Prima: An American Tragedy

Picker AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY; Met, 2.12.2005, World Premiere; c. Conlon; Racette, Zajick, Graham, Gunn, Burden, Larmore, Begley, Bernstein.

Initial reactions, still stewing, still spewing. This new opera by Tobias Picker (and Gene Scheer, librettist) is a major success both vocally and dramatically. The funnel of the tragic plot practically writes its own dark arias and lamentations (opera's bread and butter, after all); Picker is brilliant in keeping it all in check. I do not know how academics, musicians, and musicologists will judge the quality or value of this new work; speaking as an opera fan, however, a gut check returns the verdict of an unqualified two thumbs up, with respect to the prime task of integrating music into the drama, among many other winners. Theodore Dreiser's novel, from which the libretto is based, is doorstop-thick, so it may indeed be impossible to develop fully and then resolve every character's storyline. Accepting this, one is a nit-picking grinch to list the faults of this work; I'm not going to at this time. (After a few hearings, we can be sure that Sieglinde will come up with a few things.) Condensing such a work in a 2-CD evening may result in a simplistic narrative and caricatures for characters, and this may be so here; but within such constraints, both librettist and composer have come out showing their better sides. (I would, however, cut a few more clichés out of the libretto.)

The work also delivers vocally for the singers. [ADDED NOTE: I'm purposely leaving the discussion of character & narrative for a later time; that will take a whole other post or five.] The stellar cast, headed by Nathan Gunn and Patricia Racette (as the more vivid star-crossed pair this part of the season), has risen above every expectation: more than solid vocally, they all inhabited the stage like Broadway pros. Gunn has an adequate baritone, but natural acting instincts, shimmering stage presence, crisp sung-English, delicious face, porn-cut torso, and big feet. Racette may not be the sweet lyric I remember her to be, but she used the edgy edge of her voice to stunning dramatic effect. Dolora Zajick is simply divine: she wove in and out of a few octaves with ease, emanating with volume, accuracy, and elegance throughout. (Some of those top notes were of the superior soprano variety, the kind that can diminuendo gracefully with the flick of a switch.) On paper, she's the weakest dramatically (coming from the American school of Stand and Deliver), but fortunately her role demanded little outside the vocal arena. She appeared genuinely surprised and touched by the tremendous ovation she got during the curtain call. Susan Graham has the most fragrant sonic essence in the current mezzo roster, and she delivered as advertised. One wishes, however, that she got more opportunities to soar and devour, but this is a minor, minor point. Jennifer Larmore, who had a supporting-supporting role, disappeared seamlessly in the background. (I'd be pissed if I were her, but who knows what the real story is; she could have been used more, but then we're bordering a 3-CD evening, and other issues may start to outweigh such adjustments). William Burden, Kim Begley, Mark Schowalter, Richard Bernstein, and the rest of the cast, including the boy Graham Phillips (as the young Gunn) kept the quality at such a high level. This evening, to me, was conductor James Conlon's least offensive work in a while. (That's a Bravo! in relative magnitude, considering the vile poison Sieglinde has spewed on this maestro's reputation in recent months.)

Heroine Francesca Zambello, head of the production team (no boos during her curtain call-- surprise!), has to be given significant credit for everyone else's success. Nuance and detail were balanced; there is obvious mastery of the Met stage (in particular) and stagecraft (in general); all the stage physics supported, focussed, explained, validated music and narrative, which is all we really ask for. Is that too much? (The Romeo team does the exact opposite!)

The composer, Tobias Picker, was greeted with a most thunderous Met curtain call, reserved normally for the likes of Fleming & Diva Co.. He must still be floating in Cloud 99.

Gawker

Oh dear. I wonder what kinds of magazines the great maestro's into these days. (OK, Sieglinde's not even going there, boys.)

Meanwhile, in totally unrelated news (totally, I swear to Ghena!), Nathan "Hotdog" Gunn is currently doing the blogcircuit (here, here, here, and here). It's looking like his bare chest will be responsible for at least half the final receipts for the Met's spanking new opera An American Tragedy, when all is said and done ... and taken off and photographed ... and blogged the day after. Unless, of course, our lesbian brethren pull into Lincoln Center (on their nifty dykebikes) in unexpected droves for some of their own version of Gunn. Does Pat show some skin too? We'll know tonight. Stay close to the dial.

For those of you not within the tri-state area but thirst for homopera nonetheless, you can do two things: (1) check blogs and opera lists over the weekend for pics (and maybe even a review or two) of the world prima, and (2) tune in to NPR's World of Opera, which will be broadcasting Houston Grand's recent Falstaff, where, according to closet-police Pat, "about 50% of the cast [was] gay." (Sieglinde guesses the other 50% was lesbian, or some close variant.)

