Off to New York

MG and I are leaving for NYC tomorrow to see From the House of the Dead, The Damnation of Faust, Fela!, eat a lot of good food and have a good time. I'm not planning on writing about any of this until I return, and by then we'll have also seen Otello at SFO and the Kiss: Alive 35 show in Oakland. There'll be a lot to catch up on, and if Otello doesn't suck, I'll even have to sit down and eat some crow.

Until then, the beasts will be prowling the jungle for the next ten days and you won't find them here.

This is It.

Sugar T and I went to see "This is It" this afternoon. I have really mixed feelings about the film, but I have to say it accomplishes what it set out to do. First of all, know that I tried to get tickets to the London shows. At midnight on that fateful Sunday evening, my internet access was down so I tried to log onto Ticketmaster UK via my Android phone. After 45 minutes I actually got through and was all set to buy 4 tickets to one of the shows and the awkwardness of trying to fill out the order on a qwerty keyboard/ overloaded system wouldn't work and my request timed out. Two hours later I threw in the towel because I had to go to work the next morning and when I got there tickets to all 50 shows were gone. I was seriously disappointed.

My initial poll of friends who may have wanted to go all the way to London to see the show yielded no takers, but I had a hunch that these shows would be pretty awesome. The movie confirms that had they taken place, my hunch would have proven correct. The movie also shows Michael Jackson to be in far better shape than media reports would have had us believe at the time of his death and refute the rumours circulating prior to it that he was in no shape to actually pull these shows off.

Granted, who knows what went on in the editing room and how carefully the footage was chosen. Regardless, the film does show Jackson as involved, in shape physically and vocally, capable and very aware of the presentation he wanted to present. Add 20,000 fans to the mix and what was merely involving in the film would have become truly electric to experience in person.

It's not a concert film, but rather a document of a performer at a particular place in time. I would say the film bears testament that the performer himself is really one of handful about which you can honestly say "There never will be another like him or her." That's a short list. If you have any interest, it's well worth the time. It left me with a vague sadness that we'll never get to see what would have been the comeback of a lifetime.

Rachin out

Semyon Bychkov led the San Francisco Symphony through Rachmaninoff's The Bells and Symphony No. 2 last night at Davies. I had the good fortune of bringing my friend GG to see the orchestra perform the first time and she really enjoyed it. It was a program that would satisfy both the newcomer and the regular visitor. Rachmaninoff is one of my favorite composers and this program immediately stood out when I perused this year's schedule as one of the must-see concerts.

Strangely, I had a mixed reaction to the performance. In the ten years I've been regularly attending SFS concerts I don't think I've ever heard this orchestra sound so warm- especially the violin section. The horns too, played with a resonance I've seldom experienced at this level. Carey Bell, principal clarinet, has been on a roll the past couple of seasons, turning in one remarkable, notable performance after another but last night, during the solo in the 2nd Symphony's final movement, he outdid himself. Bell gave the audience a solo that truly was something of exquisite beauty, leaving me with the impression that he must now be considered one of the orchestra's key players. It was unforgettable.

Yet for me, there were some things missing that would have made the entire evening a success despite many fine moments, many of which were truly exciting. During The Bells the chorus became a wall of sound that reached Spectoresque proportions. Soloists Frank Lopardo and Mikhail Petrenko sang their parts with passion, with Lopardo offering an especially nuanced performance which at times was overwhelmed by the orchestra. Petrenko has an obvious passion for the piece that was as readily evident as he listened as much as when he sang. Nuccia Focile on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable from the moment she took the stage until she left it, and she gave the same impression during her singing.

More so than many composers, Rachmaninoff lives or dies by the conductor at hand. Bychkov gave a reading that emphasized speed over beauty and and the result was that many of the more delicate moments in each piece disappeared under the weight of the orchestra churning at full speed. That's not to say that there weren't gorgeous moments in both works (it is Rachmaninoff, after all), just not as many as I for one, would have expected. Hence you get the mixed-bag reception from this particular listener.

