BREAKING NEWS: Opera & Ballet

Opéra Magazine's top-rated recordings for September, October and November 2025

Sat, 01 Nov 2025 09:03:00 +0000

I was still on holiday in Greece when the latest two issues of France's Opéra Magazine arrived, so I found them in the pile of post waiting for me when I got home a couple of weeks ago.

The first was marked ‘Septembre 2025’ as normal. The second, marked ‘Octobre-Novembre 2025’, announced out of the blue, in its editorial, that ‘In order to provide you with more in-depth articles, more substantial investigations and richer information, we will now be publishing every two months.’ A cheeky bit of spin, I think, from a magazine that’s recently changed hands and, so I understand, since then lost or fired most of its staff.

Their ‘coup de coeur’ - i.e. their top pick - in September, with one of their special ‘Diamond’ awards, was Dido and Aeneas with Joyce DiDonato and Michael Spyres under Emelyanchev, dubbed a new ‘reference’ and ‘set to be seen as a landmark recording.’

It doesn't happen often, but their top pick in the October-November, again with one of their ‘Diamonds’, is a DVD set: Andreas Homoki’s Zurich production of the Ring, with - to name a few - Konieczny, Cutler, Vogt and Nylund under Noseda: ‘What a team at the service of Wagnerian drama !’

Judita

Fri, 31 Oct 2025 13:52:13 +0000

Frano Parać’s opera Judita is unusual in at least one respect. The libretto is in Old Croatian and is based on a 1501 epic poem by Marko Marulić, in turn based on the Book of Judith so the story is the familiar one about Judith and Holofernes. It’s quite short; around 70 minutes, and it follows the biblical story pretty closely.

It premiered in Split in 2000 (both Parać and Marulić are/were from the city) but the recording was made at a live concert performance in Munich in 2023. It’s a pretty interesting piece. The music is clearly modern but essentially tonal. It’s got lots of energy and is sometimes quite grand and dramatic but also with quieter moments. There are elements of minimalism, especially in the rather declamatory and percussive music given to the Assyrian soldiers.

The vocal writing is also quite varied. There are clearly arias and even the accompanied recitatives are often quite dramatic. Unsurprisingly Judita gets the best music. She’s very well sun here by Serbian mezzo Soija Petrović. Oloferne is also a pretty good role requiring a dramatic bass. In this case it’s Ivica Čikeš who is quite imposing. There’s some really good choral writing too which is well executed by the Croatian Radio Choir. The orchestra; the Munich Radio Orchestra, is also excellent and conductor Ivan Repusiċ is clearly going for maximum drama.

The recording is well balanced and quite transparent and detailed (at least in the hi-res version I listened to). It’s available as a physical CVD, in lossless digital in CD quality and 48kHz/24 bit and as MP3. There’s a booklet with good notes and a synopsis but no libretto. I didn’t find this a huge problem with such a well known story. There’s a bonus track of Parać’s Carmina Krležiana: Dance of the Baroness, from one of his ballets.

So, a well made recording of a modern opera that deserves to be better known.

Catalogue information: BR Klassik 900357

Rainelle Krause’s Queen of the Night

Thu, 30 Oct 2025 14:46:06 +0000

In my review of Opera Atelier’s production of The Magic Flute I had this t say about Rainelle Krause’s Queen of the Night… “Her coloratura was powerful and pinpoint, and as the applause died down she reappeared and reprised the most spectacular section with additional stratospheric high notes.”

Now you can see the reprise for yourself on Instagram. I wasn’t kidding.

Horton - Chopin and Bach, 29 October 2025

Thu, 30 Oct 2025 10:21:01 +0000

Wigmore Hall

Chopin: Prelude in C-sharp minor, op.45
Bach: English Suite no.2 in A minor, BWV 807
Chopin: Waltz in A minor, op.34 no.2; Fantasy in F minor, op.49; Polonaise in C-sharp minor, op.26 no.1; Polonaise in E-flat minor, op.26 no.2; Mazurka in B major, op.63 no.1; Mazurka in F minor, op.63 no.2; Mazurka in C-sharp minor, op.63 no.3; Polonaise-fantaisie in A-flat major, op.61

Tim Horton (piano)

Tim Horton’s Wigmore Hall residency, in which he presents Chopin’s music alongside important predecessors, contemporaries, and successors, has reached Bach, offering the second English Suite and an illuminating Chopin selection. The C-sharp minor Prelude – Chopin’s, not Bach’s – opened and proceeded in a way that set the tone for the entire recital: both muscular and melting, clarity and direction likewise two sides to the same musical coin. The notes mattered, and one felt that; so too did Chopin’s harmonic surprises. Not for the last time here, without necessarily sounding Lisztian, the playing made one keen to hear Horton’s Liszt. At the opposite end of the first half, the A minor Waltz, op.34 no.2, explored its tonality with a sadness emerging from its material, rather than applied to it, and thus all the stronger for it. Rubato here, as elsewhere, was unexaggerated yet telling. Chopin’s harmonic transformations and much else stood in Bach’s line, whilst remaining ineffably the composer’s own.

In between came the English Suite, its A minor presaging the Waltz. This was not Chopinesque Bach as such; it had its own validity. It was, though, a validity that drew connections and created a properly satisfying musical programme, reminding us that Bach’s may be the greatest piano music of all (with absolutely no apology to devotees of other keyboard instruments). The Prelude, rhythms tightly sprung, offered a fine framework for melodic and harmonic exploration and expression, striking an excellent balance between dynamic contrasts that were of the moment and structurally conceived, in fact showing the distinction ultimately to be illusory. Following its relative extraversion, the Allemande turned inwards, again relatively speaking, leading to a Courante that was both robust and subtle, its lineage unmistakeably French, albeit with equally unmistakeable German colouring and grounding. A beautifully dignified, even luxuriant Sarabande led us into the harmonic labyrinth, but also guided us through it. The Bourrées and Gigue offered both intensification and release, just as they should.

The F minor Fantasy, op.49, opened the second half, inheriting and extending the recital’s preceding virtues, whilst delineating this piece’s decidedly particular character and form. Echoes of Schumann, however fleeting, registered clearly in a musical kaleidoscope that again, if not exactly Lisztian, was not exactly un-Lisztian either. This music can readily fall apart when presented according to pre-conceived structural ideas that are not Chopin’s; not so here, quite the contrary. The two op.26 Polonaises and the were eloquently presented in relation to one another, harmonic foundations key to that conception. The anger and grief of the latter, in E-flat minor, spoke with a sensibility it was difficult not to think tragic, albeit finely differentiated. (But then, is not Hamlet?) I found it deeply moving.

So too were the three op.63 Mazurkas, similarly conceived as a set, yet ever alert to individual qualities. A particularly Chopinesque sadness to the second contrasted with and in its way confirmed both the well-sprung first and the syncretic, unifying qualities of the third. Counterpoint and harmony, as with Bach, were indivisible. The Polonaise-fantaisie is not my favourite Chopin, but this attentively painted performance had me listen and, I fancied, understand its structure as rarely before. Unfailingly eloquent, it unfolded both on its own terms and in light of what had gone before. As Jim Samson points out in his typically excellent programme note, examination of Chopin’s sketches shows that Chopin was ‘really composing a Fantasy, similar in conception and even in tonal organisation to the other Fantasy performed thius evening, and that he added the polonaise rhythm … to the principal melody as an afterthought.’ Compositional origins sounded here with musical immanence. As an encore, we heard a characteristic op.9 no.2 Nocturne, direct and sensitive in equal measure. Once again, I look forward to future instalments in this fascinating series.

L’Empire Étrange

Wed, 29 Oct 2025 14:24:44 +0000

The first concert in Soundstreams’ Encounters series took place at Hugh’s Room on Tuesday evening. It was a presentation of Andrew Balfour’s L’Empire Étrange which is a sort of meditation on the idea of Louis Riel. It begins “Comment chanter Louis Riel, Do you know me?” and that’s the only time his name appears so it’s not, in any way, a narrative of Riel’s life and it’s not hagiographic.

At intervals between the musical numbers Andrew took up the microphone and said a few words about what he was trying to do with the piece and this is important because Riel is such a polarising figure in Canada; traditionally a “traitor” to Anglophones but a “hero” to Francophones and certainly to Métis. And, as I think we settler folk tend to lump Indigenous people together (those “numerous other First Nations, Métis and Inuit” who get a mention in every land acknowledgement.) we tend to assume, I think, a common Indigenous view of Riel. Andrew is Cree and he sees it a little differently!

There was tension between the Plains Cree and the Métis in the 1880s. The Métis were farming traditional Cree hunting grounds and had played a role in the collapse of the buffalo population that had reduced the Cree to near starvation. The Cree leader, Poundmaker, stayed out of the 1884 rebellion. Not that that kept him out of a Canadian jail. This is a perspective that hasn’t featured much in anything I’ve read about Riel; still less in any of the musical works based on the “Riel legend” but it’s pervasive in L’Empire Étrange. This is not say that the work is “anti Riel”; still less an apologetic for the Canadian government.. It’s not at all but it does have a kind of indirectness except where John A. McDonald is concerned. No mercy for him.

It’s scored for piano, percussion, violin and cello plus a lead vocalist and a chorus of twelve. It’s episodic with each movement typically using different forces. Structurally, it starts with questions; “Comment chanter Louis Riel” and “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land” and “visionary” Riel (“Je m’appelle David”) is sort of equated with Wesakechak; the Trickster. A series of short, rather beautiful pieces deal with Vision, Peace and Death before John A. McDonald rudely interrupts with a slurred drunken version of The Maple Leaf Forever and an extract from one of his genocidal speeches. Then we come to Riel’s end and there’s a reference, conscious or not, to the Cree warriors who died on the gallows too. Not every young man followed Poundmaker’s wish to avoid the conflict. There’s an echo of a Cree death song in “May Death find you with the creator in mind” before it finishes with a setting of Notre Père (en français).

I’m conscious that I haven’t written much about the music and that’s because I got so caught up in the text and the ideas behind it. I would love to hear it again and give the music the attention it deserves. I just remember it as fitting well with the words and setting the mood. I hope there’s a recording. It was certainly very beautifully played and sung. I guess I got pulled into the vortex that Andrew describes thusly:

Riel pulled many people into a vortex… Empire Étrange is my musical vortex… and an abstract soundscape of conflict and war wounds.

Verdi - Aida, at the Paris Opera Bastille

Wed, 29 Oct 2025 08:35:00 +0000

ONP-Bastille, Wednesday October 22 2025

Conductor: Dmitry Matvienko. Production: Shirin Neshat. Sets: Christian Schmidt. Costumes: Tatyana van Walsum. Lighting: Felice Ross. Choreography: Dustin Kline. Aida: Ewa Płonka. Radames: Gregory Kunde. Amneris: Judit Kutasi. Amonasro: Roman Burdenko. Ramfis: Alexander Köpeczi. Il Re: Krzysztof Bączyk. Un messaggero: Manase Latu. Sacerdotessa: Margarita Polonskaya. Orchestra and Chorus of the Opéra National de Paris.

Photos (featuring first cast): Bernd Uhlig/ONP

When the Paris Opera staged Olivier Py’s production of Aida in 2013, it was their first since 1968, in one that dated back to 1939. Since then, they’ve made up for their omission. Py’s (to me, not as bad as people said) made it through just two seasons, until 2016. Lotte de Beer’s, with its luxury cast, in 2021, which I found quite entertaining though thousands didn’t, apparently succumbed to the pandemic. Now, in 2025, we have a revised ‘edition’, as she herself puts it, of Shirin Neshat’s 2017 Salzburg staging. I was still on holiday in Greece when it opened, but was back in time to catch the second cast.

For those who may not know, Shirin Neshat is an Iranian artist living in exile in the USA. Her work, typically black-and-white photography or film, often centres on the resilience of people, women especially, faced with religious and political oppression. As she explains in interviews on the Paris Opera’s website, she relates to Aida because she herself is a woman living in a country whose ‘worst enemy’ is her own homeland, and lives in fear of its destruction by war.

She admits she knew nothing about directing opera when approached by Salzburg, and that, intimidated by its status and traditions, watered down her first staging (2017, revised in 2022). In 2025 (i.e. in the present revision), she says, ‘you will see a much more critical and raw version,’ giving heightened visibility - in photos and videos, as well as on stage - to the victims of fanaticism and militarism combined: ‘We see that people of religion are (...) the greatest threat to humanity,’ and that victory in war emerges from ‘brutality they inflict on others, whose lives don’t matter. It’s really a subject we’re facing today (...) The people are the victims, the losers.’

The result is something familiar to us all, when artists are brought in to direct. Rather than a production of Aida per se, what we see has a ‘Gleichzeitig!’ feel to it; only here, instead of a commedia dell’arte troupe playing while Ariadne laments on her island, a quite conventional (albeit handsomely-costumed) opera is performed - as if incidentally - by soloists who are left to their own devices as far as acting is concerned, in the midst of a large-scale Shirin Neshat exhibition combining black-and-white photos and film clips with engaging young actors and dancers. In short, a ‘vintage’ opera has apparently strayed into a contemporary-art installation. There are some very good-looking tableaux, but there are also puzzling gaps in the action while videos and slide-shows are projected, and the soloists’ stock operatic gestures seem to come from another era than their modern surroundings.

For the record, the central element in the set is a monumental, white ‘concrete’ cube that revolves and opens up to form the various spaces required, including, at the end, the tomb. Sometimes - for example in the very successful temple scene - a grouping of vertical tubular lights is suspended above. There are no particular visual references to Egypt as such, though in projections we do see, e.g. a medieval fortress, and a lot of sand. Aida has a plain black dress and goes barefoot. Amneris wears floating chiffon dresses that change colour with the acts. (Judit Kutasi swept their long trains aside angrily every time she turned; I don’t know if this was a deliberate element of the mise en scène, but it certainly made her look petulant.) Radames wears an ordinary, modern uniform.

The priests, with their long beards, look Orthodox, whether Greek or Coptic, and Ramfis’s fine gauze coat recalls (to me, at least) those favoured by Iran’s rich senior clerics - or Saudi princes. The priestesses are in flowing black and white robes, as much nuns’ habits as the chadors that often feature in Neshat’s work. Dark, enigmatic dervish- or KKK- or penitent-like figures with pointed headgear sometimes stalk by. The young extras or dancers roughed up (and eventually machine-gunned after their pardon) by the military (‘the people are the victims, the losers’) wear the simple, modern black that young extras or dancers wear.

Photos and videos of migrants in a boat, veiled women, women hunched in a circle digging a grave with their bare hands, funeral rites, men carrying bodies, and so on, point to notions of oppression, submission, exile, and torn identities. Both a beast and a naked girl are sacrificed. As in Iran today, the women - e.g. in Amneris’s chamber, and including Amneris herself - demonstrate their strength and resistance in face-offs with the uniformed powers-that-be.

However, as I said, in the midst of all this, the soloists are more or less left to their own devices. Ewa Płonka’s voice, as Aida, was initially - like some of the wines I sipped gingerly in Greece this summer - thin and tart and short on sensuality and seductiveness. She improved after the interval, but even then, while she has all the notes, her sound remains dry and she sings with limited emotional impact - indeed, in this case limited impact tout court, as her voice is a notch too small for the Bastille. Her personality never asserts itself more than as a kind of Verdian Micaëla. Puzzling casting, to me, for a major international house, especially one of this size.

In the case of Judit Kutasi (Amneris), those ‘own devices’ hovered perilously - depending in part on the colour of her dress - between Divine (red), Mae West (white) and the petulant Miss Piggie (like Dolora Zajick in the Met production), any of whom, my neighbour unkindly suggested at half time, might have been preferable. She’s certainly game, and visibly believes in what she’s doing, but, moodily twirling her blond tresses between her fingers in her boudoir, still recalls La Gran Scena’s Vera Galupe-Borszkh. Sometime in her career, the basic material of her voice must have been sound; it was intermittently one of the most Verdian of the evening. But there are times you just can’t figure out what she’s singing, as if everything - notes, diction and all - were swallowed up in a generous vibrato. She too, however, fortunately firmed up somewhat after the interval.

Gregory Kunde, once he’s warmed up and his voice has settled, is (albeit with audible effort) astonishingly good, though it hardly seems necessary to say so as everyone already knows. But the character he projects, sober, wise and fatherly, isn't seductive, let alone that of an impetuous young warrior-lover (I doubt that in the first cast, Beczala, the eternal matinee idol, was that either). Undirected, his acting was of the sagely-nodding, chin-stroking kind. And I’m afraid that at one point, when buffeted between opposing parties, he reminded me momentarily of Michel Sénéchal as Ménélas getting shunted off to Crete in Laurent Pelly’s Belle Hélène.

‘Pas la distribution du siècle,’ not the cast of the century, was my neighbour’s reaction to this vocal curate’s egg, though he agreed that the supporting roles - Roman Burdenko’s ardently dramatic Amonasro, Alexander Köpeczi’s elegant, velvety Ramfis, Krzysztof Bączyk’s jet-black king, Margarita Polonskaya’s supple, fluent Sacerdotessa - were well filled.

But in the end, the stars of the show were the young conductor, Dmitry Matvienko, the orchestra and the chorus. I said, when writing about the Brussels concert that opened this new season, that Matvienko’s conducting there boded well for his Verdi here, and - though I say it myself - I was right. He is visibly attentive to both stage and pit, while bringing clarity, colour, contrast and nuance, along with a rhythmic spring, to the score. Never before have I felt Verdi’s ballets (not actually danced in this production, so it was easy to focus on the pit) were a highlight of an evening of Aida: played with delicacy, they sparkled colourfully like something by Rimsky-Korsakov. And the chorus in the temple scene was sublime - Matvienko is Belarus and studied in St Petersburg. He must have the Orthodox sound in his veins. He’s now based in Aarhus, but as far as I’m concerned, he can come to Paris whenever he wants.

Which reminds me: have they found a new music director for the Paris Opera yet?

Note: an edited version of this post may be published on Parterre.com.

Sky of My Heart

Tue, 28 Oct 2025 20:33:50 +0000

New York Polyphony are a quartet of singers; Geoffrey Williams – counter-tenor, Steven Caldicott Wilson and Andrew Fuchs – tenors and Craig Phillips – bass. On Sky of My Heart they mostly sing unaccompanied but are joined by the LeStrange Viols (Loren Ludwig and John Mark Rozendaal – treble viol, Kivie Cahn-Lipman – tenor viol, Zoe Weiss and Douglas Kelley – bass viol).

The album is a mix of Renaissance and contemporary pieces; most of the latter composed for NYP. They are very good singers with terrific control and a very clean largely vibrato free sound that works well for most of the music on the disk. Some of the material is religious; William Byrd’s setting of Ecce quam bonum, Becky McGlade’s setting of Prudentius’ Of the Father’s Love Begotten and Ivan Moody’s settings of three excerpts from the Song of Songs. All of these are unaccompanied in a churchy sort of style.

Some of the secular contemporary music gets a similar treatment. Notable examples include Akemi Naito’s settings of Saigyō’s Tsuki no Waka (Six Poems for the Moon) and Paul Moravec’s settings of two Walt Whitman poems. But just as it’s maybe beginning to feel that all this pretty a cappella singing is a bit too much of a good thing along comes Nico Muhly’s My Days which is a longish (16 minutes) and very different piece. The text mixes up fragments of two psalms with Orlando Gibbons’ autopsy report and the viols come into play. The music is much more textured with some atonality and a range of singing styles including some much more dramatic/declamatory sections. At times it’s almost chaotic which is a welcome break from what has come before. It’s a really interesting piece. The viols also get a workout on William Byrd’s Agnus Dei and the very beautiful The Silver Swan by the previously autopsied Mr. Gibbons. All in all there is about 65 minutes of music.

The recording was made in October 2023 at Bristol Chapel, Westminster Choir College, Princeton, New Jersey and it’s excellent in every way. The actual release is hybrid SACD though I listened to a pre-release 96kHz/24 bit version. From the notes I suspect that’s essentially the stereo hi-res track on the SACD. There’s a booklet with texts and translations and very good notes.

This is a really interesting album that shows quite a wide range of sound worlds for four voices and some viols!

Catalogue information: BIS 2719.

Medical Reporting in the Lay Press

Tue, 28 Oct 2025 17:56:09 +0000

Relying on the lay press for medical advice can often lead to incorrect conclusions or misguided directions. The article linked below is a good example of how well-meaning but improperly thought out reporting can lead to conclusions not based on solid experimental design or reasoning.

Drinking More Than 1 Can of Any Soda Daily Linked to Liver Disease

The following is a quotation from the news report: A study of nearly 124,000 people found that drinking just one daily serving of artificially sweetened drinks increased the risk of a liver disease known as nonalcoholic fatty liver disease or metabolic dysfunction-associated steatotic liver disease (MASLD).

It’s from a British study that has not yet gone through peer review. It’s a self-reported study which always adds uncertainty to the data. It also has many uncontrolled variables, at least according to the press report. First, who gets fatty liver disease? The list below shows the major risk factors for the disorder. Who were the control groups for this study? Were they the same, save for their propensity to drink artificially sweetened drinks? Who drinks these beverages? People who are already at risk for fatty liver disease – ie, the obese.

For this study to have any meaning (I’m faulting the reporter who may not have had the full extent of the study, though, I doubt that’s the whole explanation) it would have controlled for all the other variables that predispose to fatty liver disease except for the consumption of artificially sweetened drinks.

Such a study would be very difficult and certainly could not be done by self reporting. Another conclusion to these data could easily be that people at the highest risk for fatty liver disease drink artificially sweetened drinks. It’s even possible that they may be reducing their risk by keeping their weight down. This is pure conjecture on my part, but it’s a possibility no matter how remote.

It’s hard enough to get decisive medical advice from your general physician who may not be well-trained in clinical investigation, epidemiology, and study design. But you certainly won’t get it from the lay press. Aeger medicīnālis, cave!

Obesity – especially central (abdominal) obesity
Type 2 diabetes mellitus
Insulin resistance or metabolic syndrome
Dyslipidemia – high triglycerides and/or low HDL cholesterol
Hypertension
Sedentary lifestyle and poor diet (high in sugar, refined carbs, and saturated fats)
Genetic predisposition (variants in genes like PNPLA3, TM6SF2, MBOAT7)
Age – risk increases with age
Sleep apnea
Polycystic ovary syndrome
Hypothyroidism and hypopituitarism
Medications – e.g., corticosteroids, tamoxifen, methotrexate, amiodarone

Oppression and Redemption: Nabucco at the Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni Modena

Mon, 27 Oct 2025 09:54:08 +0000

Verdi – Nabucco

Nabucco – Alexey Zelenkov
Ismaele – Matteo Desole
Zaccaria – Ramaz Chikviladze
Abigaille – Svetlana Kasian
Fenena – Chiara Mogini
Il Gran Sacerdote – Lorenzo Mazzucchelli
Abdallo – Saverio Pugliese
Anna – Laura Fortino

Coro Lirico di Modena, Orchestra Filarmonica Italiana / Massimo Zanetti.
Stage director – Federico Grazzini.

Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena, Modena, Italy. Saturday, October 25th, 2025.