Interstate Highway: Exit Ramp

Gounod ROMEO ET JULIETTE, Met 01.12.2005; c. de Billy; Dessay, Vargas, Degout, Hanslowe, Sigmundsson.

The last act of this evening's Romeo et Juliette travelled like a smooth highway through the great cornfields of Nebraska. There was a faked death, a suicide, and then another; then why the f* were my eyes scanning the big round turntable stage looking for my zodiac sign (Leo)? It was like looking out the car window; see how the horizon doesn't seem to move despite running over the speed limit; and look at all that corn (popcorn for the Multiplex). While doing that, I wondered where my exit was.

Act II typifies the horror. Right from the top of the act, Gounod made sure his score gushes with first love music; we're talking Romeo and Juliet after all. Curiously, I don't think it's possible to leech more romance off the music than tonight. Maestro Bertrand de Billy works through the bars like Florida rush hour traffic (bumper to bumper, but mysteriously still 60 mph). Then the curtain rises to reveal a protrusion off the left curved wall; supposedly Juliette's balcony, it has the aura of a cubicle at a telemarketing office. Down below, Ramon Vargas jumps up and down and rolls around Constellation Plaza like it was his first time on crystal meth. Natalie Dessay, clarion soprano, delivers to her abilities, but, sadly, in the end, the girl's just an employee-of-the-month amidst such immense monstrosity. This production lacks the ability to induce intimacy, echoing instead the appalling aimless impotence of the pit. Too many colors and shapes on the stage floor and walls; nothing makes sense; the eye wanders off easily; meanwhile, elevator music rolls by.

Scene changes are very cosmetic (a bed here, a staircase there), and yet, inexplicably, take minutes to finish, further deadening the music's momentum (if it had any). The waits between scenes are eerily quiet, punctuated only by certified city coughing: it's that funny feeling of being in a crowded elevator and you're wondering what the others are wondering about. Exciting opera usually elicits lots of discussion and instapunditing among seatmates during such pauses; in this case, however, the auditorium feels a kind of collective whiff of unsettled boredom, going nicely with the defiant sounding out of phlegm.

But it was really like being in your dentist's waiting room, awaiting root canal... OK, I will stop here. (Believe me, I got more material about Acts IV and V, but I must stop here.) Bottom line: two or twenty Natalie Dessays couldn't rescue this mess. Oh, it's a shame.

No, it can't be December already

1. Martin Bernheimer was at Carnegie Hall for Lorraine Hunt Lieberson too. He's more explicit about the elephant; he's right, however, to suggest that it cast a (severe) shadow on the event.
2. Time for another Romeo? You betcha. JSU is more generous about Bertrand de Billy's mechanical washing/drying of Gounod's sensual score. Let's see if Sieglinde"softens" on this one too.
3. Did I miss registering my extreme delight for Mama & Papa operablogging at Wellsung? I took my own dear mother to a grand total of one opera: a bouncy La Cenerentola at the Met a few years ago, with I-forget-who as Angelina and Juan Diego Florez as a dashing Don Ramiro. Mother didn't know what to think of it all; to be fair, she's from an entirely different tradition; but I don't think she'd be rushing back to the Met even if she lived in the same time zone (and country); she thinks I'm nuts; I love her. Meanwhile, a friend's mother demanded they go back to the Met to see Giuseppe Filianoti's Edgardo again. Truly, opera queen mothers (and fathers too) are my kind of stocking stuffer.
4. Campdiva Aprile Millo scratches her way up into a sane critic's top ten list! Though I wouldn't put her Tosca above LHL's Neruda Songs, I agree that it was a landmark event.
5. Passed by Lincoln Center today to get a ticket for the sizzling Netrebko/Villazon Rigoletto. Whew! The season premiere on the 10th (Saturday) is sold out, and it's looking like the second performance the following Tuesday (the 13th) will be the first weekday sold-out evening of the Met season.
6. "Nathan or William?" I'm getting asked that a lot this week. I guess whoever takes his shirt off first ... Teammate Patricia can't choose between the two ...

So let's ask Dolora ...

[Photos taken from the official An American Tragedy website, © The Metropolitan Opera.]

7. Today is World AIDS Day. Vilaine Fille, Chair of the Department of Juan Diego Florez and Keeper of the Jewish and the Liberal Calendars, provides relevant links.
8. No, I didn't see last night's Fleming exposition on the Sacred and the Profane (on PBS), but I have it on DVR. I plan to run it on loop at my yule party when the eggnog runs out.
9. And in case you're wondering who the Chair of the Department of Placido is, it's Gert. Go to her for any (I mean any) news/gossip on that Faustdude.
10. OK, nuf of this ... time to pack up for tonight's Romeo ... *reloads Met website in case there's another last-hour substitution*
11. P.S. From apartheid to this. How thrilling!