My life, as reflected in these posts, has been very Glass/Orphée centric over the last month. For me it has been a time of searching and discovery, of excitement, and of joy at making new friends. And now, it's over. There would be a sense of let-down were it not for the fact that I have found a new enthusiasm for opera. My dear friend Lea was upbraiding me recently when I was grumbling about having had a surfeit of Puccini, and Verdi, and bel canto, and "all that stuff." After a pause she said "It sounds like you don't even like opera any more!" and I found myself thinking "Could this be true? Do I really not like it as much as I thought?" Then I went to the first orchestral dress rehearsal of Orphée and it was like tasting a perfectly ripe but astringent grapefruit after a week of eating nothing but chocolate. It revitalised my love of all opera. I'm back on board. Thank you, Mr Glass.


Sesame Street celebrated its 40th birthday last week!
Can it really be that long? Did that street really open for business in the same year that Neil Armstrong landed on the moon? And hundreds of thousands of young and old got wet and muddy at Woodstock? And the Archies stormed the charts with Sugar Sugar? I guess so. As my small tribute to this national treasure, I bring you, gentle readers, Plácido Flamingo.

And before you begin to deluge me with emails on the subject, the Google banner shows Bert and Ernie, not Operaman and Bob Kingston!

Dueling Divas Part Deux
Last Saturday evening I braved a downpour and went to the Bridgeport United Church of Christ to hear Alexis Hamilton and Diane Syrcle in concert, performing a selection of operatic arias and some art songs. And what a great time I had! These two women have an energy and chemistry that managed to transform what is, to be frank, a somewhat less-than-inspiring venue in terms of its physical properties, into a wonderful music space in which the acoustics did justice to the performers and the packed house found itself swept along from one marvellous performance to the next. It is hard to single out any particular item for mention but any of you who were there will perhaps understand my unbounded enthusiasm for Ms Hamilton's heart-wrenching performance of Che faró senza Eurydice? and Ms Syrcle's way with Kurt Weill's September Song. Ms Hamilton described the first as "perhaps the saddest aria ever written." I was not the only member of the audience who choked-up, believe me. As for Ms Syrcle's rendition of September Song, well, all I can say is: Ms Syrcle, at least one of us has a dirty mind and I don't believe it's just me. And it was a delight. Accompaniment was provided, impeccably, by Janet Coleman.
But it wasn't just the singing and piano that made for such a splendid evening. These gals are flat-out funny. Like, Anna Russell funny - and I do not make the comparison lightly. The dying words of actor-manager Sir Donald Wolfit are said to have been "Dying is easy. Comedy is hard." Yes, it is, but the paradox is that to the audience it must seem the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Among other things, it involves great timing, not allowing self-deprecation to become uncomfortable for the listener, and knowing just when to keep that face rock-solid straight. It's a talent. Ms Hamilton and Ms Syrcle have it in spades.
This show should be expanded and taken on the road. Need a manager, ladies? I'm currently available...

Jennifer Forni
On Tuesday I attended a recital at Moe's Pianos - Sherman Clay, given by Jennifer Forni, the soprano member of this year's Portland Opera Studio Artists programme. As usual, Robert Ainsley not only provided superb accompaniment but imparted some of his own enthusiasm and knowledge of the works to aid our enjoyment. I believe Ms Forni has one of the finest voices of any of the POSA artists we have had over the last few years and she displayed it to good effect. And while there were, to my ear, no weaknesses in the performance, she shone spectacularly in the Strauss Four Last Songs. Brava, Ms Forni.

Cecilia Bartoli
It has become fashionable to refer to the tracks on a CD as cuts rather than tracks. Don't ask me why. In her latest release, Cecilia Bartoli concentrates on one specific cut - the unkindest of all. The entire album is devoted to those poor lads in the 17th and 18th centuries who became castrati. They were feted and highly paid but at an awful price. The hypocrisy of the Roman Church allowed the barbaric practice to survive into the 20th century when these unnatural male sopranos continued to perform in the Sistine Chapel. The last remaining Sistine castrato was Alessandro Moreschi who died in 1922. A recording of him singing the Bach/Gounod setting of the Ave Maria does not make for easy listening but you can listen to it here. I have not yet listened to Ms Bartoli's album, appropriately entitled Sacrificium, but here is a balanced review from Anne Midgette of the Washington Post. I shall listen to it - once I can get past the scary album cover!



Kinda makes you grit your teeth, doesn't it?

Met HD Transmission - Turandot.
Another cinematic disaster. Frequent sound problems marked Acts 1 and 2 before a total blackout for almost forty minutes left some patrons frustrated and none too pleased, but who somehow maintained their composure. The hiatus knocked out part of the intermission and nearly all of Act 3, including Nessun Dorma and Lìu's death music. This really is not good enough. It seems that about one HD transmission in every three is plagued by some technical problem or other and at twenty-two bucks a ticket that is unacceptable - even if the movie theater does offer free tickets to ameliorate the disappointment. C'mon Met, get your act together. We deserve better. Another whine concerning this season's transmissions is that the Met has stopped providing a printed synopsis for movie audiences. While at the theater I am frequently asked where patrons can find a schedule of further performances. Answer: here. This season's radio broadcasts begin on December 12th with Puccini's Il Trittico and the entire schedule may be found here.
My singular lack of gruntle with the world's greatest opera house is apparently shared by writer Norman Lebrecht who in this column asks You want to know what's wrong with the Met? Now, let it be said that Mr Lebrecht is, at his sunniest, more of a curmudgeon than Operaman on his most liverish day but there is much I agree with in what he says there.

A tip of the hat to the boss.
Our production of Philip Glass's Orphée has come to an end and was a greater success than I believe anyone expected. It was brave to choose to mount this opera here in Portland. It was right to make that choice. That choice was made by our General Director, Christopher Mattaliano.

Three thousand miles away, the New York City Opera opened its season with an uncompromisingly dissonant work, Hugo Weisgall's Esther, which enjoyed excellent reviews this time around, as it had when it was premiered some sixteen years ago. This production (as the original one) was directed by Christopher Mattaliano.

He's had quite a month and Operaman applauds him for it.

Now, roll on Così fan Tutte!

Have a happy and productive week!