The View from Row W

Finally!

2011-10-19T18:27:00.000-07:00

It's been almost two years since I updated this poor old blog. I have some 'splaining to do, I guess. I missed most of the 2010/2011 season as I was in Navy boot camp from November through January. However, I'm back now and seeing operas and ready to do some blogging, at last.

So far, I have seen "Cosi fan Tutte" and "Eugene Onegin," both of which were very good. Looking at this season's roster, I have to rejoice. It seems that the powers that be at LAO have finally taken into consideration such points as I put forward in an earlier post, "That old familiar feeling." Here, at last, are both repertory favorites and underutilized gems. I'm not taking credit, but I am breathing a sigh of relief.

Now that I'm back in action, I'll try to pay more attention to my poor little neglected corner of cyberspace and put some new and hopefully interesting things up for you to read.

Playing catch-up

2010-01-18T13:16:00.000-08:00

Well, the sudden catastrophic crash of my hard-drive and the lack of adequate funds to repair said piece of equipment have kept me from my bloggerly duties for far too long. I have seen several operas and heard some interesting LAO-related news since then, so I'll just encapsulate.

"Tamerlano:" Good. Placido acquits himself well.
"Barber of Seville:" Freaking fantastic. One of the most inspired feats of casting I have ever seen.
Met simulcast of "The Tales of Hoffmann:" Freaky steampunk carnival ride. Excellently sung.
LAO is somewhere in the neighborhood of $30 million in the hole after commissioning their Ring cycle: How much papier mache did you guys buy?

It's the most wonderful time of the year

2009-09-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

At last, the cold, dark days of summer are over and opera season brings light and warmth back to a grateful world. Kicking things off this year at L.A. Opera we have a real treat; the powers that be have finally decided to bring us some good old-fashioned bel canto in the form of "The Elixir of Love." There were a lot of empty spaces on Sunday the 20th, which I have a feeling is due to the fact that the original headliner, Rolando Villazon, had to cancel. In fact, he has cancelled all his engagements through early 2010 due to a cyst on his vocal cords. Rolando is a big draw, but the people whose attendance was solely dependent on his appearance missed out on what I predict will be one of the few perfectly satisfying shows all season.

This production has been plagued with cancellations and recastings from the very beginning of its planning, but the resulting cast is one of those serendipitous combinations that makes you realize you don't need household names to make a really enjoyable, well-sung opera. There are a whole lot of world-class singers out there who, for mysterious reasons, never become faces on posters or names above the title. That doesn't mean you're really missing anything other than the opportunity to brag about who you've seen if they substitute for a Big-Name Singer.

We ended up with three L.A. debuts: Giuseppe Filianoti as Nemorino, Giorgio Caoduro as Dr. Dulcamara and Nino Machaidze as Adina (her U.S. debut, in fact). Both Filianoti and Caoduro were replacements, and I, for one, was happier for the opportunity to see unfamiliar talent than I would have been to see the original picks.

Filianoti sang a perfect "Una furtiva lagrima," which brought a tear of its own to my father's eye. He asked me later if I knew why he cried. I ventured a guess at the beauty being too much for his lachrymal glands to contain. "No," he said, "it was because I had heard that song so many times but never had any context for it, and I just felt so privileged to have finally seen it sung." And that really summed up for me what the opera-going experience is all about. No matter who's singing that night, when you get to see a beautiful aria sung right in front you, when the audience holds its breath and the world stands still for a few moments, you are privileged indeed.

Way up close and personal with the Met

2009-05-09T23:50:00.001-07:00

What better way to spend a Saturday morning than watching a live opera in your sweatpants? The Metropolitan Opera's high -definition simulcasts offer opera lovers the opportunity to do just that, and for a very nice price.

For about twenty-five bucks, you can buy yourself a ticket to the Met matinee of your choice. You then print your ticket at home and head out to your participating local movie theater. And voila, you're watching opera and having popcorn.

I have now seen two of these simulcasts, "Lucia di Lammermoor" a couple of months ago and "La Cenerentola" today. It's not quite the same as being there, but it does come with the benefits of close-ups of the singers and musicians, glimpses of what goes on backstage, and interviews with the stars during intermission. It's a truly wonderful way to get your opera fix and save some cash and gas. Plus, then you can say, "Oh yes, I saw [famous singer] in [famous opera] when she sang it at the Met." It's technically true, and people will be impressed.

Due to their informality, these simulcasts are also a great way to introduce first-timers and kids to the genre. The parents of one of my best friends saw the simulcast of "Lucia di Lammermoor" on a whim. It was the first opera they had ever seen, and they were back again today. Today the movie theater, perhaps tomorrow the orchestra section.

The Met's season is now over; today was closing day, with "Cenerentola" as the matinee and "Gotterdammerung" in the evening. So, it looks like I'm back to DVDs and recordings for a while, but, between L.A. Opera and the Met simulcasts, next season will be twice as busy for me.

Still magic after all these years

2009-02-04T22:40:00.000-08:00

Well. I should have posted this earlier, but first I came down with a bad case of Inauguration Fever and then, as a reaction, a fit of the Doldrums. But now I feel like purging my brain of some opera-thoughts, so here comes my overdue review of LAO's "Magic Flute." Well, maybe not so much a review as a reverie...

"The Magic Flute" has a special heart in my heart, since it was the first opera I ever saw, at the age of twenty-one. Seeing it again seven years later made me remember just how special that occasion was. I know I constantly harp on the fact that LAO often puts on the same productions year after year, but in this case, it was really okay. Since they'd been absent lo these seven years, seeing the Gerald Scarfe-designed sets again was like seeing an old friend. The proscenium in the first act is painted to match the pattern of the giant serpent that Tamino flees in the opening scene. Tamino himself, in his white double-breasted costume and red boots, looked endearingly like a little kid who has decided to wear his cowboy boots over his pajamas. And everyone loved the bizarre creatures that the twistedly brilliant Scarfe inserted into the scene where Tamino plays his flute before the temple doors; there was a penguin-thing with a crocodile face, an ostrich creature with a giraffe neck, something that looked like a cross between an ibis and a porcupine, and several others.