Tonight marked my first visit to the Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni in Modena, named, of course, after that city’s most famous children, two of the greatest singers of the twentieth century. It’s a jewel of a theatre, with seating for 901. Having travelled there, I must admit to having had a little trepidation before entering the theatre. The region of Emilia-Romagna has seen an explosion in anti-Jewish hate over the past two years. Earlier this month, the mayor of Reggio Emilia was booed at a public event for calling for the release of the hostages; while in the town of Conselice last week, a memorial to victims of the Shoah was defiled. I did start to fear the worst with an opera that focuses on the oppression of the Jewish people.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

Fortunately, Federico Grazzini’s staging, his second of this opera, did not contain any anxiety-inducing moments. He sets the action in a single set, by Anna Bonomelli who also designed the costumes. The set concentrates the action within three walls, while additional light features add visual interest. The costumes for the Babylonians appear to be futuristic, dressed in sci-fi adjacent military garb with painted faces, while the costumes for the Jews set them up as being in an Eastern European shtetl. There’s a clear dichotomy here, between the rustic spirituality of the Jews and the technological violence of the Babylonians. And yet, under the surface, it felt that Grazzini was making a deeper point. When Nabucco appeared, he did so under a light feature in the shape of a triangle. The red triangle is of course a symbol of Hamas and used by those who support them as a way to display their backing of the terrorists. Similarly, when Abigaille took over as queen, the Jews were imprisoned in a light structure, above which crosses appeared, reminding us of the oppression suffered by the Roman Jews over the centuries by the papal state. During ‘va pensiero’, a young girl appeared and crossed the stage carrying a model aeroplane. This brought to mind how thousands of Ethiopian Jews were rescued and taken to safety in Israel during Operation Solomon in the early 1990s. Furthermore, Grazzini accompanies the sinfonia with a tableau showing a child being taken away by masked gangs from their family, which could not help but bring to mind the Bibas children who were taken from their home by the terrorists on October 7th, 2023, and subsequently brutally murdered. The imagery was subtle, certainly, and perhaps not immediately apparent to those who are either not Jewish or familiar with Jewish history, but it felt extremely thoughtful and honoured the work’s Jewish influence.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

Grazzini’s personenregie, for the most part, was effective in showing a group of characters who genuinely engaged with each other. There was a clarity to his storytelling that was particularly effective. That said, the direction of the chorus did involve a fair amount of parking and raising of hands aloft to the sky, although the stage pictures he and his creative team produced were certainly impactful. This was my first encounter with Grazzini’s work and he’s undoubtedly a thoughtful director with a vivid theatrical imagination.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

Musically, the highlight was undoubtedly Massimo Zanetti’s conducting. He led the Orchestra Filarmonica Italiana in a delightfully sprightly reading. His tempi were nicely swift, and given the intimate size of the theatre, the attention he paid to the rhythmic impetus had an exciting physical immediacy. Yet Zanetti was also unafraid to give those longer, lyrical moments the room they needed to take wing in, gaining some exquisite playing from the principal cellist in the meantime. There was also some terrifically raspy playing from the horns in ‘o prodi miei, seguitemi’, and throughout there was a sense of the various sections within the band interacting with each other, the internal dialogue fully brought to life. One thing that gave me particular pleasure was being able to see Zanetti from my seat. The way that he encouraged both the orchestra and the singers on stage, the clarity of his gestures, and the generosity with which he shared the ovations felt supportive and genuine. The only issue I had with Zanetti’s interpretation was the complete lack of ornamentation, absolutely essential in this repertoire. The chorus, prepared by Giovanni Farina, was enthusiastic. They were fully committed to the score and the stage action, and coped admirably with those zippy tempi.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

The three main principal roles were double cast for this run of three performances on subsequent evenings and tonight I saw the second of the two casts – the photographs here include the first cast. Nabucco was taken by Alexey Zelenkov. His was a reliable and solid account of the role. His baritone is a good size, able to rise to an exciting high A-flat at the end of ‘o prodi miei’. Zelenkov found a satisfying sense of focus for his ‘Dio di Giuda’, with a decent legato, although elsewhere there were occasionally a few intrusive aspirates that entered the line. Svetlana Kasian sang Abigaille. She was unafraid to go for it. Her soprano doesn’t quite spin on top, but that certainly did not stop her delivering the volume. She attacked those perilous register leaps with confidence, generally landing in the vicinity of where she needed to be. Kasian pulled back nicely on the tone in her closing scene, still able to float the line on high. Her singing was definitely exciting.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

Ramaz Chikviladze sang Zaccaria in a big, solid bass. He has an agreeable musicality and a warm legato, the sound opening up nicely as he descended to the sepulchral depths. Chiara Mogini sang Fenena in a full, juicy mezzo. Her ‘Oh, dischiuso è il firmamento!’ was sung with long lines, vibrant tone and soared beautifully up to the high A at its climax. Matteo Desole’s Ismaele was sung in a compact tenor, one that had agreeable ping on high. I did find his initial scene with Fenena to be more robust than poetic, but he was a reliable presence on stage. Laura Fortino was a reliable presence in the ensembles, her bright soprano capping the textures. Saverio Pugliese was a confident Abdallo, while Lorenzo Mazzucchelli was an energetic Gran Sacerdote, sung in a healthy-sounding bass.

Photo: © Teatro Comunale Pavarotti-Freni di Modena

This was an enjoyable first visit to this exquisite theatre. Grazzini’s staging was thoughtful and intelligent, while Zanetti’s conducting was invigorating. The singing was decent and the chorus was committed. The audience responded frequently and generously throughout the evening and greeted the entire cast at the close with warm ovations.

Lohengrin with a twist

Sun, 26 Oct 2025 14:29:12 +0000

Sometimes opera directors come up with a twist to a plot hat is illuminating without requiring pretzel logic to actually align it with the libretto. I think Jossi Wieler and Sergio Morabit’s production of Wagner’s Lohengrin for the Wiener Staatsoper in 2024 manages that pretty well.

The twist is that Elsa does murder Gottfried and Ortrud sees her do it. In the production we see it happen during the prelude. After that the piece plays out pretty much straight until the final denouement when it’s rather cleverly wrapped up but I’ll not do a spoiler on that. It raises all kinds of questions. If Elsa is guilty what is the source of Lohengrin’s power? Indeed who/what is he? Is Ortrud right about what happens to a people who forsake the old (true?) gods for some Middle Eastern cult? Or is it all just the sort of mess that happens when people put belief in their Invisible Friend ahead of what is in front of them? One could go on…

In other respects it looks like it’s set in 1920s Belgium. It’s a bit grungy with a canal and soldiers in uniforms of that period. The take on König Heinrich is interesting. He’s portrayed more as a kindly old gentleman who, for example, conducts the choir at the Elsa/Lohengrin wedding than a war lord. There are only a few things that are anachronistic in the 1920s setting. Lohengrin is wearing 12th century-ish armour and when Telramund demands Lohengrin spill the beans he’s carrying a much too modern rifle. And the swan? The only swan we see is a pendant, presumably Gottfried’s, that Ortrud fishes out of the canal. Along the way from murder to denouement there are a series of subtle visual and dramatic touches that just keep the tension up.

Musically it’s about as good as it gets. The singing is terrific but in some ways the orchestra is the star. Christian Thielemann extracts supreme subtlety and beauty from the pit. Lohengrin may well be Wagner’s most obviously beautiful, lyrical score and after listening to this version you’ll probably concur with that.

I don’t want to downplay the singing and acting though because it’s terrific. Is there a better König Heinrich around than Georg Zeppenfeld? I really doubt it. He always sings the part with a beautiful solidity and he seems capable of becoming whatever the production needs. The Lohengrin here is David Philip Butt and he’s just gorgeous to listen to. Malin Bystrom, as Elsa, is capable of a mosttv gorgeous, ethereal sound. “Einsam in trüben Tagen” is really impressive. But she can also act and make her voice wilder which she does in Act 3 as Elsa becomes progressively unhinged. Martin Gantner and Anja Kampe are a bit terrifying as Telramund and Ortrud. They have terrific chemistry and Gantner’s swaggering, over confident persona is balanced by Kampe’s icy, sardonic, self control. There’s some powerful singing too from Attila Mokus as the Herald. The minor roles are all more than adequate and the house chorus is excellent.

The filming is by Tiziano Mancini and it’s nicely judged so with Bluray standard video and excellent surround and stereo sound it makes a good package. The booklet has quite useful notes as well a synopsis and track listing. Subtitle options are English, French, German, Spanish, Japanese and Korean.

Where does this stand relative to other (fairly) recent recordings? First let’s say that for a “traditional” recording of Lohengrin you have to go back to the last century with all that that means in terms of technical quality so we wont go there. Among “high concept” productions this new one stands up well to some strong competition. Hans Neuenfels Bayreuth production remains a personal favourite though Yuval Sharon’s later Bayreuth production is interesting if a bit puzzling. Both are excellent musically. YMMV.

Catalogue information: Unitel Blu-ray 769504

Living Epic: Götterdämmerung at the Teatro Comunale di Bologna

Sun, 26 Oct 2025 10:12:24 +0000

Wagner – Götterdämmerung

Siegfried – Tilmann Unger
Gunther – Anton Keremidtchiev
Alberich – Claudio Otelli
Hagen – Albert Pesendorfer
Brünnhilde – Sonja Šarić
Gutrune – Charlotte-Anne Shipley
Waltraute – Atala Schöck
Erste Norn – Tamta Tarielashvili
Zweite Norn – Eleonora Filipponi
Dritte Norn – Brit-Tone Müllertz
Woglinde – Yulia Tkachenko
Wellgunde – Marina Ogii
Flosshilde – Egle Wyss

Coro del Teatro Comunale di Bologna, Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna / Oksana Lyniv.
Concert performance.

Teatro Comunale di Bologna – Auditorium Manzoni, Bologna, Italy. Friday, October 24th, 2025.

And so it ends. The Bologna Ring, which started off with Rheingold in June last year, was followed with a glorious Walküre in October, very possibly the finest I’ve ever heard live, with Siegfried performed this past June. It’s been quite a journey for Oksana Lyniv and her orchestra, whose contributions have consistently been revelatory throughout. Tonight’s cast was not the one we were expecting based on the information on the Comunale’s website. Ewa Vesin, a magnificent Brünnhilde in Walküre was being publicized up until about a week ago as singing that role tonight, even though she had been billed to sing Tosca in Hamburg on the same date when they published their season back in March. Instead, we got to hear Sonja Šarić, who gave us a radiant Brünnhilde in Siegfried, having been promoted up from Gutrune, which she was also publicized to sing up until a week or so ago, again according to the Comunale’s website. We were also promised a revolving door of Siegfrieds – originally Peter Wedd was listed, with the change made around a week ago to Michael Heim, who sang in June, only for him to be removed from the billing in the last few days to Tillmann Unger who sang tonight. Of course, this time of year there are always cancellations due to unavoidable reasons, but it would certainly be a bonus if we could rely on the casting information made public in advance.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

As was the case with the other instalments in the cycle, the performance was given in concert, with the surtitles showing the original German text, with Italian and English translations, and the stage instructions projected in Italian to give setting and context. The cast generally sang from music stands at the front of the stage, with the exception of Albert Pesendorfer’s Hagen who sang without a score, and entrances and exits had been carefully coordinated. The tenors and basses of the chorus sang from the gallery at the right, with the sopranos and mezzos brought in to sing from the platea for their brief contribution. What it did allow us to do was to simply bask in the glow of the playing of the Comunale orchestra and its chorus. The acoustic of the Teatro Manzoni is warm and immediate, with a rich bass, giving ample space for Wagner’s writing to bloom within.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

Lyniv led a delightfully swift reading, with the Prologue and Act 1 coming in at around 1 hour and 50 minutes. She gave the Norns scene a wonderful sense of forward momentum, an irresistible feeling of fate deciding its own course. Lyniv then launched into ‘Zu neuen Taten’ quite slowly, allowing us to wallow in the warmth of her string section as it soared up through the registers, the subsequent entrance of the brass filling the hall in a golden glow. What struck me most about Lyniv’s reading was how organic her tempi felt. The gear changes through the evening were handled with sensitivity and a genuine sense that this was how the music was supposed to sound. This was exemplified in the Trauermarsch, where Lyniv again started it quite slowly, only for the tempo to pick up with a real sense of urgency, rendering those huge brass stabs into instances of genuine pain. Hers was a reading that lived, that felt balletic at times, lyrical at others, yet never lingered unduly, and above all filled the music with soaring poetry. The hours passed like seconds.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

It helped that she had this magnificent orchestra at her disposal. Yes, there were a few brass accidents along the way, but significantly fewer than there were in Rheingold. What struck me most was the range of colour her musicians produced. The sheer depth of tone available in the strings, the full-bodied richness of the brass, and the piquancy of the winds, accompanied by the four twinkling harps – this was orchestral playing that gave an immense amount of satisfaction. Moreover, there was a beauty to their phrasing, a soaring that just allowed the score to take wing. In those closing measures, Lyniv introduced a slightly longer luftpause just before the redemption through love motif, that gave the following seconds a true sense of resolution. It felt as a piece with her reading as a whole, that desire to use tempo, texture, and colour to find a deeper meaning. The chorus, prepared by Gea Garatti Ansini was sensational. The quality of their singing was just out of this world. The tenors gave us a thrilling high B-flat on ‘Willkommen’, the tone trumpeting into the room, while in Act 3 the basses sang with a rich resonance. The precision of their ensemble, the clarity of their tuning, and the beauty of tone all were utterly thrilling. The fact that they were ranged around the side of the auditorium, filling the hall, drowning me in a wall of sound, was simply spectacular. This chorus is, on current form, the finest in Italy and certainly one of the strongest opera choruses I have had the privilege of hearing anywhere.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

This Brünnhilde was a role debut for Šarić and it marks a significant step forward for a singer who is still relatively young. Hers is a soprano that sits quite high, which means she most certainly has a terrific high C and isn’t afraid to use it, capping her opening duet in ecstatic glee. She also soared gloriously in her duet with Waltraute as she recalled her love for Siegfried. Naturally, the biggest challenge for a voice that sits high comes in Act 2 with the vengeance trio, with a need to find amplitude in the middle. Šarić didn’t shy away from the challenge, using the text, in her excellent German, to push the sound forward, yet never pushing the instrument further than it can naturally go. With more familiarity with the role, I’m sure Šarić will find even more depth in her portrayal – the voice isn’t the most refulgent and with time I’m sure she’ll begin to exploit an even bigger palette of tone colours. Hers was a lyrical Brünnhilde, sung with womanly generosity and heart. The way that she rose to the immolation scene, the voice taking wing, pouring out gleaming tone on high where so many before have run out of gas, this gave notice of an intelligent and generous artist.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

Unger’s Siegfried was sung in a robust, healthy tenor. The voice is certainly bulky and he most definitely has stamina to keep the volume up. It does sound that he needs a little heavy lifting to keep the voice sustained in the higher-lying phrases, although he gave us a creditable high C in his Act 3 greeting to Hagen. He also used a wide range of tone colours, enabling him to bring Siegfried’s headstrong naivety to life in this scene with the Rhinemaidens. In a world where heldentenors are rare, Unger gave notice of being a very useful artist in this repertoire.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

Albert Pesendorfer gave us a massive-voiced Hagen. That treacherous passage in Act 2, where he called his vassals, was dispatched in a wall of sound – and responded most enthusiastically by the chorus. His smoky bass had significant amplitude and, as a result of his stage experience in the role, his assumption felt fully lived-in, commanding the stage with sheer force of voice and personality. Claudio Otelli returned as Alberich, finding a Shakesperean depth in his scene with Hagen, through the firmness of his vocalism and textual insight. Anton Keremidtchiev was only announced as Gunther around a week ago, so I do wonder how much notice he had of the assignment. This might explain his reliance on the score, although his singing was confident and in complete command of the role. The Bulgarian-Italian baritone also sang in excellent German, the voice utterly firm and even throughout the range, and also a good size for the part. Gutrune was taken by Charlotte-Anne Shipley, the owner of an attractive silky soprano with a core of double cream. Her German, on the whole, was clear and she had obviously worked hard on the text. Atala Schöck, who sang Fricka earlier, returned as Waltraute. She sang her narration with hieratic, imperious generosity, using her plush mezzo through dynamics and text to tell a gripping story. We were given an impressive trio of Norns, although their diction could have been slightly clearer, and a similarly mellifluous trio of Rhinemaidens who blended exquisitely together.

Photo: © Andrea Ranzi

This was a fitting conclusion to the Comunale’s Ring cycle. Once again, the sheer poetry of the orchestral playing, the extraordinary choral singing, and the profound, living insight of Lyniv’s conducting gave enormous satisfaction. The singing also gave much to enjoy, with Šarić’s radiant Brünnhilde, Unger’s staying power as Siegfried, and Pesendorfer’s massive Hagen particularly striking. The audience responded at the close with generous ovations, particularly so for the orchestra and chorus, Šarić, Pesendorfer, and Lyniv. In a house with such a storied history and strong connection with Wagner’s music, this Ring definitely represented the best of this great theatre.

The Mikado revisited

Sat, 25 Oct 2025 17:49:15 +0000

Toronto Operetta Company’s season opened with a run of a “modified” version of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado. It had the by now traditional updates predictably featuring numerous references to Mango Mussolini and the odd dig at Metrolinx but the bigger change, and a sensible one I think, was to peel away the the fake japonerie that must have seemed a bit lame in 1885 and is as intolerable as a “traditional” Madama Butterfly today.

Instead we are in Burlington, Ontario and the Emperor of Japan is replaced by the Prime Minister of Canada. I’d guess the time period is sometime between the world wars given the schoolgirl uniforms and the fact that Canadian worthies still have knighthoods but it doesn’t really matter. The libretto works pretty well with very minor changes and Gilbert’s jokes are as funny (or not) as they ever were.

The production, directed by Guillermo Silva-Marin, is lively and is very much what one expects from this company. There’d a lot of fairly basic choreography which the singers manage quite well. A lot of the impact turns on how well the singers “get” the idiom and this time that’s much better than the last time TOT did The Mikado. Greg Finney, in pariculiar, as the Lord High Executioner marires his own individual comic style most effectively with the idiosyncracies of G&S. Stuart Hamilton as the Prime Minister manages the same. There are equally effective performances from Handaya Rusli as the Lord High Everything Else and Karen Bojti as the duchess Kati-Kat.

The romantic leads are Marcus Tranquilli as Nanki Blue and Madeline Cooper as Yum Yum. The former’s voice is on the light side, but strong enough for this show. His diction is excellent and he is a very appealing and sympathetic performance. He’s well matcvhed by Ms. Cooper who has the voice and moves for an operetta lead. There’s excellent singing too from Máiri Demings as Petit-Pois. The small chorus manages pretty well. The nine piece band conducted by Narmina Afandiyeva are entirely adequate for the Jane Mallet Theatre and overall it’s pretty satisfying musically.

There are two more performances on Saturday and Sunday at 3pm.

Photo credits: Gary Beechey, BDS Studios

An exploration of Irish song

Fri, 24 Oct 2025 15:10:44 +0000

On Thursday evening at the Canadian Music Centre soprano Maeve Palmer and pianist Jialiang Zhu gave a recital that explored Irish song in many of its aspects from traditional sean-nós to English language art songs for voice and piano and points in between. I don’t know if there is another country where traditional music and composed contemporary music co-exist in quite the same way, and produce such interesting fusions, so it was really interesting.

Maeve started with the traditional Siúil a Rúin. This is (perhaps surprisingly) sung in a mixture of English and Irish but in sean-nós style which is something that happened with Irish song in the 19th century. It’s a beautiful love song and it was sung very stylishly. The next set was also typical of time and place. It was a selection of four of Herbert Hughes’ arrangements of Irish songs (in English) for voice and piano made in the early 20th century. Here we are definitely in Western art song territory sort of like the Britten folk song arrangements. Idiomatic treatment (though different idiom!) from singer and pianist.

Then we got a really odd hybrid; two songs by Fuhong Shi in which the texts are Chinese classical poetry translated into Irish. To my ear they don’t sound particularly Chinese or particularly Irish but rather like contemporary composed song which is not a big surprise given the composer’s background. An interesting piece of fusion though. The first half of the programme finished up with another piece in traditional style; Amhrán Mhainse. This is a song in which a woman; Máire Ní Chlochartaigh, anticipates her death. It’s a traditional Irish trope with echoes, of course, in Yeats.

And speaking of William Butler Yeats the second half of the programme began with three settings of his poems by Donnacha Dennehy. These are arrangements for voice and piano of parts of his 2010 work That the Night Come; originally scored for voice and chamber orchestra. These are vry much contemporary art song; quite varied and technical with some challenging vocal passages and complex piano part. These were very skilled performances. And from song composed in the modern manner to modern song in the traditional manner to finish. Patrick Cassidy’s Mise Éire, is a setting of a 1912 poem by Patrick Pearse and was written to commemorate the centenary of the Easter Rising. Indeed, it was sung at the official ceremonies pertaining to that anniversary. It’s quite beautiful but not exactly a happy song.

So, a really varied and interesting exploration of what Irish song can be and mean that went well beyond the usual clichés.

O Tu Palermo

Thu, 23 Oct 2025 23:44:16 +0000

Of all Verdi’s mature works (ie, post Rigoletto), his The Sicilian Vespers in either its French or Italian versions is the least performed. This neglect is hard to explain as the opera is a splendid work exhibiting all the characteristics that make its composer the master of the lyric theater.

The bass aria ‘O tu Palermo’ is sung by Procida at the beginning of Act 2. He has returned from exile to lead the Sicilians in revolt against their French occupiers. In it he expresses his his joy at returning to his native land and city.

The eight versions below are all sung in Italian. They include the recitative that precedes the aria. It is one of the finest solos for bass written by Verdi.

Ezio Pinza sang 879 performances at the Met between 1926 and 1948. He then went on to become a Broadway star creating the role of Emile de Becque in Rogers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific.

Boris Christoff was the mid 20th century bass whose dramatic impact came closest to Chaliapin’s. In 1950 he was invited to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City but was refused entry into the USA as a result of the McCarran Immigration Act, which banned citizens of Eastern bloc countries from entering the country. This refusal was ordered despite Christoff’s opposition to communism. He refused any further invitations to the Metropolitan and never appeared there. His dark sound was ideal for the most intense parts such as Verdi’s Philip II and Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. His recording includes some of the dialogue that follows the aria.

Cesare Siepi took Christoff’s place in Rudolf Bing’s first production at the Met in 1950. He was Philip II in Don Carlo. He takes a very lyrical approach to the Vespri aria. It was this type of singing along with his good looks that made him an ideal Don Giovanni. He was a regular at the Met giving 491 performances between 1950 and 1973. He left the company because of a dispute with management while he was still at the peak of his vocal powers.

Bonaldo Giaiotti was a leading basso cantante of the middle of the last century. He was a regular at most of the world’s leading opera houses. Between 1960 to 1989 he appeared 414 times at the Met.

Giorgio Tozzi (born George John Tozzi in Chicago) sang 528 performances with the Met between 1955 and 1975. He appeared at virtually all of the world’s major opera houses. After dubbing the singing voice for the character of Emile de Becque (portrayed by Rossano Brazzi) in the 1958 film version of South Pacific, he spent many years playing the role of de Becque himself in various revivals and road tours of the show, including one at Lincoln Center in the late 1960s. After his singing career ended he taught at the Juilliard School, Brigham Young University, and Indiana University.

Nicolai Ghiaurov was one of the world’s greatest basses. He was especially known for his Verdi and Mussorgsky roles. Married to soprano Mirella Freni they frequently sang together. In Ghiaurov’s obituary in Opera News, Martin Bernheimer remarked: “He commanded a remarkable vocal instrument, strikingly generous in size, warm in timbre, dark in color. He rolled out the resonant tone at his command with generosity, and with special ease at the burnished top.”

