Tag Archives: Metropolitan Opera


It’s called a ‘pre-cry.’

It’s that weepy that you get when you know what’s about to happen, and you start crying before it happens.

Like in Act III of La Boheme, when Mimi sings her farewell, without rancor, and you know she’s going to die in the next act, and you start pre-crying.

15 March 1977. I am banished to my parents’ bedroom to watch the first-ever telecast from the Metropolitan Opera, on a 13″ black-and-white television.

And I’m hooked. And crushed by a C-sharp minor chord late in Act IV as Mimi dies. And I cry.

And ever since then I pre-cry in Act III. And then just sort of boo-boo my way through the next 30 minutes.

Friday evening, the Met transmitted again that telecast of 1977. And I watched in my darkened living room on a large television this time, running the signal through my Apple TV and listening in somewhat better sonic splendor.

And the pre-cry hit, just on cue.

Pavarotti, Freni, Wixell, all gone now. Thank the gods for taped telecasts, and for Puccini, and for the Met, and the wonder of opera. And for emotion that makes the pre-cry real.

Fall Break NYC: Manon and such

Saturday.  What a delightful day!

10.30 a.m.  Brunch at The Smith with Audrey McHale (Webster BFA ’12, just returned from a year at Disney Tokyo) and Chase Thomaston (Webster BFA ’17, now on the industry side in NYC).  These two are cherished alums from my voice studio, and very dear people!

Then to the Metropolitan Opera for Manon.  Here’s the story:

I was in a box seat on the Grand Tier at the Met.  The $160 ticket was totally worth the experience.

But the Met is fraying a bit too:

Since today was a simulcast worldwide, we got a bit of a sense of an intermission feature, an interview with the prompter:

Here’s a view of the Met chandeliers on their pre-show ascent:

And after the opera, a very happy me:

Here’s the trailer from the Met website.

Fall Break NYC: three-show day

I’ve only done this once before in my life, this thing called a three-show day.

And at 11.30 p.m. and just back at my hotel, I’m pretty wiped out.  Physically. Mentally.  Emotionally.

Wednesday 9 a.m.  Meet Grace & Greg Jones in Central Park West for breakfast.

10 a.m.  Arrive a couple of blocks away, just off Broadway, for an invited first public reading of Corner of Bitter and Sweet, a new musical in development by The 5th Avenue Theatre in Seattle and Abingdon Theatre in New York City.  Paul Fujimoto is the composer and lyricist, with book and direction by Lainie Sakakura.  The source material is Jamie Ford’s book Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet.

Spencer Donovan Jones, my voice student, is playing Teen Henry at the current moment.  He had the audience in tears at the end of Act One.  I was so proud of this kid today.

2 p.m.  After appropriate post-read greetings, and a quick chat with the creative team, I took the 1 line south to 50th, grabbed a hot dog, and ended up at the Walter Kerr on 48th, where my matinee was Hadestown.

5 p.m.  From my journal: “Hadestown. A towering production of brilliant originality, perfectly cast and stunning in its final effect.”

By the time the show was over, I had already had three cries in one day (two at Spencer’s show).  The curtain call number is the most effecting moment in a superb show.

Write a bit.  Give some tourists directions.

And then subway north again, this time Lincoln Center for a solo dinner at The Smith.

7.30 p.m.  And then Turandot at the Metropolitan Opera.  In spite of a fidgety few nearby in the third act, this rusty museum-piece production by Zeffirelli still has some legs.  Christine Goerke holds her own as Turandot, and tonight’s Calaf, Ricardo Massi, got progressively better after a wobbly start.  The whole thing lacked some steam, though. The hit of the night? Eleonaro Buratto as Liu.

And of course I cried again at the final scene.

Now midnight, and time for bed.  Thursday is a totally different kind of day!

Headed to NYC

I’m away for a few days to NYC.

After several visits during sabbatical, this is my first trip to the city in seven months.

And on this packed visit:

  • Manon at the Metropolitan Opera
  • Hadestown
  • Moulin Rouge
  • Big Apple Circus
  • Turandot at the Metropolitan Opera
  • En Masse (an Australian circus)
  • Spencer Jones’ workshop performance of Corner of Bitter and Sweet
  • some museum visits
  • and two more shows yet to be decided

Wednesday is a three-show-day!