As for the singing, it was uniformly very good. I can't find my program at the moment, but when I do I will tell you the names of the singers. Suffice it to say for now that Tamino had the classic Mozartean tenor pitch, Pamina sang beautifully and with requisite sweetness, and Papageno, of course, stole all the scenes he was in. I have to say, though, that I was rather disappointed in the Queen of the Night; she cheated on her highest notes by chirping rather than actually singing, and she didn't have the all-eyes-on-me stage presence that I feel the role requires. Sumi Jo, whom I had the great pleasure of seeing in the 2001 production, will always be my personal benchmark for this role.

Not-so-terrifying Queen of the Night aside, I relived all the excitement and enjoyment of that first performance (and this time, I didn't come down with the chicken pox the next day). My pleasure was enhanced, this time, by the fact that in the last seven years I have come to know "The Magic Flute" quite thoroughly from having listened to recordings; I found that I didn't have to read the supertitles, which allowed me to focus completely on the show on stage. Some day, maybe someone will put on a sing-along version; that's the only thing that could make my enjoyment of this opera more complete (though it would undoubtedly lessen the enjoyment of those around me...)

Despite its surface whimsicality, "The Magic Flute" is a work of profound beauty and power. No matter who's in it or what it looks like, this one will always be right near the top of my all-time favorites list.

Innocents Abroad: My crash course in world-class opera, public transportation and how to party like it's 1929

2008-11-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

Well, it sort of seems like old news now, but it happened. The Great Opera Pilgrimage came to fruition after all; it was small, it was low-key and it was low-budget, but damn...it was good.

Three of us set out that morning in my car - me, my best friend, and her plush companion Mr. PigPuff ("I use him as a pillow," she said. Yeah, sure. So why is he in the back seat, looking out the window?) - and headed up Highway 99 in my tiny car. I had not realized until that day that the San Joaquin Valley is really the buttcrack of California; GoogleMaps (registered trademark, all rights reserved) told me to go there, so I did. The drive was boring and a little scary; when you have politically left-leaning bumper stickers all over the back of your fuel-efficient Japanese car, it can be a little intimidating to find yourself smack in the middle of McCain/Palin country. Okies. Sheesh.

Fueled by sage cheese (purchased by my friend, who loves cheese as she does her own soul), a surprisingly small amount of gas and plenty of coffee, we made it to San Francisco in about five hours.

The hotel, which featured the threadbare carpet, creaky stairs and slightly peely paint that is referred to in the business as "European-style," was situated just a block from Union Square, and it really wasn't so bad. Really. The bathroom was very clean, and the window ledge doubled as a refrigerator for cheese and canned coffee. Very European.

Centrally located as we were, it was easy to find good food and interesting things to do, to keep us occupied between performances. To save money, we bought 48-hour tickets on an open-topped tour bus and used it as regular transportation. You have to sit through the same set of historical facts and tidbits every time, but you can get to all the major attractions quickly and effectively. And if we continued to use the tickets slightly after the 48 hours were technically up, whose business is that?

But let's talk opera. Over three nights, we were treated to some truly fine opera in a truly fine opera house. The War Memorial Opera Theatre has some of the best accoustics I have ever heard; every swish of skirts, every intake of breath, every nuance of performance was perfectly, crisply audible. Which was especially good for us, because we were way up under the rafters. Our view of the singers was enhanced the first night by OperaVision, the equivalent of JumboTron for the Mozart crowd.

We saw, in order, "Idomeneo," "The Elixir of Love," and "Boris Godunov." "Boris" was very long and heavy and Russian, and we both agreed that we liked it the least of the three. Not that it was a bad production; it's just not our cup of tea musically. But it was an opportnuity to see the great Sam Raimi in one of his signature roles, and a role he predicts he will not perform again.
"The Elixir of Love" was frothy and cute, as it was meant to be, and it was a nice counterpoint to the relative heaviness of the other two works. In the end, it was a pleasant diversion, but not much more. I must say, though, that Ramon Vargas nearly brought the house down with his "Una furtiva lagrima." Very, very well done. One might say perfectly done. "Idomeneo," though, was certainly the highlight. Kurt Streit has become virtually synonymous with the title role, and he made it look and sound maddeningly easy. Genia Kuhmeier, in the role of Ilia, used her crystal-clear, sweet-toned voice to great effect, and Adler Fellow Alek Shrader showed that he is both an extremely promising singer and a good actor, in the role of Idomeneo's councillor, Arbace. It always sends a little shiver of dread up my spine to see one of those little papers protruding from my program, telling me that in tonight's performance we will see an understudy. I had no reason to be afraid in this case, though; filling in for Alice Coote as Idamante, Adler Fellow Daniella Mack acquitted herself admirably. She was calm, collected and obviously well-prepared. And she can sing!

It was an all-too-brief week, full of great opera, long walks, and cheap but plentiful food. I learned how to ride an electric bus (they don't give change and they don't call out the stops), how to survive in a notoriously expensive city on surprisingly little cash (clam chowder is cheap and filling, and if you walk long enough in Chinatown, someone will give you a coupon for dim sum) and that San Francisco Opera is the real deal. I'm already planning my return trip.

Hideous monster

2008-10-13T15:24:00.000-07:00

"The Fly" has left Los Angeles, and I don't think anyone will miss it. This "opera" is perhaps the biggest, most egregious crime to ever be perpetrated against the unsuspecting attendees of the L.A. Opera.

If I start going into detail, we'll be here forever, so let me just summarize by saying that I think the only person who was actually trying was the set designer. The libretto was laughable - the part about insect politics made me think of one of those mockumentaries that Christopher Guest makes - and there were no actual songs. The entire work is one long recitative. Take all the singable bits out of a Richard Strauss work and you'll get some idea. "The Fly" was an entertaining movie, and may possibly make a decent stage play, but no one should ever have kidded themselves that this was opera material. Not only is the material not there, but the execution was positively execrable. I talked to a few audience members afterwards, and listened in on some conversations and the reaction was unanimous; this should never have been made. I can only hope that those curious people who had never been to an opera before and came to see this for the novelty value didn't come away thinking that this is what opera is.