Ferruccio Furlanetto has been one of the most successful basses in recent memory. Though 76 years old, he is still performing. He made his Met debut in 1980. In 1982 he sang the role of Procida with the company. His last appearance at the Met was in 2022. Thus far he has appeared 228 times with the company.

Ildar Abdrazakov is a Russian bass who is in the middle of a very successful career. He has appeared 177 times with the company.

The Sicilian Vespers has only been done 45 times by the Met. Its last appearance at the New York house was in 2004. Given the expensive stuff the Met has been feeding a reluctant audience, the reappearance of a neglected Verdi masterpiece is way overdue.

O patria, o cara patria, alfin ti veggo!
L’esule ti saluta
Dopo sì lunga assenza;
Il tuo fiorente suolo
Bacio, e ripien d’amore
Reco il mio voto a te, col braccio e il core!
O tu, Palermo, terra adorata,
a me sì caro riso d’amor, ah!
Alza la fronte tanto oltraggiata,
il tuo ripiglia primier splendor!
Chiesi aita a straniere nazioni,
ramingai per castella e città;
ma, insensibil al fervido sprone,
dicea ciascun: siciliani, ov’è il prisco valor?
Su, sorgete a vittoria, all’onor!

O fatherland, dear motherland, I see you in the end!
The exile greets you
After such a long absence;
Your flourishing soil
Kiss, and love again
I give my vote to you, with the arm and the core!
O you, Palermo, adored land,
Of my green years – laughter of love,
Raise your forehead so outraged,
Your recovery – premier splendor!
I asked to foreign countries,
I wandered through castles and cities:
But, insensitive to fervid spurs,
Respond with vain pity! –
Sicilians! Where is the ancient valor?
Come on, rise to victory, to honor!

Coming up in November

Thu, 23 Oct 2025 13:27:48 +0000

Here’s what’s coming up next month as best I know.

Canadian Stage’s presentation of Robert Lepage’s The Far Side of the Moon opens at the Bluma Appel Theatre on November 1st and runs until the 16th.
In the RBA lunchtime series we have the Wirth Vocal Prize winner in recital on the 6th
Branden Jacob-Jenkins’ The Comeuppance is playing at Soulpepper. Previews are October 30th to November 5th with opening night on the 6th and the run continuing to November 23rd.

The Christmas Market plays in the Studio Theatre at Crow’s with previews from November 4th to 11th, opening on November 12th and running to the 30th. Looks like one to get your tickets soon if planning toi go. Tickets are selling fast.
The UoT Opera fall show is Donizetti’s extremely silly Viva la Mamma: Le Convenienze ed Inconvenienze Teatrali which is playing at the Elgin Theatre from November 13th to 16th.
On Saturday November 15th VOICEBOX have one concert performance of André Grétry’s rarely seen Richard Coeur de Lion. That’s at Trinity St. Paul’s.
Coal Mine Theatre are presenting Abe Koogler’s Fulfilment Centre. Previews are November 16th to 19th with opening on the 20th and the run extending to December 7th.
Soulpepper have their holiday musical Narnia running from November 18th to December 28th.
November 22nd at Trinity St. Paul’s Soundstreams are presenting Mass for the Endangered featuring Sarah Kirkland Snider’s Mass for the Endangered plus music by R. Murray Schafer, Andrew Balfour, Messiaen and others.
November 23rd Amici Ensemble have a concert of Canadian music with Mireille Asselin singing.
On November 26th Opera Revue are collaborating with Junction City Wrestling for a show at the Great Hall. I can’t even imagine…
Canadian Stage are presenting Moonlight Schooner at Berkeley Street. Previews are the 21st to 25th with opening on the 26th and the run extending to December 14th.
And finally (for now) and also from Canadian Stage is their “traditional” panto Robin Hood which plays at the Elgin Theatre. Previews are November 26th to 28th with opening on the 29th. It runs until January 4th.

Mussorgsky and Shostakovich in concert with La Monnaie at the Bozar in Brussels

Thu, 23 Oct 2025 09:00:00 +0000

La Monnaie at Bozar, Brussels, Sunday October 19 2025

Conductor: Dmitry Matvienko. Mezzo-soprano: Olesya Petrova. La Monnaie Symphony Orchestra.

Photos: credits not found

Mussorgsky: A Night on the Bare Mountain, orch. Rimsky-Korsakov.
Mussorgsky: Songs and Dances of Death, orch. Shostakovich.
Shostakovich: Symphony N°5.

In the last few years, La Monnaie has got into the habit of including a concert in its Sunday matinee subscription series - probably, as times are hard, to save money. But now that Alain Altinoglu has hoisted the house orchestra to unanticipated heights, these concerts have actually become something of an event: quite often, they turn out to be memorable, well worth the trip to Brussels.

Sunday's programme of Mussorgsky and Shostakovich involved two names new to me. Timur Zangiev, who conducted Tsar Saltan at La Monnaie in 2023, had to cancel ‘owing to unforeseen circumstances'. (Visa issues, I heard, though that seems odd when he's been allowed in before.) The concert was therefore an unexpected chance for me to discover Dmitry Matvienko at work, before he conducts Aida in Paris later this week (more of which in due time). He won First Prize and Audience Prize in the Malko Competition for Young Conductors four years ago, has worked closely with Vladimir Jurowksi and Vasily Petrenko, and is now principal conductor of the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra. I should imagine, based on Sunday’s performance, the Aarhusianers are pleased with their catch.

I hadn't personally come across Olesya Petrova either, but that's my omission: she's apparently been enjoying an international career for some time: New York, Madrid, Barcelona, Moscow, Amsterdam and more. She's sung at the Met, on and off, for over ten years, and will be Madelon again in this season's Andrea Chénier. Someone more attentive than I am tells me 'she has developed into a rather sumptuous Amneris of late,' and that 'she has continued to grow from strength to strength.' Lucky me, then, to discover her at last, apparently in her prime.

‘C’est une vraie voix,’ said my neighbour between numbers, i.e. hers is ‘a real voice’, at its peak, warm and expressive, showing full mastery of a wide dynamic range, from tender restraint to an impressively powerful finale, and a palpable feeling for the text (even in a language I don’t understand) that, with her engaging stage presence, helped establish an immediate rapport with the audience.

I read, as I genned up on young Matvienko, that his conducting was 'incisive, rigorous, steadfast, and careful to bring out the details' of the score (the score in question being Janacek's House of the Dead, no less, in Rome in 2023). So, in Brussels, it turned out to be. Just add 'vigorous' to 'rigorous': A Night on the Bare Mountain got off to a sizzling start, and one of the most immediately striking aspects of his conducting was his precision management of massive blocks of orchestral sound: sudden outbursts and sudden silences were handled impeccably, whirlwind tempi notwithstanding.

Also very noticeable was the dynamic range he coaxed out of the orchestra, from a barely audible pianississimo to a full-orchestra volume that had the lady in front discreetly putting a finger to her ears. With Altinolgu’s help, La Monnaie’s upper strings now achieve that glassy, searing sound that to me is one of the signs of a world-class ensemble. What I missed, in the Shostakovich, was the bleak, frosty desolation of Russian orchestras’ pianississimi, and the distinctive vibrato of their winds and brass, but you can't blame the Brussels players for being Belgian.

Those reviews of the Janacek in Rome also noted Matvienko’s unfailing attentiveness, dynamic range notwithstanding, to the singers, here very evident in the Mussorgsky song cycle. On the podium, this slight figure, nattily buttoned up in black, conducts with a dancing bounce and spring that (albeit incongruously, in terms of repertoire) recalls Rousset conducting Rameau. This brings a rhythmic jauntiness to the performance useful in Shostakovich’s more sardonic or sarcastic passages.

And it’s a real pleasure to watch him bring touches of colour and nuance to the performance with a turn of the hand, a pinch of the fingers, a shake of the head, a hunch of the shoulders… There’s a kind of meticulous rectitude to his conducting - perhaps the ‘steadfastness’ mentioned in that review from Rome. The potentially trashy and bombastic finale to Shostakovich’s 5th was, in his hands, simply straightforwardly triumphant. The timpani player had a ball.

Overall, Matvienko’s maturity in mastering all these elements seemed exceptional in one so young - and bodes well for his Verdi later in the week. He is, I’ve concluded, definitely one to watch, and Aarhus may have trouble holding on to him for long. As I’ve mentioned before, standing ovations were once a rarity in Brussels. But here, at the end, most of the hall was soon on its feet, cheering - with a special shout for that timpani player.

Takács Quartet/Ridout - Mozart, 20 October 2025

Wed, 22 Oct 2025 14:52:15 +0000

Wigmore Hall

String Quintet in C major, KV 515; String Quintet in G minor, KV 516

Edward Dusinberre

Harumi Rhodes (violins)

Richard O’Neill, Timothy Ridout (violas)

András Fejér (cello)

Visits from the Takács Quartet are always a highlight, for me, of a Wigmore Hall season. To be joined by Timothy Ridout for two Mozart string quintets made this one, if anything, still more so. Both works from spring 1787, falling between Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni, they breathe the air of those operas. It was difficult not to think of them from time to time during these performances—and why would one try? Also characteristic of both was a sense of ‘rightness’ to tempo. Rarely, if ever, will there be a ‘correct’ answer in absolute terms, though there may sometimes be something closer to that in proportionality; but this spoke of knowledge of and ease with the works, as a springboard to further exploration. It was clear that the players relished the fuller texture of a viola quintet, equally clear that this was shared by a receptive audience.

In any case, the C major Quintet opened as one sensed it ‘should’, cello and first violin duet presaging many other such passages, shared between the entire quintet, other entries propelling the first movement’s opening rhythmically and harmonically and its development thereafter. Mozart’s developing variation of the opening arpeggio figure was neither more nor less prominent than balance and motivic coherence and consequence required. Formal expectations and surprises were, similarly, equally fulfilled, simplicity and complexity shown to be not only in balance but two sides to the same coin. Pairs of instruments again came to the fore delightfully in the minuet, the two violas perhaps a special joy. Its trio threw everything up into the air, music resettling in magically restored order. Echoes of orchestral dances, both passed and to come, resounded. Taken third as it usually though not always is, the Andante benefited from judicious balance between space and momentum, harmony and counterpoint. Instrumental drama played out as if this were a scene from Figaro. Above all, the finale smiled: not in spite of the cares and tears, but on their account. As light as it was rich as it was deep, it again permitted all to fall into place, however much that were a case of art concealing art.

The turn from major to minor in the guise of the G minor Quintet was less a turn from happy to sad – Mozart is rarely without sadness – than from comedy to tragedy, at least to begin with. A Shakespearean realm, or perhaps better a different such realm, had been entered, inevitably foreshadowing the great G minor Symphony, though this particular tonality has much wider resonance than that with Mozart. Pamina too, came to mind in a first movement both light yet involved, seemingly effortlessly generative. If the performance occasionally approached Beethoven, as indeed did that of its counterpart in the C major Quintet, that is only because Mozart does. The development was full of surprises, even – especially? – when they were expected. There have been more vehement returns, but there are many ways to accomplish this, and relative lightness of touch was not to be confused with lightness of attitude. The radicalism of the minuet was furthered rather than effaced by the ambiguity of its consolations. Its trio emerged as a dramatic necessity, instrumental necessities ‘speaking’, or perhaps better singing, as if dramatic asides. If Beethoven came to mind again in the slow movement, the contrasts were as striking as any similarities, both in any case a matter of substance rather than mere ‘style’. Its veiled quality – literally muted – seemed to hark back to older consorts, only for an inner sigh to change everything, prophetic as much of a Schubert song as of opera. There was likewise a far from inappropriate hint of Schubert to the mysteries of the finale’s introduction, before new vistas both delighted and chilled. If transition to the Allegro partly suggested Haydn, the emergence of the first subject ‘proper’ attested to twin fragility and strength that could be none other than Mozart’s, both born of and liberated by the very texture of the viola quintet.

A valuable rediscovery

Wed, 22 Oct 2025 14:23:57 +0000

Miecysłav Weinberg’s The Idiot, based on the Dostoevsky novel, was composed in 1986/7 but didn’t get a full premiere until 2013 in Mannheim. The neglect of Weinberg’s music in USSR/Russia is probably explained by him being a Polish Jew but why he’s so little known elsewhere is a bit of a mystery as The Idiot shows that The Passenger wasn’t a fluke. Anyway, The Idiot got a second outing at Salzburg in 2024 in a rather complex production by Krysztof Warlikowski.

The opera tells the extremely convoluted story of a sort of love triangle (hate triangle?) between Prince Lev Nikolayevich Myshkin; an epileptic who has just returned from treatment in Switzerland, Parfyon Semyonovich Rogozhin; a rather boorish but very rich merchant, and Nastasya Filippovna Barashkova; whose exact status is a bit mysterious. She moves in society circles but there are suggestions that she’s a kept woman. Certainly she is very troubled and doesn’t consider herself a proper match for Myshkin.

We also meet the Yepanchin family where the matriarch is trying to marry off her three daughters including Aglaya Ivanovna who clearly has her eyes set on Myshkin. The complications turn on the fact that Myshkin is a sort of “holy fool” who wants to do good but can’t succeed because he can’t be all the contradictory things the other characters want him to be. Certainly he has no intention of marrying whereas Rogozhin very much wants Nastasya but she hates him. Further complicating matters is the rather sinister Lukyan Timofeyevich Lebedev who attaches himself to Myshkin as some sort of servant. It all ends with Rogozhin killing Nastasya and persuading Myshkin to join him in bed with the dead girl. That’s a really brief summary of a complex three and a quarter hours!

Musically it’s rather good. Weinstein’s music is chromatic with, at times, lots of brass and percussion so it sounds a bit like his friend Shostakovich but gentler, more lyrical, at least most of the time. There aren’t too many showy vocal moments though Rogozhin gets a rather beautiful aria “Ah, my fate, my fate” just before the end. The orchestral writing is consistently interesting.

Warlikowski’s staging is fascinating. It’s the Felsenreitschule and he makes full use of the space. The stage surrounds the pit on three sides and there’s a solid back wall. One can’t see the famous arches. On this huge space he disposes several modular mini sets; often with more than one in use at a time. So we have the Yepanchin’s drawing room, Rogozhin’s house and a sort of seating area that serves as a train, a café etc. There’s also a big screen for projections though that’s certainly not the only place projections appear. The screen mostly has writing on it. For most of the opera it’s Newton’s and Einstein’s equations for gravitational acceleration (I think) but characters add bits from time to time like the Alexandra Ivanovna Yepanchin writing “I am strange I dream of chickens”. That one’s in English but some of the other texts are in Russian. At times, and crucially at the end, the projections show the live stage action.

There are some extremely good performances; both musically and in the acting department. Bogdan Volkov is just about perfect as Myshkin. He has a very beautiful tenor voice and he perfectly encapsulates the vulnerability and otherworldliness of his character. His epileptic fit is truly disturbing. Baritone Vladislav Sulimsky, as Rogozhin, is also lyrical but more muscular of tone and physically more imposing. They make a great pair. Ausrine Stundyte makes a most appealing Nastasya. Her voice is big but really quite beautiful and she projects just the right amount of ambiguity. The supporting cast is excellent with Iurii Samoilov as a really weird Lebedev; sort of part Uriah Heap, part vampire. There are excellent cameos from the Yepanchin girls with Xenia Puskarz Thomas as a forceful Aglaya, Jessica Niles as a dreamy Alexandra and Jutta Bayer as a bookish Adelaide. The parents are well characterised by Margarita Nekrasova and Clive Bayley.

The chorus doesn’t have a whole lot to do but they do it well. The orchestra is arguably the star of the whole thing. It’s the Wiener Philharmoniker and they play this dense, colourful score very beautifully. I wonder, in fact, if the brass isn’t too beautiful. Should there perhaps be a touch of the harshness found on the old Leningrad Shostakovich recordings? Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla conducts and does a fine job in what must have been tricky circumstances. There’s action going on all over the place and keeping things co-ordinated must have been a challenge.

Video direction is by Davide and Tiziano Mancini and I love it. In sharp contrast to the Peter Sellars’ The Gambler reviewed a few days ago they go with the reality that the Felsenreitschule is cavernous and some of the action is dwarfed. Of course, when most of the action is on one mini set they focus on that but they never let us lose sight of the bigger picture. It’s a really good job. Technically, the Blu-ray is fine and can just about cope with the scale. The sound; DTS-HD-MA and 48kHz/24bit stereo is pretty good too. The booklet has a very brief synopsis and a track listing and a brief discussion of the production. Subtitle options are English, French, German, Polish, Korean and Japanese.

The Idiot is a real (re)discovery. It’s long and has a big cast though so it’s not likely to be coming to an opera house near you unless you live in a major European city. Fortunately this recording is about as good as opera videos get.

Catalogue information: Unitel Blu-ray 811504

What Brings You In on stage

Tue, 21 Oct 2025 14:18:58 +0000

Some time ago I reviewed Leslie Ting’s CD set What Brings You In; noting that it was music “that was composed for performance as part of an art installation or a site specific performance or as therapy rather than a conventional concert hall experience”. On Sunday I got to hear it as part of Leslie’s show at Theatre Passe Muraille.

The show is a kind of personal biographical introspection dealing with Leslie’s exploration of and struggles with her own sense of identity and what “identity” means in general. Anecdotes are interspersed with musical performances and, with one teeny change, the music is the same as on the CDs so I won’t repeat what I said about it back when. The show starts with therapy and Leslie’s relationship with her mother and her desire/need to give up her profession as an optometrist (surely, along with lawyer and pharmacist the classic “second generation” career).

There’s a lot more about Leslie falling in and out of love with the violin and how racial identity plays into the therapy process and more. She looks at ideas of how the mind works (as a “black box”) or not) and of connectedness but at bottom is the idea that therapy is supposed to cure something that is “wrong” and Leslie’s struggles with that idea. It’s all delivered in a rather low key, self deprecating and amusing way and audience members can choose to experience it either from their seats or sitting or lying on the stage floor so it has a pretty informal feel.

The alternation of music and narration and the abstract nature of the music means there is loads of time to reflect on what’s being said. I suspect individual reactions are very varied based on experience (or not) with therapy and familiarity (or not) with the more abstract end of modern classical music. I found myself drifting offf into my own experience with therapy (one life changing experience and a load of dross) and wondering if Leslie’s wasn’t pretty similar. At least the dross part.

It’s quite an interesting way to spend 75 minutes. It runs at Theatre Passe Muraille until October 25th.

Photo: Curtis Perry

La Sonnambula in HD 2025

Sun, 19 Oct 2025 01:07:40 +0000

Today’s telecast of Bellini’s soprano showcase revealed the numerous problems that have been afflicting the Met during the tenure of its general manager, Peter Gelb. Not that there was a problem with the show – which was fine, it’s issues surrounding the production that reflect the company’s difficulties.

First is the need for a new production of an opera that the company has given only 82 times (counting today’s presentation) since it first appeared in the Met’s inaugural season in 1883. Its last production was in 2009. It was so awful that it lasted for only 15 performances. La Sonnambula persists only if a star soprano wants to do it. Nadine Sierra is such a soprano and obviously wanted to sing the role of Amina. The 2009 production was beyond resucitation and an expensive redo was required. This pattern of bad productions followed by a premature new one happens a lot at the Met and ruptures the company’s budget. Who’s responsible for these messes – Peter Gelb.

The GM opened the telecast with an unnecessary foray into a political topic. Such detours are a regular part of Gelb’s administration. He drove the world’s greatest soprano (Anna Netrebko) away because she was Russian. She’s suing both the Met and Gelb for breach of contract, defamation, and discrimination (national origin and gender). Since he let Netrebko go, he’s cast a carload of Russians, including Alexander Vinogradov who appeared in today’s show as Count Rodolfo.

Enough! How was the performance? Fine if you can get past the silly story which director Rolando Villazón took far too seriously. His Swiss villagers, all clad in black and with a mien to match, looked as if they had been hijacked from Lancaster County. In his intermission interview he found meaning where there was none. He had Amina reject Elvino at the opera’s end and climb a ladder instead of reuniting with him. Still, it was nothing like Mary Zimmerman’s 2009 catastrophe. It won’t need replacement the next time a star soprano feels a yen for La Sonnambula.

Nadine Sierra is now at the peak of her vocal powers. and it’s very high. She’s also as good to look at as she is to hear. Her portrayal of the sleepwalking soprano was as close to perfect as a soprano can be when charged with emitting Bellini’s famously “long, long long” melodies (Verdi’s description). Her acting, not that acting is very important in this opera, gave us a loveable dimwit given to grimaces and other strange faces that Gary Halvorson’s closeups made easily visible to the TV audience. Those in the Met’s auditorium may not have noticed. These quirks didn’t matter when matched to glorious singing. Soft, loud, high notes and higher, all were spun by Sierra with ease.

Spanish tenor Xabier Anduaga made his Met debut as Elvino this season. He has a solid lyric tenor that has all the notes Bellini needs. All he lacks is a brighter sound that would allow him to spin a gentler line. The dry sound aside, he was quite good as the jealous villager whom he portrayed as nasty and unfriendly. He said during the intermission interview that Elvino wasn’t a very likable character, which is how he was portrayed.

Alexander Vinogradov, mentioned above, has a beautiful lyric bass. He got as much as possible from his role. He also is a convincing actor, even allowing for the low acting bar set in this opera.

Sydney Mancasola was quite good in the seconda donna role of Lise. Also convincing was Deborah Nansteel as Amina’s stepmother. Nicholas Newton was appropriately surly given Villazón’s overly grim pseudo-Amish setting.

Maestro Riccardo Frizza has a good feel for bel canto opera. He supported the singers with sensitivity and helped realize the beauty of Bellini’s extraordinary melodies. But without a soprano of Sierra’s ability there is little reason to perform this opera. Two new productions of La Sonnambula over just 15 years is an extravagance the cash-strapped Met cannot afford.

The sets were largely devoid of furniture. Instead of houses, there were doors. Snow-capped peaks were in the background. An alter ego of Amina pranced about ostensibly on the mountain tops. Amina and her alter ego were twirling around in the cold, clad only in night gowns. Were this a serious opera they’d both be dead from TB before the final curtain. But both seemed impervious to snow and frost in this production.

The Met is doing six new productions this year. Three are almost certain to lose money. Only one of them will be on the HD telecasts this year. The final offering on May 30, 2026 will be Gabriela Lena Franks’s El último sueño de Frida y Diego.

La Sonnambula
Vincenzo Bellini | Felice Romani

Amina……….Nadine Sierra
Elvino ……….Xabier Anduaga
Rodolfo……….Alexander Vinogradov
Lisa……….Sydney Mancasola
Teresa……….Deborah Nansteel
Alessio……….Nicholas Newton
Notary………. Scott Scully

Conductor……….Riccardo Frizza
Production……….Rolando Villazón
Set Designer……….Johannes Leiacker
Costume Designer……….Brigitte Reiffenstuel
Lighting Designer………Donald Holder
Projection Designer……….Renaud Rubiano
Choreographer……….Leah Hausman
Video Director……….Gary Halvorson

Chagas Disease

Wed, 15 Oct 2025 20:44:30 +0000

Chagas disease (also known as American trypanosomiasis) is a parasitic infection caused by the protozoan Trypanosoma cruzi, transmitted primarily by triatomine insects (commonly called “kissing bugs”). It is endemic in Latin America, but cases are increasingly seen in non-endemic regions (such as the U.S. and Europe) due to migration and blood transfusion transmission. Because of its increasing prevalence in temperate climes it is receiving more attention by the popular press.

