Midgette vs. Lebrecht: Two Critics Debate Wagner's "Ring" Cycle on WNYC

Anne Midgette, chief classical music critic at the Washington Post, and Norman Lebrecht, the music critic at London's Evening Standard, have recorded a joint radio interview on Wagner's Ring cycle for WNYC. The two critics debate whether Wagner's tetralogy is 16 hours of bombast and bore, or 16 hours of some of history's most glorious, transcendent music. Lebrecht also fires a parting shot on his blog: "The man's odious ideology is part and parcel of the work. Eliminate it, and the Ring becomes a teddy bears' tea party." I bet you can't guess which side of the argument he's on. 

The debate coincides with the Met's revival of Otto Schenk's seminal Ring production--the last time it will be staged at the Met. Three complete cycles will be performed over the next six weeks, starting on Saturday, March 28 with Das Rheingold. Levine will conduct. Domingo, Morris, among others, will sing. Good luck finding tickets, at least if you're on a recession-induced budget. Family Circle seats (obstructed or nonexistent view) start at $300. Center Parterre more your style? $2,600. Better start saving.

Here is a reminder--the stunning, malevolent "Oath Trio" that closes Act II of Götterdämmerung, courtesy of Levine and the Met--why Wagner is totally awesome, no matter how "odious" his ideology.

New York Times: Met in Serious Financial Trouble

Dan Wakin has a startling article in the New York Times that lays out a pretty bleak financial picture for the Metropolitan Opera. The recession's impact on other cultural institutions, particularly New York City Opera, has been well-documented, but this is the biggest sign of trouble from the mightiest of arts organizations. 

The company's general manager, Peter Gelb, said that through administrative cuts, concessions from unions, and the elimination of some of next season's more costly productions, he hopes to avoid a "disaster scenario." An anonymous source put their hypothetical deficit at $40 million, with an endowment that has hemorrhaged one-third of its $300 million.

I don't think the Met is worried about going under--the precipice NYCO teetered on much of the summer and fall--but it does prove that no one is immune from our country's dire financial situation.

Ben and Debbie Show Finally Arrives for Met's "Tristan und Isolde"

After nearly three weeks, the Metropolitan Opera finally managed to get Ben Heppner and Deborah Voigt on stage at the same time.

This "dream team," which pairs two of today's leading Wagnerians, was scheduled to appear in six performances of Tristan und Isolde, but a well-documented series of illnesses left that plan in shambles. For those who shelled out the big bucks on any the first five nights, they were rewarded with at least one substitute; for those who shelled out the big bucks on Friday night (like me!!), they were rewarded with a gripping performance of historic importance.

Heppner, as the doomed Tristan, returned from a serious blood infection to deliver an astonishing tour de force. He is a heldentenor in the truest sense--a physically imposing singer with a commanding voice that slices through even the loudest orchestra with incredible ease. Many tenors begin to crumble during the punishing Act III monologue, but Heppner seemed to relish it, singing with delirious, shattering intensity. Moreover, he attacked each note with complete integrity and security; pure intonation was never in doubt, even in the most angular, exposed high notes. Remarkably, Heppner was just as strong–perhaps stronger–on Tristan's final note as he was, five hours earlier, on his first.

It took me an act to warm up to Voigt. She has two habits that initially bothered me: drifting flat at the end of long phrases and sliding up into high notes. Beginning in Act II, however, she was mesmerizing. Her sweet, lyrical voice, which was balanced with soaring, dynamic power, quickly erased all my reservations, particularly in the haunting love duet. As she and Heppner sat in darkness, silhouetted against a glowing blue background, motion simply stopped, creating a blissful, erotic trance. Unfortunately, yet understandably, her final note in the Liebestod, a make-or-break moment in the opera for some listeners, fell a bit short of the mark. But it didn't even remotely ditract from a tremendous vocal achievement.

