Chicago Opera Theater presented the new opera, Moby Dick, by Jake Heggie and Gene Scheer, in a brave, intelligent, and strikingly beautiful performance last Thursday at the Harris Theater in Chicago. Usually, the old adage that “the whole is greater than the sum of the parts” seems well suited to most COT productions, but what can one say about a production in which all of the parts were truly excellent, yet the work itself did not quite live up to its disparate elements? Moby Dick is a well-crafted, entertaining and enjoyable opera, performed with a wealth of talent in an impeccable production, yet it never delivered the impact which could be expected from such an epic work of literature. Perhaps it is like Shakespeare’s “King Lear” in that respect, a work which is so epic, and which has a central character which is so complex that it defies transliteration. Even Verdi wouldn’t touch it. There are a few epic operas which have complex characters, Verdi’s Don Carlo and Samuel Barber’s Anthony and Cleopatra come immediately to mind, but there are many epic operas whose characters are not that complex, and there are many complex characters in operas which are not particularly epic in scope. It is really, really hard to do both.

Jake Heggie is an immensely popular, talented and accomplished composer. His canon of nearly 300 art songs has become a staple of the vocal repertoire, and his operas, such as Dead Man Walking, have achieved worldwide acclaim. However, with Moby Dick, while Heggie has mastered the musical language of opera, it seems as though he has not quite found his full operatic voice. Every scene is beautifully written, well suited to the human voice, gorgeously orchestrated and theatrically complete, much like an art song. However, they are more like individually luminescent pearls, rather than one magnificently encircling necklace. Heggie’s music is through-composed, yet the scenes feel as though the next one is of a different style, almost as though it was from a separate work, than the scene before. There is a jumble of styles which are reminiscent of Vaughan Willams, Britten, Stravinsky, Rutter and even the film score of “Lawrence of Arabia”, among a number of others. The result is that moments of tension are lost in transition between scenes, and the work as a whole never achieves the overall dramatic arch leading to the penultimate scene’s destruction of Ahab and his ship. This may be because it is never made clear what the opera is really about, or how any of the several relationships which are explored effect the others in driving the dramatic action to its tragic end. Is it about Starbuck’s struggle with morality and opposition to Godless authority? Is it about the friendship between Ishmael (here called Greenhorn) and Queequeg which bridges racial and religious chasms? Or is it really about Ahab’s self-absorbed and tragically maniacal obsession with exacting his revenge upon the great white whale? Whatever it is about, the audience should have walked out feeling as though they had just been kicked in the gut, not as if they had just seen a Broadway musical. It all seemed rather sanitized and prepackaged to please, rather than move or challenge the audience.

The tragic character in Moby Dick is without question Captain Ahab, with his unreasoning and implacable hatred of the “fish” which took his leg. Ahab’s manic-depressively single-minded focus upon finding the whale is the force which provides the dramatic tension in both the novel and the opera. Although he gave a splendidly well sung performance, Tenor Richard Cox seemed much too well adjusted and reasonable, portraying only a hint at the driving compulsion which takes Ahab and all the men of the Pequod to their watery graves. His aria, “I leave a white and turbid wake” eloquently explained his morbid fascination, but did not express its inherent dread.

Providing the foil to Ahab’s insane fixation, Aleksey Bogdanov as Starbuck was spectacular. Possessed of a booming, velvety smooth bass-baritone voice which easily soared through heavy orchestration, Bogdanov’s performance was powerful, committed, and nuanced. Bogdanov has the kind of voice usually associated with villains, such as Scarpia or Iago, yet his Starbuck was approachable and sympathetically touching.

As Greenhorn (Ishmael), the sweet-voiced tenor Andrew Bidlack was ideal. His thoughtful portrayal progressed from the naïve and unexperienced youth in search of knowledge of the world to the emotionally savaged sole survivor of the voyage with honest sincerity. Wallace’s Greenhorn was the mate every sailor wishes to have as his fellow oarsman.

Bass baritone Vince Wallace as Queequeg was exuberantly vigorous and entertaining, while never allowing the character to become a parody or stereotype. His straightforward humanity provided the structure for Queequeg and Greenhorn to bridge their cultural and religious divide and forge a deep friendship. However, Queequeg’s mysticism which foresees his death and the tragic confrontation with Moby Dick, is rather strangely portrayed as a heart attack, not as the ennui resulting in a spiritually broken heart. Perhaps the composer or director didn’t feel that having Queequeg simply waste away from a broken heart would be obvious enough to hold the audience’s interest.

A curtain speech announced that role of Stubb would be sung by cover Nick Ward. This is usually an ominous sign that the audience should be prepared for a somewhat under-rehearsed and tenuous performance. Not so, in the case of Mr. Ward. He sang impressively, and danced and cavorted around the stage with assurance and gusto, providing a great deal of comic relief with his sidekick Aaron Short as Flask. The physicality of the two was amusing and impressive.

The music for Pip requires the powerful adult voice of a pants role, and as the cabin boy, Summer Hassan sang with a luminous voice, soaring above the combined forces of the all-male chorus and orchestra. Equally impressive were the other male soloists and chorus. Each one was an outstanding singer and actor. They were supported by four male dancers who provided vigorous physicality to many scenes. Chicago Opera Theater does not have a full time professional chorus like the Lyric Opera of Chicago, so to be able to bring together an ensemble of such high quality speaks volumes concerning the commitment of the company to the highest performance standards. Kudos go to Chicago Opera Theater for its casting choices.

Those high standards are also demonstrated by the striking, and extremely functional set by Erhard Rom (whose remarkable whale’s eye at the end was a stroke of genius), the effective, yet atmospheric lighting by David Martin Jaques, and the clean and imaginative stage direction by Kristine McIntyre. McIntyre is a director who truly understands the unique needs of opera and opera singers, never pandering to the audience with unnecessary stage business or requiring the actors to go beyond the limits of good singing. Everything that happened on stage was both interesting and important. However a curious statement in the director’s note in the program may explain the seeming ambivalence of the opera. Ms. McIntyre states, “At its core, Moby Dick is a story about friendship.” While it is certainly true that the friendship is an important part of the story, and we want to find some form of redemption and growth of the human spirit in the story, it is not the driving force which impels the drama or precipitates the tragic end.

Moby Dick was masterfully conducted by Lidiya Yankovskaya. Under her baton the 60 piece orchestra played beautifully with a sumptuous sound. The one quibble is that with such dense orchestration at the beginning of the piece, the really loud playing might have been restrained so that the climax could have been more effective. By the end, the loud bits had become a bit tiresome. However, that is by no means entirely the conductor’s fault. The positive influence of Ms. Yankovskaya’s direction continues to impress in a business which is highly competitive for better orchestra players. Again the commitment to excellence from COT is to be commended.

Good news! The future of American opera is looking very bright, indeed! The beautiful and moving new opera, The Scarlet Ibis, was presented last Saturday and Thursday by Chicago Opera Theater as part of their Vanguard Initiative, a program to mentor emerging opera composers, commission and develop new operas, and connect audiences to exciting new works and creators.

The opera, with music composed by Stefan Weisman and libretto by David Cote, is based on the short story of the same name by James Hurst. If this touching, extraordinary production is indicative of what we can expect in the future from COT’s Vanguard Initiative, this is a great day for opera!

Lyrical and atmospheric, the music draws upon the best of 20th century American opera, not in a derivative way, but as you might say that Verdi’s style organically grew out of the Bel Canto tradition of Donizetti and Bellini, which depended upon compositional elements of Mozart and Gluck, which were spawned by Handel, Vivaldi, and Lully. The greatness of these composers was entirely dependent upon those who came before, and established a knowledge base of how to compose for the human voice. Much of the difficulty that many audiences have had with modern American opera, especially mid to late 20th Century opera, is that the compositional styles of those composers were created out of whole cloth, with no prior vocal tradition which allowed their music to be sing-able. The Scarlet Ibis, however, shows a burgeoning maturity in the compositional style and technique of modern opera. Although scored for a small ensemble, the open harmonies and folk-like strains of Weisman’s music are reminiscent of Copeland. Arpeggios and repeated patterns (don’t call it “minimalism”) hint at influence from composers such as Philip Glass and John Adams, although this work is mostly melodically sweet and flowing, without those driving rhythms associated with works by Adams or Glass. And when called for theatrically, the music becomes nearly Stravinskian, with more complex harmonies and lush texture. However, Mr. Weisman has found a voice of his own, guided by the demands of the drama, and the abilities and needs of the human voice. The vocal writing seemed tailor made for the remarkable cast, and lines that were eminently sing-able carried the listener along for an enthralling ride.

As in Copeland’s The Tender Land, the libretto is artfully crafted to capture the colloquial time and place of the story with succinct economy of language. Nevertheless the narrative is clear, with defining voices for each individual character. Every scene is simple, but imbued with a deep sense of poetry and humanity.

David Hanlon conducted with sensitivity and expertise, bringing out the loveliness and power of the score. Under his capable direction, the nine piece orchestra played superbly, without some of the pitch problems in the strings which have been disappointing in earlier productions. Hanlon was always there for the singers, fluently in control as if The Scarlet Ibis was an opera he’d known and loved for years.

Stage and Movement Director Elizabeth Margolius is the kind of opera director who seems to be more and more rare, these days. She is a director who completely trusts her singers and her material to be inherently interesting on their own, without the need to add a lot of meaningless stage business and movement because she is afraid that the audience will become bored. She understands that a singer does not have to be in constant motion, and that a good singer can remain perfectly still, that time can slow down and stretch, yet there will still be intense focus and attention from the audience. This is especially useful when the leading character can’t walk. Doodle’s “Lie” aria, in which he sat nearly perfectly still, was a stellar example. On the extremely simple, but versatile and attractive unit set, Ms. Margolius used the space with great imagination and skill. Nothing ever happened which didn’t make sense. Every movement, every sound, was expertly motivated and realistic.