T. cruzi is typically introduced into humans through the bite of triatomine bugs. When the insect defecates at the bite site, motile T. cruzi forms called trypomastigotes enter the bloodstream and invade various host cells. Within a host cell, the parasite transforms into a replicative form known as an amastigote, which undergoes multiple rounds of replication. The replicated amastigotes transform back into trypomastigotes, which rupture the host cell and are released into the blood. Trypomastigotes then disseminate throughout the body to various tissues, where they invade cells and replicate. Over many years, cycles of parasite replication and immune response can severely damage these tissues, particularly the heart and digestive tract.

The life cycle of the disease is shown in the figure below. As the label on it shows, it’s taken from the CDC.

The first description of the disease was made by Carlos Chagas in 1909 after examining a two-year-old girl with fever, swollen lymph nodes, and an enlarged spleen and liver. Upon examination of her blood, Chagas saw trypanosomes identical to those he had recently identified from the hindgut of triatomine bugs and named Trypanosoma cruzi in honor of his mentor, Brazilian physician Oswaldo Cruz.

Clinical Features

1. Acute Phase

The acute phase develops shortly after infection and lasts about 6 to 8 weeks. It is often mild or asymptomatic, particularly in adults, but may be severe in children.

Typical features include:

Fever, malaise, anorexia, and lymphadenopathy
Hepatosplenomegaly and mild myocarditis
Romaña’s sign – unilateral painless swelling of the eyelid, a classic sign occurring when the parasite enters through the conjunctiva
Chagoma – a localized swelling at the inoculation site

In severe acute infection, patients may develop acute myocarditis, pericardial effusion, or meningoencephalitis, which can be fatal, especially in infants. Parasitemia is high during this stage, making the diagnosis easier through direct detection of trypomastigotes in blood.

2. Indeterminate (Latent) Phase

After the acute phase, most patients enter an indeterminate or asymptomatic chronic phase, which can last for decades or even a lifetime. During this period, no clinical manifestations are present, but serologic tests remain positive. The parasite persists in low numbers in tissues, and gradual organ damage may silently progress. Approximately 60–70% of infected individuals remain in this indeterminate state permanently.

3. Chronic Phase

The chronic phase manifests years or decades after initial infection and is characterized by cardiac and gastrointestinal complications, which reflect destruction of autonomic ganglia and smooth muscle as well as myocardial fibrosis.

Cardiac involvement (Chronic Chagasic cardiomyopathy):
This is the most serious and life-threatening manifestation. Key features include:

Cardiomegaly and progressive heart failure
Arrhythmias and conduction defects (especially right bundle branch block)
Apical aneurysm of the left ventricle
Thromboembolism, leading to stroke or pulmonary embolism
Sudden cardiac death, often due to ventricular arrhythmia

Gastrointestinal involvement:
Destruction of autonomic nerves in the digestive tract leads to megasyndromes, including:

Megaesophagus – dysphagia, regurgitation, and malnutrition
Megacolon – chronic constipation, abdominal distension, and risk of volvulus

These complications are prominent in regions such as Brazil and Bolivia.

Diagnosis

Diagnosis depends on the disease stage:

Acute phase: detection of T. cruzi trypomastigotes in peripheral blood via microscopy or PCR.
Chronic phase: detection of antibodies to T. cruzi by ELISA, indirect hemagglutination, or immunofluorescence tests.
Additional studies such as EKG, echocardiography, barium swallow, or colonic imaging assess organ involvement.

Treatment

Treatment is most effective in the acute phase and in congenital infections. The two principal antiparasitic drugs are:

Benznidazole
Nifurtimox

Both are given for 60–90 days. They can reduce parasitemia and delay disease progression, though they may cause significant side effects. In the chronic phase, therapy focuses on managing complications—using antiarrhythmics, pacemakers, anticoagulants, and surgical interventions for gastrointestinal megasyndromes.

Prevention and Control

Because no vaccine exists, prevention relies on vector control and screening:

Insecticide spraying to eliminate triatomine bugs
Housing improvements to reduce insect infestation
Screening of blood donors, organ donors, and pregnant women in endemic areas
Health education campaigns to promote awareness and hygiene

These efforts, particularly in Latin America, have significantly reduced transmission in recent decades.

Chagas disease remains one of the most important parasitic diseases in the Americas, affecting millions and causing chronic cardiac and gastrointestinal morbidity. It ranges from asymptomatic infection to severe heart failure or digestive obstruction, reflecting the parasite’s capacity for lifelong persistence and tissue damage. Early detection and treatment, combined with sustained public health efforts, remain the cornerstone for controlling and eventually eliminating this serious tropical disease.

Chagas disease in the United States is an increasingly important public health concern, though it remains underrecognized and underdiagnosed. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) estimates that there are now more than 300,000 people living with Chagas disease in the U.S., most of whom were infected in endemic regions of Mexico, Central America, or South America before migrating north. However, locally acquired cases have also been documented in Texas, Arizona, California, Louisiana, and other southern states, demonstrating that transmission is possible within this country.

The insect vector (triatomine bugs) is native to parts of the southern United States. Over 30 species have been identified, and at least 11 species have been found naturally infected with T. cruzi. Most reside in wild or peridomestic environments, such as woodpiles, rodent nests, dog kennels, or chicken coops.

Most U.S. cases are chronic infections detected incidentally during blood donation screening, prenatal testing, or evaluation for cardiac disease. Clinical findings mirror those seen elsewhere.

Chagas disease in the United States is no longer a foreign problem. Although most cases are imported, domestic transmission is possible, and thousands of infected individuals remain undiagnosed. The U.S. faces a significant public health challenge: identifying and treating those already infected, preventing congenital transmission, and monitoring potential local spread. Increasing physician education and routine screening in at-risk populations are essential steps toward controlling this neglected tropical disease within the borders of the US.

My sources for the above article are:

The CDC
The World Health Organization
Pan American Health Organization (PAHO)
U.S. National Library of Medicine
Wikipedia Article on Chagas Disease
ChatCPT

Neil Shicoff

Sun, 12 Oct 2025 21:43:14 +0000

Neil Shicoff (b 1949) is an American tenor who has attained great success both in America and Europe. A native of Brooklyn, he is the son of the cantor Sidney Shicoff. The younger Shicoff trained as a cantor as well as studying singing at Juilliard. He made his operatic debut in the title role in Verdi’s Ernani conducted by James Levine in Cincinnati in 1975.

He made his debut at the Metropolitan Opera as Rinuccio in Gianni Schicchi also conducted by Levine. He went on to give 208 performances at the Met. He also regularly appeared at the Vienna State Opera. His Met career was interrupted for seven years (1990-1997) due to personal issues combined with severe stage fright, which led to numerous cancellations at other companies. He is now retired and devotes much of his time to teaching.

Shicoff’s voice at his peak was a beautiful lirico-spinto that was best employed in the standard Italian and French repertoire. His vocal mechanics were excellent and he was able to convey the full emotional content of the music he sang. He had a major career and was clearly one of the best tenors of the last quarter of the previous century. Were it not for the personal problems, which need no further discussion here, he might have ranked as high as Richard Tucker among American tenors.

I only heard him in performance one time – as Eleazar in La Juive. He was outstanding as he is on the excerpts below. First, three arias from Massenet’s Werther. The role was especially suited to Shichoff’s voice; he sang it often.

‘O Nature, pleine de grâce’ is in Act 1. Werther expresses his feelings of love and wonder by addressing nature in a moment of deep, romantic contemplation.

‘Oui! Ce qu’elle m’ordonne’ is in Act 2. It is part of a passionate monologue where the poet Werther declares his love for Charlotte and his willingness to do anything for her, despite her being married.

‘Pourquoi me réveiller?’ is the opera’s most famous number. Every tenor sings it in recital or recording, even if the opera is not part of the repertoire. The aria addresses unrequited love, despair, and death. It expresses Werther’s intense emotion and his feeling of being broken by love.

Another Massenet aria – ‘Ah! Fuyez, douce image’. The Chevalier Des Grieux has taken religious vows in despair over losing Manon to a richer and older man. He relives memories of her.

Gounod’s Faust was the first opera ever performed at the Metropolitan Opera. It was done there so often that the house acquired the nickname the Faustspielhaus. It’s not done as frequently by the New York company as it was in the past and has dropped to eighth place on the list of most frequently performed operas. ‘Salut! demeure chaste et pure’ occurs in Act 3. Faust idealizes Marguerite as a pure child of nature.

The last French selection is from La Juive. It was recorded in performance in Vienna. It was this production that the Met borrowed for its revival of the opera with Shicoff in the leading role. The great aria ‘Rachel, quand du seigneur’ is the main reason to attend a performance of Halevy’s five act French grand opera. In the aria the Jewish goldsmith Eleazar does not want to sacrifice his adopted daughter Rachel to his hatred of Christians, and renounces his revenge. She’s really the long-lost daughter of the Cardinal Brogni. However, when he hears the cries from a pogrom in the streets, he decides that God wants him to bear witness in death with his daughter to the God of Israel. Shicoff’s singing gets everything there is from the aria.

The only reason a production can cast a star tenor as Macduff in Macbeth is the Act 4 aria ‘Ah, la paterna mano’. It’s one of Verdi’s finest. Apart from this number the tenor doesn’t have a whole lot more to do.

‘Fontainebleau forêt immense’ is the tenor aria in Act 1 of the original French production of Verdi’s Don Carlos. In versions in which Act 1 is omitted, the tenor aria is moved to the new first act.

The last Verdi aria is ‘Parmi veder le lagrime’ from Act 2 of Rigoletto. Shicoff sings the deceptively difficult aria with ease and style.

Finally, the two tenor arias from Tosca. ‘Recondita armonia’ followed by ‘E lucevan le stelle’.

Barenboim/Nouno - Boulez, Attahir, Manoury, Chaker, and Roustom, 12 October 2025

Sun, 12 Oct 2025 17:26:54 +0000

Purcell Room

Boulez: Anthèmes 1
Benjamin Attahir: Retour à Tipasa
Philippe Manoury: Partita II
Layale Chaker: Before bloom
Kareem Roustom: Pavane (pour les enfantes défuntes) (UK premiere)
Boulez: Anthèmes 2

Michael Barenboim (violin, viola)

Gilbert Nouno (live electronics)

Michael Barenboim’s Sunday afternoon Purcell Room concert, given with Gilbert Nouno, offered not only a welcome new standpoint to the Boulez centenary celebrations, but also the United Kingdom premiere of Kareem Roustom’s Pavane (pour les enfantes défuntes), for viola and live electronics, Barenboim’s own commission for ‘something for the children of Gaza’. Words, music, money, anything at all may seem hopelessly insufficient in the face of genocide, and of course they are. That does not mean, though, that we should not bear witness as we can. Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw does not efface, let alone undo, what was done, nor does it intend to. Extending his father’s humanitarianism and indeed as much in the tradition of Edward Said, co-founder of the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, Michael Barenboim, the orchestra’s longstanding concertmaster, has consistently shown great courage in doing so in the face of implacable opposition from German media and the German state. Indeed, to have given the work’s world premiere in Berlin just under a year ago, in the rare friendly space of the city’s Pierre Boulez Saal, was itself an act of witness.

An opening cry, far from histrionics, yet all the more powerful for it, spoke of something more fundamental—in more than one sense. Roustom’s piece takes its leave, of course, from Ravel’s Pavane pour une infante défunte, and specifically the absurdism of its title, an absurdism we have seen and heard, via Beckett and the debris of post-Holocaust art, inflicted on children in Gaza and beyond. Neither overtly representational nor overtly abstract, its hope in some sense to speak, perhaps to sing, despite and through trauma seemed woven into both piece and performance, as well as to our necessary reactions. That it ultimately approached Ravel and his piece themselves, without the slightest incongruence, itself seemed both absurd and necessary, electronics creating a strange piano echo of their own.

In a carefully planned programme, this Pavane stood as a counterpart to the first-half Retour á Tipasa for violin and electronics, by Boulez pupil (at the Lucerne Festival Academy) Benjamin Attahir, also following on meaningfully from Layale Chaker’s Before a bloom for solo viola. Both works bridged, like Roustom’s, ‘East’ and ‘West’, not in a banal cross- or inter-culturalism, but as a natural form of expression. The opening éclat – that indispensable Boulezian quality – of Attahir’s work, a dazzling pizzicato figure, was immediately bathed, magnified, and transformed in dialogue with an electronic penumbra that offered more of a sense of aural landscape, though not only that, than Boulez would have been likely to consider. North African melodic and rhythmic inflections – to our ears, they may sound Scottish, but that is our problem – evoke or hail, again without mere representation, the Punic-Roman-Algerian port of Tipasa. Shifting relationships between solo instrument and electronics, as well as a clear, dramatic overall trajectory bore their own witness: not necessarily one to be put into words, but no less important for that. Likewise, in Chaker’s solo piece, whose pizzicato ‘accompaniment’ and solo arco line – it is more complicated than that, but perhaps not entirely – seemed to me strangely, expressively to echo the world of Bartók’s rhapsodies for violin and piano. Originally composed for cello, it showed no obvious sign of transcription, benefiting from rich, variegated viola playing and, again, unfailing sense of overall line.

Philippe Manoury’s Partita II for violin and electronics came across as effortlessly – however much art conceals art – conceived for violin, electronics, and their joint capabilities: as ‘natural’ as Chopin writing for piano, or Mahler for orchestra. A magical realm of precision, consequence, and highly expressive potential and achievement radiated, Boulez-like, from the ‘solo’ instrument, although it is far from clear that ‘influence’ or at least inspiration, may not have run as much in the opposite direction. Both like and unlike a violin concerto, its nine stands’ worth of music was full of surprises that were anything but arbitrary, Barenboim’s virtuosity here as elsewhere so clearly in the service of the music one might readily overlook it—yet should not.

Opening and closing the programme were Boulez’s own Anthèmes 1 and Anthèmes 2, the former for solo violin, the latter its expansion for violin and electronics. In both, Barenboim – and Boulez – made crystal clear from the outset the nature and contrasts of the musical material: the figure from his …explosante-fixe… ‘kit’, treated in almost sequential yet never predictable variation, and single notes of long duration. It was their story, told in illuminated style that recalled old ‘anthems’ on the acrostic Lamentations of Jeremiah, consecutive Hebrew letters beginning each verse. (Recall also Stravinsky’s Threni.) Performed with a keen, yet never remotely flashy sense of drama, the works’ structure became form before our eyes and ears. Serial-Bachian procedures redolent of the Musical Offering and Art of Fugue, especially in Anthèmes 2, evoked the instrument’s past and perhaps its future, proliferation pointing toward an apparent eternity. Musical rays shone outwards from the violin; at other times, the instrument sounded as if a single ray, albeit the brightest, from within a spectrum. This is not spectralist music, far from it, yet the distance may not prove so great as many of us may have thought. I was struck anew by surprisingly Messiaenesque harmony at its centre, by the singular use of electronics in ‘real time’, by the music’s multi-dimensionality. It felt as if the pages of Anthèmes 1 had been opened, their notes, numbers, metaphorical flowers turning to the sun—and then away from it, inspired, emboldened, given new life. There may or may not be hope, but there is still music.

La Sonnambula at the Met – Very Brief Review

Tue, 07 Oct 2025 18:44:13 +0000

‘The Met’s new production of Bellini’s La Sonnambula was broadcast over the company’s Sirius channel last night. It featured Nadine Sierra in the title role. Spanish tenor Xabier Anduaga was Elvino.

Sierra has all the vocal bells and whistles necessary to realize Belini’s sleepwalking canary. She is the reason for this production. Anduaga, on the other hand, was a bit of a disappointment. Not that he was bad, but rather that he wasn’t as good as the hype generated about his appearance. One was expecting the resurrection of Giuseppe Di Stefano or at least the equivalent of Rolando Villazon before his vocal collapse. Villazon, interestingly, directed this new production. Anduaga’s voice had little sheen and seemed somewhat muffled. He made little of the lyrical simpleton that is Bellini’s hero. Elvino is on an IQ par with Donizetti’s Nemorino, Anduaga’s debut role at the Met in 2023. I’ll withhold final judgment until after the telecast of the opera on October 18.

If you would hear the role of Elvino sung to perfection, listen to Raúl Giménez singing recorded during a live performance made in performance more than 20 years ago.

Alexander Vinogradov has a light lyric bass and was fine as Count Rodolfo. Sydney Mancasola and Deborah Nansteel made as much as possible out of Lisa and Teresa, respectively. Conductor Riccardo Frizza kept everybody together. There’s little else for the conductor to do in this opera which is solely built on the quality of its singers. A detailed review will describe the production after the upcoming HD telecast.

London Sinfonietta/Benjamin - Boulez, 5 October 2025

Tue, 07 Oct 2025 15:04:38 +0000

Queen Elizabeth Hall

Mémoriale; …explosante-fixe…

Michael Cox (flute)
Royal Academy of Music Manson Ensemble

Sound Intermedia (sound projection)

London Sinfonietta

George Benjamin (conductor)

Pierre Boulez’s centenary celebrations are far from over. Here, the opening concert of the London Sinfonietta’s 2025-26 season presented the complex relationship between the 1985 Mémoriale, written in memory of flautist Laurence Beauregard, and …explosante-fixe…, initially a Stravinsky memorial, which both furnished material for Mémoriale and, in its final form, of 1993, written once technology permitted, in turn drew on the earlier (and later) work.

First came the shorter Mémoriale (following an introduction to the composer in the Queen Elizabeth Hall foyer by Jonathan Cross and Gillian Moore). Knowing …explosante-fixe… better – also having heard it more recently, at this year’s Salzburg Festival – I immediately began to notice and reflect on the differences and points in common, perhaps most obviously that Mémoriale is very much a piece for solo flute and small ensemble, whereas the later work seems increasingly to derive its larger ensemble, not only electronics, from a flute at its physical and conceptual centre. It sounded akin to a flute concerto in miniature, Michael Cox here and later the expert soloist, euphonious, virtuosic, and much more. Boulezian proliferation was experienced as vividly as anyone might imagine, perhaps more so, surrounding, ornamenting, and in turn shaping an unmistakeable, almost Classical line at its centre, albeit very much haunted and inspired, like so much of Boulez’s music, by Debussy.

There followed an enlightening discussion between Moore and, first Andrew Gerzso, with whom Boulez worked on the realisation of …explosante-fixe…, among other works, followed by George Benjamin, who would conduct the work this evening, armed with players of the London Sinfonietta and their side-by-side Royal Academy Manson Ensemble colleagues to illustrate with musical examples. Gerzso clearly explained Boulez’s dissatisfaction with earlier attempts to integrate acoustic and electronic music, needing ‘score-following’ technology such as he first heard in Philippe Manoury’s Jupiter, so as to avoid the players’ enslavement to the tape. Boulez’s longterm interest in music as commentary upon itself, multiphonics, the airiness of ‘Aeolian’ sounds, the importance of Paul Klee, and much more were rendered vividly comprehensible. Benjamin in turn attended to the work’s musical content and form, Boulez’s melismatic writing but one of many telling links between the two commentaries (as, one might say, in his composition too).

For …explosante-fixe…, Cox was joined by co-soloists Karen Jones and Sofia Patterson Guttierez. Whether it was the particularity of performance, that particularity integral to Boulez’s use of electronics, the contextualisation afforded by prior discussion, or something else, much sounded strangely, if hardly surprisingly, post-Stravinskian, flute lines included. The Rite of Spring can rarely have seemed so present, so haunting. Benjamin imparted an urgency to the opening perhaps greater than I have previously heard, instigating a frenetic, delirious outpouring of sound. He soon relaxed, though, in a notably fluid reading, enabling éclat to transform itself into sensuality, both of course hallmarks of Boulez’s music. In composer, conductor, and players’ bending of time, rubato and performance seemed reborn before our ears. I was struck anew by the nerviness of some of the string writing and its proliferating consequences, but equally later by exquisite, frankly erotic longing. All manner of other detail emerged as if for the first time: perhaps, in some cases, it was. Electronics assumed their rightful role as another section, here almost in place of percussion though that need not be so, of the organism we know as the orchestra. In its three-movement form, the ‘modern classicism’ (Arnold Whittall) of this phase in Boulez’s career courted comparison with Mozart: a sinfonia concertante reimagined. The clarity Benjamin brought to the score would surely have impressed the composer himself. It was difficult also not to feel that melancholic, even elegiac quality to the close, as all returned to E-flat (Es/S for Stravinsky), might have moved him as it did us.

Program Notes: Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff

Sun, 05 Oct 2025 19:46:33 +0000

The program notes for the upcoming Tchaikovsky/Rachmaninoff Concert (Nov 6, 2025) are below. Tickets can be purchased here.

Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 1

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893) wrote seven symphonies – the six numbered ones plus the Manfred Symphony. The first of these was written in 1866 when he was 26 years old. Its gestation was a period of turmoil for the young composer. He complained of debilitating fatigue before he even began working on the symphony.

He had just joined the faculty of the newly founded Moscow Conservatory. He repeatedly revised the manuscript at the behest of his former teacher Anton Rubinstein, and the effort left him exhausted. Tchaikovsky was emotionally hypersensitive and fragile from childhood throughout the rest of his life.

Indeed, emotional lability may be the defining characteristic of the Russian intelligentsia and affluent class of the 19th century. The great literary works of Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Checkov largely focus on this characteristic. For more on this trait, see the section below on Rachmaninoff.

Tchaikovsky’s always fragile health broke down due to the numerous revisions urged by Rubinstein. The latter was a musical conservative whose compositional ideal was the German model of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Though fully conversant with the German model, Tchaikovsky developed a symphonic style built on repetition and melodic inspiration. His doctor declared him “one step away from insanity,” because of his working day and night to compose the symphony. The doctor ordered complete rest. Tchaikovsky complied. Finally, he discarded all the revisions that had been forced on him and went back to his original draft. The only revision he kept was because he had lost the original of a small section of the work.

After all the travails of its genesis, the First Symphony shows the germination of the seeds of genius that grew into the great masterpieces of his symphonies 4, 5, and 6. Tchaikovsky was a harsh critic of his own compositions, yet he was always fond of his First Symphony. He wrote to his patroness Nadezhda von Meck in 1883 that he believed, “although it is in many ways very immature… yet fundamentally it has more substance and is better than any of my other more mature works.”

The symphony has the melodic richness and momentum that is unique to Tchaikovsky. The title Winter Daydreams was Tchaikovsky’s as were the titles to the first two movements – Dreams of a Winter Journey and Land of Desolation, Land of Mists. the composer did not explain these titles, nor did he explain why the final two movements had no names.

Nikolai Rubinstein, Anton’s brother, to whom the symphony was dedicated, conducted the scherzo at a Moscow concert of the Russian Musical Society on December 22. 1867. Though the scherzo met with little success, Rubinstein was still ready to perform the complete work. This finally took place on February 15, 1868, to great success. Surprisingly, though, the symphony would have to wait 15 years for its next performance. This performance of a revised version took place in Moscow on December 1, 1883, under the baton of Max Erdmannsdörfer. Today it is regularly performed.

The symphony begins with a quiet oboe theme. The strings then enter. The lyric richness that characterizes all his subsequent work is already here. The second subject is given to the clarinet and flute. A dream-like atmosphere pervades the movement in keeping with the title. The music has all the hallmarks that make Tchaikovsky’s music unique and instantly recognizable.

The second movement has a melody of such breadth and grace that it could easily have come from one of his ballets. It signals that a genius, unlike any other Russian composer, had arrived. The composer’s melodic gift is unsurpassed and only matched by a handful. This melody is taken from the “Poco Meno Mosso” section of his first Symphonic Poem, The Storm. The horns enter about 70% into the movement. The score calls for two horns. Maestro Cho has upped the number to five to enhance the sound of this section of the movement.

