Olga Peretyatko has officially left the chorus.
What would you do if I asked you to take a old, faded version of Puccini’s score for La Bohème and fill in the unreadable parts with a mélange of disco, kabarett, and Alban Berg?
Every year I say I’m not going to another La Bohème because I’ve seen this too many times.
The role debut of a world-class singer is always a time of great anticipation, hopefully to be followed by celebration, if not unbridled jubilation.
“This is obviously a difficult situation. But who knows Hans New Rock, knows his cool and objective aesthetic decision.”
You will be happy to hear that Michael Fabiano was the unrivaled star of the Richard Tucker Foundation Gala tonight.
Wednesday brought the Met’s “real” season opener, an indelible, indispensable night at the opera: a starry revival of Verdi’s Macbeth crowned by Anna Netrebko’s demented Lady.
“Oh to be young and going to Paris for the first time,” exclaimed an elderly gentleman who donned his best sweatervest for a concert at the Ottawa International Chamber Music Festival this past August.
Cher public, you may remember that about 18 years ago a parterre writer called Dr. Repertoire came up with a handy list of rules for stage directors.
Sondra Radvanovsky lent her luminous voice to Chamberfest for what was an unexpectedly unique recital.
This week, Our Own Jungfer Marianne Leizmetzerin turns her vigilant ears to the recent past to take in a performance of Il trovatore featuring Anna Netrebko and Plácido Domingo.
Opera-lovers who attend too much modern opera may find that it feels like duty.
Once upon a time, a man and a woman met. He could sing, she could sing. They fell in love, got married, and became a power couple to rival Billary.
It appears that Mariame Clément’s conception of Don Pasquale is that the opera should be retitled Malatesta.
Joyce DiDonato is taking her Mary Stuart on the road, so to speak.
Coming as Peter Gelb did from the music industry, opera lovers hoped that he would display a more distinctive knack for casting and an improved talent pipeline than Joe Volpe offered during the waning years of his tenure.
Pytor Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin is his masterwork and its themes of social convention and unrequited longing surely struck a deep chord in a composer who, in late 19th century Russia, was gay and had to conduct himself carefully.
The hostile reaction to the Mary Zimmerman production of La sonnambula was well documented after the premiere in 2009.
Mr. Ian Rosenblatt is a London solicitor and patron of charitable causes in Britain primarily focused on classical music.
Twenty years ago, a sad and lonely gay man sat down with a pair of scissors and a glue stick and said, “I think I’ll make a magazine.”
It’s hard to come up with any sensible reason to dislike Joyce DiDonato.
Last night, the Met opened the 2013-14 season with a handsome, fairly conservative new production of Eugene Onegin by Deborah Warner that replaces the handsome, fairly conservative one by Robert Carsen. (The trend is clear.)
Vanity project or not, these albums present a sensitive and talented artist showing off two little-seen sides of himself.
Anna Netrebko‘ s new CD of Verdi arias seems to be a bold, defiant, “in your face” statement about the direction she is taking with her career.
Tell us: Filth or dementia?
Hasten thee to feed another quarter of conversation for The Talk of the Town!
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