Set in the home of the Armstrong family in the north-eastern Piedmont region of North Carolina, just after the Wright brothers had made human flight successful at nearby Kitty Hawk, the imagery of the possibilities of the flight of the human soul pervades The Scarlet Ibis. It is comprised of 13 brief titled scenes in one act, and runs just over an hour and a half, although it seemed to take only half that time. Each scene featured an event in the lives of the small rural family over the course of about six or seven years. The opera opens in a fairly straightforward manner. Six year old Brother, the family’s only child, is joyfully anticipating the birth of the family’s second child, who he hopes can be a companion with whom he can run, and jump, and fight, and play. The focus then shifts to his mother. In a scene unique in opera, in our experience, she is having a difficult childbirth. It is quickly apparent that if the baby survives, something will be terribly wrong. It is a boy, but he is a “caul” baby, a child who is born with part of the amniotic sack covering its head like a cowl. Many mystical qualities are attributed to caul babies and to cauls, themselves. Caul babies are reputed to have abilities such as second sight, great creativity, and unfettered imaginations. Cauls themselves, are prized by sailors to prevent drowning, by lawyers to help them win cases, and are thought by some Adriatic cultures to aid in the peaceful passing of the dying. Most disappointing to Brother, the baby also has a severe, but unspecified disability which leaves him incapable of walking and being the playmate that Brother wanted. In a fit of pique, Brother gives the baby the nickname, Doodle, because the only thing a doodlebug can do is push itself around backwards. However, Doodle is special in other ways, teaching himself to read by the age of four, with a flawless and prodigious memory, and an unparalleled imagination.

Jordan Rutter, as Doodle, was a revelation – a term we do not use lightly. He radiated pure innocence with an underlying poetic soul. His countertenor voice, soaring above all the others as the highest vocal part in the opera, is unusually pretty for the type. Mr. Rutter’s singing was moving and affecting throughout, especially in the ensembles and the duets with Brother. Equally remarkable, are Mr. Rutter’s acting skills. As an adult playing the role of a very young child to the age of about seven, he has a directness, simplicity, and economy of movement which are riveting in their expressivity.

Likewise, mezzo-Soprano Annie Rosen was thrilling in the “overalls” role of Brother, playing a boy who ages from about six to thirteen throughout the opera, with a total commitment to her character. She has a gorgeous, clear voice with an extraordinary color palette. She sang with talent, intelligence, and sensitivity, going from boyishly silly or mocking tones to a full, rich sound in moments of deep expressivity. Ms. Rosen is not a large woman, yet she exhibited an impressive physicality and strength as she lifted and carried the adult male actor playing Doodle around in the kind of stage action not usually expected from a female singer. Her future in opera should be brilliant. Both Ms. Rosen and Mr. Rutter made us completely forget that they are adults playing the roles of very young boys.

We have been continuously delighted and impressed with the talent of baritone Bill McMurray. His sturdy baritone is capable of a range of color that bordered on fearsome as Ibn-Hakia in Iolanta earlier this season, but was warm and paternal in this role. He portrayed the role of Father with pathos, dignity, and an uncanny honesty. Every time Father is faced with a crisis, either of sadness or joy, he goes to his shop to build something by hand for Doodle. He is a proud and loving man with little education and few resources, but he has knowledge and talent with wood, so he does the best he can with what little he has. He is not fluent or articulate with words, so he expresses himself through his craft. Each time Mr. McMurray went to his shop, it brought tears to our eyes, either from sadness or gladness. His “Coffin” aria was heart wrenching in the direct simplicity of a father’s pain. Later, when Doodle’s physical disability threatens to also stunt the growth of his mind by confining him to his home, Father expresses his frustration at not being able to afford a bicycle for his son by building him a red wagon in which to explore the world. In his “Red Wagon” aria, McMurray perfectly captures a simple working man’s determination to make his son’s life better than his own.

COT Young Artist alumni Quinn Middleman brought tenderness and a gentle presence to the role of Mother. Her fine, warm mezzo-soprano voice easily met the challenge of vocal demands which included musically notated high notes for sung screams and groans during the first scene’s difficult childbirth. Ms. Middleman musically gave us all of a woman’s pain, fear, agony, joy, and strength while in the throes of one of life’s essential moments. It is common for singers to die on stage, but we have never heard one give birth. However, when Mother discovers a newspaper article about a doctor in Chicago who might offer the possibility of a cure for her son’s disability, Ms. Middleman touchingly exchanged excitement and optimism for the pathos of the forlorn hope of an unattainable goal.

Contralto Sharmay Musacchio sang the role of Auntie. She seemed hesitant at times, as if she needed a little more time with the role to get it into her voice and find the truth in the character. Her performance, while not quite up to the high standard of her colleagues on stage, was more than adequate and did not detract. It’s just that the rest of the singers were so darn perfect in their roles.

It should be noted that music written for three female voices of the same general type and range could have been muddy and undistinguished. However, Mr. Weisman’s excellent vocal part writing, abetted by perfect vocal casting choices on the part of COT, was always marvelously clear and distinct, allowing each of the voices to shine with characterization.

The singers were joined by dancer Ginny Ngo, who portrayed the Bird, the title role, if you will, physicalizing the opera’s overarching and multifaceted theme of flight. Ms. Ngo appeared variously as a doppelgänger for Doodle, a rather spooky owl, as the actual scarlet ibis, and as Doodle’s soul free from the confines of his deformed earthly body. Whether representing the flight of imagination, the flight of the human spirit, or the flight of the human soul, Ms. Ngo’s movement was birdlike, but brimming with human emotion. In the disquieting penultimate scene, the ibis finally appears, storm blown far from where it should be and out of place in an inhospitable environment, like the not-normal little boy.

Scenic Designer Jack Magaw provided the creative and workable set. Charlie Cooper’s breathtaking lighting design was at once clean and atmospheric, while actually being illuminating. Even in scenes which were dark, emotions on the singers’ faces could still be seen clearly. The costumes designed by Brenda Winstead were appropriately plain, yet never uninteresting. An especially nice and amusing touch was Doodle’s goofy pilot’s helmet subtly reinforcing the flight symbolism. How gratifying to see all elements of a production come together in service to the whole of the work. We laughed, cried, hoped, celebrated and mourned with the Armstrong family.

Only one performance remains, Sunday, February 24 at 3:00 p.m. at The Studebaker Theater in the Fine Arts Building. If this review gets posted (without typos) and you are reading this before then, change whatever plans you may have and go see this marvelous production. Let’s hope it will be presented soon and often by other companies. It is a worthy addition to the American Opera repertoire.

Go to www.chicagooperatheater.org or call (312)704-8414.

Guiseppe Verdi’s beloved, romantic heartbreaker, La Traviata was beautifully sung Saturday evening at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. The second offering this season by the great Italian composer, it is the last opera from the famed blockbuster trio of Verdi’s middle period which include Rigoletto, Il Trovatore. Unfortunately, it did not live up to the standard of Il Trovatore presented earlier this season.

The production, which debuted here in the 2013/14 Season is (with the exception of Act Two, Scene 1) just plain ugly. Why such a dismal production would be re-mounted is a mystery. If management wonders why ticket sales are down, maybe they should take a look at their stage sets. Designed by Riccardo Hernandez, the heroine of the opera, Violetta Valery, lives in a giant concrete cylinder with no windows, stark lighting, and nary a picture nor sconce on the wall. Is this to suggest the bleakness of her inner life? If so, the design team completely misses the point. Verdi’s music represents Violetta’s inner bleakness superbly, stringently contrasting it with the artificial opulence of her material world. A bleak set completely avoids that tragic juxtaposition. We understand that budgets are tight, but certainly an international opera house of the stature of the Lyric can afford more than a few pieces of stage furniture. The huge stark edifice and ghostly shadows that worked so well in the darker Il Trovatore a few months ago, seemed totally incongruous in Violetta Valery’s Paris, the City of Light.

Violetta, and the real life woman the character is based on, Marie Duplessis, would have lived in a lavish apartment with every fashionable and expensive furnishing and accessory. The high end courtesans of the 19th century were the era’s style setters, envied and emulated, even while the morality of their profession was held in scorn by ‘Polite Society’. As our society has changed over the last 175 years, there is no exact parallel today to the divas of the demi-monde, but the program notes that suggest Princess Diana are partly right. Where she went, what she wore and who she was with utterly captivated the attention of the public. But imagine, if you can, a combination of the elegant Princess with the looser lifestyle of a Kardashian, perhaps, and you might get a little closer to the famous and fascinating women that reigned in the demi-monde, the “half-world”, of the Courtesans of the past.

“La traviata”, meaning the one who has strayed, does find redemption – not unlike Cheryl Strayed, of the book and movie, Wild, although it is love and not wilderness that brings about the moral transfiguration. In the libretto by Francesco Maria Piave, based on the play from the novel “La Dame aux Camélias” by Alexander Dumas the Younger (son of the famous author of “The Three Musketeers”), we meet the Courtesan at the height of her fame, but near the end of her short life; at 23 she is already quite ill with consumption.

The curtain rises during the soft ethereal prelude to reveal a lacy scrim behind which we see Violetta attended by her maid Amina, preparing for the party which opens the action. It was refreshing to be spared the once meaningful but now over-done prelude as the epilogue with the entire action of the opera as a flashback. This should have provided an opportunity for us to see the frail and exhausted Violetta put on her party face, rally her strength and take the room as the dazzling courtesan plying the talents that led to her meteoric rise to the top of her profession. Unfortunately, this insightful moment did not play out as intended. It felt more like a peeping-tom watching somebody’s maiden aunt getting ready to go to church.

Albina Shagimuratova returned to the Lyric this year as the title character, following recent appearances here as Elvira in “I Puritani” by Bellini last year and Lucia in “Lucia di Lammermoor” by Donizetti the year before. Ms. Shagimuratova was in fine voice, and sang the challenging role magnificently from start to finish, deftly handling the brilliant coloratura, spinning out delicate, silken “fil de voce” or threads of voice, and with clarity and fullness sufficient for the passages requiring a bigger, more dramatic sound. Yet she could not even pretend to have the grace, vivacity, charisma, or sexual magnetism that Violetta must display. In the first scene her acting was the sort of acting that gives opera singers a bad name, plodding around aimlessly, looking matronly, with a few phony gestures here and there. Somehow, during the expansive “Sempre Libera”, in a moment when she must soar as she discards the notion of true love for her life of freedom, luxury and pleasure, Ms. Shagimuratova was, from where we were seated, hidden behind a table bearing a conical mound of fruit. In Act Two however, with its inherent expression of true, romantic, and intimate love, she seemed more comfortable and able to access the emotions of the character; her desperate, passionate singing carried the meaning far more effectively, especially in the crucial duet with the father of her new, true love, Alfredo. Moments of genuine poignancy returned in the intimate final act as she sadly faces death alone, only to be elated by the return of her loved ones arriving just in time to watch her die. If Ms. Shagimuratova is not willing to embrace playing a whore, perhaps she should limit her repertoire to “good girl” roles.

Giorgio Berrugi, in his first performance here, made a fine Alfredo. He brought a clear lyric, tenor voice and Italianate singing to the roll with youthful ardor. His infatuation with Violetta, anger at her perceived betrayal, remorse for his behavior, love and understanding as they were reunited were all believable, despite any semblance of a spark of sexual energy from the soprano.

