I never got to hear Silja in person, and I suspect I should have for me to even begin to appreciate her.

This clip is a strong case for leaving non-operatic music alone.

Carmen Paddock and Mr. Portafiori aren’t getting the hype behind Ivo van Hove, Krzysztof Warlikowski, and Calitxo Bieito

I know, as a musical gay boy d’un certain âge I supposed to consider this the great American opera, the equal if not superior to anything by Britten and preferable to any of that atonal garbage from the Continent.

I just don’t get Der Rosenkavalier except for the plum moments like The Presentation of the Rose and the Final Trio which for me satisfy my indulgent sweet tooth.

By giving Orfeo ed Euridice a happy ending, Gluck ruined a wonderful score.

Yes, Ermonela Jaho is a compelling swooner. But is she a great singer? I have yet to be convinced!

Parterre Box over the last few years has become the MOST USELESS website.

Jake Heggie writes operas like a Restoration Hardware couch—soft, expensive, and allergic to mess.

The musical virtues of Anna Moffo have heretofore eluded me.

It’s like making love with someone whose rap never ceases—and includes “helpful suggestions” about how you can be improving your game.

Despite having endured premiers at the Santa Fe Opera, including Cold Mountain, Oscar, and The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs, all of which were disappointing on every level, Santa Fe Opera’s 2011 production of Menotti‘s The Last Savage is an opera I never care to see or listen to again.

Joan Sutherland as Norma is something I’ve never been able to get.

I don’t understand the booing of singers, whether it’s booing bad characters, or booing singers who don’t live up to the booer’s expectations.

I so don’t get why any company in the Anglophone world ever bothers to perform Continental operetta in English.

When I first encountered Joyce DiDonato in the early 2000s, I found her to be the case of an extraordinary technique and intelligent artistry supporting a rather ordinary voice.

My contention here is more general than just a critique of an opera, a composer, or a singer. I argue that one cannot be a truly legendary artist unless one sings NEW MUSIC.

Parsifal just gives me the creeps – a muddy maundery concoction that wallows in faux religiosity, a creepy view of sin, and naïve redemption.

I just don’t get why anyone takes Mario Lanza seriously as “the tenor of the century” and so forth.