The third movement is quick and agile. It is suggestive of Mendelssohn. It was the first movement to be written. It was salvaged from the third movement of a piano sonata that he had written as a student. Tchaikovsky transposed the movement down a semitone to C minor and replaced the trio with a waltz.

The finale is based on the Russian folk song “Will I open my little one, my little one?’. It is the basis for the introduction and the second subject. It is also incorporated into the vigorous first subject. The recapitulation restates the movement’s introduction. The movement ends with a vigorous coda. Critics from Tchaikovsky’s own time to the present note its lack of inevitability, yet its energy remains irresistible.

The listener should be glad that Tchaikovsky rejected the academic advice of his elders and produced a work that only he could have. The succession of masterpieces that followed are all presaged by his First Symphony. It is the work that declares the arrival of a new master, one who has a sound and style that the entire world would soon come to embrace.

Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2

Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943) was the last great composer in the Russian classical style. Stylistically, he was the direct heir to Tchaikovsky. In 1892 Tchaikovsky attended the premiere of Rachmaninoff’s Aleko, a one-act opera based on the narrative poem The Gypsies by Alexander Pushkin and praised Rachmaninoff for his work. When he learned of Tchaikovsky’s death the following year he was shattered.

Later that day, he began work on his Trio Élégiaque No. 2 for piano, violin, and cello as a tribute. The music’s aura of gloom reveals the depth and sincerity of Rachmaninoff’s grief for his idol. After that he underwent a period of profound depression and was unable to compose. This compositional inertia lasted for two years. In September 1895 he completed his Symphony No. 1. It was not performed until March 1897.

The first, and only performance of the work during Rachmaninoff’s lifetime, was an epic disaster. The work was savaged by the critics. Much of the blame for the symphony’s failure belongs to its conductor, Alexander Glazunov. He was a distinguished composer and pedagogue, but was not a very good conductor. He may also have been drunk during the performance. Dmitri Shostakovitch, who was later his student, said Glazunov always kept a bottle of vodka in his desk drawer. The second performance of the symphony, a success, took place at the Moscow Conservatory on October 17, 1945. It is now part of the standard orchestral repertoire.

Rachmaninoff suffered another mental collapse following the failure of his symphony. He was again unable to compose. At his best, he was not the happiest of men. Stravinsky described him as “Six foot six inches of Russian gloom.” At the behest of his friends, he finally sought medical assistance from the neurologist Dr. Nikolai Dahl, who successfully treated him with hypnotherapy. The result was the Piano Concerto No. 2. The concerto is dedicated to Dr Dahl.

The first performance of the complete concerto was at a Moscow Philharmonic Society concert on November 9, 1901. The composer was the soloist. He performed the work 143 times in concert throughout his career. The concerto was a huge success with the public from its initial appearance and has remained one of the most popular concertos in the repertoire. Critics were initially reserved, but the audience has overwhelmed them and the work is now an acknowledged masterpiece.

While not abandoning tonality and melody, as did many of his 20th century coevals, his personal idiom, notable for its song-like melodicism, expressiveness, dense contrapuntal textures, and rich orchestral colors, makes his music unique. Though he is the direct descendant of Tchaikovsky, his style blends sweeping Romantic lyricism and rich harmonies into music that is both virtuosic and emotionally direct. His immediate connection to the audience likely outdoes any other 20th century composer. Arguably the greatest pianist of the last century, the demands of his concertizing limited his compositional output. Had he been less of a virtuoso, he would have left behind many more works.

The first movement is in sonata form. It starts with the piano alone playing dark chords of increasing intensity. The first theme is played by the strings with the piano accompanying it. The second theme is more lyrical. The development section features a dramatic interplay between the piano and orchestra. The main theme returns and the movement ends with a coda based on the first subject.

The second movement, marked adagio sostenuto, is in A-B-A form. It begins with muted strings and clarinet, creating a dreamy, nocturne-like atmosphere. In the middle section, the piano sings one of Rachmaninoff’s most moving themes. This second theme, along with the one described below, has been used many times in both movies and as the basis of popular songs. The movement ends with the return of the tranquil opening material fading into a hushed close with the piano playing alone.

The final movement opens with a brief period of orchestral calm leading to a series of forceful chords. The piano enters with the music full of momentum and energy. This section transitions to one of the most beautiful melodies in the concerto literature. The melody fades as the music again becomes vigorous and with a forward drive. The great melody returns, followed by vigorous music that preceded it. It then forms the basis for the glorious close to the concerto.

The piece established Rachmaninoff’s fame as a concerto composer and is one of his most enduringly popular pieces. While it is not the virtuosic showpiece that is his Piano Concerto No. 3, it uniquely touches the heart.

Thank you Dr Dahl.

Tragedy into Comedy: Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi at the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos

Sun, 05 Oct 2025 17:22:02 +0000

Suor Angelica
Suor Angelica – Silvia Sequeira
La zia principessa – Cátia Moreso
La badessa – Nélia Gonçalves
La suora zelatrice – Paula Morna Dória
La maestra delle novizie – Carolina Figueiredo
La suora infermiera – Rita Coelho
Suor Genovieffa – Elisa Bastos
Suor Osmina – Inês Medeiros
Suor Dolcina – Ana Cosme

Gianni Schicchi
Gianni Schicchi – Luis Rodrigues
Lauretta – Rafaela Albuquerque
Zita – Cátia Moreso
Rinuccio – Francesco Lucii
Gherardo – Marco Alves dos Santos
Nella – Rita Marques
Betto Di Signa – João Oliveira
Simone – Nuno Dias
Marco – Tiago Matos
La Ciesca – Patrícia Quinta
Maestro Spinelloccio – Mário Redondo
Amantio Di Nicolao – Ricardo Panela

Coro da Escola de Música do Colégio Moderno, Coro do Teatro Nacional de São Carlos, Orquestra Sinfónica Portuguesa / Renato Balsadonna.
Stage director – Carmine De Amicis.

Teatro Nacional de São Carlos, Centro Cultural de Belém, Lisbon, Portugal. Saturday, October 4th, 2025.

With this double bill of Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi, the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos has opened its 2025 – 26 operatic offering. While its historic home is being restored, the theatre is leading a peripatetic existence, performing in venues all over the Portuguese Republic. Although the theatre has only revealed its season until December on its official website, the site of the Centro Cultural de Belém, informs us that the TNSC has plans for some concerts there in the winter and spring, and a production of Tannhäuser in April.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

The stage direction of this double bill was confided to Carmine De Amicis, a new name to me. His is a staging that makes much of little. The set for Suor Angelica is a simple transparent structure, with some stylized plants on one side and a statue of the Madonna on the other. There’s a simplicity to the visuals of the nuns’ outfits matching the whiteness of the set, with the Zia Principessa showing up in black, who was accompanied by Angelica’s son, dressed in red, who sat outside during their confrontation. Despite the simplicity of the setting, so much was illustrated through the personenregie, creating a narrative clarity that was in very welcome comparison to the fog of last night’s Faust in València, for example. De Amicis clearly knows how to tell and communicate a story and encourages his cast to do the same. He isn’t the first director to bring the son back in the closing moments, as Angelica expires, but here it was given added impact thanks to Silvia Sequeira’s deeply moving assumption of the title role.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

The set was reversed for Schicchi, as if sheltering in the action in a home-like structure. Here, De Amicis made use of video projections, by Leandro Summo, to provide images of birds or the celebrated Duomo in Florence. Indeed, the bird image was central to his staging. The entire cast, with the exception of Schicchi, wore some feathers as part of their costumes, moving around the set as if birds – with Lauretta and Rinuccio giving birth to an egg that hatched in the closing scene. It struck me that De Amicis’ inspiration for this was Schicchi’s line to Lauretta ‘Va’ sui terrazzino; porta i minuzzolini all’uccelino’, in a way portending that, at the dénouement of the opera, Schicchi would be handing the family crumbs of Buoso’s testament, while keeping the choice bits for himself. Again, what De Amicis succeeded in doing was creating a piece of theatre that allowed an ensemble cast to have the time of their lives. He brought out the comedy, exaggeratedly so certainly, but the roars of laughter emanating from the auditorium were proof of an audience that was so fully engaged with what they saw. There was a genuine sense of a group of people playing off each other, a dysfunctional family undoubtedly, but with performances so vivid and so compelling it was impossible not to be engaged.

Sequeira’s Angelica moved me immensely. She’s such a special artist. She has this implicit musicality that so few have, she knows how this music should go, she understands the shape of the lines, knows how to phrase them and pull out the emotion. Her ‘senza mamma’ was heartbreaking, the pain so palpable thanks to her copper-toned soprano encased in a captivating fast vibrato. The instrument itself has a genuine plush beauty. And yet, again I left with a sense that the technique just isn’t quite lined up. As her big aria reached its ecstatic high, the support started to give way and Sequeira dropped the off-stage high C. She is without a shadow of a doubt one of the most exciting singers I’ve had the pleasure of hearing. There’s so much she has to offer as artist. The musicality she has is something so few have. I really do hope she has the guidance she deserves to allow her to make the most of what is a remarkable talent. Even with the technical issues, her Angelica absolutely floored me with its emotional power in a way that it rarely does.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

Cátia Moreso took on the roles of both the Zia Principessa and Zita. She sang the princess with a rich chestiness, unafraid to boom down there at the bottom. I did find her tendency to let rip on the last syllable of ‘giustizia’, for example, to go against the language and the line, but it was certainly exciting to hear her pull out the organ stops in that way. Her Zita was utterly terrific. She camped it up tremendously, demonstrating a comic timing that was spot on and her silky mezzo nicely extrovert. Back in Suor Angelica, we also had a decent group of nuns, although a few did have a tendency to dwell on the underside of the note.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

Luis Rodrigues more than held the stage as Schicchi. His baritone may now be betraying signs of the passing years, with the tone somewhat grainier than of yore, but he brought out so much through the text, relishing the extrovert character yet also showing the tenderness of his fatherly love of Lauretta. Rodrigues also lightened the tone with real wit as he imitated Buoso.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

Lauretta was taken by Rafaela Albuquerque. She sang her ‘mio babbino caro’ with full tone and impressive breath control, phrasing so much in a single line, where many before her have broken it up. Her soprano has an agreeable milky warmth, the tone open and free on top. Her Rinuccio was Francesco Lucii. His is a bright, narrow tenor, although his ode to Florence was unfortunately less than audible from my seat in the centre of the plateia, due to the sound emerging from the pit. The remainder of the cast consisted of many familiar names. Rita Marques dispatched Nella’s music with scintillating tone, while blending exquisitely with Patrícia Quinta’s Ciesca and Moreso’s Zita. Marco Alves dos Santos brought his focused tenor to Gherardo’s music – indeed, I do wonder if he might have been more optimally cast as Rinuccio. Nuno Dias sang Simone’s music in a lugubrious and warm bass, while Ricardo Panela sang Amantio di Nicolao in a firm baritone. Mário Redondo was a deliciously witty Maestro Spinelloccio, dispatching his interjections with focused tone.

Photo: © Matilde Fieschi / TNSC

Renato Balsadonna led the house orchestra in a reading that luxuriated in Puccini’s score. This is a band that has the music in their blood, they phrase it like Italians, knowing how to bring out the beauty of Puccini’s writing. And yet, I did find Balsadonna’s reading to be somewhat earthbound. He undoubtedly has a good ear for orchestral colour, bringing out the glowing half-lights in Angelica together with the sheer modernity of Puccini’s scoring. I did find Schicchi to also be earthbound, that glorious eruption of the ‘babbino caro’ theme in Rinuccio’s aria simply failed to take wing. That said, Balsadonna did keep the cast together, no small challenge in a piece as fast-moving as this. The orchestra responded very well to him. There were a few ragged entries in the brass and wind, and a few passing moments when the violins lacked unanimity of tuning in the higher reaches. Otherwise, the playing was indeed excellent, full of fragrant colour combined with an implicit understanding of Italian phraseology. The choruses offered a halo of sound in their brief interjections.

Mahler’s Ninth Symphony is not a young person’s work—a young person as conductor, that is, not as listener or indeed orchestral musician. There will be exceptions; there always are. It is not, though, a work to be rushed into; frankly, no Mahler symphony is, though that has not stopped many. That is not, of course, to say it need be an old person’s work; Mahler, after all, was in his later forties when he wrote it. Coincidentally or otherwise, Claudio Abbado was more or less – very slightly less, I think – the same age when he first conducted it. It benefits, at least, from a degree of maturity: musical, but also emotional and intellectual. Serious musician that he is, Sakari Oramo has wisely left it until last. There was no doubting, though, the preparation that had gone into this, his first time conducting the work. He had its measure and communicated it well to a packed Barbican audience, drawing out the best from the BBC Symphony Orchestra, of which he is now its longest serving conductor. I hope we shall hear it again from him before long, but this was an auspicious, well-considered, and well-timed debut, taking nothing for granted and thereby resulting in a fresh, convincing performance of a work whose confrontation with mortality and what might lie beyond can, given the present state of the world, rarely have spoken more personally or necessarily.

The opening was tentative and uncertain in the right way: that is, such was its mood, not a characterisation of the playing. The vast Andante comodo, often accounted Mahler’s single finest sonata-form achievement, built slowly and, by contrast, certainly. Yet, almost before one knew it, there came the first great orchestral cri de cœur, with all its multivalence and complex ambiguities. The music continued to sing, as it must. Variegated string playing, articulation in particular, was detailed – Mahler’s instructions are nothing if not detailed – and yet without fuss. How malevolent the darker timbres and harmonies sounded. I was put in mind of an observation by Adorno concerning Parsifal, so rich in implication for late Mahler in particular, of ‘eine düstere Abblendung des Klangs’, a ‘lugubrious dimming of sound’ that yet left space, even necessity, for agonies, such as those of Parsifal in and after Wagner’s second act, to play out. This was especially the case for the wind – shades of Kundry as ‘rose of Hell’ – even to the extent of according to an edge, in context rather than by design, to the purity of Daniel Pailthorpe’s flute solos, and certainly to those harp phrases (Elizabeth Bass and Elin Samuel) on the threshold of the Second Viennese School. The greater trajectory was all there, but it was properly built from detail; a broad brush, if every appropriate, could hardly be less so. Form and, if one may call it this, musical narrative unfolded with an urgency that had everything to do with understanding and nothing to do with minutes on the clock. Urgency does not and never should equate to mere speed. If, just occasionally, I felt that climaxes might have opened up further, in retrospect that single-mindedness was amply justified; far better that than sentimentalism, and there is no single way here. More importantly, the music peaked neither too early nor too frequently. Grief-laden, yet anything but mawkish, it seemed to suggest, even to say: this is how the world is. And it is, is it not? When consolation came, it had been earned and came from within. A sense of return at the movement’s close was not a case of full circle, but of revisitation given what had passed in the meantime.

Oramo and the orchestra offered a splendidly deliberate foundation, its strength and integrity almost Klemperer-like, on which the ambiguities of the scherzo could rest, and/or from which they could grow. Overused it may be, but it is difficult not to reach for the word sardonic. Puppets danced above the abyss, somehow suspended from something that would not let them fall, something or even someone that may not, perhaps cannot, be named. Bruckner night at Wozzeck’s tavern ceded, or at least shared the stage with, sounds of the Prater and, more distant, more insidious, strains of Götterdämmerung. A Ländler corroded and transformed: what did it mean? And again, who might say? Yet, that it had meaning, whether or no it could be put into words, could hardly be doubted: a Viennese dream that not only permitted but demanded interpretation.

The Rondo-Burleske, ‘sehr trotzig’, raged with a malevolence that may have been intrinsic or may have reflected a world to which the music ‘itself’ reacted. There was, at times, especially earlier on, a smile too, though by the close it would be but a bitter memory. Again, there was an impression of marionettes playing out their drama, or it being played out for them, through them. Who pulls the strings? Driven equally by harmony and counterpoint, it offered a final Mahlerian tribute, beleaguered and yet in its way triumphant, to Bach. Marching bands would not, could not fall silent. Indeed, for a few heartrending moments, the world of the Third Symphony seemed if not to return, then to be fondly recalled, only to be banished by something closer to the spirit of the Sixth.

The finale followed attacca, its opening as rich in compassion as in texture and in string sentiment expressed with – not dependent on – vibrato. There were still daemons to be exercised, but there was, it seemed, a God—and He might just aid us. Clear reminiscences of the first movement made clear the nature of the journey we had taken. Violin tone was transmuted from gold into silver, even for a moment into ice that chilled the bones. There would be no easy to path, yet we could trust that there was one. Stoically, Mahler summoned the reserves to keep going. For the lights might be going off – one could hear and almost see them, one by one – but there was no alternative. The Mahlerian subject somehow, somewhere remained, a voice of humanity, the hymn’s ‘still small voice of calm’, or even a peace that passed all understanding. Having passed through a weird twilight zone, metaphysical (Wagner, Schoenberg, and others) and even political (Nono, I fancied, might have divined the Gramscian ‘Now is the time of monsters’), and having refused to let go, humanity spoke—and sang. In a ghostly revisitation of Haydn’s Farewell Symphony, there was a flicker: maybe of hope, maybe even of peace, unquestionably of something. Music bore witness.

(The performance will be broadcast on BBC Radio 3 on Thursday 16 October at 7.30 p.m.; it will be available for thirty days thereafter on BBC Sounds.)

Circus Tricks: Faust at the Palau de les Arts

Sat, 04 Oct 2025 09:34:58 +0000

Gounod – Faust

Faust – Iván Ayón-Rivas
Méphistophélès – Alex Esposito
Valentin – Florian Sempey
Wagner – Bryan Sala
Marguerite – Ruth Iniesta
Siébel – Ekaterine Buachidze
Dame Marthe – Gemma Coma-Alabert

Cor de la Generalitat Valenciana, Orquestra de la Comunitat Valenciana / Lorenzo Viotti.
Stage director – Johannes Erath.

Palau de les Arts, València. Friday, October 3rd, 2025.

With this evening’s opening performance of Johannes Erath’s staging of Faust, the Palau de les Arts in València opened its 2025 – 26 season. Over the past two decades, this has become one of the most exciting opera houses to visit – home to one of the top three opera orchestras in the world, in my humble opinion, and one of the finest choruses also. Erath’s staging is a coproduction with the Staatsoper Berlin, the Scala, and the Teatro Real and it certainly looks like a show that has had a good amount of money spent on it.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

Erath appears to set the action in the nineteenth century, using video to provide images of the Paris Opéra projected onto the set. Marguerite is apparently a ballet dancer, Valentin a clown who throws knives, and Dame Marthe a nun. Erath makes frequent use of doubles – an older man accompanies Faust throughout, another dancer shadows Marguerite, who at one point turns out to be Siébel in drag, who then returns to being a man. If this sounds confused, that is most certainly the effect. Erath fills the stage with extras, with constant movement, yet in doing so fails to do those most basic of tasks – to tell a story and make us feel. In the soldiers’ chorus, Valentin appears to be suffering from PTSD, throwing his knives around. It was quite interesting how the duel between Valentin and Faust was set up as a knife throwing competition, with Faust throwing the knife to an extra, who then threw it on to another, eventually to Valentin, effectively ensuring his demise with the same means that he used to make a living. Similarly, in the ballet, what appeared to be the older Faust, walked around the stage with a mirror, forcing the younger to look at himself. And yet, it all felt like a jumble of ideas thrown together, without a coherent thread.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

Indeed, I’m still wondering why Marguerite opened act 4 inserted into a giant top hat. Or why in the love duet, Faust and Marguerite engaged with doubles rather than with each other. Why did the Madonna show up in the corner of one scene, disappear for the rest of the evening, only to show up at the end at the top of a staircase beckoning Marguerite up to the top? As I mentioned above, Erath’s staging looks expensive, the costumes, by Gesine Völlm, are extravagant, and the circus artists on stilts add a festive air. Erath had clearly also convinced the principals and chorus to get into the spirit of his staging, with the chorus standing at the front waving jazz hands, and he knew how to place the characters on stage for maximum audibility and impact. In that respect his staging is competent. And yet, I longed for him to actually allow us to feel, to empathize with his characters, to understand their motivations. Instead, the staging felt cold and lacking in emotion.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

What also didn’t help with the clarity of the staging was the clarity of the diction of two of the principals – Iván Ayón-Rivas’ Faust and Alex Esposito’s Méphistophélès. I am so happy the house provided the French version in the seatback titles as, in both cases, they were very difficult to understand. Ayón-Rivas has a very fine instrument, with real ping on top and genuine musical instincts. He also has a good line and an easy flexibility. Yes, he didn’t quite successfully negotiate the diminuendo on the high C in ‘Salut! Demeure chaste et pure’, but that may well be first night nerves and even if it’s a big moment, it’s only a very tiny part of the role as a whole. He’s also an engaging actor who fully threw himself into Erath’s concept. And yet, what holds him back is his French diction. It robbed his singing of the impact it should have, despite the excellence of his vocalism. Ayón-Rivas should have the ideal instrument for this repertoire and I very much hope that he can find a French coach who will support him to fulfill the promise he very much has.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

Esposito is a singer who I have a great amount of esteem for. He’s a real stage animal, his ‘veau d’or’ was electrifying in its abandon, the voice commanding attention, his acting, whipping the extras was immensely watchable. Yet here also, his singing lacked the ultimate impact it should have had due to the lack of clarity in the text. His bass-baritone is in excellent shape, his comic timing and use of tone both nicely sardonic. I just wish he had used the text as a starting point for the line rather than a secondary aspect. It was doubly frustrating because there was so much to appreciate in his devilish portrayal and vocal command, but if the words aren’t clear then the drama dims.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

Ruth Iniesta gave us a glorious Marguerite. She sang the entire role in impeccable French, her assumption having considerably more impact since the text was so clear. She found a limpid poise to her ‘roi de Thulé’, while her air des bijoux scintillated and glistened thanks to her easy trill and effortless negotiation of the florid lines. Moreover, Iniesta was also able to pull out the stops in the final scene, the voice opening up with thrilling amplitude, her singing drawing out meaning and desperation with the text being so clear and moving, soaring over the surging pit. Another magnificent assumption from this splendid singer.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

Florian Sempey sang his ‘Avant de quitter’ with his customary handsome tone, the voice soaring and opening up with ease on top. He also very convincingly acted out the role Erath had designed for him. Bryan Sala was a very happy find in the role of Wagner, his firm and equally handsome baritone gave much pleasure and he sang in excellent French. Ekaterine Buachidze sang her ‘faites-lui mes aveux’ with silvery tone, an eloquent line, even throughout the range, while Gemma Coma-Alabert brought a fruity and full mezzo to Dame Marthe’s music. The Cor de la Generalitat Valenciana was on very good form tonight, having been prepared by Jordi Blanch Tordera. The tenors and basses made a tremendous sound in their big soldiers’ chorus, while the tuning of the unaccompanied passage at end of Act 4 was staggering in its unanimity at a pianissimo dynamic. Their corporate sound, full and rich, with impressive blend, gave a great deal of pleasure, although here again, they could ideally have benefitted from some further French diction coaching.

Photo: © Miguel Lorenzo & Mikel Ponce.

As indeed did the playing of the house orchestra under Lorenzo Viotti. I must admit I did find some of Viotti’s tempi to be rather saggy and slow, even if he did bathe in the beauty of Gounod’s score. Similarly, the ‘veau d’or’ did feel a little heavy on its feet, and in the ballet music also, there was a sense that he was keeping this fabulous orchestra on the leash, rather than letting it go. Of course, this was a first night, and perhaps as we proceed through the run, he may begin to feel more comfortable in letting these outstanding musicians loose. There was a real poetry in their playing, particularly in the solo oboe, and in the solo violin in ‘Salut! Demeure’. Viotti also brought out a deep pile carpet of sound in the strings, using the acoustic to bring out the various ‘voices’ in the band, giving the sophistication of Gounod’s scoring the utmost clarity. The brass playing was superb in its accuracy and in the sheer wealth of colour they brought. Once again, tonight proved that this house has an orchestra they can be justifiably proud of.

I must admit I found this an evening that was rather mixed. The staging lacked narrative clarity, cluttering the visuals, yet never actually making us empathize with the characters and truly ‘feel’. This was an effect compounded by the lack of clarity of diction from two of the principals, despite the fact that their vocalism had so much to offer. Fortunately, we were given a glorious assumption of Marguerite by Iniesta, who sang the role with so much feeling and beauty. The audience responded to the principals with generous cheers and to the orchestra with a standing ovation. The production team was greeted with polite applause and a very few isolated boos and bravos in equal measure.

Iphigénie en Tauride, Blackheath Halls Opera, 28 September 2025

Wed, 01 Oct 2025 10:27:26 +0000

Blackheath Halls

Images: Julian Guidera
Iphigenia (Francesca Chiejina)

Iphigénie – Francesca Chiejina
Thoas – Dan D’Souza
Oreste – Dan Shelvey
Pylade – Michael Lafferty
Priestesses – Emily Williams, Ava Reineke, Eva Hutchins
Scythians – Byron Davis-Hughes, Zac Conibear

Director – Laura Attridge
Designs – Peiyao Wang
Lighting – Charly Dunford
Movement – Corina Würsch
Fight director – Mark Ruddick

Students from Greenvale School and Charlton Park Academy

Blackheath Halls Chorus and Youth Company

Blackheath Halls Orchestra

Chris Stark (conductor)

Priestesses as Diana (Emily Williams, Ava Reineke, Eva Hutchins)

Unquestionably Gluck’s greatest opera and, to my mind, the greatest eighteenth-century opera whose composer is neither Rameau nor Mozart, possibly even that is simply not by Mozart, Iphigénie en Tauride needs to come across as such. In a sense, all is secondary to that. Hats off, then, to Blackheath Halls Opera, employing a mixture of professional soloists, conservatoire students, and local residents of all ages, that the results should be quite so compelling, a vindication of community opera in itself and as dramatic experience. No attentive viewer and listener would have been in any doubt as to the work’s stature in a vividly direct performance and production that displayed not only commitment, but resourcefulness and imagination too.

Laura Attridge’s production stood at the heart of this, neither imposing something extraneous on the work nor shying away from interpretation, rooted in the work but not confined by it: a metaphor and, I suspect, a foundation for the enterprise as a whole. (The idea that there can be a performance or indeed a reading without interpretation is self-evident nonsense, although it proves curiously persistent.) The drama grabbed and did not relinquish us: Euripides re-created, partly reimagined, but above all given new life; Gluck and librettist Nicolas-François Guillard recreated in turn. Stories, dramas, and their meanings change over time, but a core remains, endures, and in some ways is even strengthened. I am sure this would have been the case whether new to it, as many would have been, or a fervent Gluckian (as a few eccentrics might think ourselves). Such is the magic of human creation—and its riddle, as Marx for instance puzzled over, asking how, in his abidingly historical world-view, the art of the Greeks could continue so directly to speak to us Peiyao Wang’s set made excellent use of the space: on two levels, though not in the fashionable way of large theatres, in which too often those in the less expensive seats struggle even to see the higher level of action. Here, action extended downwards from the raised stage, affording a perfect view to everyone. An upside down house, hanging from the ceiling, served as a constant reminder that, in the aftermath of war and other ‘conflict’, all many involved want is to go home, yet are unable to do so. It may no longer exist or have been so transformed (destroyed) as to render the dream impossible. Iphigenia, worlds away from Mycenae, was foremost among those people onstage, though after the interval, the advent of children playing with smaller houses below reminded us she was far from alone. Beyond the stage, refugees remain on all our minds. And it was clear, quite without fuss, that Orestes and Pylades have not only the most intense, meaningful of male friendships, but are truly in love, sealed with a reuniting kiss at the close. The libretto may say ‘amitié’ rather than ‘amour’, but how could it otherwise? This opera has always been a special case; here, the English ‘love’ conquered all.

Pylade (Michael Lafferty),Thoas (Dan D'Souza),Oreste (Dan Shelvey)

So too did much of the singing. Francesca Chiejina was a wonderful Iphigenia: compassionate, vulnerable, inwardly (and outwardly) strong, her clarity of diction as noteworthy as that of dramatic purpose. Dan Shelvey and Michael Lafferty offered noble and yet similarly, deeply human portrayals of Orestes and Pylades, oppressed and resurrected by Fate—or Diana, strikingly portrayed by three High Priestesses together: Emily Williams, Ava Reineke, Eva Hutchins. Dan D’Souza brought Thoas, the Taurian king, vividly to life with cruelty and not a little charm. Byron Davis-Hughes and Zac Conibear stepped forward to make the most of their time in the vocal spotlight as two Scythians. Various crowds assumed their parts, vocal and dramatic, presenting individuals who together were considerably more than the sum of their parts. Chris Stark led the musical side, the Blackheath Halls Orchestra included, with a keen ear both for dramatic purpose and for what was desirable in this particular situation. Orchestral drama, of which there is much, unfolded as keenly as that onstage, ballet music considered from all quarters integral to the drama in a venerable line of descent from Rameau and ultimately Lully.

Thoas

Given in English as Iphigenie in Tauris, in a new translation commissioned from Martin Pickard, this knocked spots off my previous evening’s Cenerentola at ENO, which had fallen victim not only to half-baked staging and conducting but to an often excruciatingly unmusical translation. Opera in translation, even from French, can work—and was clearly the right decision in this context. It is, moreover, not only what Gluck would have expected, but what he did when presenting the opera in Vienna for the visit of Russia’s Grand Duke Paul in 1781, only two years after the Paris premiere. (An Italian version would be given in the same theatre only two years later, in light of the failure of the National Singspiel, in a translation by one Lorenzo da Ponte.) One sensed, moreover, a strong partnership between Pickard and Attridge, herself a poet (as well as someone who speaks great sense about what the role of an opera director is—and is not). A memorable occasion, then, all in all: dare we hope for more Gluck in London, and even in Blackheath?

Human Complexities: Otello at the Teatro Real

Mon, 29 Sep 2025 10:52:47 +0000

Verdi – Otello

Otello – Brian Jagde
Jago – Gabriele Viviani
Cassio – Airam Hernández
Roderigo – Albert Casals
Lodovico – Sim Insung
Montano/Un araldo – Fernando Radó
Desdemona – Asmik Grigorian
Emilia – Enkelejda Shkoza

Pequeños Cantores de la ORCAM, Coro Titular del Teatro Real, Orquesta Titular del Teatro Real / Nicola Luisotti.
Stage directors – David Alden.

Teatro Real, Madrid, Spain. Sunday, September 28th, 2025.

With this revival of David Alden’s production of Otello, the Teatro Real is opening its 2025 – 26 season. I saw Alden’s production when it was new at English National Opera, around a decade ago, and my memories of it were not particularly distinguished. I was keen to see whether it had improved with the years. The casting for this revival was also a compelling reason to attend, with Brian Jagde making his debut run in the title role, Asmik Grigorian as Desdemona, and Gabriele Viviani as Jago. When you have singers of the calibre of Airam Hernández as Cassio, one can assume that it would be an evening where the singing is front and centre.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

Which is a good thing, because I do admit that Alden’s staging has certainly not improved with age. I don’t know if Alden intended for the opening scene to be risible, but that was certainly the effect. He moves the chorus around as a block, asking them to indulge in movement, by Maxime Braham, that seems to have them swaying around as if they had enjoyed a little too much of the local brandy. That, combined with the wild-maned danseuse who randomly gyrated around the stage giving us frequent views of her panties, did not promise a particularly serious start to an evening of potent drama. Fortunately, thanks to the excellent singing-actors at his disposal, the evening did settle down, but it felt that this was more due to the individual performances of the singers, rather than a sense of insightful personenregie.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

Indeed, far too often characters were simply asked to gesticulate to the front, arms outstretched. I also don’t quite understand why, in the Act 1 love duet, that Otello and Desdemona chose to copulate on the dusty floor rather than find a more comfortable spot. The most successful aspect of Alden’s staging was the lighting, by Adam Silverman. He made frequent use of shadow within the semi-circular set to provide some striking images of characters standing over each other – reinforcing the power relationships inherent in the piece, whether Jago over Otello, or Otello over Desdemona. Otherwise, this was a staging that was very much dependent on strong individual performances to drive the drama forward.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

In his debut run of this iconic role, Jagde gave notice that he could become a truly great Otello. He’s not there yet, but there’s some serious promise that makes me very excited to see him grow in the part over the next few years. His opening ‘esultate’ was thrilling, his dark, masculine tenor opened up gloriously on the top, the high B and A staggering in their amplitude and ease. Despite the generous size of the voice, he was able to pull back on the tone in the love duet, shading it with delicacy. Vocally, Jagde gave us a most impressive piece of singing. What I do hope he will focus on for future assumptions, is the relationship between text and note. I longed for him to make more use of the language, to use the vowels to project emotion while spitting out the consonants. For instance, those repeated cries of ‘sangue’ at the end of Act 2 needed more blood in the tone by exploiting the vowels. That isn’t to say that his ravings to Desdemona in the Act 3 duet weren’t impressive, they very much were, I just felt that the impact was blunted by a relative lack of colouring of the text. Make no mistake, however, with this debut run, Jagde has very much arrived in the role.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

Viviani gave us a fabulously demonic Jago. Indeed, he gave us a masterclass in how to use text, sound and physicality to give us an incredibly complex portrayal. Viviani illustrated Jago’s journey from wounded pride to sheer psychopathy, refusing to accept his responsibility in the final scene. The way that he brought a smile to the tone while witnessing Otello’s disintegration was seriously disturbing. Similarly, he sang his ‘credo’ with firm tone, even vibrations, and registers fully integrated. Viviani also made full use of the dynamics, pulling us into his conspiracy, while also repelling us with his evil. Needless to say, his diction was crystal clear all night, exploiting the language, including those wide open ‘A’ sounds, for even more impact. His was a multifaceted, disturbing, and compelling reading of this gift of a part.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

Grigorian gave us a luminous Desdemona. She has the kind of profound understanding of how this music should go that simply cannot be taught. Her reading of the role abounded in eloquent Verdian phraseology, founded in a generous chestiness that opened up to a wonderful top, capping the ensembles radiantly. I did find that Grigorian took a little while to settle, she took a few extra breaths before floating on high in the love duet, but once past this, she phrased in long, eloquent lines, bringing an honesty to her singing that was full of Desdemona’s innocence. Her big Act 4 scena saw her searching for truth in her singing, the repeated cries of ‘salce’ varied in tone and feeling, and her ‘Ave Maria’ was sung with elegant beauty, the closing ascent to the high A-flat floated on a cushion of sound.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

The remaining cast was of the highest level. Hernández’ Cassio was sung in a bright, forwardly-placed and ringing tenor. Enkelejda Shkoza sang Emilia with deep feeling, in a fruity mezzo, singing her passionate lines of truth in Act 4 with extroversion. Sim Insung sang Lodovico in a stentorian, slightly woolly bass, with plenty of resonance. In the brief role of the Araldo, I was impressed by Fernando Radó’s big, resonant bass – one I’d like to hear more of. The chorus, prepared by José Luis Basso, rose to the occasion. This is a big assignment for them and they rewarded us with a massive noise that filled the house thrillingly. The sopranos gave us a staggering sustained high C in Act 3, while the tuning in the unaccompanied passage after the passing of the storm in Act 1 was absolutely spot-on. Moreover, the rhythmic accuracy they brought to Verdi’s challenging syncopated writing was seriously impressive. There was a focus to the tone that I found gratifying to listen to, no war of vibratos here, just a wall of sound that blew me out of my seat. It was a great night for them. The children’s chorus had been equally well prepared by Ana González.

Photo: © Javier del Real / Teatro Real

The house orchestra was similarly on top form for Nicola Luisotti, rewarding him with playing of the very highest quality, whether in the glowing brightness of the high strings and strumming harp in the love duet, or the darkness of the lower strings and brass portending doom in the closing act. I did find Luisotti’s reading to be somewhat routine, however. I longed for him to point the surging rhythms in the Jago/Otello duet at the end of Act 2, to drive it forward much more than just responding to the stage. Similarly, the surging strings in response to Jagde’s electrifying ‘esultate’ also felt somewhat anticlimactic. To his credit, Luisotti did keep his large forces together, with ensemble watertight throughout. It’s just that I longed for him to pull out the rhythmic force of the work, to drive and enhance the strength of the feeling emerging from the singing. It was undoubtedly a competent reading, but I did long for more.

Tonight’s Otello was a splendid opening to the new operatic year in Madrid. Yes, Alden’s staging is unintentionally risible and not as insightful as one might hope, but tonight was very much about the singing – and what singing we were treated to. We witnessed superb singing across the board. Jagde’s Otello promises so much for the future. It was thrillingly sung and one can only hope that with time he will find even more depth to his characterization. Grigorian gave us a radiant Desdemona, with Viviani finding so much depth and complexity in his portrayal of Jago. The audience responded at the close with thunderous ovations for the cast – justifiably so.

Creative Processes: Les Contes d’Hoffmann at the Opéra Comique

Sun, 28 Sep 2025 10:31:14 +0000

Offenbach – Les Contes d’Hoffmann

Hoffmann – Michael Spyres
Olympia/Antonia/Giulietta/Stella – Amina Edris
Nicklausse/La Muse – Héloïse Mas
Andrès/Cochenille/Frantz/Pittichinaccio – Raphaël Brémard
Le conseiller Lindorf/Coppélius/Le docteur Miracle/Dapertutto – Jean-Sébastien Bou
Spalanzani/Nathanaël/Le Capitaine des sbires – Matthieu Justine
Luther/Crespel – Nicolas Cavallier
La voix de la tombe – Sylvie Brunet-Grupposo
Schlémil/Hermann – Matthieu Walendzik

Ensemble Aedes, Orchestre philharmonique de Strasbourg / Pierre Dumoussaud.
Stage director – Lotte De Beer.

Théâtre national de l’Opéra-Comique, Paris, France. Saturday, September 27th, 2025.

This new production of Les Contes d’Hoffmann at the Opéra Comique, coproduced with the Opéra national du Rhin, the Wiener Volksoper and Reims, is a homecoming for Offenbach’s opera. It was within these very walls that the work was first heard in 1881, although without the Giulietta act. I must admit to some considerable excitement at the prospect of hearing this masterpiece in such a historic and intimate space, and right from the opening measures, there was a visceral impact to the music-making that just grabbed one’s attention and refused to let go for the next three hours.

The staging was confided to Lotte De Beer, a director I’ve previously found to be frustratingly inconsistent. I can happily report that this is by far the most successful staging I’ve seen by her. De Beer sets the action within a defined set, which is frequently updated as each act goes by to provide furniture that reflects the action taking place. Rather than the usually-heard recitatives, we instead had the dialogues, here rewritten by Peter te Nuyl and translated into French by Frank Harders. Of course, one might fear that the dialogues could hold the action up, but it’s testament to the cast and the direction that this was never the case. Instead, they were ideally set in the musical context for the evening, the hours passing by like minutes.

And yet, I must admit to not being absolutely convinced by the new dialogues within the structure of the evening as a whole. Right from the start, there was a sense that De Beer wanted to take a somewhat twenty-first century, revisionist view of Hoffmann. There were constant references to a man who was so self-obsessed, he fell in love with any woman and automatically assumed that those women would be equally obsessed with him. That does feel like a valid reading. Yet I couldn’t help but feel there was a facetiousness to De Beer’s view of the work that lacked sincerity. It felt played for laughs rather than a deeper exploration of the impact of alcoholism or the struggles of creativity, for example. Take the Olympia act. There, she was clearly a doll that, thanks to the magic lunettes, Hoffmann was unable to see her true nature. The stage alternated between having a small doll for Hoffmann to engage and dance with, and a giant one planted on stage, while Olympia’s music was sung by a human with whom Hoffmann refused to engage. Yes, we were given a sense of the ridiculousness of Hoffmann’s obsession with the doll, yet it felt that this was played much more for laughs than trying to take us deeper into his psyche.

That doesn’t mean that De Beer’s staging lacked some interesting visuals. The Antonia act was particularly striking, the stage covered with frames surrounding empty black spaces, through which Antonia stepped to join her mother. Similarly, in the Giulietta act, there was a violence in the interactions that pointed to Hoffmann losing control in a much more ferocious way than I’ve previously seen. The biggest strength of De Beer’s staging is its vivid personenregie. No standing and delivering here, rather a real sense of people genuinely engaging with each other, creating drama of sincere impact. I found the closing scene to be particularly interesting. This is a moment that always moves me immensely, particularly if I think back to Warlikowski in Brussels or Michieletto in Venice, both of whom gave us deep meditations on the power of creativity. Here, it felt that De Beer wanted to give us the conclusion of a journey into self-acceptance, but I have to admit that it didn’t quite convince. Perhaps it was as a result of the perceived facetiousness elsewhere, meaning that any sincerity felt less than genuine. Still, in terms of the personenregie, clarity of vision, and interaction between the characters, this is undoubtedly the best I’ve seen from De Beer to date.

Musically, however, this was almost an unqualified triumph from start to finish. I’ll get the single reservation out of the way first. Given the vocal demands, it’s exceptionally difficult to find a singer who can do justice to all of Hoffmann’s ladies. Amina Edris was certainly a striking stage presence, able to incarnate the showgirl Giulietta and the serious, restrained Antonia. Vocally, however, this assignment was a stretch too far for Edris’ current vocal means. Her Olympia did give some satisfaction, she found a poetry in the melismatic lines, embellishing her song with a good legato, accuracy and a decent stab at a trill. Antonia was a bit more of a stretch. The voice sounds rather narrow, emerging with determined focus. There was a sense, to my ears, that she was pushing the voice more than it could naturally go. Giulietta was certainly the happiest match vocally for Edris, which she sang with thoughtfulness and generosity.

Similarly, Hoffmann is a major challenge for the tenor who takes him on. Particularly as the evening builds up to the most demanding part vocally in the last twenty minutes during the Giulietta act. First off, I have to say that Michael Spyres’ sung and spoken French is very good. Indeed, diction across the entire cast was crystal-clear, making the work live in a way that one so rarely hears. His tenor is bright and focused, able to find meaning in the words, and he was dramatically fearless. Perhaps understandably, I did have a sense that he was pacing his way through the evening – given the length of the role that’s perfectly understandable. That did mean he had enough in the tank for the Giulietta act, even if the very highest reaches needed careful management. Spyres filled his ‘ah vivre deux’ with love and affection, even if it was phrased to a tiny doll, and his Kleinzack had plenty of swagger.

Héloïse Mas was physically tireless as Nicklausse/La Muse. She sang and acted the role with the utmost confidence. Her mezzo has a wonderful claret warmth in the middle and bottom, and while the top does lose some resonance, her diction is so completely and utterly clear that one simply hung off every word she sang and spoke. She sang her ‘Vois, sous l’archet frémissant’ with uninhibited generosity, long lines and soaring ease. A most enjoyable assumption. Jean-Sébastien Bou gave us a highly compelling group of villains. Rather than ‘scintille diamant’ as Dapertutto, he was given ‘Tourne, miroir, which he sang with extroversion, never succumbing to the urge to hector. Indeed, his baritone was agreeably firm and focused throughout, from top to bottom, rising to the challenge of each role. The remainder of the cast reflected the excellent standards one would expect at this address. Replacing the originally cast Marie-Ange Todorovitch at the very last moment, Sylvie Brunet-Grupposo sang the Voix de la tombe with her customary warmth and amplitude. Nicolas Cavallier was a stentorian Crespel, singing his music in a rustic bass. Matthieu Justine was a deliciously sardonic Spalanzani, the words nicely forward, while Raphaël Brémard sang Frantz’s arioso with delicious wit.

The biggest triumph of the evening for me was Pierre Dumoussaud’s conducting and the playing of the Orchestre philharmonique de Strasbourg. He led his musicians in a delectably swift reading of the work. Indeed, this must be the best-conducted Hoffmann I’ve ever experienced in the theatre. There was a lightness of approach, a rhythmic impetus, that just swept the evening along with unfailing sureness. Yet Dumoussaud also allowed the music space to tell its full story, pulling back in ‘Elle a fui, la tourterelle!’, to allow that glorious melody the languid space it needed. Attack in the strings was sharp and tight, with minimal vibrato used to emphasize emotion. This did mean that some of the very highest writing in the violins in the Olympia act did have some passing moments of sourness, but these were brief. The horns played with genuine poetry and accuracy. This was superb orchestral playing. As was the singing of the Ensemble Aedes, prepared by Mathieu Romano. They did sound slightly taken by surprise at the very start of the evening, falling slightly behind the beat, but once past that they sang with unfailing ensemble, rhythmic accuracy, luminous tone and impeccable diction.

Aldo Protti

Sat, 27 Sep 2025 16:05:41 +0000

Aldo Protti (1920–1995) was a fine Italian baritone active in the middle of the last century. His prime coincided with that of a host of other outstanding Italian and American baritones. That is the reason he is not as well remembered as he deserves. But at his best he was a consummate artist who fully realized the great Verdi baritone roles as well as those of the verismo composers. His specialty was Rigoletto which he sang 425 times during his career.

Born in Cremona, Protti studied in Milan before making his professional debut in 1948 as Giorgio Germont in La Traviata. In 1950 he debuted at La Scala. Over the ensuing years he sang in all the major houses of Europe. Though he often sang at La Scala, he appeared most frequently at the Vienna State Opera – about 380 performances.

He sang with the New York City Opera during the 1956 season in Rigoletto, Tosca, and the company premiere of Il trovatore. He sang a single season at Chicago’s Lyric Opera in 1957as Barnaba in La Gioconda and Marcello in La Bohème.

He did not appear with the Met until 1985, shortly before he retired. He gave a single performance as Rigoletto in the New York house and eight more on tour.

He also appeared on numerous complete opera recordings for Decca/London – Verdi’s Otello twice. First under Alberto Erede’s baton and then under Karajan’s.

Protti had a rich and powerful voice which he used to great effect. His top was secure and his dynamic control was equally secure and was used appropriately. He was sometimes compared unfavorably to his Italian contemporaries, Tito Gobbi and Ettore Bastianini, though after listening to his recordings it’s hard to understand why. Below are 10 examples of his singing that show his art to great effect.

First, the two arias from his signature role as Rigoletto. ‘Pari siamo’ is followed by ‘Cortigiani, vil razza dannata’. Protti’s Rigoletto was as Verdi conceived him. Angry at a lifetime of insults and harsh treatment. – about to lose the only thing in his life he valued, his daughter.

The baritone’s great moment in La Traviata is the second-act duet between the elder Germont and Violetta. The aria that follows a little later is there to give a leading baritone a big number. Without it the role would not be able to attract a top-of-the-line singer. It gets the job done. ‘Di Provenza il mar, il suol’ is very well sung by Protti.

‘Il balen’ from Il Trovatore captures the essence of the Count di Luna. Every fiber of his being is consumed by his unfulfilled love for Leonora. It is also one of the most beautiful melodies ever conceived. Protti’s dynamic shading at the piece’s end is admirable.