“Best in Show” turned out to be Željko Luĉić as Giorgio Germont, Alfredo’s father, who arrives to the Act Two “love nest” in the country that Violetta and Alfredo are sharing. He is sternly determined to break up the affair that is causing scandal back home in Provence, and threatening the chances of a good marriage for Alfredo’s “pure-as-an-angel” sister. The outstanding Verdi baritone, familiar to audiences here and at all major opera houses throughout the world, was exceptional. He used his riveting presence not in an intimidating way, but as a strong and loving head of the family doing what he believes to be best for all. But Papa Germont is not unyielding, he recognizes something special about Violetta, and presses his case with compassion and respect, with both vocal tenderness and power. When Alfredo discovers he has been abandoned, his father tries, unsuccessfully, to console him by invoking memories of home and family in the beautiful aria “Di Provenza, il mar, il suol” - “The sun and sea of Provence”, sung superbly by Mr. Luĉić. This is what makes opera singing so difficult and so amazing when it all comes together; the singer requires an extraordinary instrument, excellent technique, abundant acting talent, well-honed stage craft, and the inexplicable ability to use all these things together to communicate on a deep level. Good singers have most of these things. The great singers, like Mr. Luĉić, have it all. The ovation received by Ms. Shagimuratova revealed that the audience is willing to accept two or three out of five, but Mr. Luĉić’s performance was, by far, the most satisfying.

The stage direction by Arin Arbus seemed amateurish for one with such fine credentials from the spoken theater. It was yet another example of how stage directors from the spoken theater do not possess the knowledge or training to be adequate opera directors. The chorus scenes were a disorganized melee, the least problematic of which was the masquerade at the party in Act Two, Scene 2, hosted by Violetta’s friend Flora. Dealing with an opera chorus requires a skilled opera director who understands the music, singing, and who is experienced coordinating large crowds in small spaces, and within the constraints of an exactly limited amount of time as dictated by the music; there is rarely anything quite like it in the spoken theater. Even in intimate scenes Ms. Arbus demonstrated little understanding of basic opera stage craft, allowing singers to upstage or block one another in ways which did not permit them to “cheat” out to be heard in a large hall such as the Ardis Krainik Theater. Ms. Arbus showed talent with one or two nice touches, but overall, the principals could have staged it as well themselves from their previous experience. The prelude to Act Three was staged behind the scrim as well, but what is the point of changing the sheets as Violetta lies dying in her sick-bed? Again, anything which that bit of business could have conveyed is far more thoroughly expressed in Verdi’s music. This seems to be the hallmark of theater directors in the opera house: Stage business for the sake of stage business. We’ve seen worse, but when will this trend end? At least Ms. Arbus didn’t mess with the good supertitles by Francis Rizzo.

The always excellent Lyric Opera Orchestra played beautifully, conducted with skill and extraordinary sensitivity to the singers by Michael Christie in his Lyric debut. Many conductors take tempi that fit their preconceived notion of how a piece should “go”, expecting singers to adjust to those tempi. Mr. Christie is a singer’s conductor who actually listens to his singers, adjusting his tempi to best suit the unique idiosyncrasies of a particular voice, allowing their best qualities to blossom. He is an encouraging addition to the Lyric Opera’s roster.

The comprimario roles were all ably performed, mostly by members of the Ryan Opera Center and by Zoie Reams, a former member of the Houston Grand Opera Studio. Ms. Reams is attractive and has a yummy mezzo voice. She made the most of her two scenes as Violetta’s friend, Flora. We hope to see and hear more of her in future seasons. As Amina, the formidable Lauren Decker brought a touching authenticity to the role of the maid – not as easy as one might think. And what a voice! Ms. Decker should enjoy a respectable career.

Mario Rojas was amiable as Alfredo’s buddy Gastone, with a promising voice. Ricardo Josè Rivera looked young, in spite of grayed hair, but pulled off the arrogant demeanor of Violetta’s older patron, Baron Duphol. His good baritone voice displayed appropriate weight too, in spite of his youth, as did bass-baritone David Weigel as Doctor Grenvil. The Marquis was nicely sung by Christopher Kenny. Eric Ferring, Vince Wallace and Matthew Carroll also acquitted themselves well in their respective parts as Guiseppe, the Messenger and the Servant.

In the Act One party scene in Violetta’s house, the lighting, designed by Marcus Doshi, was as grey as Chicago in February. Um… do we need to point out that a lot of us go to the opera in the winter to escape the dark and the drear? Unless called for dramatically, why subject us to more of the same? The ambience was somewhat relieved by cool golden tones for the country house in Act Two Scene 1, and Flora’s party in Scene 2 was colorful with Chinese lanterns and deep, deep red tones relieved by spot lights on the singers in the concerted finale. Sadly, Act Three returned to the dark and drear, but since Violetta was now on her deathbed and presumably the creditors had taken away her belongings, it made some sense, but there was no contrast to the luxuriousness that should have been there before.

Giant puppets and cross-dressing dancers appeared in the Act Two, Scene 2 party scene at Flora’s, designed by Cait O’Connor and choreographed by Austin McCormick. Fortunately, the rather creepy and garish milieu didn’t detract from the key kick-in-the-gut moment when Alfredo’s fury at being dumped gets the better of him as he ruthlessly insults and humiliates Violetta in front of everyone.

This moving love story, the theatrical genius of Verdi, the beautiful score expertly played and the consistently first-rate singing throughout make this production worth seeing, in spite of its flaws. There are nine more performances through March 22. Verdi’s music will inspire you. If you have never seen “La Traviata”, go. If you have seen it, go again. Log onto www.lyricopera.org for tickets or call 312 827-5600.

Lyric Opera of Chicago
ANNA NETREBKO in Recital
“Day and Night”
MALCOLM MARTINEAU, piano

Once or twice in a lifetime, an artist will arise who is the Diva Assoluta of her generation. Joan Sutherland and Maria Callas come to mind. If you are extremely lucky, in the right place at the right time, you may get to hear that artist. Sunday afternoon the stars aligned for a Chicago audience when Superstar soprano Anna Netrebko made a rare visit to Chicago, not as the leading lady in an opera, but in solo recital. Sadly, we don’t get to see her often in Chicago, yet this recital provided a welcome opportunity to bask in the glow of her immensely bounteous talent. The Ardis Krainik Theater was filled to capacity to see this remarkable artist in a program entitled “Day and Night”, with Malcom Martineau at the piano and assisting artists Jennifer Johnson Cano, mezzo-soprano, and Robert Hanford, violin.

“Day and Night” is a simple premise, but it allowed for a very entertaining and clever program. Rather than group songs by composer, language, or era, the selections followed the theme as though they were ideas and thoughts in a wonderful conversation with a good friend over a bottle of fine wine. The first part of the program featured songs of day: flowers, hope, light and the lark. And love, first and foremost, love. The second half, of course, included songs of evening: lullabies, the moon, and dreams. And love, always, love. Ms. Netrebko lovingly presented songs and arias in five languages, starting in her native Russian.

Sweeping onto the stage, she wore a white satin gown, off one shoulder with a voluminous shimmering white satin skirt bearing a simple large pastel abstract floral image. Carrying an armful of blossoms, she launched into three songs by Sergei Rachmaninoff, “Siren” (“Lilacs” in English), “U moego okna” (“Before my window”), and “Zjdes horosho” (“How lovely it is here”). These songs are technically problematical, demanding a full dramatic sound in the singer’s lower range and soaring high notes, but Netrebko sang with ease throughout her range, with meltingly lovely pianissimos, and in “U moego okna” a sustained high note of such exquisite, shimmering beauty that it left us gasping for breath. It takes an artist of great courage, skill, and integrity to open a program with pieces requiring such technical and artistic mastery, yet Netrebko sang them flawlessly. In contrast, Pavarotti often opened with simple Italian songs, like “Caro, Mio ben” to help him warm up and feel comfortable with the audience. We were grateful for the supertitles above the stage that projected the English translations, but with Netreblo’s glorious, rich voice and astonishing stage presence, it was hard to take our eyes off of her. However, we really didn’t need to glance at them, clearly demonstrating that when a singer is truly committed to the words and the intent of the composer, the meaning of each song will manifest itself in the language of music.

We have been taught to expect that in recital, each selection should be like a miniature portrait with all the detail and beauty of a larger work, as if each song held the import of a full-length opera. Not many singers are capable of achieving this, but Ms. Netrebko made each selection a masterwork on a grand scale. There is nothing miniature in these songs for her. She inhabited each piece and told their stories with the unfailing honest commitment, distinct color, mood and meaning that she brings to all her major roles in grand opera. Unlike so many recitalists who seem nailed to the floor in the crook of the piano, Ms. Netrebko took the whole stage, never meandering aimlessly, but in well thought out, yet seemingly spontaneous dramatic expressions of the story she was telling.

Throughout the afternoon, from her brilliant top to her darkly shaded lower voice, her voice was seamless and splendid. Following the Rachmaninoff, was an appropriately full voiced rendition or “The lark sings louder” by Rimsky-Korsakov. She was then joined by Robert Hanford, Concertmaster of the Lyric Opera Orchestra in “Morgen”, by Richard Strauss. Hanford played sublimely with such sweet tone in such perfect tune that the world seemed for a moment to be at peace. In the hands of a lesser artist, “Morgen” can often be dull and dreary, but Netrebko’s reading of the text was transcendent. In a remarkable moment of stagecraft and inherent theatricality, Netrebko used the entire long, slow introduction to “Morgen” to transfix us with nothing more than a simple long turn from upstage to sing to directly to Mr. Hanford as the object of the poet’s infatuation.

Netrebko sang to us all afternoon with an unlimited generosity of tone and spirit, filling the opera house with gorgeous vocalism infused with such immense humanity that it seemed as though each of us was the only person there. One wants to put her on a pedestal to worship her and at the same time, cuddle up with her under a blanket to have cocoa and share intimate secrets.

Debussy’s “Il pleure dans mon couer” followed, and ever so subtly a gentleman opened an umbrella in the left front corner of the house. It didn’t distract, it just underlined the idea of the falling rain. It was a little surreal, reminiscent of Magritte, but it added unique dramatic visual interest.

“Depuis le jour” from Charpentier’s opera, Louise, was next and it would be hard to imagine that anyone ever sang it with more beauty and tenderness. Ms. Netrebko inhabited this aria and let it flow in rapturous ecstasy and exquisite delicacy. She was radiant in two songs by Tchaikovsky, “It happened in the early spring” and “Tell me, what is in the shadow of the branches”.

For the final two selections of the first part, “Go not, happy day”, by Frank Bridge and Leoncavallo’s popular “Mattinata”, Ms. Netrebko eschewed the proverbial invasive and impersonal music stand, a la Pavarotti, and casually strolled over behind the piano to be in position to check the music, in case the words escaped her. But she made it seem perfectly natural, as if she was singing at home for friends in an intimate soiree and wanted to make sure that they didn’t go away without hearing a couple of her favorite songs.

After intermission, the stage turned from the golden color of the day to a violet color of early evening. Ms. Netrebko changed into a black gown with a dazzling sequined spider web design - so dazzling that you could see it reflected in the glossy black of the Steinway piano the few times she stood in front of it.

Ms. Netrebko opened the second part with Lisa and Polina’s sensuously lovely duet, “Uzh vecher” (“It is evening”), from Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades. Jennifer Johnson Cano’s strong, warm mezzo soprano voice is a perfect match with Ms. Netrebko’s dusky soprano. More Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsokov and Rachmaninoff songs followed, as well as an unlikely, yet lovely “Apres un rêve” by Faure, and a heart-melting “Songs my Mother taught me” by Dvorak. The highlight, if anything could be better than all the excellence so far, may have been three more songs by Strauss, “Die Nacht”, “Wiegenlied” and “Ständchen”. In part, we may have enjoyed the Strauss so much because of the promise the songs held for the future to hear Ms. Netrebko’s interpretation of the role of Marchalin in Der Rosenkavelier. Yet, equally astonishing was her rendition of Baby Doe’s aria, “Gold is a fine thing” from Douglas Moore’s opera, The Ballad of Baby Doe, in which her characterization of the actual person made history make sense. Then, as if the evening’s fare wasn’t already rich enough, Ms. Johnson Cano returned for a sensuous Barcarolle from Les Contes d’Hoffman”. Yummy, Plummy, with whipped cream!

Mr. Martineau played the challenging piano accompaniments flawlessly, with an incandescent touch. His delicate and elegant pianism added much to the ethereal qualities inherent in these songs. One might occasionally have wished for a bigger sound, particularly in the opera selections, but that would be a mere quibble given the overall distinction with which he played.

The fitting final offering of the printed program was “Den’ li carit” (“Whether day dawns”), by Tchaikovsky. “Whether night or day reigns… it is always you”, tied the program together nicely, but it seemed that this extraordinary artist was actually thanking us for being her audience. In truth, we are beyond blessed to have a singer with so much artistry and humanity, and such a complete mastery of vocalism stand before us, sharing so generously her grace, charm, and complete love for her art. In a rare true standing ovation, the crowd rose to its feet as one, and the rousing bravos and cheers demanding an encore were the most robust we’ve seen in the Civic Opera House. Ms. Netrebko and Mr. Martineau obliged, returning for a spectacular “Il Bacio” by Arditi, with her trademark sparkling coloratura. After another extended ovation, we were treated to an expansive, full throated second encore, “Cäcilie” by Strauss.

Let us hope that Ms. Netrebko can return to Chicago soon. She is “Diva Assoluta” - the queen of the goddesses.

As in a perfect storm, where a variety of different factors come together, augmenting the force above and beyond what is imaginable, Lyric Opera of Chicago brought together a group of singers who may, together and individually, define the interpretation of the music of Verdi for our time. The famous tenor Enrico Caruso is quoted as having said, “Il Trovatore is easy to produce, all you need are the five greatest singers in the world”. The Lyric Opera of Chicago has found five outstanding singers, any one of which would have made for a satisfying night in the opera house, but all together they created a perfect storm of thrilling vocalism. Implicit in Mr. Caruso’s statement is that the demands of each of the leading roles require artists at the top of their game. This ensemble delivered a performance which provided the very essence of why we go to the opera. There were moments when just the exquisite sound of their ensemble brought tears to our eyes for no other reason than the pure beauty of the human voice. The sensation wasn’t perceived so much as sustained sound, but more as blow to the chest which leapt across the footlights without warning. If you have never been to the opera, these singers will viscerally make you understand why opera is loved so passionately. If you already love opera, you owe it to yourselves to do whatever it takes to hear these singers.

Il Trovatore, or The Troubador is one of the three pivotal operas of Verdi’s middle period, along with Rigoletto and La traviata (to be heard later this season at LOC) where Verdi begins to move away from the early 19th century bel canto style toward a more through-composed music drama. The stories of Rigoletto and La traviata are more deeply personal and intimate than Il Trovatore, although the story is still based on historical themes of a very human nature, but on a grander, heightened scale. This is no ordinary love triangle - empowered aristocrat / beautiful young noblewoman / dashing rebel - the rivals in love are important adversaries in a major struggle for power which historically occurred in the kingdom of Aragon in early 16th century Spain. It is part of a period in which the common man began to assert his inalienable rights and demand concessions from the aristocracy all throughout Europe. To make it really fun, add to that an old gypsy woman, still obsessively grieving over her mother’s execution at the stake many, many years ago. In her terror and confusion at that horrible event, a baby also ended up in the fire. Ah, but whose baby? Grisly stuff, but not any worse than anything you might have seen on “Vikings” or “Game of Thrones”. Verdi pulled out all the stops to portray these immense passions. The big musical numbers are one blockbuster after another, interspersed with poignant, tender, and mournful music, all of which require every sort of virtuosity to perform.

Yet, in spite of the greatness of this opera, the improbability of the plot is considered fair game for ridicule. You may suspect Gilbert & Sullivan are parodying it in “Pirates of Penzance”, and it was the opera performed in the Marx Brothers film “A Night at the Opera”. Admittedly, there are a few times when, in lesser productions, our suspension of disbelief falls flat. Not so in this revival of the production directed Sir David Mc Vicar, a true master of stage-craft, and faithfully re-staged for Lyric Opera of Chicago by Roy Rallo. The staging challenges are deftly handled by a director who obviously loves the art form, trusts the music, trusts that his singers will communicate with the audience, and that the audience is intelligent, open, and willing to understand the intentions of the composer. Mc Vicar’s staging tells the story simply, yet with a deep understanding which enables the audience to be fully engaged, while making sure that the singers are not left hanging out to dry or trying to pull off unwarranted antics, as theater directors who don’t really understand opera insist upon through their own lack of knowledge or insecurities.

The design and style of the production is reminiscent of the paintings of Goya, conjuring images of the stark contrast between the Spanish nobility and working class. Although Goya’s paintings were of events which happened about 250 years after the historical events of Il Trovatore, the setting, designed by Charles Edwards, is evocative and workable. It is dominated by a huge wall on a turntable revealing different settings, from the fortress at Castellor, to a convent, and to mountainous gypsy encampments, allowing the action to move along without long pauses or multiple intermissions. Marco Armiliato conducted the always wonderful Lyric Opera Orchestra with a great understanding of Verdi and a keen sense of pacing. The musical and dramatic energy never lagged, yet never became frenzied. He was especially sensitive to the extraordinary singers, allowing them to be heard and, most importantly, giving them time to be sublime.

Speaking of sublime, how can we start to describe the perfect storm of vocalism which was created by an ensemble of some of the greatest Verdi voices of our age? Every singer was ideally cast in these difficult roles. Tenor Russell Thomas, who recently made a fine impression as Pollione in Norma, was well up to the daunting task of the Troubador, Manrico. His clarion tenor, so powerful at full voice, was tenderly sympathetic in the softer moments, when his color became more burnished. Manricos’ aria, “Ah, si, ben mio”, was lyrical, idiomatic and meltingly lovely. The ball-buster cabaletta that follows, the famous and rousing ”Di quella pira” was more than adequate, if not quite equal to Mr. Thomas’ complete command of the totality of the role. In fact, we felt cheated and wondered why the second verse was cut. However, this is fully understandable. Growing up with the sound of Corelli and Pavarotti singing this aria would be daunting to any young tenor, and trying to sing it too soon in one’s career is more than likely to build in habits which require a leap of faith to overcome. Mr. Russell shouldn’t be nervous. If he would approach the aria with the same superb vocalism with which he sings the rest of the role, it would be electrifying!

As Leonora, the woman Manrico loves, Tamara Wilson was nothing less than spectacular in her Lyric Opera debut. A winner of the highly prestigious Richard Tucker Award, she dazzled us with her shimmering voice, full from top to bottom, with exquisite pianissimos, stunning high notes and crystal clear coloratura. A true Verdian soprano, there was no high point to her performance. It was all superb, from her sweet “Tacea la notte placida” to the heart rending “Miserere”. Ms. Wilson presents a Leonora who is ingenuous, vulnerable, and tender, yet who displays a plucky determination, passion, and inner strength missing in many interpretations of the role. Let’s hope she returns to Chicago often!

There are very few Verdi baritones singing today who can match Artur Rucinski (or no longer with us, for that matter). In his first appearance in Chicago (oh please, PLEASE don’t let it be his last!) he was perfect, absolutely perfect, as Count di Luna. Mr. Rucinski is handsome, has a manly, but genuine stage presence, and has a voice, the likes of which we have not heard since Leonard Warren and Robert Merrill. He played di Luna as an entitled member of the nobility, but with the real life feelings of a young man, bereft of his brother, and in love with a woman who, for reasons incomprehensible to him, loves a “nobody”. His rich baritone has the power and color for his moments of agitation and anger, but most astonishing was his rendition of di Luna’s great aria, “Il balen del suo sorriso”. It is one of the sweetest and most passionate of all baritone arias, even while manically obsessing about his love for Leonora. Mr. Rucinski’s interpretation was so elegantly sung, it was like warm honey pouring from a jar. Normally we don’t give a hoot where a singer may breathe or not breathe. If a singer sings beautifully and with meaning, we’re happy, even if one needs to sneak a catch breath or two. But Mr. Rucinski’s feat of breath control in his opening phrase of the aria was beyond comprehension. Not only did he not use the opportunities to breathe during the rests which Verdi wrote into the music, he sustained the line through several phrases which united the text in a way which is unprecedented. With some baritones, it might have been a show-off trick, but Mr. Rucinski was so sincere and pure, it was as if time stood still as his thoughts and feelings flowed out of him. If we hadn’t been seated, we would have become weak in the knees.

The gypsy, Azucena, is a troubled soul. Her mother was burned at the stake for witchcraft, and she lives only for vengeance. She has raised Manrico and loves him as any mother loves her own son. The part is often played with hair-raising intensity, bordering on the grotesque. Jamie Barton was a more sympathetic character and sang the role more beautifully, not in small part due to the pathos inherent in her warm full mezzo soprano. Still chilling, yes, but believable.

The Captain of di Luna’s Guard, Ferrando, usually sung by an older basso, was impressively sung by Roberto Tagliavini. He has a marvelous, ample voice, and it is a rare pleasure to hear all the little passing notes sung so tidily. But a big voice alone is not enough. True artistry requires the expression and inflection of the meaning of the words. Mr. Tagliavini’s spectacular voice poured out in an enveloping stream, but with no variation or indication that he understood what he was singing about, even though he hails from Parma, Italy. He could become a great artist if he stopped trying to impress us with how loudly he can sing, and used the music to help explain the emotions behind the meaning of the words. Let’s hope that his musicality and artistry will develop further as his career progresses.

The small roles of Ines, Leonora’s chaperone, and Ruiz, Manrico’s messenger, were luxuriously filled by Ryan Center artists Lauren Decker and Mario Rojas.

The chorus is a big player in this opera in a Cecil B. deMille cast of thousands sort of way: soldiers, rebels, guards, gypsies, outlaws, nuns etc. All were well sung as prepared by Michael Black and well integrated into the action. The confrontation at the end of Act II was without a doubt one of the most exciting fight scenes we’ve witnessed on the live opera stage. Bravo Nick Sandys, Fight Director!

This Il Trovatore is, as we so often say in opera, much greater than the sum of its parts. The good news is there are four performances remaining November 30, December 3, 6 and 9. It’s a winner. Don’t miss it. Go to lyricopera.org for tickets now!

Chicago Opera Theater opened their 2018-2019 season with the Chicago Premier of Peter Tchaikovsky’s ‘Iolanta’. Since this performance was also the Chicago debut of Lidiya Yankovskaya, COT’s new Stanley Music Director, it was an auspicious occasion for the company embarking on their 45th season. It also marked the first full season of Chicago Opera Theater’s Vanguard Initiative, committed to bringing newer and lesser known works to Chicago on the stage of the charming Studebaker Theater in the Fine Arts Building. In collaboration with Roosevelt University, COT has a respected young artist program, giving opportunities to promising singing actors. For Chicago audiences, it is a welcome complement to the much grander Lyric Opera of Chicago.

When one thinks of Tchaikovsky’s operas, and Russian opera in general, epic stories, casts of hundreds and massive choruses come to mind. Not so in Tchaikovsky’s final opera, ‘Iolanta’. As with last season’s offering, Donizetti’s final opera, Rita, (is this a theme?) ‘Iolanta’ is a more intimate work, and runs about an hour and a half. Nevertheless, it has the romantic sweep of Tchaikovsky’s style that tugs at the heart strings while rousing large as life passions, presaging the later works of Stravinsky and Rachmaninov.

A 2018 recipient of the Solti Foundation Career Assistance Award, Maestra Yankovskaya’s debut in the pit was promising and gratifying. She brought out all the pathos and grandness in the lush score, without ever overpowering the singers, quite an accomplishment in an intimate theater with such an exposed orchestra pit. This is most encouraging. If she can just get her strings to play in tune, under her leadership it will be an outstanding ensemble. We were fortunate for the heavenly harp played by Lillian Lau, a measure of a truly professional opera company.

The story of ‘Iolanta’ could be a simple fairy tale; Princess ‘Iolanta’ has been blind from birth. Her father, the loving and powerful King René, has kept this a secret from her, and instructed, upon pain of death, that the fact that she is blind never be revealed to her. Since childhood, ‘Iolanta’ has been betrothed to Robert, the Duke of Burgundy, but Robert has since fallen in love with another. Because the marriage of Robert and ‘Iolanta’ is pending, King René has engaged the services of an exotic doctor, Ibn Hakla, to try to cure his sightless daughter. Dr. Ibn Hakla, who employs the metaphysical and the psychological in his treatments, proclaims that ‘Iolanta’ will never be able to see unless she knows that she is blind. Honoring his betrothal, Robert comes to claim his bride, but his friend, Vaudemont, gets a glimpse of ‘Iolanta’ and is instantly enchanted. Vaudemont sneaks past a No Trespassing On Pain of Death sign to try to meet ‘Iolanta’. As they engage in a mild flirtation, Vaudemont professes his love. As a remembrance, he asks her to give him a red rose from the bouquet of red and white rose which ‘Iolanta’ carries. When ‘Iolanta’ is not able to pick out a red rose, Vaudemont discovers that ‘Iolanta’ cannot see and reveals it to her. Predictably, the two are discovered together, and Vaudemont is condemned to death. ‘Iolanta’’s love for Vaudemont makes her choose to allow Dr. Ibn Hakla to operate. The operation is successful, Vaudemont is pardoned, and all live happily ever after. Aside from the obvious, “you can’t solve a problem until you acknowledge it” the myriad possible interpretations make this opera a fascinating study in how we deal with all that comes along with being human.

The cast is stellar without exception. Katherine Weber, assuming the title role, is a singer to watch very closely. She is much more than just another cookie-cutter soprano, her large, distinctive voice is sweet and sturdy, with a wide spectrum of color, and burgeoning with tremendous promise. Her characterization was sympathetic and touching.

Mikhail Svetlov as King René is a spectacular true Russian bass. He tempered the role of René with understanding and presence. It is hard to imagine anyone singing the role any more beautifully than Svetlov. He had the regal bearing of a king and the tenderness of a father suffering for his daughter’s plight. His performance, alone, would make this production a must-see.

As Vaudemont, John Irvin has a slightly stiff stage presence, but he sang with vocal ease and treated us to some of the best high notes we’ve heard anywhere this season. In his aria, which was not part of the original score, he seemed a little uncomfortable, but once that was out of the way, he has a natural charm which made his performance entirely compelling and believable.

Operas with two major Baritone roles are quite unusual. Christopher Magiera, as a deliciously randy Robert, Duke of Burgundy, tossed off his devilishly difficult aria with aplomb. Magiera has the natural stage presence and effortless high notes demanded by the most difficult Bel Canto baritone roles. Bill McMurray, as Dr. Ibn Hakla, delivered a slightly more dramatic sound which suited the mystically transcendental requirements of that role. His aria was vocally spectacular, even if the staging was somewhat obtuse.

Important smaller roles were well sung and capably acted by Emma Ritter, Katherine Peterson, Annie Rosen, David Goversten and Aaron Short. It is gratifying to see that young singers of this quality are receiving professional mentoring in Chicago which is all-important to launching successful careers.

The sets designed by Alan E. Murakova were intriguing, and as lit by Lighting & Projection designer Driscoll Otto, occasionally quite stunning, but served little useful dramatic purpose. And they moved around all night. Not just between scenes, but during scenes too, being pushed around by the singers to no real purpose, achieving nothing. At times it seemed as though the opera was more about set pieces dancing around, than anything else. Oh please, it’s an opera, not a ballet for flats. In spite of that, when the set pieces were allowed to stay still and accept Mr. Otto’s visuals, they did ignite the imagination. However, that wonder was unfortunately squashed by the dull and dreary costumes, which looked like recycled costumes from last year’s The Consul. You can design a production cheaply that doesn’t look cheap. And rather than tease us with an interesting setting, then keep moving it around, why not just focus on good stage craft? Famed director Paul Curran let us be distracted from an otherwise honest and meaningful reading with all this unnecessary shuffling around of castered corner pieces. And although Curran did tell the story well, he did not help his young cast with the elementary stage movement. Too often, to use a nautical phrase, singers were caught in irons, with nowhere to go, or having to make an awkward La Scala cross from down-stage left to up-stage right while singing. A director of Curran’s reputation should know how to do better for his actors.

Despite the technical distractions, ‘Iolanta’ is delightful, beautifully sung and movingly performed by a supremely talented cast of young singers.
The Doctor’s orders: See ‘Iolanta’!

There are two additional performances – Thursday evening November 15 at 7:30 pm and Sunday afternoon November 18 at 3 pm. Don’t miss it! Go to chicagooperatheater.org.

Siegfried, the third installment of Richard Wagner’s monumental cycle, The Ring of the Niebelungen, opened in a comic-book fairy tale, if not quite mythical version this past Saturday evening to an enthusiastic full house at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. In the preceding two seasons, the prologue, Das Rheingold and then Die Walküre were presented in this production directed by David Pountney. The final opera, Die Götterdämmerung will be mounted next year, and all four will be performed in the 2020 season. It will sell out quickly to an international audience of Wagnerites who fly all over the world to see the complete Ring, so buy your tickets as soon as you can!

Richard Wagner was a flawed human being. His music is not. It is the very pinnacle of 19th century German romantic opera, from which later, great composers went this way or that, but never higher. Bad people can write good music, just as good people can write bad music. I would never vote for the man if he were running dog catcher (apologies to dogs), but you should never miss any opportunity to hear his magnificent music dramas performed live in a major opera house. With Sir Andrew Davis expertly leading the outstanding Lyric Opera Orchestra, which is the true star of the show, Siegfried is a “must see”. Especially magnificent were the low brass, complete with Wagner tubas, invented just for the Ring. But this is Chicago, and the ghost of Georg Solti lives!

The very first thing that Wagner Newbies instinctively worry about is the seemingly daunting length of Wagner’s operas. DON’T! Think of it as an evening spent binge watching three or four episodes of Game of Thrones, with time to go get a beer and a snack after each episode. If you allow yourself to be carried along by the current of the glorious music, as a leaf floats on a rushing stream, there is little awareness of the passing time. We’ve been to a lot of shorter operas that have felt far longer. There aren’t many better ways to spend a few hours of your life.

Since the pivotal Jahrhundertring production of The Ring celebrating its centenary in 1976, directors and designers have almost religiously eschewed the traditional, and often caricatured, horned helmets and breastplates, letting their imaginations run wild and leaving us at the mercy of regietheater. This production of Siegfried is much more watchable than the one last presented by the Lyric over a dozen years ago, but some over-the-top and over-done business took away from an otherwise workable, if lightweight version. The scenery, originally designed by Johan Engels and now in the hands of Robert Innes Hopkins, is creative and fanciful on a large fairy-tale, rather than legendary, scale. The tall, movable scaffolds on either side of the stage, which mimic imagined stage machinery from ancient Greek drama, serve a multitude of useful and imaginative purposes. The production elements, including the inflatable oversized giants in Das Rheingold, and the dragon Fafner in this opera, take the work out of the realm of profound allegory and make it whimsical – too whimsical perhaps, along the lines of Sendack’s Where the Wild Things Are. We thought on more than one occasion “you should bring the grand-kids to see this!” And maybe you should, so that one day they will return to see a grown-up production.