I missed another opportunity to introduce myself to Josh Kosman, who was chatting the couple seated next to us. Oddly, the couple disappeared at intermission only to return after the 2nd to reclaim an umbrella and a coat left behind. Hey Josh, I didn't want to interrupt your conversation, but that was me looking for an opening in it. Mr. Vaz was also in attendance and I'm curious to know what he thought of the whole thing.

After the performance GG and I made our way over to Sauce, where the service for our dessert and drinks was excellent.

November Rain

Actually there is no rain- it's an incredibly warm and clear evening in San Francisco as I write this but the Guns 'n' Roses song seemed like the most apt title for the post. It's the kind of night which reminds me of summers long past spent in the San Fernando Valley when I was a teenager. There's a full Harvest Moon in the sky and after having dinner at the Ferry Building with my mother, watching the moon rise over the Bay Bridge, things seem hopeful and yet nostalgic at the same time.

There's no real point to this post other than that I wanted to note there may not be much on this blog for the next couple of weeks and then there's going to be so much to write about I wonder how I'll actually get it all done.

Friday I'm going to the San Francisco Symphony for an all-Rachmaninoff program conducted by Simon Bychkov featuring the Second Symphony and The Bells. Talk about romantic overload, but I think this concert is going to be one of the highlights of the SFS's season. I'm going to ask a fellow blogger to accompany me because the romance will just have to wait another week, when MG and I go to New York. It will be the first time I've gone back since I went to see Cristo's Gates. I've really missed these annual trips and I'm pleased to have resurrected this tradition of seeing at least a couple of things a year at the Met.

We're going to see the LePage production of La Damnation of Faust with Borodina and her hubby, conducted by Conlon. I was actually a bit dismayed to see Idlar was part of the cast because in my one encounter with both of them, SFO's terrible production L'Italiana a few years back, I walked away thinking if he hadn't been in it Olga would have been as great in the role as she was when I saw her perform it at the Met some seven or so years ago. That's probably wrong and ridiculous, but once you formulate a prejudice they can be unreasonable things to let go of. Still I think it will be worthwhile and it will be MG's first Met experience, which I'm pleased to partake in.

The next night we are going to see what is likely to be the buzz production for the entire year. Almost every opera geek I know on the West Coast is making a trip all the way to the Met in November or December primarily to see Janacek's 100-minute opera From the House of the Dead. The highly-acclaimed Chereau production, originally done at the Aix-en-Provence festival and conducted by Salonen in his Met debut, is available on DVD but I haven't watched it. Instead I've been listening to the Mackerras recording to prepare for it. It sounds like The Cunning Little Vixen, but inverted, with that score's joy and naturalism replaced by equal amounts of despair and human frailty. It's mesmerizing and I have high hopes surrounding it. Kudos to Peter Gelb for bringing something special like this to the States that at one time would have made sense for SFO to stage but we no longer have that kind of opera company in this City.

Then MG and I are going Broadway-bound to see the Bill T. Jones directed Fela! about the life and music of the only musician who can be said to be an equal to James Brown: Nigeria's father of Afrofunk, Fela Kuti. We're seeing a preview because of the timing, but this too promises to be an evening of solid grooves and amazing dancing.

Friday we return home and the following night we are off to see Johan Botha in Verdi's Otello, conducted by Luisotti. If this production is any good (and there really is no possible way it can be worse than the last Otello to grace the War Memorial stage, which was Pamela Rosenberg's only admitted artistic regret), then I'm afraid I'll have to admit Mr. Gockley's plans for this season have been a resounding success despite my initial deep skepticism and ridicule. That's going to be a very untasty bit of crow to eat, but the play's the thing, and so far the Gock has had a winning fall season way beyond anyone's (except perhaps his own) expectations.

