploiting the current fascination with queer culture as trivialized by Hollywood and popular media. Given all the hype and hoopla about "homoerotic imagery," I found it ironic that there was nothing at all romantic, let alone erotic, about the way the mutual devotion of Pylade and Orest was depicted. Of course, we wouldn't be having this debate AT ALL if the "bosom buddies" in question were Adalgisa and Norma, Butterfly and Suzuki, Isolde and Brangaene, etc. Lesbian erotica is seen as harmless source of titillation to a large number of straight males. Gay male erotica, on the other hand, is almost universally viewed as disturbing, threatening and perverted. 

This was my first encounter with the opera and I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of Gluck's score. I didn't really take to my only other previous encounter with the Great Reformer's work, the infamous Robert Wilson Alceste at Lyric Opera of Chicago. Rammenti? The production where La Norman resembled the Lusitania going under? With Chris Merritt sporting that capello di Jughead, all the while performing robotic Charade party gestures throughout the evening (as if his singing wasn't bad enough)? However, Iphigenie en Tauride was a revelation to me and I look forward to studying the work in depth. The tender restraint and noble dignity of the music are quite sublime. 

Christine Goerke covered herself in glory as Iphegenie. The title role is a real killer, with lengthy stretches of high-intensity declamation. Goerke was up to the challenge and delivered her demanding music with unflagging energy and focus. Her budding dramatic soprano was a joy to hear: large, easily produced and equalized throughout the registers. Goerke's instrument is reminiscent of prime Jessye, possessing both the tonal richness and unaffected grandeur that I associate with the best work of that artist. In addition, Goerke was an actress of incredible stature, infusing all her scenes with an intensity that was riveting. She understands the value of stillness and handled the alternating moods of rapture, despair and awe with great aplomb. 

The other vocal standout was William Burden as Pylade. The purity and clarity of his timbre served to illuminate the tenor's superb enunciation of the text. Oreste was perfectly adequate but the Thoas of Grant Youngblood consisted of an embarassing display of barked, choppy outbursts. 

Jane Glover's conducting has come in for criticism in some quarters but I found her reading to be elegant and well-paced. The orchestra played with clean, refined musicianship and responded well to Glover's vital leadership. 

La Cieca and I went backstage after the perfomance to extend our congratulations to La Goerke, who was vivacious and responsive, if a little overwhelmed by sheer numbers of people assembled to greet her. She accepted with pleasure a copy of parterre box brought for her perusal. I wish this gracious prima donna every success in the future. 

Back in Hogtown, I took in this season's final presentation of Mozart's Idomeneo at the Lyric Opera, a serviceable, if hardly memorable representation of Mozart's noble opera seria. 

Placido Domingo brought an admirable degree of dignity and stature to his portrayal of the title role. The tessitura suits the superstar tenor's current abilities perfectly. The voice was in good shape on this occasion. Domingo produced some strikingly dark and resonant sounds in the low-lying "Vedrommi intorno." He made conservative yet sensible choices about the delivery of "Fuor del mar," opting for embellishments and variants that took the vocal line down rather than up. He declaimed the recitatives expressively and eloquently. All in all, this was a serious and effective portrayal. Nevertheless, it must be said that the tenor always settles for a generalized sort of excellence, rarely pushing himself to the level of life-or-death intensity associated with a true singing actor like Jon Vickers (who seriously considered adding Idomeneo to his repertoire near the end of his career). Domingo never fails to satisfy yet hardly ever produces the kind of catharsis that would lift his artistry to a different sphere of appreciaion. 

After all the advance hype and hoopla generated by her recordings, Vesselina Kasarova was something of a disappointment. The voice is a handsome one but the technique seems unformed. The tone is beset by a good deal of flutter and does not sound sufficiently supported in quieter passages. There were some audible register breaks and she is altogether too fond of glottal attack for dramatic effect. She knows how to phrase with purpose and there were many tender and touching details in her interpretation. Still, the voice is a small one and I wonder what if she is really suited for Tancredi or Rinaldo instead of Cherubino. 

Cynthia Lawrence sang Elettra like a flunking graduate student from a provincial college music department, with lousy Italian enunciation, colorless voice, appliqued gestures -- you name it. This role is about DEMENTIA and Lawrence delivered nothing but WASP blandness. The soprano went totally to pieces in "D'Oreste, D'Ajace," complete with disintegrating tone and all manner of huffing and puffing. The most exciting part of her performance was watching her dress get caught in the doorway of her first entrance. She pulled and pulled and pulled but the billowing gown would not budge. With only seconds to spare, Lawrence RIPPED the dress loose and flounced on stage. If only her portrayal had contained only one ounce of this sort of desperation! 

Somewhat to my surprise, the best performance of the day belonged to Mariella Devia as Ilia. Almost 20 years after her American stage debut, Devia retains a rock-solid technique and the ability to project a moderate-sized instrument in a large auditorium like the Civic Opera House. Devia spun some incredibly refined and lovely pianissimi in her various arias. In addition, she was very flatteringly wigged and made up. I hope to hear Devia very soon in one of her specialty roles like Amina or the Puritani Elvira. 

Although obviously miked, Raymond Aceto thundered Neptune's pronouncements capably. Richard Drews' ordinary tenor did not make me regret the omission of Arbace's two arias; Misha Royzen's throaty-voiced High Priest was similarly lacking in distinction. 

Conductor John Nelson led a stylish, dramatically vital reading of the score but the orchestra's playing lacked the polish and elegance that their Met colleagues manage to lavish on this work. The production neoclassical mishmash with a dash of Vegas vulgarity. Stage director John Copley's idea of breaking up the visual monotony is to layer more clothes on the women, festooning them like Christmas trees with capes, veils, crowns, and probably a tinsel garland or two, whenever something ceremonial is about to happen. Even worse, Elettra has a big embroidered axe on her bodice. Really subtle! 

The audience's behavior was enough to scare anyone away from matinee performances. What a cacophany of snoring, wrinkled candy wrappers, roof-rattling hacking, jingled coins, dropped programs and slammed doors! 

For the curious: the program listed some very intriguing upcoming engagements for several of the cast. Devia will be performing Il Turco in Italia with OONY next season, as well as Linda di Chamounix for London and Violetta for Arena di Verona. Cynthia Lawrence will unwisely leave the realm of the Three Sopranos Concerts and attempt Amelia in Un Ballo in Maschera for Monte Carlo (uggh!) Vesselina Kasarova is slated for La Cenerentola in Pesaro next summer. And, finally, John Nelson will conduct the revival of Giulio Cesare at the Met next season.