The story picks up about 18 years after Wotan (king of the gods) left his favorite daughter, Brünhilde, sleeping on a rock surrounded by fire. He did this as punishment for disobeying her father by trying to help Wotan’s bastard son, Siegmund who was conceived with a mortal human, in battle against Hunding, the abusive husband of Siegmund’s twin sister, #metoo, Sieglinde. Siegmund was then killed, as Wotan’s wife and the Goddess of Marriage, Fricka commanded. Siegmund’s magic sword, Notung, was broken to be repaired only by a hero who does not know fear. Sieglinde died giving birth to the son that she and Siegmund conceived in an adulterous and incestuous moment of passion. That son, little Siegfried (remember him?), was raised by the dwarf Mime, not out of the kindness of his heart, as he would have Siegfried believe, but knowing that one day the orphan would grow up to be the great hero that will recover the stolen magic ring (yes, the Ring) which is guarded by the dragon Fafner (who used to be a giant), allowing Mime to rule the world, instead of his brother Alberich, who had the ring made from a lump of gold found in the Rhein river. Are you keeping up? If it seems a little confusing, no worries; in these operas someone will say what has happened before, what is going to happen, then it will happen, and then someone will say what has just happened because of what happened before. The projected titles in English by Colin Ure distilled Wagner’s sometimes dense prose into understandable, if somewhat prosaic dialogue, making it easy to follow the story.

The opening scene is set in the secluded hut where Siegfried, now grown, lives alone with Mime. Yet, as conceived by David Pountney and Johann Engels, this strangely takes the form of a nursery or day care classroom. Children’s drawings cover the wall, oversized table, chairs and a play pen filled with toys relentlessly remind us that Siegfried is young, naïve and ignorant of the world outside of this little abode and the surrounding forest. In answer to Siegfried’s questions about his parentage, Mime answers that he himself has been both father and mother to the boy, which probably explains why Mime is sporting a ladies negligee over his pants and boots. In this get-up, with his strong arms bared, images of Corporal Klinger from MASH were hard to dispel. Nevertheless, while Mime has taught him much, Siegfried has never learned what fear is.

Sigmund’s broken sword, Nothung, able to be repaired only by a hero who has never learned to fear (see above) is now in the possession of Mime. The dwarf’s familiarity with fear renders him manically frustrated in his inability to re-forge Nothung. However, since Siegfried has never known fear, he is able to repair his father’s sword, aided by a white-board easel of step by step instructions and a shipment of necessary equipment intended to look like it came from Amazon Prime (you know the label), and carried in by Mime’s mimes. We’re not making that up. They actually had mimes. Seventeen of ‘em. They were good mimes. Giant bellows high in the scaffold fan the flames, and the water tub to cool the hot steel even comes with a little rubber ducky. If you think that sounds a little silly, it actually did work in that fairy tale, if not grand mythical, way.

Siegfried was sung by Burkhart Fritz, making his American operatic stage debut. His burnished voice has a welcome sweetness, unusual in a dramatic tenor voice. Yet, Fritz is a little underpowered for a house the size of the Lyric, demonstrating just how hard it is to find singers capable of modern Wagnerian demands. He sang exquisitely in Act Two in “Dass der mein Vater nicht ist” and in the exchanges with the bird during the “Forest Murmurs” scene. However, the “Forging Song” in Act One lacked the budding virility and exuberance of a young man ready to slay a dragon and fall in love for the first time. Fritz is a fine actor and he played his role with energy, sincerity and integrity. Unfortunately, he was costumed in a way that made him look anything but heroic, and much more like Charlie Brown just before Lucy pulls the football away. Every time he left the stage we silently implored, “Please, oh please, change your costume and come back looking like a hero!”

Matthias Klink, Opernwelt magazine’s 2017 Singer of the Year and in his Lyric Opera debut, brought great physicality and commitment to the insidiously creepy role of Mime. He used his clarion and multi-colored voice fearlessly to bring out the grotesqueness and depraved disingenuousness of the sly, evil character, singing beautifully at times, yet with moments of such intentional, albeit appropriate ugliness, that we feared for his vocal health. That kind of singing is very exciting, in a Roman Circus live-or-die sort of way.

Wotan, incognito as “The Wanderer” is nobly and sympathetically sung by Eric Owens. His rich, deeply hued voice conveys the universal majesty of the king of the gods, the intimate sadness of a father who has lost two of his favorite children and is estranged from a third, and the crushing pathos of a great leader who knows his reign is coming to an end. (It’s hard being a god in opera.) His instrument does not possess the overwhelmingly booming power of notable Wotans of the past, such as Hans Hotter, but it is more beautiful and moving. Mr. Owens is splendid in the role and eminently capable of filling the shoes of the great James Morris, even as Morris’ commanding Wotan is still vivid in our hearts and minds.

The Act Two forest setting is a simple, but enchanting forest of sail-like conifers which hides the lurking dragon and its lair. The mimes were now bearing large green leaf-like glow-stick sculptures. We’re not sure why, but it was pretty. Alberich reappears from when we last saw him two operas ago in Rheingold, looking like a homeless vagrant with all of his possessions in a modern day shopping cart, along with his severed arm macabrely preserved in a glass case. Alberich hopes that when Mime and Siegfried attempt to kill the dragon, they will both die and he, Alberich, can reclaim the magic treasure. If nothing else, these guys have stamina. The talented bass Samuel Youn returned as Alberich with his strong voice and appropriately disturbing characterization.

Fearless Siegfried now engages Fafner, the giant who has turned himself into a dragon to guard his treasure. Patrick Guetti, a former member of the Ryan Center program, with the help of a little amplification for his off-stage singing, has terrific chops for the part. The fight with the giant inflatable dragon was as exciting as anything you might see at the movies, with massive claws which would at times completely cover the singer and a fearsome maw of gargantuan teeth. Siegfried is able to whack off a piece of the dragon’s tail, which keeps twitching as the hero disappears from sight to make the fatal blow, causing the dragon to deflate. In his death throes, Fafner changes back into a giant, run through by Notung, spilling green blood. Ew. Siegfried tastes a drop and gains the ability to understand the Forest Bird, which first appeared in Act I as a puppet looking like a creature from a Dr. Suess book. In Act II, the Forest Bird was charmingly portrayed by another Ryan Center alumnus Diana Newman. She sang prettily and deserves extra points for bravery, perched as she was on the edge of the railing way up above the stage in Valhalla.

Siegfried, who still hasn’t experienced fear, takes the ring and the magic helmet, Tarnhelm, and having also gained the ability to read Mime’s thoughts, learns the dwarf was planning to drug and kill him. Who knew dragon’s blood had such power? And so, Siegfried must now kill Mime. Who ever said opera is boring? If only opera producers would have the courage to understand that it’s not.

In Act Three, Wotan goes to seek the advice of Erda, the primeval Earth Goddess, to find out how to keep the gods from becoming irrelevant. BTW, Erda is also the mother, with Wotan, of Brünhilde, the girl asleep on the fiery rock. Emerging from her subterranean sleep, Erda can listen to Wotan, but knows that the events already set in motion cannot be altered. Ronnita Miller was absolutely terrific in the short role with a voice of tremendous beauty and an astonishing low register.

So far, so good; one could quibble about this, that or the other thing, in particular the lack of gravitas in the production, but up until that point, the performance was engaging, interesting and told the story. Sadly, the final scene was a terrible disappointment. When Siegfried overcomes the flames surrounding the former Warrior Maiden, Brunhilde, we are in store for some of the most sublime, romantic, and erotically charged music ever written as the young pair discover each other. Killing a dragon was nothing compared to meeting a woman for the first time, and Siegfried finally begins to understand fear. (If you haven’t figured it out for yourselves yet, she’s his aunt.) It started promisingly enough, with their innocent trepidation, in spite of their instant attraction, but then the scaffolds turned to reveal little rooms on opposite sides of the stage, brightly painted, with balloons and a pink kiddie chair for Brünhilde and a little blue kiddie chair for Siegfried. Yes, they are young, innocent, naïve, immature etc. etc. Duh, we get it. But holding hands and swinging them back and forth, they looked more like Hansel and Gretel than the passionate couple destined to change the world forever. When they finally reclined on the grassy knoll in a copulatory embrace, it wasn’t romantic or sexy, it was just awkward. Bear in mind, Siegfried looks like Charlie Brown and Brünhilde looks like the Saint Pauli Girl. We can only hope this will be revised for the 2020 remounting. Soprano Christine Goerke, who was thrilling as Brünhilde in Die Walküre (not to mention the title role in Elektra and as Cassandra in Les Troyen), has the goods; a full dramatic sound, strong stage presence, intelligence and good acting instincts, however, she sounded as if she wasn’t quite warmed up. Could have been just one of those days, could have been having to lie still on a fiery rock for half an hour before she had to sing, no doubt she will be in better form in the future.

The Fat Lady says: Go see Siegfried!

Performances continue through November 16. Only three more performances!

For tickets: www.lyricopera.org or call 312-827-5600.

And save a few days of PTO to see the entire Ring here in 2020.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Idomeneo at the Lyric Opera of Chicago is opera as it should be, transcending all expectations. Don’t miss it! Indeed, we wonder why this uncommonly extraordinary performance did not open the Lyric Opera of Chicago season. Happily, after going dark for more than a week, forcing the initial performance scheduled for October 13 to be cancelled, the unfortunate dispute between the Musicians’ Union representing the Orchestra of the Lyric Opera of Chicago and management was successfully resolved, and Idomeneo was presented Thursday evening. The entire cast, without exception, sang splendidly, deftly handling the technically demanding florid passages and challenging long phrases, while creating real and distinct characters that earned our sympathy (thank the gods). On all counts, it was a glorious occasion.

Mozart began writing operas at the age of eleven, and had completed a dozen, or so, before he began work on Idomeneo in 1780, at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Considered to be his first “mature” opera, it is written in the “Opera Seria” style, literally “Serious opera”, a musical drama with a series of recitatives and set pieces in the early 18th century Baroque manner based upon Classical Greek or Roman themes, a form he would not return to until his final opera La Clemenza di Tito ten years later. This exquisite music, if not as well-known as his later masterpieces, is the cornerstone upon which all opera coming after it has been built, leaving no doubt of Mozart’s greatness. For that reason alone, go!

The orchestra, conducted by Sir Andrew Davis, was enthusiastically cheered before and after each curtain with shouts of support for the union from the audience. They played with a full, luxurious sound that remained within the stately structure of the classical period, and brought out all the color, nuance and innovation that raises Mozart above his peers. For that reason alone, go!

The production designed and directed by the late great Jean-Pierre Ponnelle (which by now, is probably older than the singers on the stage, yet still looks as fresh as it did when it was premiered in Köln in 1971) is in and of itself a timeless work of art. Visually pleasing, and beautifully lit by lighting designer Chris Maravich (thank the gods), Ponnelle’s setting evokes the time and place of the opera, while still allowing the audience to extend the themes in their imaginations to encompass all time and place. Ancient Grecian columns frame the stage and the mighty upstage center mask of Neptune, the real antagonist of the drama. Neptune, representing the unpredictable oceans of which he is king, is always present, either as a specter behind painted scrims, fully visible in his terrifying aspect, or even hidden from view. Above all, as it should, this stage set brilliantly serves the drama. For that reason alone, go!