On our way out, ushers handed us bright green plastic fly swatters with the "opera's" logo emblazoned on them. I'm going to use mine to smack Placido Domingo, who compromised his credibility by commissioning and conducting this thing.

I won't say anything more, because that would be a disservice to the strong cast, who really did do their best with what they were given. Suffice it to say that, given what a steaming pile of doodie this production is, the only things that should be attracted to it in the future - if it has a future - are actual flies.

Opera on unemployment

2008-08-12T20:15:00.000-07:00

Having recently fallen victim to the current economic "not a recession," I have had to tighten the purse strings a bit. I get an unemployment check once every two weeks, and my part-time freelance gig writing puff pieces about real estate for the local newspaper at least makes me feel like I'm not totally wasting my life. Neither of these venues brings in a lot of cash, though, and I have had to make certain concessions to the looming specter of insolvency. Opera, as, dear reader, you surely know, is an expensive habit. How am I to support my addiction?

Obviously, cold turkey is out of the question, and due to the fact that my father is actually the one with the season subscription, I don't have to worry about my main supply being cut off. But - and this is where it gets ugly - I may have recently purchased some tickets which I can no longer afford to redeem. A few months ago, I began planning a trip to San Francisco Opera with three of my girlfriends, one of whom has definitely baled and another of whom is still unsure. That's bad enough, but now I'm questioning whether it is financially feasible for me to go. It was to be a five-day trip with three operas; the tickets themselves were surprisingly inexpensive (nosebleed section), but can I afford train fare, a week's worth of restaurant meals and a hotel room? These tickets, I have to admit, may yet end up on E-Bay. Oh, God, I don't even want to think about it. I've looked forward to it so for long; like, way back when I still had a real job and expected to keep it.

And then there's the almost comical situation involving The Fund. This Fund is a savings plan instituted by me and my little brother almost a year ago, when we decided we were going to London to see "Tamerlano" at London's Covent Garden in 2010. Now, I know March of 2010 is still more than a year away, but so far the growth of The Fund has been painfully slow, and is not getting any faster. In fact, the main source of input into The Fund is loose change that goes into a ten-gallon plastic water bottle I found lying in the front yard. Recently, we decided we had a pretty good amount of coinage in there, so we dumped it out, wrapped it, and counted it up. There was $92.00 in the jug, which brings the grand total of the entire Fund to...wait for it...$392.02. By 2010, I should be able to afford passage to London as a scullery maid on a freight ship.

The latest buzz

2008-06-26T13:52:00.000-07:00

It's real, folks. Coming soon to an opera house near you (presuming you live near Paris or L.A.).

http://theflytheopera.com/

Amen, Mr. Twain.

2008-04-22T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have always liked and admired Mark Twain; he was a witty, observant man with abundant good sense and an incomparable way with words, so I was both amused and gratified to read his opinion on "Tristan und Isolde." Thanks very much to my brother, who e-mailed me this little snippet from Wikipedia:

Mark Twain, on a visit to Germany, heard Tristan at Bayreuth and commented: "I know of some, and have heard of many, who could not sleep after it, but cried the night away. I feel strongly out of place here. Sometimes I feel like the one sane person in the community of the mad."

You're not alone after all, Mr. Twain, and thankfully neither am I.

The solace of Facebook

2008-03-22T23:33:00.000-07:00

I'm not really into the whole "social networking" thing. I've never even visited MySpace (really, it's true), and when I was invited by a friend to join Facebook, I was genuinely reluctant. I believe in the power of actually talking to people, or, failing that, sending them long, rambling e-mails that read much like this blog. People who spend their time "socially networking" are creepy or losers or creepy losers, right? Well, no. I was wrong, and I happily admit it. I took the leap and I am now a full-fledged Facebook addict.

What convinced me that Facebook is good and right and beautiful? Well, aside from the fact that I found some college friends I hadn't talked to in a long time, I found a whole world of Baroque music lovers out there. Imagine - whole ethereal groups of people who share my interest in old music. People who understand. People who are big-time music nerds and aren't afraid to admit it. People whose friends and families don't share their love of all things pre-19th century. People just like me.

So far, I have joined "Baroque Music Lovers," the nerd-hipsterish "Baroque opera is way happenin'," "Handel will burst your eardrums," and, perhaps my favorite, the brand-new and appealingly self-deprecating "I love Baroque opera - that makes two of us." My fellow members and I are free to discuss things like the possibilities presented by electronically-produced Baroque music, the pros and cons of historically informed performance, and who the best early-music conductor is (it's John Eliot Gardner, obviously. Or maybe it's William Christie...). Not only do we get what each other is saying, we're actually interested in it. What a revelation!

Ah, Facebook. I love you.

Slow death

2008-01-27T19:45:00.000-08:00

"Tristan und Isolde" is often held up as a great work of operatic art, a pillar of the genre, and a ravishingly romantic story. Well, I'm calling bullshit on the whole thing right now.

First of all, let's explode the myth of romance and eroticism that clings to this work. The romance in this opera isn't real; it isn't human. We get the idea that Tristan and Isolde were developing feelings for each other at the beginning, but -shockingly, in a Wagner work - it isn't really explained in great detail, so we just get an inkling that hey, maybe there's a little spark there, but probably nothing will come of it. Then Isolde's maid slips them a love potion and they fall helplessly in love with each other. But it clearly isn't real love (we in the audience know that, even if Tristan, Isolde and Wagner himself don't). When they finally have a night alone together, all they can do is talk about darkness and death and how wonderful it would be to die, and then there's a long and insipid discussion of semantics and the meaning of the word "and." They don't kiss, they don't fly into each other's arms, they don't talk about running away together and living in blissful exile, nothing like that. It isn't believable. It isn't relatable. It isn't human. It's certainly not romantic. In fact, it comes off sort of like a histrionic and delusional teenage suicide pact. It's ridiculous and infuriating, and if that's Wagner's idea of love, then I am very sorry indeed for Wagner.

