Friday, February 10, 2006
My parents’ week-long opera gorge was actually well-conceived. The week had a number of the world’s strongest singers cast in the opera staples. It started off with what was supposed to be Domingo starring in Cyrano de Bergerac, a production made especially for him. But Domingo has been very sick and canceled all his performances over the next few months. The understudy filled in and, with all do respect, nobody wanted him there. He was an older tenor who’s voice was -err- tired. Though off to a rocky start the remainder of the week would be substantially improved (to say the least)
The next day Mom and Dad went to see Rigoletto starring two rising international stars, Villazon and Netrebko as the licentious Duke and naïve Gilda, respectively. And they were, apparently, fantastic. I declined to go because of work.
The following night was Verdi’s grand opera, Aida (after several years of listening to the music, I appreciate it now more than ever). Add to this a Metropolitan Opera production of epic proportions, cast of hundreds, maestro Conlon, and principal singing the envy of any great opera house and you have a night of thrilling theater.
The Met’s Aida had an old-school opera cast: not compromising the voice for a cute face, slim figure or how one moves on stage. Is was old-fashioned raw vocal POWER, the best kind. The title role was performed by the dramatic soprano Andrea Gruber. She approached the role in a very Callas-esq way with a forceful vocal drama, if not always technically secure or beautiful. Radames was Botha, a big man with a big voice. . . he shook some dust off the rafters delivering those long, Verdian lines of sound to every corner of the house. And Amneris was performed by Zajak, a world-famous mezzo soprano. It was during the triumphal march of the Egyptians that the conductor shined. . . . holding together some of the most complex music written, a ballet, and a cast of hundreds. Sure, some of the principals were clumbsy on stage, but the drama was in the sound: We mustn’t that the composer is the dramatist.
The last one I saw with them was the opera that hooked me on this art-form, La Traviata. Little did I know when booking the tickets that the star of it was Gheorghiu, who has risen to international fame since her debut here. Having seen Fleming performing Travaita on opening night I thought I’d pretty much seen the best Violetta the world had to offer. But Gheorghiu kicked some serious ass in this role. Though her coloratura and high notes cannot be relied on like Fleming’s, she had a large sound and acting that more than compensate (Fleming’s singing, though very beautiful and well-constructed, lacks power). Gheorghiu had that house wrapped around her fingers in a way Flemming never did. At once point Violetta, Fatigued with turburculosis, belted out a line of sound before falling into her lovers arms that was so dramatic that the audience broke into applause. At the end she dies in his arms –it was really something. Her death had a hint of anger, of bitterness. An interesting interpretation. . . “God will forgive me but my fellow man will never!” she said at one point. Very interesting.
I'll stop at that. . If you couldn’t already tell, I had a fantastic time. I’ve rarely been so engaged in performances.
With the house sold out all week at the Met, critics who call the Met stodgy and the art form dead would have something to mull over. Certainly “American Idols” and their music have come and gone, but the great operas and have been and will be around for centuries. For God's sake, they are still selling out a 4,000 seat house.
The next day Mom and Dad went to see Rigoletto starring two rising international stars, Villazon and Netrebko as the licentious Duke and naïve Gilda, respectively. And they were, apparently, fantastic. I declined to go because of work.
The following night was Verdi’s grand opera, Aida (after several years of listening to the music, I appreciate it now more than ever). Add to this a Metropolitan Opera production of epic proportions, cast of hundreds, maestro Conlon, and principal singing the envy of any great opera house and you have a night of thrilling theater.
The Met’s Aida had an old-school opera cast: not compromising the voice for a cute face, slim figure or how one moves on stage. Is was old-fashioned raw vocal POWER, the best kind. The title role was performed by the dramatic soprano Andrea Gruber. She approached the role in a very Callas-esq way with a forceful vocal drama, if not always technically secure or beautiful. Radames was Botha, a big man with a big voice. . . he shook some dust off the rafters delivering those long, Verdian lines of sound to every corner of the house. And Amneris was performed by Zajak, a world-famous mezzo soprano. It was during the triumphal march of the Egyptians that the conductor shined. . . . holding together some of the most complex music written, a ballet, and a cast of hundreds. Sure, some of the principals were clumbsy on stage, but the drama was in the sound: We mustn’t that the composer is the dramatist.
The last one I saw with them was the opera that hooked me on this art-form, La Traviata. Little did I know when booking the tickets that the star of it was Gheorghiu, who has risen to international fame since her debut here. Having seen Fleming performing Travaita on opening night I thought I’d pretty much seen the best Violetta the world had to offer. But Gheorghiu kicked some serious ass in this role. Though her coloratura and high notes cannot be relied on like Fleming’s, she had a large sound and acting that more than compensate (Fleming’s singing, though very beautiful and well-constructed, lacks power). Gheorghiu had that house wrapped around her fingers in a way Flemming never did. At once point Violetta, Fatigued with turburculosis, belted out a line of sound before falling into her lovers arms that was so dramatic that the audience broke into applause. At the end she dies in his arms –it was really something. Her death had a hint of anger, of bitterness. An interesting interpretation. . . “God will forgive me but my fellow man will never!” she said at one point. Very interesting.
I'll stop at that. . If you couldn’t already tell, I had a fantastic time. I’ve rarely been so engaged in performances.
With the house sold out all week at the Met, critics who call the Met stodgy and the art form dead would have something to mull over. Certainly “American Idols” and their music have come and gone, but the great operas and have been and will be around for centuries. For God's sake, they are still selling out a 4,000 seat house.
# posted by otas : 7:15 AM