Sunday night is the other big event besides the Janacek opera: KISS's Alive! 35 tour rolls into the Oakland Arena. I was at the first Alive! tour when it hit LA in 1976 (yes, I know the math is off) and was present for the recording of Kiss Alive II at the LA Forum a couple of years later. That was my first concert and if you can't understand how someone goes from being a teenage KISS fan to an opera geek, well, my goal is to make you "get it" by the time it finally rains in November.

Cover that woman!

Molly Fillmore was flown in from Arizona yesterday to replace an ailing Nadja Michael as the lead in San Francisco Opera's Salome. General Director David Gockley, in his own inimitable way, took great pains to pronounce Michael's name correctly, and then told the audience we were about to hear and see "Molly Dill," even though he had a note in his hand. Thanks David- the season has been so strong thus far I haven't been able to say anything snarky about you lately, so I appreciate this opportunity and I'm sure Ms. Dill, I mean Ms. Fillmore, will get over it. I suppose there's a good reason there wasn't a cover already in place, but maybe that's besides the point.

Since I was at the previous performance it was a great opportunity to see what performers bring to a role and how they put an individual stamp on it. For the people who will only get to see last night's version, you saw a nice performance but missed out on a great one. Fillmore's Salome was well sung and she did an amazing job of learning the blocking and other elements of the production on such short notice I suspect she was the cover and was released early to prepare for her upcoming performances of the role with Arizona Opera. Overall, Fillmore did an excellent job in what must have been difficult circumstances. She has a good, steady voice that sometimes strained at the top but was mostly clean and easily heard.

Fillmore however, is no Nadja Michael. What was creepy and unsettling on Tuesday brought laughter and titters on Friday. Completely gone was the tension and psychological freak out of Michael's portrayal, which was replaced with a good voice and a sincere performance which had the unfortunate result of turning Strauss' lurid masterpiece into camp. Fillmore can sing the role, but Michael embodied it. The difference in impact between the two performances couldn't be greater. Imagine seeing Monster and then re watching it with Reese Witherspoon as Aileen instead of Charlize Theron. What was almost unwatchable on Tuesday was just another night at the opera on Friday, albeit a bloody one.

Fillmore also had an effect on Kim Begley's Herod as well, who didn't seem as afraid of this stepdaughter, nor was he as pervy toward her. His singing remained strong and fluid and Greer Grimsley sounded even better last night than he did earlier in the week. Fillmore performed the dance scene with more modesty than Michael, but did it justice.

On second viewing, this time from the balcony instead of the orchestra, the sinkhole stage's impact is diminished from higher up, though the blood on the floor makes an impression not seen from the ground floor. The orchestra sounded fine for the most part except for the last section of the dance when things seemed to momentarily fall apart, as if Luisotti was trying to follow what was going on rather than lead it. This was also my first encounter with the Operavision screens in the balcony. They're pretty distracting and the subtitles on them are unnecessary, but the close-ups of the singers faces are nice to have from the cheap seats. Overall I think I would prefer to see a performance without them- unless Nadja Michael was in it.

Kill that woman!

The best art lingers like an aftertaste in your mouth, sometimes an unpleasant one. San Francisco Opera's current production of Richard Strauss' Salome is art on that level. It left me with a visceral feeling of having witnessed the perverse melt-down of a sexually abused and confused young girl. I can't say it was fun to watch, but it was thrilling in a weird, icky way. What this production does, especially what soprano Nadja Michael does, is bring back the ick-factor to an opera that through time and changing social mores has lost the ability to shock and pummel an audience. This Salome will leave you feeling slimed, and the only thing I can compare it to is the 1999 production of Wozzeck which I found exhilarating but had half the audience walk out before it was over.

Due to it's complexity it's probably impossible to stage a perfect version of Salome. Somewhere concessions will be made, be they musical or theatrical and this production certainly has its flaws, but the overall impact works on almost every level. Allow me to dispense with the negatives first.

SFO's Music Director Nicola Luisotti, conducting a German opera for the first time, certainly made some interesting and (I would posit often wrong-headed) musical choices. At times he slowed the tempo to a point where the singers were noticeably ahead of the music, making them sound almost physically incapable of holding back to the degree required by the conductor. At other moments Luisotti managed to expand the score to almost orgiastic beauty- words I would have never thought I would write about a Strauss work that didn't contain the words "Der" and "Rosenkavalier" in its title. Some passages were rendered with a strange fullness that was so effective I have to say for the first time Luisotti actually got me interested in what he was doing with a score. A second hearing will reveal whether this was actually a brilliant stroke on Luisotti's part or just the genius of Strauss writing for an orchestra that is ridiculously large and I'll take that second helping this Friday and let you know. It was never dull, though it often sounded weird and at times simply wrong and the cumulative effect was a potent, heady brew.

People seem to either love or loathe Nadja Michael in the notoriously difficult title role, but count me on the side of the enthusiasts. In his Chronicle review, Joshua Kosman repeated the aphorism by the great Austrian soprano Leonie Rysanek who said: [there are] those who can sing it, those who can dance it and those who should be shot. While Michael may not sing the part to satisfy every taste (especially those dunderheads who think opera is only about the voice- hello? if that's what you think you should only attend lieder recitals and stay away from an art form that is by definition a multi-faceted mixture of music and drama) she's compelling, and more importantly, believable, in the role. After witnessing Michael's performance, the idea of watching Deborah Voigt sing it seems almost ludicrous. Michael can sing it, she can dance it, and you understand why Herod has her killed at the end- she is just too crazed (and powerful) to be left alive. Nadja Michael's Salome is a force that will obviously destroy anything in its wake.

Greer Grimsley's Jokanaan looked and sounded the part of the religious fanatic John the Baptist. This is important because Salome's lust for the prophet is clearly spelled out in very physical terms and Grimsley embodies the descriptions, even if Luisotti's conducting left the musical side of the equation somewhere else entirely. Strauss' music for Jokanaan, featuring a slew of Wagnerian motifs, was largely ineffective and lacking in fervor, which would have only added to Grimsley's portrayal. His performance was the one most marred by Luisotti's odd tempos, but he managed to rise above it, creating a plausible focal point for the teenage girl's unbridled desire. When Herod's henchman had him attached to leashes, the overt S&M implications between the prophet and his god were laid bare for the audience to judge. Again, the ick factor was kicked into overdrive during these moments.

Kim Begley's Herod contained the right mix of pomp and pediastric perversity, though Luisotti often buried his voice in the music. His voice reminded me of the classic Gerhard Stolze recording under Solti, as did Garrett Sorenson's Narraboth. Both of these characterizations contained the lust and irrationality conveyed in the score, though Narraboth's suicide was unfortunately a dramatically uninteresting moment- one of the few missed opportunities in the staging that could have allowed the power of irrational desire to be realized onstage in its most base form. Irina Mishura and her cleavage made a definite impact as Herodias, though without the latter she may not have been as noticeable a presence onstage.

Speaking of cleavage, if anyone can prove Nadja Michael has not had breast augmentation surgery I'll buy you a drink. Fault the costumers for putting Michael in something that showed off curves nowhere to be found in the natural order of things. Also fault the costumers for putting the Jews in offensively stereotyped wardrobes of leering Hasidim when no one else onstage is called out in such blatant terms based on their religion. Yes, these kinds of things distract me, but allow me to move on to the staging.

Although Brian at Out West Arts found it be a boring, cheap box, the stage reminded me of a filthy sink that looked lifted from the set of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre re-make. Or an exploding asshole. Either way, it's a pretty horrific thing to look at for 100 minutes and combined with the evocative lighting it's an appropriate sink[shit]hole of inapropriate desire. That all of the action takes place on a moonlit circle in front of it only adds to the opressive grotesqueness of what unfolds.