Now, let's get to the music. I will say unbegrudingly that the orchestration is beautiful. The overture and the intermezzi, especially the one in Act 3, are cinematic and lovely, and contain some actual feeling. As is always the case with Wagner, however, the actual vocal melodies (if one can call them melodies) are more like chanting than singing. I find it very difficult to appreciate a singer's skill when he or she is not actually called upon to really sing. Plus, this opera is a perfect illustration of just how important a good libretto is. This libretto, of course by Wagner himself, who was too much of an egotist to let actual writers write any of his libretti, happens to be utter shit.

This opera made me mad to the point where I started yelling at the characters in my head. I was beginning to think it would never end, that I had become stuck in some operatic corner of the Twilight Zone. I knew it would be long - it is Wagner - but, when you start willing the characters to die, you know you're in trouble. I now understand what my mother said about opera in general; "I like the music, it's the singing I can't take." They just go on whining and repeating themselves and chanting about stupid things like who's piloting the ship in the distance, hour after hour. Shut up! Wagner could make a five-hour opera out of the instructions on a tea bag.

Now that that's out of the way, I can review the production I just saw on its own terms. The singing was perfectly decent, though both leads were overpowered by the orchestra at certain points, which should never, ever happen to true Wagner singers. James Treleaven, as Tristan, has a perfectly nice voice, which actually reminded me of Placido Domingo's, but, despite what his bio says, I don't think he deserves the epithet "heldentenor." Heldentenors should be able to pin you to the back wall of the theatre with the power of their voices. Not even close, in this case.

The orchestra sounded great; they played enthusiastically and with feeling, as by rights they should with James Conlon at the podium; Wagner is his specialty.

The real strong point of the production were the sets, designed by David Hockney. Act One features the deck of a ship, Act Two takes place near King Marke's castle, under the shade of trees whose canopies are Celtic knots, and Act Three unfolded (slowly) on a bleak and rocky cliff. At least there was always something nice to look at.

It's sad when the weakest link in a production is the opera itself, and that was absolutely the case here. After a couple of hours, I wanted these people to die; really, really wanted it. Not so that their love would remain forever unconquered, but just so that they'd shut the hell up and let me go to dinner.

This opera is boring, infuriating and infuriatingly boring. Solely on the strength of the good effort put forth by the singers and musicians and the lovely sets from Hockney, I'm giving this one a total of two out of five. And that's pretty generous.

That old familiar feeling

2007-12-26T20:17:00.000-08:00

An open letter to L.A. Opera:

Dear Messrs. Domingo and Conlon,

First of all, let me congratulate you on the wonderful things that have been happening at your distinguished establishment recently. The premier of "Grendel," Mr. Conlon's presentation of works by composers who were threatened with obscurity due to the Holocaust, and your free presentation of Handel's "Judas Maccabbeus," among other events, are to be applauded. But there's something I have to say that you're not going to like.

The fact is, sirs, that there has recently been a frustrating lack of variety evident at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. I hear you ask me what I could possibly mean by that, since you have been presenting everything from Monteverdi to "Mahagonny." Well, not quite everything...

What I mean is that in the past few seasons - since Mr. Conlon took over as music director, I believe - we have seen the same works repeatedly, and it's getting really tiring. I mean no disrespect to the maestro, whose encyclopedic musical knowledge and technical skill I vastly appreciate. But someone is dropping the ball here. The decision to put on "L'incoronazione di Poppea" was laudable, but the fact that you presented it twice over two seasons is perhaps less praiseworthy. Not that I didn't love it, but if you're going to give us Monteverdi in almost back-to-back seasons, why not two different works? Why not "L'Orfeo" as a substitute, for example?

And then there was "Don Giovanni." And "Madama Butterfly." And "The Marriage of Figaro." Not only did we see two productions of the same opera in quick succession, THEY WERE THE SAME PRODUCTIONS BOTH TIMES. If you're going to give us "Madama Butterfly" twice in three years, (or any other opera, for that matter), why not at least make it a different production each time? Please?

Imagine if your neighbor the Ahmanson were to show the same production of "Death of a Salesman" twice in successive seasons, or decided to bring back "Jersey Boys" next season, and then, a couple of years from now, did "Avenue Q" again? No doubt people who hadn't seen those plays the first time around would be pleased, but what about the season ticket holders? They would be less pleased, certainly. So what about your season ticket holders? Are we not your base? Do you not owe us better effort in the variety department?

With all due, respect, sirs, I think I may see the root of this problem. You are both busy indulging your own musical tastes. Mr. Conlon loves his Germans and Czechs, and Mr. Domingo loves anything he can reasonably cast himself in. I understand that tendency, and I think it's excusable - and maybe even desirable -up to a point. But when you allow yourselves to put on a bunch of operas that you want to do and then fill in the rest of the schedule with recycled material that we've seen too many times already, everyone suffers. We're bored and you look lazy. Recycling is good for plastics and paper goods; it is considerably less beneficial to entertainment venues and their patrons.

I don't like to complain without offering a possible solution, so here's my suggestion. Perhaps you can think about this while choosing your new year's resolutions. I was standing in line for the ladies' room at the opera recently, and the woman behind me, looking at her program, said to her companion, "Look at this season. No bel canto? No Rossini? Where's the bel canto?" Where indeed is the bel canto? And where, for that matter, are the Mozart works that you don't show us (meaning most of them)? Where is Handel, and Bellini, and Tchaikovsky, and even Verdi? We haven't heard from Signor Verdi in a while (yet Wagner, I would contend, has been rather overrepresented of late). I suggest you start incorporating some of these things back into the schedule - and then not showing them again for at least five seasons. We want "Cosi fan tutti," we want "Norma," we want "La Cenerentola," we want "Nabucco," and we want "Eugene Onegin." And we do still want the slightly offbeat and lesser-known stuff that you gentlemen have been showing us, like Janacek and zarzuela and "Grendel." We want the old favorites, we want interesting new stuff, we want rarely-seen early pieces; we just don't want that unwelcome periodic feeling of deja vu!

Yours sincerely,
A concerned fan (and season subscriber)

All's well that ends well

2007-12-21T14:03:00.001-08:00

I've finally found a spare moment between work (blah) and Christmas shopping (extra blah) to review that much-anticipated production of "Don Giovanni" (yay!).

I would like to congratulate my friends on fearlessly and unequivocally embracing the visual oddities of this production. Were you deterred by the mysterious allegorical figure in the white hoop skirt? Not at all; on the contrary, you found her engaging and intellectually stimulating. Did the hanging red things put you off? Absolutely not! You even loved the dancing pyramidal topiaries. And for that, I love you.

Musically, the evening was mostly great, though not entirely flawless. There were two or three times during the first act when the orchestra and singers were slightly out of sync with each other, which was frustrating and inexplicable. The second half was devoid of such problems, thankfully. I did often find myself wishing for more volume, more power, from the orchestra, but that could be a vagary of the acoustics where I was sitting (I temporarily metamorphosed from W50 into E72, Balcony; it was the only place that had seven seats together).

Though an impromptu poll conducted in my car revealed Kyle Ketelson's Leporello to be the favorite among a majority of my friends, my allegiance goes totally and enthusiastically to Charles Castronovo as Don Ottavio. He stole the show with "Dalla sua pace," which is an absolutely gorgeous song when properly sung. Sing it properly he did, and then some. It was one of those moments when you can actually feel the audience listening with all their attention, the kind of moment that you just can't get from anything but a live performance and that I live for as an operagoer. He did a similarly excellent job on "Il mio tesoro intanto," which happens to be one of my favorites.

I can't find a single bad thing to say about the rest of the cast; they were perhaps not stellar, but Mozart's music is always more about team effort than individual virtuosity, and these singers blended well together and made for a very strong ensemble, all told.

It was an excellent evening spent with excellent people, and I will always keep it as one of my favorite opera memories. At this point, I would like to apologize to (and for) my mother, who discovered that she does not enjoy opera ("I like the music; it's the singing I can't take"). Still, six very contented operagoers out of seven ain't bad.

Merry Christmas, opera lovers everywhere.

Close your eyes and think of Mozart

2007-11-26T16:31:00.000-08:00

This is particularly for my friends who are going to the opera with me on Sunday. Having read the review in the "L.A. Times," it occurs to me that perhaps I should warn you. The particular production we are going to see is, well...a bit odd, visually speaking.

I saw this same production a few years ago (L.A. Opera is developing a bad habit of bringing back the same productions season after season, but that's a topic for another post). Visually, it may not be all that you are expecting. In fact, it's probably the opposite of whatever you think of when you think of opera. It is - how best to put it? - post-modern. Spare. Avant-garde. Okay, it's weird, I'll admit it. Freakin' weird.

Now, don't panic. That doesn't mean it's bad. There's nothing you could do to "Don Giovanni" that would make it bad (at least, nothing I can think of). The music is amazing, and the story is actually pretty great. This opera has everything that you associate with opera as a genre, all rolled up in one. There's seduction, lust, love, revenge, comic relief, the supernatural, mistaken identities, a masked ball, broken hearts, murder...It's all there. That, and the transcedent music of Mozart, are why "Don Giovanni" is often called the opera of all operas, perhaps the greatest ever written.

Besides, the visuals aren't all bizarre and seemingly irrelevant. To wit, Don Giovanni's very suggestively shaped hat - if you think it looks like a certain intimate part of the female anatomy, it's not just you. I just hope my little brother doesn't notice. And, at the risk of giving away the ending, the scene with all the creeping, crawling, totally black souls of the damned is genuinely unsettling.

So when you see Leporello come out on stage during the overture with a giant hourglass on his back, or when you notice that Don Ottavio is wearing something resembling a hoop skirt, don't despair. Just focus on the music. Let that be your mantra -"Focus on the music..."

Wrap your brain around this one...

2007-10-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, you heard it here first (and if you didn't, just pretend like you did, for me). All those months ago when I e-mailed Kurt Streit, he mentioned that he was trying to negotiate with San Francisco Opera for some time off next year to come down to L.A. and work on a production of "The Fly." I felt like e-mailing him again and saying "'The Fly?' As in Jeff Goldblum switches his DNA with that of an insect? That 'Fly?' Surely you jest!" I didn't ask, because I didn't want to take liberties, but it's sort of niggled at the back of my brain ever since.

Well, he did not jest. Harold Shore is making an opera version of "The Fly." That "Fly." Seriously.

Apparently, it's going to have its premier in Paris next year (I have no idea who's going to be in it, nor do I know anything else about the L.A. cast or production). I've tried to imagine what it's going to look and sound like, but I just can't. Anyway, when it finally lands (ha!), you can bet I'll be there, if only out of morbid curiousity.

Czech, please.

2007-09-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

Maestro James Conlon said that he would gladly listen to Karita Mattila sing the phonebook, and he's pretty much got his wish, because that's just about exactly what's she called on to do in "Jenufa."

After much anticipation, I'm sorry to say that this opera left me almost completely cold. It wasn't the singing, or the story, or the sets that left me feeling this way; it was the music. The singing was very impressive, actually: Finnish soprano Mattila has a warm, rich tone; Eva Urbanova, as the Kostelnicka, has an edge that is occasionally reminiscent of Maria Callas; and both tenors, Kim Begley and Jorma Silvasti, have very pleasing voices. I just wish I could hear them all sing something more engaging.

The whole idea behind "Jenufa" is that of a Czech national opera; Leos Janacek wanted to put the Czech language to use in a work that his countrymen could call their own. His modus operandi was to employ the "music of language," rather than the "language of music;" he apparently had a great interest in the sounds and rhythms of language, and would keep a notebook with him when he traveled, literally making notations-setting word sounds to notes-on different languages and dialects he heard. It's a great concept, and with some languages, it may actually work in an opera, but unfortunately Czech doesn't seem to be one of them. The result is a sort of chanting that reminded me at times of the almost unmusical utterances of Richard Strauss characters. In fact, the whole thing was not far removed from an accompanied recitative. There were some truly moving and beautiful musical moments, but none of them involved singing.

In his pre-performance talk, Maestro Conlon assured us that he had never talked to anyone who had seen "Jenufa" and not had their "minds blown." If I ever get to talk to the Maestro, I'll just hope the subject of this opera doesn't come up; I'd hate to break his streak.

"Fidelio?" Big deal. I saw "Hairspray!"

2007-09-29T09:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back from New York City and gearing up to see "Jenufa," which is on Sunday. Please, Lord, no understudies...

My father assures me that "Fidelio" was amazing, complete with excellent singing, mind-blowing scenery effects and heartrending music. He reports that there were four curtain calls, during which no one tried to leave, and that this opera is now in his top five favorites. Jealous? Me? Never. After all, I got to see "Hairspray," which is surely on a par with Beethoven's grand opera. I mean, when it comes to drama and the opportunity for heavy-hitting music, how can you top the travails of a large-haired, plus-size Baltimore teen as she tries to integrate local television with the help of her mountainous mother, oddball inventor father and a group of too-cool-for-their-own-good black kids?

I'm trying to get my dad to do a guest spot so we can all read a detailed review of "Fidelio," but stay tuned for my thoughts on "Jenufa."

O Fortuna!

2007-09-07T11:52:00.000-07:00

The opera gods have smiled upon me, and I, their humble servant, hereby post this paragraph in gratitude. Days after I wrote the last post, a postcard came in the mail. It was from L.A. Opera, and it said that I should act now to get tickets for Jenufa, as there were some left over for this month. A couple of days later my old tickets were ripped in half and my new tickets took their place on top of the microwave. The opera gods, using the L.A. Opera box office as their tool and intermediary, have truly done great things for me, an undeserving mortal.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go sacrifice a black rooster.

I Just Can't Catch a Break

2007-08-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, I really have no right to complain, but I'm not going to let that stop me.

The first opera of this season at the Chandler is going to be "Fidelio," Beethoven's only opera. I've really been looking forward to seeing this one, since I've never heard it and the cast is supposed to be really good (including Klaus Florian Vogt, of whom I'm heard very good things). My ticket is for September 23. Unfortunately, this happens to be the very day I'm leaving for New York City. Of course, I'm really excited about my trip, as I haven't been to New York in about ten years and this time I'll be able to share it with my mom, brother and aunt, who have never been there, but jeez...

That's bad enough, but the same thing is set to happen again in October. The other opera I was really looking foward to this season was "Jenufa," again because I've never seen it and because James Conlon, L.A. Opera's music director, has said that he would gladly listen to the lead soprano sing the phone book. This production will coincide with my trip to Italy. Would I trade two weeks in Italy for a night at the opera? Of course not. But damn.

So now what I'm looking forward to most this season is taking my mom, brother and a bunch of friends to see "Don Giovanni" in December. I'm not going to miss that one come hell or high water.

Surviving the Off-Season

2007-07-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

Summertime, and the livin' is easy. Except for one thing; there's no opera going on. It's going to be a long few months for me before opera season begins again in September. Where is an opera junkie to go for a fix? Here's some of the things that get me through when I start feeling dopesick:

1) My music collection. In both CD and digital form, my collection is a beautiful thing. It's heavy on the Baroque and the Mozart, and a small piece of it goes with me wherever I go. I would like to take this opportunity to thank the person who invented the iPod. I don't know who you are, but your place in Heaven is asssured. I have three full operas in my iPod Nano ("Poppea," "Rodelinda" and "The Magic Flute") and I'd fit more in there, if I could. There are also a couple of playlists of instrumental classical music and random arias, plus Mozart's Requiem. There's also some rock for the times when I feel the need to blow my eardrums out. I would also like to thank my boss for letting me listen to my iPod at work, and the designers of the Scion xA for seeing fit to include an auxiliary input jack and an awesome sound system as standard features. I love you more than you can know, Scion design team.

2) My violin. I've been playing for just over a year now, and I'm at the point where it's just an absolute blast to sit down and play when the mood strikes. I've got a good handle on the basics and I'm ambitious to play the songs that I've been admiring from afar for years. Thanks are also due to my teachers, Fernando, Ricardo and Joanie, for pushing me faster than I thought I could go and showing me what I'm capable of. Plus, the violin itself is a gorgeous piece of work; I fall in love all over again whenever I open the case. Thank you, Stringworks.

3) My DVD of the Glyndebourne production of "Rodelinda." This is one of the first things I'd save if my house were on fire. Actually, now that I think about it, if my house ever did catch fire, I'd probably die on my seventeenth trip back into the flames, trying to save all my books. But the "Rodelinda" DVD would already be safely out on the pile on the lawn.

4) The internet ( or "internets," as it is known in some circles). The good old internet keeps me apprised of musical events happening near me (which are rather few and far between here in Ventura County, unless you count karaoke or bar bands. Which I don't).

5) The pile of tickets sitting on top of the microwave. They're for the upcoming season at L.A. Opera, and they hold out the heady promise of good things to come. September, after all, will be here faster than I think.

Just out of curiosity...

2007-07-01T21:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, I have to know. Since I'm new to blogging and am still very skeptical about the kind of readership these things get, I have a favor to ask. If you're reading this blog and you don't actually know me, please leave me a post. I'm curious as to just who finds this interesting. Clearly someone's reading, as there are over thirty hits on my profile page, but I don't think I even know thirty people. I'm intrigued, and a little surprised. So again, if you do not actually know my "secret identity," please take part in my little experiment by leaving a quick comment. Thanks, whoever you may be.