Without exception, the rest of the cast, including Michelle DeYoung as Brangäne and Eike Wilm Schulte as Kurwenal, was fabulous, particularly bass Matti Salminen, in what is rumored to be his final Met appearance. His King Marke was heartbreaking, filled with solemn, noble dignity.

James Levine drew another exceptional performance from the Met Orchestra. Some of his tempos were a bit slow for my taste–I wanted a little more visceral energy in moments–but he reveled in the score's tender, psychological pages. Of course, when strength and drama were called, Levine delivered effortlessly.

I've now heard the orchestra under five different batons: Levine (on three occasions) and four guest conductors. With the exception Semyon Bychkov's flat, lifeless Otello, the orchestra has always played very well. But when Levine is in the pit, there's really no comparison. He unquestionably changes the sound of the orchestra--it's richer, heavier, darker. Without fail, the loudest and most affectionate ovations in a Levine-led performance are for the beloved conductor. And he deserves every second of it.

Unbelievably, before Friday, Heppner and Voigt had never sung Tristan together, and the sense of occasion was undeniable. In a review of the performance, Anthony Tommasini, chief critic at The New York Times and someone with plenty of authority when it comes to opera, evoked the memory of another pair of doomed lovers: Birgit Nilsson and Jon Vickers. That's a bold comparison–Nilsson and Vickers are among history's greatest Wagnerians–but it's not completely unreasonable.

After the first act, I unexpectedly bumped into David Rubin, outgoing dean of the Newhouse School at Syracuse University and a lifelong opera buff. He has heard all the best singers from the past half century, and I trust his musical judgment without reservation. At one point, he said to me that 50 years from now, people will remember this night as one of the finest collections of singers ever assembled. And after hearing this remarkable performance, how could I disagree?

(Photo by Frank Franklin II/Associated Press)

Anthony Dean Griffey Sings Peter Grimes at the Met

For many people, operas can be an intimidating experience–they can be quite long and are almost always sung in an unfamiliar language. Yet I think the stories themselves are often the biggest obstacles. They all project fundamental human emotions, but through characters and events with whom the average person cannot easily identify. Mozart's lothario Don Giovanni is dragged off to Hell by a vengeful statue that comes to life; Verdi's forbidden lovers Aida and Radames live against the backdrop of pyramids and Egyptian pharaohs; Wagner's monumental Ring cycle is set in a mythical land of gods and mortals. No matter how powerful the emotions of the voices and the orchestra, it can be hard to sympathize with a one-eyed god who carries a spear.

Peter Grimes, however, is no such experience. It's story is startlingly real: Peter Grimes is a lonely fisherman who is the target of his community's deep mistrust. He is prone to extreme mood swings–at one moment pining for his beloved Ellen Alford; at another violently throwing a child about the stage. After two of his apprentices die under suspicious circumstances, the townspeople turn completely against him, banishing him from the Borough, sending him on a final voyage out to sea.

The Metropolitan Opera unveiled its new production of Britten's harrowing masterpiece on Thursday night staring tenor Anthony Dean Griffey. Since the opera's premiere, two radically differing approaches of the title role have emerged: Peter Pears, the role's originator, viewed Grimes as a man driven to terrible acts by an unforgiving, oppressive community; Jon Vickers, on the other hand, saw Grimes as a brute, bringing out the character's anger and resentment.

Performances of Grimes are measured against these two legendary interpretations, and Griffey adopted elements of both. His beautiful lyric voice was sympathetic and, at times, even appealing. But he dashed any goodwill with shocking violent outbursts. The emotional instability Griffey set up made his Grimes compelling and powerful.

I've always been able to tell how engaging a concert is by listening to the crowd; the less noise, the better the performance. During Act III, one of the darkest in all of opera, held the audience transfixed. Silences usually filled with coughs and sneezes were completely motionless; people
were seemingly too afraid, or too shocked, to move. The enraged townspeople resolving to march on Grimes's hut–culminating in the shattering cries of "Peter Grimes!"–was chilling. Colder still was the following scene, an emotionally-raw monologue in which Grimes is cast adrift within his own delusions, haunted by his inner demons and the voices of the distant, faceless mob, now hidden behind the claustrophobic walls of his hut.