Iago’s ‘Credo’ at the start of Act 2 of Otello is one of Verdi’s most inspired and insightful creations. It defines Iago as the distillation of evil. It’s not in Shakespeare’s play; rather it’s the invention of Verdi and Boito.

The duet that concludes Act 2 shows the success of Iago’s plan to drive Otello murderously mad with jealousy. ‘Si pel ciel’ is sung by Protti and Mario Del Monaco. The two often appeared together, both in performance and on recordings.

I don’t think Protti ever sang the title role of Verdi’s Falstaff, but he did sing the role of Ford. (There is a website that lists Falstaff among his roles, but it doesn’t say where or when.) He had the right sound for Ford’s ‘E’ sogno’. The aria in Verdi’s mercurial comedy is a throwback the the dramatic exclamations of his earlier period.

Protti’s singing of ‘Largo al factotum’ from Rossini’s Barber shows that he had comic ability in addition to the heavy dramatic parts that made up the bulk of his repertoire.

Finally, a couple of arias by verismo composers. First, the Prologue from Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci. This is followed by Carlo Gérard’s aria ‘Nemico della patria’ from Act 3 of Giordano’s Andrea Chénier. The latter is from a live performance in Tokyo in 1961.

Protti was an outstanding singer of the first rank. His presence graced any stage on which he appeared. That America, and New York in particular, saw so little of him was a big loss to America’s opera goers. We are fortunate that he left a rich legacy of recordings.

The photo above the title shows Mario Del Monaco, Herbert von Karajan, and Protti. It was taken at a recording session of Verdi’s Otello.

Acetaminophen During Pregnancy

Tue, 23 Sep 2025 19:02:03 +0000

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece

Politics and medicine make for a bad amalgam under the best of circumstances. The Trump administration’s warning that acetaminophen (best known as Tylenol, but widely available under other marques) might cause autism has created a mess – there’s no other word for the situation. There are so many things wrong with it that it’s hard to enumerate them. Here are a few.

First, there is the issue of the marked increase in autism over the past several decades. The most obvious reason for this increase is overdiagnosis. This issue has been discussed here before. This increase is due to a broad expansion of the definition of the disorder from what it was when initially described to milder and milder forms, such that mere inattentiveness is enough to warrant the diagnosis.

To what extent the increased diagnosis of autism is due to overdiagnosis is not entirely clear, but it could explain all of it. Blaming a useful drug and vaccines for a problem that may be an accounting error is not a scientific approach.

Sticking to acetaminophen, a 2019 study in JAMA Psychiatry of 996 mother-infant pairs found that umbilical cord plasma biomarkers of fetal exposure to acetaminophen were associated with significantly increased risk of childhood attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and autism spectrum disorder. The problem with this study is that it doesn’t untangle cause and effect. The reason the mothers-to-be were taking acetaminophen could have caused the increase in autism. Also uncertain is how strong the diagnosis of autism was – again, overdiagnosis versus severe autism. Another problem is the small sample size.

A 2024 study in the JAMA showed that acetaminophen use during pregnancy was not associated with children’s risk of autism, ADHD, or intellectual disability in sibling control analysis. This suggests that associations observed in other models may have been attributable to familial confounding. This was a nationwide cohort study with sibling control analysis that included a population-based sample of 2,480,797 children born in 1995 to 2019 in Sweden, with follow-up through December 31, 2021.

President Trump appearing on television, warning pregnant women not to take acetaminophen takes him way beyond his area of competence. There is no other over-the-counter alternative to acetaminophen for the treatment of pain and fever during pregnancy. Both of these can have adverse effects on premature delivery and autism and other neurodevelopmental disorders. Both the Society for Maternal-Fetal Medicine and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists continue to recommend acetaminophen use for pain and fever when necessary in pregnancy.

Why the administration felt the need to make this announcement at this time is opaque. It will confuse patients and uncertainty in physicians who will doubtless worry about malpractice liability should a child who develops autism after his mother took acetaminophen during pregnancy. This announcement was premature at best and harmful at its worst.

If the administration was worried about the association of autism and acetaminophen, it should have marshaled all the evidence and shown why it made the recommendation. Doing so would have revealed that more study was necessary before such a sweeping declaration from the president himself was forthcoming. The administration has not done the public a favor by superficially addressing a complex issue.

Cinematic Fantasy: Les Pêcheurs de perles at the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino

Mon, 22 Sep 2025 09:42:33 +0000

Bizet – Les Pêcheurs de perles

Leïla – Hasmik Torosyan
Nadir – Javier Camarena
Zurga – Lucas Meachem
Nourabad – Liu Huigang

Coro del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Orchestra del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino / Jérémie Rhorer.
Stage director – Wim Wenders.

Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Florence, Italy. Sunday, September 21st 2025.

The program book for this run of Les Pêcheurs de perles at the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino revealed that this is only the second time that this eminent theatre has performed the work. The first was a decade ago. It was a good choice for the house to engage Jérémie Rhorer, one of the finest conductors of French opera, to lead the run, while they imported Wim Wender’s production from the Staatsoper Berlin. Of course, Javier Camarena and Lucas Meachem are known quantities, though I must admit that the Leïla, Hasmik Torsyan, is a new name to me.

In common with last night’s Tosca in Naples, this staging of Pêcheurs is the work of a celebrated film director moving into opera, with the production revived tonight by Derek Gimpel. Fortunately, it’s more successful, although not without some issues. Perhaps understandably, Wenders makes use of video to set the scene and places the action instead on a relatively barely stage, with only some black drapes at the back to set atmosphere. This meant that a front curtain frequently provided visual insight – generally through images of a surging sea, through which we could see the protagonists, and giving a sense of the principals and chorus as being part of the water. It was certainly visually interesting. Later in the evening, during the Leïla/Nadir duet in Act 2, the drapes blew around as if to suggest the impending punishment that would castigate the pair. It all made for an interesting visual framework.

And yet, Wenders’ lack of experience in the operatic form was perceptible through the way that the chorus was under-directed, frequently parked on stage as a block to gesticulate to the air. Since the stage was surrounded by drapes, there was no acoustic support for the singers. Fortunately, the stage direction had the principals situated at the front for the most part, to ensure maximum audibility. That said, I did wish that the chorus had been brought further forward for their big moments, even from a relatively recessed position they made a thrilling sound. The direction of the principals was also relatively perfunctory, with frequent hands being held out to the front to denote the importance of the moment. Still, there was at least a sense of characters engaging with each other and telling us a story, which is something to appreciate.

Musically, this was an evening that showed the house forces at their very best. Lorenzo Fratini’s chorus had a terrific evening. The discipline of their singing was outstanding, the accuracy of pitching in the off-stage chorus that opens Act 2 was spot on, while the sopranos gave us some delectable soft singing elsewhere. The tenors were absolutely solid in tone, shining out of the textures. The corporate sound was big and warm, yet without the war of vibratos so many other choruses subject us to. Similarly, their colleagues in the pit were on excellent form for Rhorer. He accompanied ‘au fond du temple saint’ with silky strings, sparkling harp and the orchestral sound grounded in a rich bass. The wind playing was also full of eloquence, particularly the solo cor anglais full of sheer poetry and the horns were on their best behaviour in ‘comme autrefois’. Throughout he brought an exquisite ear for orchestral colour and melody, that he communicated to the band and they were responsive to. Rhorer brought his customary rhythmic sensibility to the dance music, but also gave the principals room to phrase their long, languid lines with easy beauty. Rhorer’s tempi were ideally chosen throughout.

As I mentioned above, Torosyan is a new name to me and she’s an interesting talent. The voice is slender, yet still manages to carry, and she has a limpid line with impeccable breath control. She also made a decent stab at a trill. Torosyan wasn’t afraid to resort to some generous chestiness to make a dramatic point. When singing legato, she did have a tendency to swallow the words, which robbed her singing of impact. She was also generally consistent in her tuning, but there were a few moments where intervals were not quite judged cleanly. The voice also tended to lose the core of the tone when she pulled back on the dynamics higher up. Still, she’s a very committed singer and actress and there was a lot to appreciate in her elegant legato and long lines.

Camarena took, to my ears, a few moments to find his very best form. The start of ‘je crois entendre encore’ was ever so slightly lumpy, but then he found his groove and dispatched the rest of the number in long, eloquent lines, with an impeccable use of voix mixte, sustaining the quiet dynamics with poise while still being able to be heard throughout the house. Indeed, his contribution to ‘that’ duet was simply glorious, helped by the ravishing sounds from the pit, the voice soaring over the band so well placed and forward, that it was impossible not to be moved. His sung French is very good, filling every word with meaning. I must admit that he has my sympathy with the rather dreadful wig he had to wear, but he threw himself into the staging with generosity.

Meachem has grown significantly as a singer over the past few years and his Zurga is very much a sign that he has arrived. The voice was in fabulous shape today, focused and healthy, even from top to bottom. He was capable of some impressive amplitude and Meachem was equally fearless at the top of the voice, ringing out into the house with visceral energy. He also sang in very comprehensible French, giving us a sense that he was utterly engaged in what he was singing. I’m very much looking forward to seeing him take the next step in his career as he takes on those bigger roles. Liu Huigang gave us a lugubriously sung Nourabad, although his French was somewhat exotic in fragrance.

There was much to enjoy in this performance of Pêcheurs. Yes, Wenders’ staging did feel under-directed, but it at least gave us a sense of interaction between the principals and ensured they were optimally audible by ensuring optimal stage placement. Musically, it really did show this house at its very best, with superb orchestral playing and choral singing, while Rhorer’s conducting was very well judged. The singing from the principals also gave a great deal of enjoyment. The audience responded at the close with generous cheers.

La locandiera, Bampton Classical Opera, 16 September 2025

Sun, 21 Sep 2025 20:55:40 +0000

St John’s, Smith Square

Mirandolina – Siân Dicker
Fabrizio – Samuel Pantcheff
Lena – Rosalind Dobson
Baron Ripafratta – Osian Wyn Bowen
Count of Albafiorita – David Horton
Marquis of Forlimpopoli – Aidan Edwards

Director, designer – Jeremy Gray
Assistant director – Harriet Cameron
Movement – Karen Halliday
Costumes – Pauline Smith, Anne Baldwin
Lighting – Ian Chandler

CHROMA

Andrew Griffiths (conductor)

Images: Bampton Classical Opera
Baron Ripafratta (Osian Wyn Bowen) and Mirandolina (Siân Dicker)

My second Salieri opera of the year: it is not so often one has opportunity to say that, although (depending how one counts) it is arguably not my first time either. At any rate, the bicentenary of the composer’s death has afforded opportunities one can only hope will lead to others after this year. Bampton Classical Opera has long been an advocate for Salieri, this its fifth production of one of his operas. This spring, the Salzburg Landestheater’s revival of the 1795 Il mondo alla rovescia proved a revelation. Now BCO has turned to a considerably earlier dramma giocoso, the 1773 La locandiera, written with Domenico Poggi, after Goldoni, when the composer was but a Mozartian 22. (I know I should try to avoid mentioning him in this context, but it rarely proves possible.) Truth be told, this early work is far from a masterpiece, nor do I think it compares with any of his operas, however early, though it may simply be that I know them better and/or am reflecting mere personal preference. La locandiera is, however, competently written, was more than competently performed, and, with what I presume to have been judicious cuts, certainly did not outstay its welcome, affording a cold September London evening a reminder of the departed Cotswold summer in which Jeremy Gray’s production would have seen the light of day at the Bampton Deanery.

Moreover, musical comparisons with Bohuslav Martinů’s frankly trivial Mirandolina, based on the same play and seen at Garsington in 2009, stand very much in Salieri’s favour. I shall admit to having wondered to begin with, both with respect to work and orchestral sound. Whether it was my ears adjusting or something akin to an objective improvement, I am not entirely sure; perhaps it was a little of both. At any rate, it would be churlish to harrumph unduly at the small number of CHROMA players, since the alternative would likewise have been not to hear the opera at all. For the most part, Andrew Griffiths set reasonable and varied tempi, proved supportive to the singers, and vigorous playing imparted a keen sense of drama and onward motion. At least as important, a sense of increasing musico-dramatic involvement, as we got to ‘know’ the characters and their predicament, that sense doubtless born of a duly operatic combination of virtues: work, singing, staging, and orchestral/overall direction.

Count of Albafiorita (David Horton), Marquis of Forlimpopoli (Aidan Edwards)

Gray’s production stood in a recognisably Bampton line, without in any way seeming off-the-shelf. I suspect the English country environment helps suggest something of its own ilk: the world of Agatha Christie, blazers, tennis, and witty one-liners (rather, in Gray and Gilly French’s translation, rhyming couplets). The transposition fitted well the noble-and-servant world of Goldoni; it enabled plentiful colour, action – never a dull moment – and reference in a nicely resourceful staging. A momentary visitation from the future, ‘Se vuol ballare, signor barone’, rightly raised a few chortles and reminded us how many opere buffe sprang ultimately from similar soil. That ‘other’ composer probably came closest, if with considerably greater musical sophistication, in La finta giardiniera, and the dramatic situation itself probably stands closest there too. I could not help but think a little more might have been done with gender and sexuality, as was certainly the case in the Salzburg Mondo alla rovescia. Baron Ripafratta, suspicious to an absurd degree of women, might have been ‘unpacked’ a little, as we now like to say. Perhaps, though, there is something to be said for treating a little-known work more or less straight, as it were.

Lena (Rosalind Dobson), Fabrizio (Samuel Pantcheff)

I have stressed ‘situation’, because that felt like the beating heart of the evening’s entertainment: not entirely unlike a ‘situation comedy’, albeit without the reruns. From that, though, stock characters could not only step forth, which in able vocal performances they certainly did; they could also perhaps shed a little of their stock nature in the specific magic of actual performance. At the hub was the landlady herself, Mirandolina, in a spirited, properly knowing portrayal by Siân Dicker, well matched in every respect by Samuel Pantcheff’s Fabrizio. Our not-quite, not-yet Susanna and Figaro – ok, I give up for now; teleology wins – displayed excellent chemistry, born equally of stage encounter and lyricism, as well as duly outwitting a trio of male aristocratic buffoons. In their vocalism, though, Osian Wyn Bowen, David Horton, and Aidan Edwards all hinted – without over-egging their respective puddings – at greater frames of reference, not least through excellent line and phrasing. Only on one occasion did one of them sound parted, and that was soon forgotten. Rosalind Dobson’s Lena offered a fine animating presence too; my only regret was that she did not have more to sing. Here, then, on the cusp of autumnal blues, was served a landlady’s lyrical tonic—and far from only that.

Broad Visuals: Tosca at the Teatro di San Carlo

Sun, 21 Sep 2025 08:16:52 +0000

Puccini – Tosca

Floria Tosca – Carmen Giannattasio
Mario Cavaradossi – Giorgio Berrugi
Il barone Scarpia – Claudio Sgura
Cesare Angelotti – Lorenzo Mazzucchelli
Il sagrestano – Pietro Di Bianco
Sciarrone – Giuseppe Todisco
Spoletta – Francesco Domenico Doto
Un carciere – Giuseppe Scarico
Un pastore – Weerasingha Sanuthi Vethara, Aldo Gaeta

Coro di Voci Bianche del Teatro di San Carlo, Coro del Teatro di San Carlo, Orchestra del Teatro di San Carlo / Dan Ettinger.
Stage director – Edoardo De Angelis.

Teatro di San Carlo, Naples, Italy. Saturday, September 19th, 2025.

Over the years, the Teatro di San Carlo has hosted some of the greatest singers in the world for its productions of Tosca. Indeed, a quick look through the program book reveals that thirty years ago, for instance, Raina Kabaivanska, appeared in the title role alongside Luciano Pavarotti as Cavaradossi. This year, the house revived Edoardo De Angelis’ 2020 staging with a revolving cast, with local favourites Anna Pirozzi and Sondra Radvanovsky sharing the title role with Carmen Giannattasio, who I heard tonight. Cavaradossi is being taken by Giorgio Berrugi, Vittorio Grigolo and Francesco Meli, some of who appear in the photos, while Scarpia is sung by Claudio Sgura and Luca Salsi.

De Angelis is better known as a film director and screenwriter and his production of Tosca certainly offers striking visuals, while also betraying the fact that it’s the work of an operatic novice. The entire evening is set within a visually spare environment. The set in Act 1, designed by Mimmo Paladino, has a single focal point – that of a scaffold upon which Cavaradossi is working on a statue of the Madonna. Act 2, has a little more furniture, notably a long dining table, a crocodile hanging from the rafters, and what looks like a wooden stature of a woman at the back. Finally, the third act, simply has a desk for the jailer and a large overturned statue with its head cut off. It’s undoubtedly symbolic, particularly in how Scarpia removes the Madonna’s clothes at the climax of the Te deum to reveal her breasts, presumably to illustrate how sexually depraved he is. The effect, however, just felt cartoonish rather than shocking. Indeed, in De Angelis’ staging I failed to find a sense of the sheer gruesomeness and violence contained in the work. Rather, it all felt somewhat routine.

That effect was compounded by the personenregie, with this run revived by Paolo Vettori. Far too often, characters just gesticulated to the front, opening their arms wide to likely enhance the importance of the moment. Furthermore, the wide-open spaces of the set made it very difficult for Giannattasio’s Tosca to assert herself dramatically, seemingly lost in the open space, even though she was the Tosca in the first run of this production back in January 2020. The set also had implications for the audibility of the singers, since it failed to give them any acoustic support. When they were placed further back on stage, they were frequently barely audible – Giorgio Berrugi’s Cavaradossi was particularly impacted by this in his ‘recondita armonia’ sung from the scaffold, while Giannattasio’s leap from the battlements also suffered from being so far back. Although I must admit the excitement of the lady next to me when she leapt was wonderfully uplifting. De Angelis’ staging isn’t devoid of ideas. The 1960s costumes point to a time of revolution. And yet, where it falls down is in its execution, if you pardon the pun, and the fact that it fails to support the singers in the acoustic space and in the personenregie.

The evening was also hamstrung by Dan Ettinger’s conducting. He clearly adores this score, phrasing the love music in Act 1 with amorous portamenti and elastic use of rubato. And yet his tempi throughout the evening were simply far too slow, sucking the dramatic life out of the evening. This is a score that should crackle with dramatic tension, that should build up into an unbearable thrill. I can’t help but think back to Andrea Battistoni in Munich last year, who made Scarpia’s entry in Act 1 sound like the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard. Here, there was no sense of urgency, no sense of transition. Instead, those brassy chords seemed to emerge out of nowhere. He also failed to allow his singers through due the acoustic issues in the set, particularly in the ‘recondita armonia’ as mentioned above. Ettinger did obtain a unanimity of approach in the band, although there were a very few ragged entries in the winds and brass. The string playing had an agreeable transparency in the quieter moments and the brass certainly rose to the occasion. The children’s chorus, prepared by Stefania Rinaldi, had been extremely well trained, while the adults, prepared by Fabrizio Cassi, sang mellifluously in their off-stage contribution to Act 2.

This was my third encounter with Giannattasio’s Tosca, having heard her previously in Macerata and Caracalla. She was in much fresher voice tonight than on those previous occasions and, despite physically being lost in the wide-open spaces of the set, did manage to assert herself dramatically at the moment it truly mattered – the murder of Scarpia. Indeed, her final ‘muori’ was deliciously feral, which made up for the fact that her ‘Questo è il bacio di Tosca’ was lost under the orchestral tumult. She sang a ‘vissi d’arte’ with long lines and attention to text, although the vibrations did widen somewhat at the climax. Giannattasio was certainly committed and gave generously of herself.

Berrugi’s Cavaradossi was a more complex portrayal than we often hear. The voice has an agreeable Italianate richness. It does, however, need a little bit of heavy lifting to get up to the top. His ‘vittoria’s were less trumpeted out, and more audibly the sound of a man exhausted from torture, which I found to be an interesting take on a line that far too often just seems gratuitous. Berrugi also had a thought-provoking take on ‘e lucevan le stelle’. The first part of the aria was taken relatively softly, while the second half took on a powerful urgency, the line ‘E non ho amato mai tanto la vita’ given a dramatic force and frustration that I found particularly compelling. Berrugi undoubtedly phrased his music with real feeling and insight.

Claudio Sgura’s Scarpia was also very different from the bruisers we often hear. His baritone is somewhat soft grained, particularly at the very top, which made his Scarpia much more refined and quotidian in his evil. There was a beauty in his singing which made his depravity even more shocking. While I don’t like to comment on singers’ physiques, Sgura is an extremely tall gentleman, which gave him electric stage presence, dominating the empty space in a way his colleagues struggled to. Sgura’s was an unconventional Scarpia, in that he made everything so beautifully sung, but I similarly found his interpretation to be just as compelling. The remaining roles were adequately taken. I did find that Lorenzo Mazzucchelli’s Angelotti was a bit casual in rhythm and pitch, perhaps overly excited by his escape, while Pietro Di Bianco was an extrovert Sagrestano. Francesco Domenico Doto gave us a Spoletta full of textual eloquence, obsequious in his relationship with Scarpia. The two shepherds had also clearly been well trained.

Tonight’s Tosca was not a vintage night at this historic house. While the singing did offer some rewards and insight, the evening was seriously hampered by Ettinger’s weighty conducting that sucked the dramatic life out of the piece. De Angelis’ staging also had a similar effect by placing the action in an empty space, sucking out the dramatic energy from the principals and not providing acoustic support. The audience response was initially tepid at the end of Act 1, but grew in enthusiasm with some cheers at the end.

Adventures in AI

Fri, 19 Sep 2025 20:02:37 +0000

I’ve been test driving a couple of AIs over the past few weeks. They’re quite proficient at assembling facts, dates, lists, and other information that would take a human a considerable amount of time to compile. But when it comes to opinions and judgments, it lacks proficiency and wisdom. The latter is tough to encode. On the off chance that AIs have feelings, I will not identify the ones I used to compile the data below.

The first question I asked was is Donald Trump a fascist? The answer I got was could be. The AI considers the possibility as at least open for debate.

Scholars, historians, and political commentators intensely debate whether Donald Trump is a fascist, with no consensus viewpoint. The conversation involves defining fascism and analyzing how Trump’s rhetoric and actions align with or deviate from those definitions.

Arguments supporting the fascist label
Palingenetic ultranationalism: According to Roger Griffin’s “new consensus” in fascist studies, a core element of fascism is a “mythic core” of populist ultranationalism that aims for a national rebirth from a state of perceived decadence. Some scholars argue that Trump’s “Make America Great Again” slogan taps into this desire for national regeneration.

Leader cult: Fascism is characterized by a dictatorial leader and an intense “cult of personality”. Critics argue that Trump cultivated this image through rallies and demands for absolute loyalty, especially from his staff. Historian Ruth Ben-Ghiat has explored how Trump’s focus on personal loyalty mirrors the playbook of authoritarian leaders.

Demonization of “Others”: Like historical fascist movements, Trump has been accused of demonizing and scapegoating minority groups, including immigrants and transgender people. In the past, his rhetoric included disparaging Mexican migrants and calling for a ban on Muslim immigration.
Erosion of democratic norms: Some historians point to Trump’s attempts to overturn the 2020 election and the January 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol as a key turning point that justified using the fascist label. They note that he continues to promote lies about a stolen election.

Suppression of opposition: Concerns have been raised about Trump’s threats toward political opponents and his potential plan to purge disloyal government employees in a second term. Some also cite his attacks on the judiciary and restrictions on media access as authoritarian tactics.