Opera Ruined My Life: The Perfect "Poppea," the Feeling of Flying, and Other Things Forever Just Out of Reach

2007-06-29T21:51:00.000-07:00

A Rambling and Self-Pitying Essay in Three Parts
Part Three (thank God): The Great Divide

I saw my very first opera with my father. It was his first opera, too. We were down at the Ahmanson Theatre - I don't remember what we were seeing - and across the courtyard there were posters up on the front of the Dorothy Chandler, advertising the season. One was for "The Magic Flute." Having seen the movie "Amadeus" several times and being a low-level appreciator of classical music at the time, I knew I loved Mozart, and I saw an opportunity to exploit my upcoming 21st birthday. I asked my dad if he'd take to me to see it for my birthday, and he went straight across and bought two tickets. That's the kind of guy he is.

I think he was a little apprehensive about the whole opera thing, but I know he was also excited, since he's always willing to try something new, especially where entertainment or culture are involved. Long story short, we both loved the production — designed by Gerald Scarfe, who did the animation for Pink Floyd's "The Wall" — and we've both been hooked on the genre as a whole ever since. (Incidentally, it was also Easter and the very day I came down with chicken pox. Momentous.)

In the intervening years, I have set out to learn as much about opera as I can. I like to flatter myself that I'm a pretty good critical listener now; I can identify when someone is singing well or not, I know which styles and periods I prefer (Baroque! Woo!), and I know about things like acoustical dead spots. I'm not so good at telling whether or not the orchestra is doing great or not, but that will come, especially now that I'm playing the violin. Anyway, I no longer just let the music wash over me; I analyze and compare. My dad doesn't. He is a rock in the stream of opera.

And that's why we argue over opera now. It's actually become a sticking point: If I don't like a production that he enjoyed, my dad will insist that I'm being an elitist or that I'm disagreeing with him just for the sake of disagreeing. Neither could be further from the truth. I despise snobbery, and I'm not one to pick a fight. The last two operas— operettas, really— that we saw were the cause of much wrangling.

Let me just say, first of all, that I don't like operettas in general. They're too light and fluffy. They're the classical equivalent of bubble gum pop, which itself is the musical equivalent of Kleenex— you use it, throw it out and immediately forget about it. The first one this season was "The Merry Widow," which I found trite, uninteresting and a total waste of Susan Graham. (Despite the fact that she crushed my soul, I still appreciate her talent).

My dad loved it. He was incensed when the reviewer for the "Times" called it vulgar and intellectually insulting, and absolutely incredulous when I agreed. I was accused of parroting for the sake of being intellectual and contrary. I asked if I wasn't allowed to have an opinion that differed from my dad's. He agreed that I was, but still seemed personally insulted that I should genuinely feel such things. We allowed that little argument to blow over, but it came back bigger than ever a couple of weeks later.

This time, "Luisa Fernanda" was the point of contention. My dad really didn't like it, at all. I thought it was just okay, but apparently that was too much of a difference for my dad. During the performance, I was thinking "Well, this whole thing is not great, but at least I like the sets." During intermission, Dad mentioned that he hated the sets. I said I thought they were interesting. They were minimalist, but in a good way. They were effective. Dad was blown away. How could I like them? How could I like this and not "The Merry Widow?" I was being contrary again. The sets were boring, with no color. He even got the lady next to him, a stranger, to take his side against me. Where were the red dresses, they asked. It's supposed to be Spain, after all!

I held my tongue, but here's what I wanted to say: "What the hell are you talking about? Just because Carmen wears a red skirt, does that mean every woman in every opera that takes place in Spain has to wear one? What's wrong with you? They're 19th century Spanish noblewomen, not whores! Jesus! The set is mostly tan because that's what color Spain is, you asses! The houses are tan! The hills are tan! People wear light colors because it's freakin' hot! Holy crap! Get off my back, you jerks! And who the hell are you anyway, bizzatch?"

Later, as we walked to the parking lot, my dad wanted to give me his opinion, but I said I would go first, just so I couldn't be accused of being deliberately contrary. I said that I saw why Placido Domingo wanted to sing it, because it was a role his dad sang and was close to his heart. However, the music wasn't all that engaging and didn't really do anything for his voice. The story wasn't anything to write home about, and there were no really memorable moments. The sets were kinda cool, though, and overall, I liked it better than "The Merry Widow," which is crappy.

He seemed satisfied by that, but maybe not totally. I think he thinks that I've ruined my enjoyment of opera by educating myself about it. That makes no sense to me. If anything, I enjoy it more now that I know more about it; I'm more engaged by it when it's good, and not taken in when it's bad. I reserve the right not to enjoy an opera sometimes, based on critical listening. I'm a better opera fan, but I don't think that I'll ever really feel comfortable discussing it with my dad again. We've always been really close, and we are generally of one mind on important things. But sometimes, I have to dare to differ. Even if that means that there's a rift in Row W.

Opera Ruined My Life: The Perfect "Poppea," the Feeling of Flying, and Other Things Forever Just Out of Reach

2007-05-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

A Rambling and Self-Pitying Essay in Three Parts
Part Two: In which Susan Graham crushes my spirit

Every once in a blessedly great while, something happens that puts your life in bleak and dreadful perspective. I had just such a revelation recently, and it was brought about by my love of opera. It's always the ones we love that hurt us the most.

I was prowling around the L.A. Opera web site, as I ocassionally do, when I ran across a podcast interview with Susan Graham, the mezzo-soprano. I hit the button to listen to it, dopily unaware of the major hit my emotional well-being was about to take.

I was fine until the interviewer asked Ms. Graham how it feels to sing on stage. She said that, even though it may sound cliched, when you're up there with the music flowing through you, it feels like you're flying. Now I know that sounds like a perfectly harmless statement, but it slapped me in the face like a pimp looking for money. Only worse. In a flash, I suddenly realized that that was something I really, really wanted and would never, ever have.