So finally, permit me to return to Ms. Michael and what makes this production mandatory viewing, even if you hate it, which my companion did (labeling it among the "five worst" things she's ever seen ). In roughly 90 minutes Michael's Salome undergoes a transformation from a girl who isn't innocent by any standard (the adults around her have already stripped that away), but still possesses youth's innocent desire and curiosity to a woman having a full-blown psychotic meltdown expressed in sexual violence. Often misinterpreted as a nymphomaniac, Salome's actions reflect what she's absorbed from those around her. She's not a nympho- she's the result of being a sexual pawn and the (inappropriate) object of desire. Michael expresses this in a fearless, bold performance from start to finish. Salome's ten minutes with Jokanaan's dripping head is almost unwatchable but you can't take your eyes from her- and during this segment Michael's voice soared through the score.

When Herod can't watch/ take anymore of what he had a hand in creating and yells "Kill that woman!" in this production what follows is a mercy killing.

The Abduction from the Seraglio

Most books on opera generally agree there are three composers whose influence on the art is immeasurable compared to all others: Mozart, Wagner & Verdi. I've never been able to come around to accepting Mozart as part of that triumvirate and I should confess his operas in general don't excite me. Sure, there are wonderful moments and if done well they provide distinct pleasures (especially Cosi), but I've just never understood the constant chatter I've heard from numerous quarters that Mozart was an operatic genius of equal caliber (if not higher) to the other two greats. I've read it, but I don't hear it. This impression goes back to the first time I saw Idomeneo and listened to Idomeneo go on tragically about having to kill his own son Idamante while the music went fa-la-la behind him. Many of you may consider me a heathen (or perhaps an ignorant boob) because of this, but there you have it.

So it shouldn't surprise that when The Abduction from the Seraglio (Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail) showed up on this year's San Francisco Opera schedule I knew it was the one production I would be least interested in, despite having a solid cast featuring the wonderful Mary Dunleavy. Last night was the final performance and I caught it from the balcony, which like last Friday, was unbearably warm and full of yokels. My opinion of Mozart remains unchanged, though the production wasn't bad and Mozart fans probably found much to enjoy in it.

As Constanze, Dunleavy hasn't received the raves during this run which usually accompany her performances and I have to admit it was the first time I've seen her when she wasn't captivating. She wasn't bad mind you, but having seen her before, especially in LA Opera's outstanding Der Zwerg, she sets the bar pretty high and last night she came up just a bit short. The rest of the cast did very well, especially Anna Christy as Blonde and Peter Rose as Osmin. Matthew Polenzani, Andrew Bidlack and Charles Shaw Robinson all sounded fine and performed with enthusiasm, though there wasn't much to get enthusiastic about.

The stage (a co-production with Chicago's Lyric Opera) is set up as a theater and while it's attractive, it doesn't really work to any advantage in the 2nd and 3rd acts so the action on it becomes pretty static despite the fact that there's a lot of activity taking place on it. Part of this stems from the music, which always starts in one place and ends up returning to it. Over and over again. Conductor Giuseppe Finzi led the orchestra in a straightforward manner that moved the action along without ever taking it to anyplace thrilling, though there were plenty of pretty spots and some comedic moments.

Abduction contains a lot of "singspiel" dialogue, which was performed in English. I don't have a problem with this choice at all, though I think it just gives further weight to the idea that the entire opera should be sung in English. The whole thing has kind of a sheepish air about it, as though the entire cast is well aware they are performing this middling Mozart work between two other productions that are more engaging and worthwhile- Un Fille du Regiment and Salome. At least that was my impression, born perhaps at my total surprise at how delightful Fille was and the strongly favorable reviews on Salome. Abduction just feels a bit like a soft spot between two more substantial offerings and though this is unfortunate, is does testify to the surprising overall strength of SFO's season thus far.