The action takes place on the island of Crete after the decade long Trojan War. On his long way home, Idomeneo, King of Crete, has been caught in a raging storm at sea. He begs Neptune to spare him and in return, promises to sacrifice the first person he encounters upon shore. As operatic luck would have it, it turns out to be his own son, Idamante. Of course, father and son haven’t seen each other in years and don’t instantly recognize each other. Nevertheless, Neptune is going to expect the sacrifice Idomeneo promised.

For a story based in mythology and ancient history, it’s not hard to follow, even by opera standards. A father, who happens to be a king, loves his son and doesn’t want to lose him. We get that. That son, Idamante, has fallen in love with the Trojan Princess Ilia, being held prisoner in Crete. That happens. Princess Elettra, daughter of the Greek King, with whom Crete is allied, thinks Idamante should marry her, not the daughter of the enemy. Nothing out of the ordinary going on here. The excellent supertitles by Francis Rizzo are not at all stuffy, but explain the action and feelings understandably without dumbing it down (thank the gods). For fuller enjoyment you may want to check your crib notes from Greek mythology and the history of the Trojan War, but it’s not necessary. As in so many great stories, the large scale events provide the context for the more intimate human emotions.

Mr. Ponnelle’s original stage direction was faithfully re-set by David Knuess, who assisted Ponnelle when the production was mounted at the Metropolitan Opera in 1982 and Salzburg in 1983. Ponnelle’s consummate stagecraft subtly ensures that our attention is always drawn to the heart of the drama. Contrary to the habits of those who think they are following in the footsteps of the visionary director, absolutely nothing ever moves without a reason. No meaningless business or distracting bits. We were granted the luxury of having the singers just stand still and sing, allowing their voices to be most expressive (thank the gods)! It was one of the most moving performances seen and heard in years. For that reason alone, go!

The title role could have been written for Matthew Polanzani, who hails from Evanston and enjoys a deservedly respected career on the international stage. A true Mozartian, this role is perfect for him, his voice being better suited to this repertoire than Bel Canto or Romantic styles. His singing was superb and he gave a completely satisfying dramatic reading of the tormented father and king. For that reason alone, go!

With striking stage presence and a voice with the palette of a Monet painting, Angela Brower, reminiscent of the incomparable Frederica Von Stade, is a tremendous artist. In the role of Idamante, created for a castrato, re-worked for a tenor, but now most successfully performed by a mezzo-soprano, she gave us several of the evening’s most memorable vocal moments. Even when not uttering a sound she was riveting: Idamante’s shock and horrific pain at being rejected by his father was heartbreaking and later, during Ilia’s aria “Zeffiretti lusinghieri”, a scene that could be corny if not played just right, Idamante is visible at extreme upstage center receiving the unseen caresses carried from afar by the breezes. It took the breath away from even the most jaded of opera goers. His acceptance of his fate, and his willingness to give his life for the well-being of the community made a profound impact. For that reason alone, go!

As Ilia, Chicago native and former Chicago Opera Theater, Merola Opera, and LA Opera Young Artist, Janai Brugger was exquisite. The warm glow and golden tones of her shimmering lyric soprano lent itself to an ingenuous portrayal of the princess torn between love for her family and country and her love for Idamante. Whenever she graced the stage, she infused it with the power of hope. Ultimately, when the happiness she deserved was bestowed upon her, we shed tears of joy! After the season opener of the unfortunate La Bohème, we feared that we had become incapable of crying. For that reason alone, go!

The remarkable Erin Wall, marathon runner and soprano with a voice like diamonds set in platinum, was a sympathetic and vulnerable Elettra. She portrayed not an un-hinged shrew, but a high-strung princess used to getting her own way. In spite of Wall’s ongoing battle against cancer, her voice was never more beautiful (thank the gods!). In her rage arias her voice was spectacular and provided a perfect dramatic foil to her rival, Ilia, difficult even for someone with 100% perfect health. Wall’s Elettra was not motivated by mere jealousy of a romantic rival, but was driven to despair by the unthinkable and perhaps racist idea that Idamante would fall for an inferior Trojan woman. This assault on her sense of the proper order of things was so powerful that it resulted in a believably frenzied spontaneous death, a feat most singers are not capable of pulling off with dramatic success. To top it off, she looked fabulous in a stunning, if somewhat unwieldy, 18th Century gown with panniers which on the freeway would require red flags and a “WIDE LOAD” sign. For that reason alone, go!

David Portillo provided a solid and stable presence as Arbace, Idomeneo’s confidante. Arbace’s aria is unforgiving and demanding, yet Portillo sang superbly with musicianship, virtuosity and an urgent pathos reflecting his patriotism and loyalty to his king.

In addition to the Ryan Center alumni: Mr. Polenzani, Ms. Wall and Mr. Portillo, the uniformly excellent cast included current members of the program including Josh Lovell and Alan Higgs as two Trojan Men, Whitney Morrison and Kayleigh Decker as two Women of Crete. Each made worthy contributions and showed promise for the future, most notably Ms. Morrison. The voice of Neptune was chillingly sung by David Weigel (no spoilers, but gasps were heard) and Noah Baetge was fully credible as the High Priest. In these roles, as well as the principle roles, opera cognoscenti will enjoy recognizing the nascent characters which will eventually populate Mozart’s later works. Credit must be given to the Ryan Center for their advocacy of young talent, and to the Lyric for giving them the opportunity on the stage of, on this night, a major international opera house. It should be noted that the employment of young artists may represent a significant cost saving to LOC, yet these young artists gave us greater satisfaction than many “world class” artists would have provided (thank the gods).

Under the direction of Michael Black, the Lyric Opera Chorus sang magnificently in the big moralizing choruses that ended each act, and most impressively in the delicate “Placido è il mar” in Act II. They played their part well representing the people of Crete as a traditional Greek Chorus, reacting as one with stylized movements that were both emotionally affecting and that effectively served both the music and drama.

With respect to the recent contract dispute, it should be said that over past seasons we have had issues with a few programming decisions, issues with some singers’ performances, and issues with too many of the productions. However, we have never, ever had an issue with this orchestra. It is, especially under the baton of Sir Andrew, of the highest caliber, truly world-class, an over-worked phrase we try not to use. Their excellence stands as testimony to the unquestionable necessity of a top rank orchestra to the existence of a top rank opera house. They deserve a contract commensurate with their standing.

Bottom line: Idomeneo should not be missed. A young couple attending their first opera ever said they were enthralled, and that they were definitely coming back for more (thank the gods). Did we say you should go? Indeed, Go! Go! Go to Idomeneo.

Performances continue October 21, 24, and 28 and November 2. You might be able to get tickets at the door, but that would be a shame, because these performances should be sold out. Nevertheless, tickets are available on line at www.lyricopera.org or call 312-827-5600.

Lyric Opera of Chicago opened its 2018-19 season with Puccini’s beloved “La Boheme” last Saturday evening. Essential to any Puccini production, more than most other composers, is a faithful rendition of the specific intentions of the composer, whose theatrical instincts were equal to if not better than his musical gifts. This production succeeded musically, but utterly failed dramatically to bring out the humanity in this work that makes it so well loved.

Thankfully, Conductor Domingo Hindoyan, in his Lyric Opera debut, understands how Puccini goes. In his comments in the program, he states clearly that, “The word ‘freedom’ is relative, because it should be a sensation within a rigorous respect for the score”. If only opera administrators would hold stage directors to the same standard as the conductors. This production, shared with the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and Teatro Real Madrid, directed by Richard Jones, designed by Stewart Laing, with lighting design by Mimi Jordan Sherin, disappointed over and over again in so many ways, large and small.

It was a shame, since there was much to appreciate. The Lyric Opera Orchestra sounded marvelous under the idiomatic and nuanced baton of Maestro Hindoyan. His sensitive support of the singers brought out the treasures in the score, revealing the joie de vivre of the Bohemians, supplying tight crispness to the opening of Act Two, poignant desperation in Act Three, and ephemeral orchestral textures underlying Mimi’s last moments.

Zachary Nelson’s full and velvety baritone was unfailingly well projected. As the painter Marcello, he came very close to a sense of who the character was, but never expressed the depth of pain caused by his obsessive love of Musetta, or the tenderness of his friendship with Rodolfo. As the poet Rodolfo, tenor Michael Fabbiano’s brilliant and warm voice was expressive and a joy to hear. However, perhaps due to opening night jitters, or a lack of meaningful stage direction, his highest notes were tentative and the softer passages were weak. Maria Agresta looked the part of the fragile seamstress. Her piano singing in the Act One aria bloomed as beautifully as the flowers she described. Yet, later in the opera, her voice was less attractive, her vowels lost color and sounded flat, not in pitch, but as if she came from Italy via Wisconsin. The talented and charismatic Danielle de Niese tossed off the role of Musetta with aplomb, despite the directorial excesses imposed upon her. De Niese is a tremendously gifted comic actress; with a lesser artist, Musetta’s staging would have been a travesty. Ryan Center Artist Riccardo Jose Rivera possesses a fine lyric baritone voice, but seemed uncomfortable with the physicality of the role of Schaunard. He was allowed to wander aimlessly and flail about. The monkeying around at the end of Act Two with the on-stage band was absurd. Blame should fall on the director though, not on this promising singer. Bass Adrien Sâmpetrean’s lower range lacked the depth and color expected for Colline. His interpretation of the cynical philosopher also seemed somewhat shallow and ordinary. By hanging his beloved overcoat on a nail to sing his touching farewell aria, he separated himself from it, and the tenderness of the moment was lost. Well known for his finely crafted characterizations, Jake Gardner was the class act of the evening, in fine voice, finding humor, but never resorting to buffoonery in the dual roles of the landlord Benoit, and Musetta’s sugar-daddy, Alcindoro. However, he was not done any favors as Benoit by being staged facing directly up stage, forcing him to turn around to face the audience every time he had to sing. Similarly, as Alcindoro, Mr. Gardner was buried by Mr. Jones’ staging in a melee of waiters and patrons in the Café Momus, obscuring the ironic humor of the moment.