Okay, I know my gift is for writing, and I know that that is what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. I know I should shut up and be grateful. But never, even on a really good day, has writing ever given me the feeling of flight. That was why that innocent comment was so devastating to me. I can write, but I can't sing, and my enjoyment of opera, as intense as it may be, will only ever be vicarious. I will never know the pure ecstasy of singing the hell out of an aria. Have you ever noticed that faraway, rapturous look opera singers get when they're singing really well? You can see the music suffusing them, taking them over and transforming them. It makes them beautiful. In those moments, they're both more and less than human; they're an instrument. I've seen it happen, but it's something I will never know. That kills me.

Would I trade being a writer for being an opera singer? I'd like to be able to immediately and confidently say no, but the truth is that I'm really not sure. Maybe I would. What do you do when you're not sure that the gift you were born with is the one you would choose for yourself, given the opportunity? If you're like me, you spend a lot of time reading Marcus Aurelius and writing a blog about opera.

Opera Ruined My Life: The Perfect "Poppea," the Feeling of Flying, and Other Things Forever Just Out of Reach

2007-05-20T19:22:00.000-07:00

A Rambling and Self-pitying Essay in Three Parts
Part One: The Agony, the Ecstasy and the E-mail

If you're a fan of early opera- and by that I mean the stuff from Mozart, back- you probably know my pain. Being part of a niche market within a niche market is not an easy thing. We are a small and oft-overlooked subgroup with strong opinions and little influence. Our favorite pieces are generally obscure, even to other opera fans. If you need proof- and you probably don't- try an experiment next time you're at your local opera house. Strike up a conversation with the stranger next to you and drop a name like "Partenope," or "L'incoronazione di Poppea," or "La Finta Giardiniera." I virtually guarantee you that you will get either a raised eyebrow or a reply something along the lines of "Oh, I think I've heard of that, but I don't know it." This will undoubtedly cause you to sigh in a disappointed yet resigned way. But don't get mad. This person probably loves opera almost as much as you do, but they're a "mainstream" fan. They prefer Verdi and Wagner and Strauss, and their preference may be genuine, based on years of studious listening. More likely, they just don't know any better.

My local happens to be the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, in Los Angeles. They don't often show the early stuff, so imagine my delight when, last December, I had the opportunity to see the aforementioned "Coronation of Poppea" there. I was excited for several reasons. First and foremost, this was a chance to see a piece that is extremely important in terms of music history, and yet is rarely staged. Secondly, the cast was awesome. And of course, what better treat for a fan of early opera than one of the very earliest operas? I should mention that, were it not for my season subscription, I probably would have missed it; it wasn't exactly heavily advertised.

It's one of those works that people either love or hate. It was over four hours long, with three intermissions. The orchestra consisted of oddities like theorbos and Baroque guitars and a harmonium. After each break, there would be a few more empty seats. Mainstreamers. As for me, I would gladly have sat through another two hours. I was completely enthralled. The small proto-Baroque orchestra, led by Harry Bickett, played very well and did honor to the sublimity of Monteverdi's music. The cast (including Susan Graham, Frederica von Stade, David Daniels and Kurt Streit) was in fine voice, and they had some of the best chemistry I've ever witnessed on a stage.

That was ecstasy. Now back to the agony.

After the performance, I spent days trying to find a recording of "Poppea" that would do justice to my memories. Nothing quite worked. I finally settled on the recording conducted by John Gardiner, which I listen to regularly but which nevertheless doesn't completely satisfy. After much reflection, I was able to pinpoint the main missing ingredient. It was Kurt Streit, the tenor. Now normally, I'm a stickler for tradition and I want to hear things just as the composer intended them, so I was initially skeptical about Nerone, who is supposed to be a countertenor, being sung by a lyric tenor, but it worked. It worked really well. Too well.

If you're unfamiliar with "Poppea," (shame on you) I'll explain my line of reasoning here. As I said, the role of Nerone (the Roman emperor Nero) was originally written for a countertenor, and is often sung nowadays by a contralto. The problem with that is, there is very little vocal variation in the opera. With the exception of a bass, who- spoiler alert!- doesn't make it even halfway through the story and a tenor who has one scene, just about everyone is singing way up near the top of the scale. It gets fatiguing after awhile, especially if you're just listening to it, without the aid of staging. And besides, "Poppea" is a very, very sexy opera. Frankly, it sort of ruins the tension if you know the love duets are being sung by two women (my apologies to lesbians), or even by a woman and a countertenor (my apologies to Andreas Scholl and David Daniels, who are not at all unattractive or unmanly). Having a lyric tenor in the role solves both those problems.

So, out of desperation, I did something I have never done before or since: I wrote a piece of fanmail. I felt a little odd, a little creepy, doing it, but I felt I owed it to early-opera fans and to posterity. I found Mr. Streit's e-mail address (it's on his website, so there was no stalking involved) and I sent him a polite little e-mail praising the production and his role in it, and then suggesting (begging) that he consider recording "Poppea."

I was rather surprised when he wrote back, very graciously and promptly, and told me that he would love to record "Poppea." However, as he was sure I understood, he doesn't really get to call the shots as to his schedule and projects. I did understand, and I was thrilled to have a piece of correspondence from an international opera star in my inbox, but I was also pretty crushed. My perfect "Poppea," forever (probably) just a dream. Not just for lack of Mr. Streit, but for lack of it not being exactly the same as the one I saw.

But that's the way with many operas, isn't it? You see one that blows your mind, you can never find a recording that quite lives up to it, and then your memory fades and all you're left with is a vague feeling of disappointment and a sense of hopeless longing. This is more true for some types of opera fan than others, of course. You know what I mean.

By the way, there is a brief montage of rehearsal footage from this production on L.A. Opera's website. It's only a couple of minutes long, but make sure you see the end, when the incomparable Mr. Streit sings "Son rubini amorosi." You only get a couple of seconds of it, though. Maybe just enough to ruin your life.