The story of his downfall strikes at the core of many human fears–someone who's different, misunderstood, an outsider. It's no challenge to place yourself in the shoes of either the townspeople or Grimes; we see this scenario unfold in countless ways all the time, and many of us have probably experienced it from both perspectives. In the end, Grimes is led out to sea, and the people of the Borough resume their normal lives. Yet the desolation and despair of Grimes's final moments will be hard to forget.

(Photo by Nick Heavican)

Rossini's "Barber" at the Met

I don't like Rossini, and I've known this for quite some time. The beauty of student ticket prices lured me to a performance of Il Barbiere di Siviglia on Thursday night at the Metropolitan Opera, and to my great surprise, I had a wonderful time.

Vocally, the cast was acceptable. The three principals–Franco Vassallo in the title role, Elina Garanca as Rosina, and Jose Manuel Zapata as Almaviva–dispatched their many coloratura lines with ease and agility, but in the rapid-fire dialogue passages were often muddled and unintelligible.

Musically, I can't get excited about any of Rossini's music. His melodies aren't that memorable; his orchestration is bland; and his structure is maddeningly predictable. First, the aria or ensemble will start off with a simple tune, which is then elaborated by some impressive vocal fireworks. Finally, it concludes with everyone singing faster and the orchestra playing faster–the famous "Rossini Crescendo." Is this supposed to be exciting? Maybe once or twice. But how many different pieces in one opera can follow this pattern? Pretty much all of them.

What took me by surprise was the production's endless humor. After seeing Macbeth, Die Walküre, and Otello in recent weeks, an emotionally light evening was much needed. The cast's charisma was sparkling, with a sharp sense of comedic timing that was most evident in the recitatives. Some of the laughs originate with Rossini's music, but much of them came from a staging that clearly placed humor as a top priority. After all, they brought a mule on stage for seemingly no reason other than the fact that mules can be funny without doing anything.

For people that are convinced opera is large women with breastplates and horns, the Met's hilarious production is welcomed and refreshing. But for people that go to the opera to be emotionally affected, they should probably look beyond the frustrating music of Rossini.

"Otello" at the Met

Otello is generally considered Verdi's dramatic masterpiece, and even though I am not the composer's biggest fan, the drama and power of his penultimate opera is undeniable. Gone are the clear recitatives, arias, and ensembles that marked his previous works; Verdi creates an environment in which the music and action evolve seamlessly. Many people can whistle Verdi's famous melodies, but leaving the theater after seeing Otello, you probably won't have any of its tunes stuck in your head. If you're anything like me, however, the tragedy will simply leave you stunned and emotionally exhausted.

The title role makes tremendous vocal demands on any singer, but the acting requirements are even greater. Otello's entrance as the victorious hero and loving husband quickly deteriorates into the suspicion of his wife's infidelity before culminating in a murderous rage, and the tenor must project this psychological spiral. It's no surprise that the Moor of Venice has been a signature role for singers like Placido Domingo and Jon Vickers, two men who brought both a strong voice and powerful emotions to the stage.

In the Metropolitan Opera's current production of Otello, South African tenor Johan Botha undertakes this challenge and succeeds only partially. His voice was beautiful, with power and pure, golden tone, yet I never felt Otello's paranoia or fury. The climatic scene in Desdemona's bedroom was a particular letdown. As Otello accuses his wife of betrayal and sentences her to death, Desdemona begs for her life, but to no avail. Otello's hysteria builds, and he murders her. At this most frenzied instant, Botha seemed cold and detached–a heartless executioner more than a betrayed husband. (By comparison, at this moment in a 1971 live performance with Herbert von Karajan at the Vienna State Opera, Vickers seems to literally go insane right on stage–one of the most truly horrifying moments I have ever heard.)

Much like Botha's Otello, the Iago of baritone Carlo Guelfi was technically well-sung but lacking in spirit. Iago is surely one of the most vile characters in the opera repertoire–he even refers to himself as "primordial slime"–but Guelfi never explored those emotions. It's not about singing the all right notes; he does that beautifully and resonantly. For me, it's about creating an entire personal. This can be done in any number of ways: the manner in which you carry yourself on stage, a specific inflection on a revealing word or phrase, a special quality to the voice, etc. I despised Iago for his jealous and destructive manipulations, yet Guelfi could have pushed his character much further, into even greater depths of evil.

Renée Fleming, on the other hand, excelled vocally and dramatically as Desdemona. For a singer of her stature, it almost goes without saying that her voice is gorgeous, but unlike Botha, she was willing to sacrifice sonic quality when appropriate, particularly as she prayed for forgiveness and compassion in her poignant "Willow Song" and "Ave Maria" at the beginning of Act IV. In fact, in her several duets with Botha, Fleming's charisma and magnetism overwhelmed her co-star.

The rest of the cast and chorus were all very good, if unspectacular. Conductor Semyon Bychkov kept the Met Orchestra on a short leash, never really allowing their full might to be released. After hearing James Levine and Lorin Maazel conduct the orchestra in January, I know it's capable of far greater levels of expression. His tempos were fairly brisk, and the orchestra did achieve a full-blooded climax as Otello smothers Desdemona. But there were many other significant moments leading up to that point that I felt were dramatically underplayed.

Despite my complains, I have to admit that the production had a great effect on me. Such is the visceral power of the music and the story. Some have suggested that Verdi's setting of Otello is an improvement on Shakespeare's original place, and, while that's a limb I'm not willing to venture out on, the opera is unlike anything I've ever experience. Its brutal portrayal of jealousy and shame will remain with me, a reminder of the darkness of the human soul.

(Photo of Placido Domingo as Otello at the Vienna State Opera)

Maazel at the Met

Forty-five years since his last appearance, Lorin Maazel finally returned to the pit at the Metropolitan Opera. And after such a long absence, he seemed intent on elongating the experience as much as possible.

Maazel, the New York Philharmonic’s music director, opened his run at the Met on Monday, January 7 with a performance of Die Walküre, the second opera in Richard Wagner's Ring cycle, in which tempos fluctuated between sluggish and glacial. Wagner’s orchestra serves an important role, commenting on the story and heightening its drama, yet interludes consistently slowed to a crawl and when combined with the director Otto Schenk’s static action on stage, they sapped all momentum. Even the wild, windswept preludes to Act II and Act III (“Ride of the Valkyries”) sounded measured and tame.

Mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe, in a venomous performance as the manipulative Fricka, was superb. She cut through the orchestra, revealing Fricka’s disdain for her unfaithful husband, Wotan. Overall, however, the cast was a disappointment, and Maazel’s pacing did them no favors. James Morris brought compassion to Wotan, but over time his bass voice has lost power. As Siegmund, tenor Clifton Forbis seemed over matched by his demanding role; as Sieglinde, Siegmund’s twin sister and lover, soprano Adrianne Pieczonka proved more effective, conveying youthful passion and vulnerability. Soprano Lisa Gasteen struggled as Brünnhilde, Wotan’s powerful daughter: high notes, particularly in her famous Valkyrie Battle Cry, were inconsistent, and she strained to project and sustain long phrases. As a bland Hunding, bass Mikhail Petrenko lacked any terror or darkness.

Even the Met orchestra suffered in Maazel’s hands. Following such an inconsistent tempo can be a challenge, and after a tight opening act, its performance became littered with poor tone quality and fuzzy ensemble. The brass section in particular was pushed to the limit; fatigue was likely to blame for its increasingly abrasive, ugly sound.

Maazel is one of his generation’s greatest conductors, but he seemed to be in his own world. With singers and musicians gasping for breath, he stubbornly maintained his deliberate pace. This performance should have been Maazel’s triumphant return to the Met, but his idiosyncratic conducting made it little more than protracted self-indulgence.

(Photo by Chris Lee)