The costumes by Stewart Laing were quirkily adequate. His set was horrible. Act One did not resemble a quaint Parisian garret apartment, but rather a newly constructed barn in Dixon, Illinois. The lighting in Acts One, Two and Four, was stark and bleakly colorless, evocative of neither the time of year, time of day, nor the congenial poverty in which the four Bohemians lived, laughed, and loved. In the relentless intensity of the lighting, the singers’ faces were either washed out or hidden in shadows created by the barn rafters. In Act Two, the supertitles were nearly unreadable due to the glaring lighting. However, in Act Three, the lighting was so gloomy that it had the same obscuring effect on the singers. It didn’t matter much, though. There really wasn’t anything to see.

Good translations are a blessing, and the accurately natural supertitles by Kenneth Chalmers were truly excellent. However, these titles also served to highlight the director’s many mistakes, too numerous to detail in full. After Mimi’s fake looking faint, and even more fake looking recovery (she popped up like a jack-in-the-box), when she drops her key, Rodolfo says, “Buio pesto” (“it’s pitch dark”) in the glaring light. The lost key is picked up by Rodolfo who, instead of hiding it, shows it to Mimi and plays keep-away, although he later says, “Al buio non si trova” (“In the dark we won’t find it”). Huh? Standing in brilliant white light, he inexplicably tells her that soon there will be moonlight, and then they will have enough light to look for the key again. This touching scene in which Mimi and Rodolfo fall in love was diminished by this directorial sloppiness, but is unfailingly right when it is done the way Puccini intended.

The set changes in the pauses between acts with the curtain up were extremely awkward. If you are going to change the set before our eyes, it should provide a magical transition from one setting to another which enhances the pace of the drama. These bumbling and ponderous changes felt more like a first walk-through rehearsal in a warehouse where the sets were still under construction and the technical demands haven’t been entirely resolved.

The Act Two set, with a suddenly faithful representation of the beautiful covered passages in Paris, was attractive and could have worked, but it was so far down stage, it cramped everyone, soloists and chorus, into a nineteenth century mosh pit. The jolly chaos of Christmas Eve never settled down enough to be able to find the main characters among the crowd, and since there was no room for the children to cavort, they formed a formal chorus line. Consequently, their mother’s anger at their unruliness made no sense. Typical of directors who don’t trust the material or understand the music, the stage was filled with frenetic and meaningless carrying-on. Oh sure, that may be more true to life, but it was distracting. It might be forgiven, but when things needed to be real, they usually weren’t.

Segue in another awkward transition from the street scene to the interior of the Café Momus, full of distracting and upstaging patrons and waiters. When the audience can’t find the principal singers in this scene, something is rotten in Paris.

Enter Musetta. She sees her former lover Marcello at the adjoining table and, being bored with her current old and stuffy patron, decides to win Marcello back. This can be played a lot of ways, but sloppy drunk isn’t one of them. The famous waltz song is already sexy and provocative. Musetta definitely does not become sexier by making her drunk, and the goofy-happy-dance when singing “Felice mi fa” was like a scene from a sit-com. Throw in a few cheap tricks for laughs and shock value and the reunion of the two lovers, which normally is so warmly welcomed that the music is covered up for a page or so by applause, was a messy let-down.

The snow which fell almost all night long was pretty, but other than that, the Third Act was ugly. The tavern looked more like the guard house at the Barrièr d’Enfer, which must have been off stage, as it could not be seen. But the back of the garret/barn apartment was strangely visible, as were overhead lights which shined in the audience’s eyes, again making the production look as though it was still in rehearsal. Every touching moment in this act was sabotaged by the stage direction, such as when Mimi and Rodolfo agree they must break-up, but that they will wait for spring. Mimi sings, “Vorrei che eterno durasse il verno” (“I wish winter would last forever”) in a moment which is often more heart-rending than Mimi’s death in Act Four. Inexplicably, Mimi aimlessly walked away from Rodolfo while singing this. No matter, they were upstaged anyway by Musetta, pondering her next move after having been thrown out by Marcello.

Back in the barn - err - garret for the final act, it is supposed to be a bright sunny day outside, so the blazing light didn’t seem quite so out of place. Rodolfo and Marcello’s duet reminiscing about their lost loves was almost touching. The two sounded good together, and taking places at opposite sides of the barn underscored their feelings of loss and loneliness. For once, by not imposing his “concept”, Mr. Jones managed not to ruin a beautifully sung moment.

However, Mr. Jones couldn’t resist keeping his hands off that which followed. Puccini specifies a spoof of classical dancing and a mock sword fight among the four Bohemians. It is almost always hilariously funny, but if you have a better idea than the always entertaining dancing and mock sword fight, bring it on! Doodling undecipherable graffiti on the walls was not one. Similarly, swinging around on the stove pipe of a wood burning stove is never a good idea. If you’ve ever seen one, you’d know that the pipe would be likely to fall into pieces, you would be covered in soot and it might even be dangerously hot, especially if it had just contained a fire, as in Act I. Propping a pillow against the sharp corner of the stove to serve as Mimi’s deathbed in Act IV was the limit. Maybe the director was making some sort of statement. Who cares? Get a bed or a chaise up there so that Mimi and Rodolfo don’t have to flop and flail about on the floor like a couple of fish out of water. The scene was just plain ugly.

The heart of any opera is when the music tells the story more plainly than the words. This must never be ignored. At the moment when Rodolfo and Mimi are finally left alone together and the tender reprise of “O soave funciulla” swells to the sweet cadence, “Ah! tu sol comandi amor”, this director had the lovers on opposite sides of the stage and absolutely nothing was going on between them. Yes, most directors do it very traditionally, but that’s because it works, and Mimi and Rodolfo hold each other again, just as they did the night they first met.

Similarly, the exact moment when Mimi dies is clearly expressed in the music. Mr. Jones decided that this was completely unnecessary and then chose to ignore Puccini’s following directions. Schaunard was nowhere near Mimi to notice that she was dead, so how could he tell Marcello? Yet Rodolfo was seated on the stove right next to her head and didn’t notice. It is possible that there are people in the world that can’t handle the death of a friend, or of a friend’s lover, but when Rodolfo discovered that Mimi is dead, it is beyond imagination why Schaunard and Colline bolted out the room in terror.

There wasn’t a moist eye in the house.

Performances continue through October 20, 2018, and again January 10 through 25, 2019. Call the Lyric at 312.827.5600 or visit www.lyricopera.org for tickets, if you are curious about this strange production. But please don’t bring your friends who have never seen an opera before.

Mozart’s Requiem

Music of the Baroque Chorus and Orchestra

Jane Glover, conductor

William Jon Gray, chorus director

Saturday, September 15, 2018, 7:30 PM at the Harris Theater for Music and Dance, Chicago, and Sunday, September 16, 3:00 PM at the North Shore Center for the Performing Arts, Skokie

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Photo by Elliot Mandel

A Regal Beginning and a Divine Ending

By the OperaSwains

A capacity audience warmly welcomed the Music of the Baroque Chorus and Orchestra and A-List cast of soloists on the opening night of its 2018-19 season at the Harris Theater, led by Maestra Jane Glover, in an impeccably well-crafted performance of one of classical music’s crown jewels, Mozart’s glorious Requiem Mass in D minor, K 626.

The program began with three anthems by George Frederic Handel written in 1727, more than a dozen years before composing his great “Messiah”, as Handel was becoming established as the preeminent British composer of his time, for the Coronation of the Hanoverian King George II and Queen Caroline.

In a brief, inspiring podium speech, Ms. Glover sparked a human touch to the evening by inviting us to imagine ourselves in Westminster Abbey for that regal occasion among the soaring arches and stately long nave which has been the scene of countless Crown events, setting the scene for us to be part of something important.  As the music began quietly and swelled, she had us.

The pageantry of “Zadok the King” was followed by the more intimate “My Heat is Inditing” (from Middle English - not a typo), with “The King Shall Rejoice” concluding the set.

The talented ensemble played cleanly and with spirit; their understanding and love of the baroque style apparent throughout.  The chorus, ably prepared by William Jon Gray, sang with musical clarity, if not clarity of diction.  The stellar tenor section was especially impressive in astonishingly accurate coloratura passages – Bravi, gentlemen!  The sopranos were silvery, at times ethereal, while the altos provided soothing warmth.  However, we wished for substantially more weight from the basses, often swamped by the low strings.  Less emphasis on the modern obsession with “blending” and greater emphasis on pure vowels would not only improve diction, but also give the chorus a fuller, more complete adult sound.

Following intermission, the chorus and a full Mozart orchestra returned for the Requiem with soprano Amanda Majeski, mezzo soprano Daniela Mack, tenor Joan Hacker and Bass-Baritone Eric Owens.  A few more choristers would have been welcome, because at times they were overwhelmed by the orchestra.

If the term OMG! wasn’t already a part of our current lexicon, it would be necessary to invent it for Mr. Owens’ performance. OMG!! He possesses the gravitas and commitment of a truly great singer. Listening to Mr. Owens is like hearing the voice of humanity, or perhaps, tasting a 50 year old Scotch. The wondrous, trumpet-like sound of his “Tuba mirum spargens sonum” spreading through the hall was one of those rare heart-stopping moments in a live performance that will not be forgotten. To ice the cake, Mr. Owens is capable of a delicately tender pianissimo usually unavailable to other voices of his dramatic weight. We can’t wait for “Siegfried” at the Lyric!

Tenor Jonas Hacker’s burnished, clarion tenor brought much more to the role than what is generally expected from a “Mozart tenor”.  It may be that standing next to Mr. Owens, he was inspired to greater heights, as his engaged and direct singing just became better and better throughout his performance. We hope to hear much more from him in the future.

No such luck on the other side of the stage; Ms. Mack’s rich, clear voice met the demands of the alto role, but the part doesn’t give an opportunity for the singer to make much of a mark.  However, she did look fabulous in her red and gold brocade strapless gown, and one could easily imagine her as a spunky Rosina or a smokin’ hot Carmen.

Beautiful voices, as the great vocal coach Peyton Hibbitt used to say, are a dime a dozen, but an artist is someone who engages the audience and communicates something.  Anything.  At the very least, the intent of the composer and the librettist.  Ms. Majeski brought nothing but her beautiful instrument to the soprano soli. 

Ms. Glover has a great command of the dynamic possibilities of an orchestra, exquisitely rendered by the gifted musicians.  The performance was enthusiastically received, albeit with the perfunctory, up-trickling, standing ovation (Ladies and gentlemen, if you can’t help yourself from instantly jumping to your feet when the piece ends, don’t bother standing until you are ready to leave…).  Nevertheless, we all were grateful for an excellent performance by this gem of the Chicago musical scene.  Get your tickets now for the remaining performances of the season, which includes Bach’s Christmas Oratorio and Coffee Cantata, among many other treasures.

For tickets call (312) 551-1414

www.Baroque.org