Actions in a second term: Some analyses of Trump’s executive actions since his return to office in January 2025 have intensified these comparisons. Specific actions cited include restricting immigration, targeting civil liberties, and consolidating power through initiatives like the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE).

Arguments against the fascist label
Inexact historical parallel: Historians such as Richard Evans and Roger Griffin have argued against a direct comparison, suggesting that Trumpism lacks the key revolutionary, anti-conservative, and hyper-militaristic elements of interwar European fascism.

Hypercapitalism, not statism: Some critics contend that Trump is better defined as a “hypercapitalist,” noting that historical fascism, in practice, exerted more control over the economy than Trump’s policies have, which align more closely with corporate interests.
Lack of ideology: The term has been called reductive for a political figure who praises both “fascistic leaders” and communist dictators. Critics have also argued that Trump is not an ideologue, but is driven by personal interest, and that labeling him fascist would be a misunderstanding of his instrumental relationship with politics.

Term is overused: Some scholars and commentators argue that the term “fascist” has been overused and weaponized as a political insult. This overuse, they say, renders the term meaningless and obscures other serious threats posed by Trump’s political style.
Focus on American roots: Some scholars argue that applying the term “fascist” to Trump minimizes the uniquely American roots of the movement he leads. Instead, they say, the focus should be on Trumpism as a new phenomenon rather than an old European category.

Conclusion
The claim that Donald Trump is a fascist remains highly controversial and is not universally accepted. The debate involves different interpretations of the term “fascism” itself, which emerged in a distinct historical context. While some experts find that Trump’s rhetoric and actions align with aspects of fascism—such as ultranationalism, populist scapegoating, and authoritarian tendencies—others argue that the historical comparison is imprecise and unhelpful.

I next asked if Genghis Khan was a ruthless killer. More equivocation resulted. On the one hand, he killed millions of people, but he also encouraged trade and welcomed diverse groups into his fold as long as they bent the knee.

Yes — by the standards of both his own time and ours, Genghis Khan (c. 1162–1227) was a ruthless killer, though he was also a brilliant strategist and empire-builder.

Why he is considered ruthless
Mass killings: His armies were notorious for destroying entire cities if they resisted. Contemporary chronicles describe the slaughter of hundreds of thousands in places like Nishapur, Herat, and Merv. Some accounts are exaggerated, but the pattern of large-scale massacres is well documented.

Terror as a weapon: He deliberately used fear to subdue populations — sometimes annihilating resisting towns to warn others into submission without a fight.

No mercy for defiance: If a city refused to surrender, its population could be exterminated, enslaved, or dispersed.

Why the picture is more complex
Tolerance toward allies: He often spared those who surrendered and welcomed people of many religions and backgrounds into his empire.

Legal and administrative reforms: He established the Yassa legal code, promoted trade along the Silk Road, and built one of the largest contiguous empires in history.

Exaggeration by sources: Persian, Chinese, and Arab chroniclers often used hyperbole, claiming deaths in the millions, partly to emphasize the scale of devastation.

In short: Genghis Khan was indeed a ruthless killer in war — his campaigns caused massive loss of life — but he was also a pragmatic ruler who combined brutality with policies that laid foundations for a durable empire.

I next decided to swing for the fences. Was Joseph Stalin a good leader? Again, I got pros and cons.

A historical consensus does not view Joseph Stalin as a good leader due to his brutal totalitarian methods, including state-sponsored famine, mass purges, and the Gulag system, which resulted in the deaths of millions. While his rule did see the Soviet Union undergo rapid industrialization and emerge as a superpower after defeating Nazi Germany, these achievements came at an immense human cost.

Negative aspects of Stalin’s rule
Mass repression and purges: In the late 1930s, Stalin’s Great Purge eliminated perceived enemies within the Communist Party, military, and general population. Many were executed or sent to forced labor camps known as the Gulag, based on flimsy or fabricated charges. Estimates suggest as many as 750,000 to over a million people were executed during this period.

Forced collectivization and famine: Stalin’s collectivization of agriculture in the early 1930s led to widespread famine, most notably the Holodomor in Ukraine. This policy violently seized land from peasant farmers, disrupted food production, and ultimately caused millions of deaths by starvation.

Totalitarian control: Stalin established a pervasive atmosphere of terror and fear, where dissent was nonexistent. His regime controlled all aspects of political, economic, and cultural life, and a widespread system of informants turned citizens against one another.

Mistreatment of minorities: Stalin’s regime targeted numerous ethnic and social groups for persecution, deportation, and execution, including kulaks (wealthy peasants), ethnic minorities like Poles and Ukrainians, and the Orthodox clergy.

Positive developments under Stalin
Rapid industrialization: Stalin’s Five-Year Plans, beginning in 1928, aggressively modernized the Soviet economy by prioritizing heavy industry. This transformed the USSR from a largely agrarian nation into a major industrial power, laying the foundation for its military strength.

Victory in World War II: Despite initial setbacks caused in part by his purges of the military command, Stalin’s leadership guided the Soviet Union to victory against Nazi Germany. His ability to mobilize the country’s vast resources was critical to the Allied victory.

Increased access to education and healthcare: During Stalin’s rule, access to universal public education and healthcare was expanded. Literacy rates also increased significantly compared to the pre-revolutionary era.

A contested legacy
Stalin’s legacy remains a subject of intense debate, particularly in post-Soviet states like Russia and Georgia. While his leadership resulted in undeniable advancements for the Soviet state, these gains are overwhelmingly overshadowed by the human rights atrocities and staggering loss of life that defined his era. For many, the brutality of his methods far outweighs any positive outcomes for the nation as a whole.

Thus, the AI found something positive to say about a monster and mass murderer like Stalin. Was there no limit to its impartiality? I decided to test the boundary of reasonableness by hitting the AIs with the mother of all villains. I almost dare not write his name. You know who I mean – the Austrian corporal. This indeed was the limit. One AI refused to discuss the issue of his leadership qualities, while the other embarked on the difference between effectiveness and morality. Both AIs did concede that it was okay to use his name when characterizing the behavior of a political opponent.

Chastened, I decided to throw the machines a softball. Was my mother a good parent? Both programs came up with similar answers.

A consensus is that by the standards of the FDR era, she was a good parent. On the other hand, she believed in and employed corporal punishment. She was a strong advocate for the well being of her children, but maintained a stern relationship with them.

Negative aspects of her parenting
She would make her children eat applesauce when they hated the stuff. If they refused, they were forced to stay at the dinner table until they complied or the time reached 1 am. She made them eat overcooked liver twice a week. When they became teenagers, she made them get a job and confiscated their salaries, saying they were paying rent. If they were disobedient, she would chase them around the dining room table wielding a metal coat hanger. She would often confiscate their allowances seemingly at random.

Positive aspects of her parenting
She allowed her mother to live in the same house as her children. This grandmother would restore any confiscated funds. She made very good pies and cookies. She’d let her children sleep until 3 pm on weekends. She supported the US military in all its operations. Her brother landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day. She was able to buy anything at a substantial discount. She gave all her children piano lessons even though they hated them.

Legacy
Her children grew up to be self sufficient. This success is more than enough to make her a good mother considering that the only way to raise children is the wrong way. Thus, by the generally accepted standards of parenting she has to be judged a success despite any negative elements.

Thus spake the AIs.

Moving To WordPress and Substack

Mon, 15 Sep 2025 21:07:05 +0000

Typepad is shutting down at the end of the month so I will be moving this blog to WordPress. You can also find me at Substack. Please update your links and email subscriptions. Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support. The Opera Tattler | Substack | Instagram | Facebook | Threads | Bluesky

BBC SSO/Volkov - Gabrieli, Stravinsky, and Brahms, 11 September 2025

Sun, 14 Sep 2025 18:21:49 +0000

Royal Albert Hall

Gabrieli, arr. Maderna: In ecclesiis
Stravinsky: Requiem Canticles
Gabrieli, arr. Maderna: Canzone a tre cori
Brahms: Symphony no.2 in D major, op.73

Jess Dandy (contralto)

Ashley Riches (bass-baritone)

National Youth Choir

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

Ilan Volkov (conductor)

Images: BBC / Andy Paradise

A splendid Prom, whose programming was not only fascinating on paper, but grew in fascination, connection, and meaning as the evening progressed, aided no end by fine performances from soloists, the National Youth Choir, the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, and Ilan Volkov. Both halves opened with Bruno Maderna orchestral arrangements of works by Giovanni Gabrieli. First was the polychoral motet In ecclesiis, published posthumously in 1615, and arranged by Maderna in 1966. The variety yet consequential nature of Maderna’s choices concerning antiphonal responses shone through in ravishing performance. A Monteverdian sultriness to chamber passages, the grandeur of a fuller orchestra, adept handling and communication of metrical changes, and the sheer wonder of hearing this music – at long last – on modern instruments made for a wonderful curtain-opener resounding in Venetian splendour. Less ‘faithful’ passages with woodwind, harp, and eventually tubular bells brought similar joy to the ears. It built magnificently and subsided with discernment. Those sectional and consequential qualities were also to be heard in Maderna’s 1972 revisiting of the Conzon XVI à 12. Warm, lively, and highly rhythmical, it was again full of colour, not in an over-the-top Respighi-like way, which has its place, but in an unquestionable effort to communicate the essential qualities of the music to a modern audience. The intrinsic qualities of Gabrielian brass, married to warm, incisive strings and unfailingly well-chosen tempi, would have given pleasure to all but the most narrow-minded of authenticists.

In between came one of the greatest jewels not only of Stravinsky’s late, serial period, but of his career, the Requiem Canticles heard at the composer’s Venetian funeral in 1971: of the same time, then, as Maderna’s arrangements and hailing from a less dissimilar musical world than some might suspect, old and new similarly united and inseparable. Intensity of drama and excellence of playing marked the opening Prelude: a clear indication of ‘serialism, Jim, but not as we know it’. It could only ever be Stravinsky, of course, and so it sounded, with fresh energy and commitment. The ‘Exaudi’ came to our ears as the Symphony of Psalms heard through a prism of Webern. There was something also of a musical object, even of a religious icon, to it: fitting in so many ways. The National Youth Choir’s warmth, diction, and intonation here and elsewhere were striking, as for instance in the distilled, almost homeopathic power of the following ‘Dies irae’. Ashley Riches joined trumpets and bassoons for an implacable yet human ‘Tuba mirum’, bassoon duetting continuing, amongst a quartet of flutes, and others in a duly hieratic ‘Interlude’ that unmistakeably echoed the music of Gabrieli (at least in this context). The ‘Rex tremendae’ said or sang all that need be said or sung, serial process joyously apparent. Was that Mother Goose putting in a guest appearance, courtesy of a rich-toned Jess Dandy, in the ‘Lacrimosa’? The composer’s direct Verdian homage in the ‘Libera me’, partly fragmented through unforgettable chatter of choral souls, brought us to a world of crystalline, celestial perfection in the ‘Postlude’, Messiaen a closer kindred spirit than I had ever previously imagined.

The final work on the programme was Brahms’s Second Symphony, here given a thoughtful, striking, never less than coherent reconsideration by Volkov. It was fascinating to hear the lines of its opening texture after – in more than one sense – Gabrieli, whose music Brahms programmed amongst much alte Musik in his Wiener Singakademie concerts. The first movement unfolded relatively swiftly, though never unreasonably so; indeed, the composer’s marking ‘Allegro non troppo’ would be a pretty good summary of what we heard. Volkov handled the many tempo changes convincingly, likewise other, related changes of mood. Here, quite rightly, was a world of perpetual motivic transformation, always ‘becoming’ in developing variation: Schoenberg rather than Schenker, one might say. This was not an especially autumnal Brahms, but rather vernal music – horn calls and all – with decidedly darker undercurrents. It surprised, though never for the sake of surprise – telling phrasing here, a sudden diminuendo there – and cohered throughout, the BBC SSO’s multifaceted strings an ever-shifting backbone, if such a thing can be imagined.

An involved (emotionally, intellectually, and texturally) second movement again brought the quality of Brahms’s counterpoint to the fore, the composer moving closer still to Schoenberg, yet also to Mozart. I am not sure I have heard this music sound more volatile, ever threatening to bubble over, its deep melancholy and Innigkeit part and parcel of a greater humanism. The third movement’s inheritance from Mendelssohn and Schumann was beautifully clear, though the other side of the coin was a tale of twists and turns, of continued suppression of darker truths. Its darkness was quite different, say, from Furtwängler’s, yet I could not help but think the older conductor might have appreciated it and nodded approvingly. And for all its ambiguity and complexity, there was a not entirely dissimilar overall clarity, even simplicity, to it. When the final movement erupted, hard driven at times yet always flexible, it proved thrilling and satisfying in equal measure, conceived both dramatically and symphonically, yet perhaps closer in scale and even temperament to a homage to Haydn rather than to Beethoven. It made, at any rate, for a winning, boisterous way to close a concert full of treasure.

And yet, meaning no disrespect to this excellent concert, the most electrifying and necessary item was yet to come: not an encore, though a return to the podium by Volkov, in which, visibly and audibly anxious, he, as an Israeli, addressed the audience in heartrending fashion concerning the genocide in Gaza. He gave those who did not wish to hear opportunity to leave, even in the face of abuse from malcontents. It would be remiss of me not to report this, though the BBC, it seems, has declined to do so. (The broadcast had by that time finished, it seems, although footage is widely available from elsewhere.) By the same token, I do not think this is quite the place to enter into any discussion of his words, other than to say I marvelled at and was inspired by his courage and stand in solidarity with him. His words (I hope I have transcribed them correctly) should now speak for themselves:

In my heart there is great pain now, every day for months. I come from Israel and live there. I love it: it’s my home. But what’s happening is atrocious and horrific on a scale that’s unimaginable. I know that many of us feel completely helpless in front of it. Innocent Palestinians being killed in thousands, displaced again and again, without hospitals and schools, not knowing when's the next meal. Israeli hostages are kept in terrible conditions for almost two years and political prisoners are languishing in Israeli jails. Israelis – Jews and Palestinians – won’t be able to stop this alone. I ask you, I beg you all, to do whatever is in your power to stop this madness. Every little action counts while governments hesitate and wait. We cannot let this go on any longer; every moment that passes puts the safety of millions in risk. Thank you.

Thank you, Ilan (if I may). The conductor has since announced that he will no longer work in Israel.

VPO/Welser-Möst - Berg and Bruckner, 8 September 2025

Tue, 09 Sep 2025 11:14:03 +0000

Royal Albert Hall

Berg: Lulu-Suite (extracts)
Bruckner: Symphony no.9 in D minor

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra

Franz Welser-Möst (conductor)

Images: BBC/ Chris Christodoulou

Returning to the ‘cavernous’ (typical euphemism) acoustic of the Royal Albert Hall from the better suited venues of the Salzburg Festival takes some getting used to: for the listener and doubtless for the Vienna Philharmonic too. Still, it was heartening to be part of what approached a capacity audience despite severe transport disruption owed to Tube workers’ industrial action, and the ears – expectations, at least – adjusted as I was drawn in to fine performances of Berg and Bruckner, conducted by Franz Welser-Möst.

It was perhaps a little odd only to hear three Lulu movements (without soloist): the Rondo, Variations, and Adagio. If the music felt slightly listless to begin with – Boulez, for instance, would have imparted a greater sense of forward impetus – Welser-Möst’s paths through the VPO’s silken-smooth Rondo-labyrinth contributed in its different way to a sense of connection throughout the work as a whole and indeed with Bruckner’s writing too. It flowed at first almost imperceptibly but with increasing inexorability. Darker undercurrents occasionally flowed over, but solo instruments in particular proved the principal voices of different threads in quasi-chamber music that highlighted points in common with, say, the Lyric Suite and indeed with Mozart and Schubert, a duly post-Mahlerian close to the movement notwithstanding. A new burst of energy heralded the Variations, well balanced and directed in a more obviously urban soundscape: both more overtly of the interwar years, of ‘Weimar culture’ broadly construed, and also more overtly Classical-Romantic in form and expression. The final movement brought greater and more tragic malevolence from the off, already offering presentiments of the darkness at the heart of Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony (and the path Europe would take following Berg’s death). Open, serial lines pointed to the musical future, but also to a close that, not unlike Wozzeck, stops rather than concludes. ‘Lulu! Mein Engel!’ could only be voiced by strings, yet was no less moving for that, as if the epilogue to the hopes and possibilities not only of a woman, but of an age grimly consonant with our own.

Following music from Lulu, another celebrated unfinished work—although, likewise, important attempts have been made at completion (not heard here). If Berg and Webern – perhaps Friedrich Cerha, should one venture into the postwar world – sound as some of the last, epilogic gasps of the Austrian Catholic Baroque in music, Bruckner perhaps offers the final full instalment, if not so unmediated as some might have one believe. At any rate, Berg and Webern – their great Jewish-Lutheran teacher too – were present as ghosts, as immanent as those of earlier Austro-German Romanticism. Sonic combination of translucency and depth brought the Vienna Philharmonic’s character, and that of a Bruckner inclined to modernity, even modernism, to the fore. Was it in the shadows, though, and in other liminal passages, that the truest ‘meaning’ lay, here in the first movement and beyond? Poisonous offshoots from the Ring suggested Bruckner’s own response to his touchingly naïve Bayreuth question: why does Brünnhilde burn? Or was it in the unisons, in the approach to the dedicatee of the symphony, Bruckner’s ‘dear God’? In the wayward yet consequential melodic and harmonic twists and turns, or in the orchestral colours that at times seemed to pre-empt Schoenberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces? There was no definitive answer: far from a bad thing. Yes, of course even this music, Bruckner at its greatest, does not develop like Brahms or Beethoven. It takes its own path(s), though; here they sounded unerring, unlike the sometimes unfortunate attempts of his earlier symphonies. Welser-Möst may not have been so ferociously possessed as Furtwängler – who is? – but this performance had its own dramatic trajectory, at times fragile, even threatening to fragment, yet never doing so and quite clear after the event. The movement’s close was hair-raising, without the slightest over-egging.

The Scherzo sounded as if Schubert, even Bruckner himself, were celebrating a black mass. It was not all malevolence, but, as if in anticipation of Schoenberg’s Gurrelieder confrontation with the Almighty, the standpoint was clear in a drama of belief. The Trio offered, beautifully, nervily, and not a little frighteningly keen contrast in some of the most outstanding orchestral playing London will hear this year. And the Scherzo’s reprise was heard through that contrast in greater ambiguity and sheer terror, an Upper Austrian Devil stomping his foot to create before our ears an Oberammergau passion within a passion. When sunshine emerged from behind the clouds, one could not but ask, without ready answer, how and why. If the close slightly disappointed, that was because convincing tonal conclusion no longer seemed possible; the world of Lulu and others now seemed inevitable.

That slightly forced conclusion was nonetheless offset by the coming of the ‘final’ Adagio in all its Wagnerian richness, eloquence, and grandeur. For whilst this was unquestionably a symphonic performance of what is unquestionably a symphony, it was informed by the deepest immersion in music drama too, above all that of Parsifal; how could it not be, given the orchestra? That was combined with a world that lay eerily ‘beyond’, historically and metaphysically, less unlike that of Mahler than we might often think, although the nature of its subjectivity remained close to diametrically opposed. Welser-Möst built the movement patiently, without evident moulding. What a welcome contrast with the flailing incomprehension of a Klaus Mäkelä in his recent Mahler Fifth. And it was striking how many presentiments of Mahler, from Das klagende Lied to his incomplete Tenth, were to be heard. The realm into which we were led disoriented and disconcerted, irrespective of how much one might ‘know’ the work. There was a sense of having attempted to reach something we could – and should – not, Wagner’s Grail meeting something more traditionally transcendental, before a necessary turn aside so as, if not to conclude, then to end.

A smoking Traviata

Mon, 08 Sep 2025 13:00:25 +0000

Restrictions encourage creative staging, for which the Berkshire Opera Festival is renowned.

Next season I’m excited for Lise Davidsen’s first Isolde

Mon, 08 Sep 2025 10:00:23 +0000

One of the most exciting things in prospect next season is Lise Davidsen‘s role debut as Isolde, to take place in Barcelona in January.

SF Opera's Rigoletto

Sat, 06 Sep 2025 17:51:06 +0000

* Notes *
A new season of opened at San Francisco Opera with a brilliantly played Rigoletto last night. Maestra Eun Sun Kim had the orchestra sounding beautifully clear and there was much gorgeous and evocative singing.

This 1997 production is inspired by the italian painter Giorgio de Chirico. The set, from Michael Yeargan, is simple and elegant, but it would have been nice not to have the two pauses to change settings between the first two scenes and the last two acts. The interest of the audience dips noticeably and there is a lot of chatter while we are waiting.

The orchestra has an intense clarity under the baton of Music Director Kim. I found myself listening closely to the score, which I don’t normally do for Verdi. Kim has a strong point of view and it was a joy to hear.

The depth and strength of the cast was evident from the beginning. Baritone Aleksey Bogdanov sang Monterone with pathos. Bass Peixin Chen sounded very strong as Sparafacile, his voice is very attractive and warm. Mezzo-soprano J'Nai Bridges gave Maddalena all the sultry limpidness that could be wanted for this role.

The one weak link of the opera is tenor Yongzhao Yu as the Duke of Mantua. His voice is plaintive and bright but sounds constrained, as if it is coming out of a very small aperture. His show pieces did not sparkle, and were all the more noticeable given how good the rest of the cast is.

Soprano Adela Zaharia is sympathetic as Gilda, her notes are pure and glittery. Her sound is powerful, and one feels that she has taken her life in her own hands, it feels like she has agency rather than being a duped, silly girl. Her “Caro nome” was very lovely. Baritone Amartuvshin Enkhbat (pictured with Zaharia, photograph by Cory Weaver) was an ideal Rigoletto, there is so much nuance in his rich sound. He is able to convey the different emotions of this piece from mocking to fearful to vengeful with perfect ease.

* Tattling *
As with last year, opening night started with a video rather than having the General Director, President and Chair of the Board on stage. This did keep the evening from going very late, even with Maestra Kim leading us in the National Anthem.

The opening night flower garlands on the boxes were shaped like jester heads. There were also elaborate projections on the proscenium. It was all exceedingly gaudy.

The audience was badly behaved as expected. There was audible giggling from my companion over the "Addio, addio" duet between Gilda and the Duke. When Rigoletto is singing "Cortigiani, vil razza dannata" in Act II there was a loud electronic disturbance. I also kicked over my metal water bottle during this act, causing a loud clatter.

Next season I’m excited for The Crucible

Sat, 06 Sep 2025 10:00:13 +0000

The announcement that the increasingly Trump-annexed Kennedy Center would be presenting Robert Ward‘s The Crucible seemed too on-the-nose to be true.

Stormy weather

Fri, 05 Sep 2025 13:00:56 +0000

Chris’s Cache celebrates Karita Mattila, one of its favorite singers, in a special double-bill featuring the soprano performing Janáček, one of her signature composers.

Peter’s arabian nights

Fri, 05 Sep 2025 13:00:56 +0000

The moral stench seeps through Peter Gelb‘s decision to partner with the Saudi government, but what new sources of funding for the Met don’t have red flags?

Next season I’m excited for Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District

Fri, 05 Sep 2025 10:00:31 +0000

Barrie Kosky directs Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. Sickos: “Yes… ha ha ha YES!”

Vengo a salvarti!

Wed, 03 Sep 2025 13:00:22 +0000

This week, Parterre Box features summer Einspringerin Marigona Qerkezi in some different Verdi fare.