Me at Times Square.


The Death of Klinghoffer

The Death of Klinghoffer. David Robertson. John Adams himself. A gauntlet of police barricades, Rudy Giuliani helping protest across the street, and one loud disturbance of the peace inside the Metropolitan Opera House itself.

The was not what brought me to NYC, but I’m glad I was at Lincoln Center on Monday evening.

The Metropolitan Opera has never staged The Death of Klinghoffer, John Adams’ 1991 opera dramatizing the events on the Achille Lauro as it sailed from Egypt in the eastern Mediterranean. The opera, with Bachian choruses framing the action on the ship, certainly gives ample voice to a viewpoint that might not be popular with NYC’s notable Jewish population. Palestinian thoughts are clearly presented, given equal billing with those of Israeli citizens.

The Death of Klinghoffer is less an action opera than a rumination on faith, hope, despair, and ageless conflict. That incredible Metropolitan Opera chorus sang the crap out of the choral scenes; Donald Palumbo and his crew received full-throated approval in their curtain call.

imageAmong the principals, Michaela Martens was the stand-out as Marilyn Klinghoffer, her closing aria being the emotional climax of the opera. She sang with assured clarity and dark, rich color. Alan Opie looked and sounded the part of a man in weary, late middle age. His final thoughts as the post-death Leon Klinghoffer will linger long in the memory. His voice may be frayed at time, but this only adds age and weight to his character.

The Palestinian terrorists were a uniformly strong group of younger American singers. Aubrey Allicock, reprising a role we saw in Saint Louis in 2011, was a stand-out Mahmoud, the most three-dimensional of the Palestinian. Sean Panikkar sang with clarion tenor notes as Molqi; Ryan Speedo Green had the smaller part of Rambo.

John Adams wrote the part of Omar as a trouser role, but in this production the dancer Jesse Karovsky portrayed the character with grace in his extended dance sequences. Maya Lahyani sang Omar’s arias, her movements synchronized with his, in a role titled ‘Palestinian Woman.’ Her too-brief appearance was a key moment in the opera, and a most poignant one.

I fear that Paulo Szot’s voice is too light for the key role of the ship’s captain. In a performance filled with introspective, stylized movement and soundscape, his was the least effective portrayal.

The vast Met stage served as a barren wasteland of exile, and as the expansive deck of the Achille Lauro. Substantial projections designed by Finn Ross augmented the visual palate, often surrounding the action on three sides.

And thanks to OTSL diction coach Erie Mills, the text was clear and direct and unaffected throughout. I’m always delighted to hear mute, unaccented syllables sung just so!

A perusal of the long-standing and ongoing Middle-Eastern conflict is far beyond the scope of this review, since the genesis of the conflict is thousands of years old. Any time three different faith groups claim the same city as holy, we are going to find drama upon drama, animus layered upon hatred. Ire is bound to be raised in New York City when the Palestinian viewpoint is presented sympathetically.

In the months prior to Monday’s premiere, the Met appeared insensitive to many. The Met management certainly did not take a cue from the very successful approach to Klinghoffer that we saw in Saint Louis recently, when Timothy O’Leary and the staff at Opera Theatre of St. Louis converged public conversation and interfaith dialogue and mounted an acclaimed production of this same opera. But one is left to wonder if New York will ever be a place where something this polarizing doesn’t cause rancor and protest.

As the evening unfolded, with armed New York police officers standing in the aisles, expected protests in the opera house were minimized. About 45 minutes in, a man in the upper balcony started shouting “The murder of Klinghoffer will never be forgiven.” He was escorted out. At the critical moment later in the opera where the title character is (graphically) murdered, a woman in the orchestra seating shouted an expletive; she too was escorted out. Aside from a smattering of boos that greeted the opening Palestinian chorus, the evening went as planned.

John Adams’ own appearance own stage at the curtain call brought frenzied cheering from the audience. So did David Robertson’s first entrance into the orchestra pit, before a note had been played or sung.

The Death of Klinghoffer is a major American opera, considered by many to be a masterpiece. Having now seen this opera in two incredibly different productions — one expansive, one intimate — I must say that I am convinced of the importance and power of this work.

For more information on the protest:


And the New York Times review is now posted: