Giacomo Puccini’s final opus interruptus is and shall always remain my favorite opera. The reasons for this preference are so varied and numerous that if they were printed and bound the volume would most assuredly require its own stand.
Diana Damrau is a great flirt.
One can only pray that “three strikes, you’re out” applies at the Met. If so, we can rest easy that Jeremy Sams won’t be getting any new assignments.
Emilio Sagi’s production of The Barber of Seville is ungepotchket in the flesh.
There might be nothing in the world as joyous as a Rossini overture.
As a whole, the evening seemed forced and a bit dispiriting.
Our Own JJ confesses he just doted on Heartbreak Express, but “You Us We All was not my cup of twee.”
Bare Opera, the feisty little company that gave Debussy’s exquisite L’Enfant Prodigue in Chelsea last spring, is now operating in chic, rundown Bushwick where so many original enterprises sprout.
Hopefully the assignment of Herman Melville’s endless whaling opus Moby-Dick as compulsory reading for High School students is a thing of the past.
For her third solo recording, Olga Peretyatko summons the two men who launched her career less than a decade ago
On Thursday evening Jennifer Wilson “finally” made a belated, disappointing Met debut as Turandot.
Continuing coverage of the Met’s new Alban Berg spectacular.
In New York, tradition insists, there are no limits to where a preposterous idea, talent and relentless determination will take you, in defiance of all the odds.
Lilith. Pandora. Circe. Salome. “La Belle Dame sans Merci.” Carmen. Brigid O’Shaughnessy: the eternal “femme fatale” still fascinates us.
Polish singers are chameleons. They have to be.
Absent from Chicago Lyric Opera’s repertory for 21 years, Alban Berg’s Wozzeck came roaring into town on Sunday afternoon in a stunning new production by Sir David McVicar.
“CanCon”, or Canadian Content, is always a concern in Canadian cultural discourse.
Simply put, Christine Goerke is a stupendous Elektra.
After nearly three years and over 20 performances Michael Mayer’s “Las Vegas” production of Rigoletto at the Metropolitan Opera still outrages many.
New York is different now, and John Zorn has this hangout, The Stone, on Avenue C (you heard me) at Second Street, a performance space the size of a largeish dorm room.
What is surreal, symbolic, and generally mysterious in the dramatic arts can get a bad rap.
This “new-to-Chicago” production is a sheer pleasure from beginning to end.
“Operatic” generally refers to sung drama, but there is another meaning of that term: grandiose, outsize, hysterical.
Although the season is less than three weeks old, Metropolitan Opera audiences may hear nothing else this season as beautiful as Peter Mattei’s “Song to the Evening Star.”
Tell us: What’s your favorite Verdi performance?
Hasten thee to feed another quarter of conversation for The Talk of the Town!
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