Remembering Tatiana.

Since childhood the voice of Tatiana Troyanos spoke - and speaks to me still in a way few other singers have. It's difficult to believe over 30 years have passed since her untimely death in 1993 which also saw the death of two other great artists -  Arleen Auger and Lucia Popp, each left an enormous loss in the world of opera, but each also left us a legacy that remains immense, a legacy ensuring they are still celebrated, still talked about, and most importantly . . . still listened to. 

Troyanos had a difficult childhood which appeared to have plagued her with the insecurities that remaind lifelong, yet somehow she would overcome and conquer them with something resembling superhuman power.  Home life was tough and unstable in the tenements (where West Side Story took place and where Lincoln Center now sits).  At 7 or 8 Tatiana was placed in The Brooklyn Home for Children, which she would later describe as a “bleak but marvelous” place.  It was there she began piano studies with Louis Petrini, then principal bassoonist for the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, who early on recognized the girl's gifts.

As a teenager Tatiana was moved to the Girls Service League, a home for disturbed girls on E. 19th Street. This whole chapter of her life sounds like one of those Dickensian horror stories of misplaced children slipping through the cracks . . . or worse. She would describe her experience as “[being there] I got disturbed. I felt there must be something wrong with me, too.” She had always found comfort in music and while at the Girls Service League she became obsessed with singing.

“I was attracted to the voice of Maria Callas and played her records all the time in my room. It was hypnotic . . . I always felt drawn, extremely drawn to music, and it has held me together. It spoke to my soul and spirit, the communication I had with it. I felt I was another person when involved with music. I didn’t know who I was . . . so I found identification in music, but there was difficulty in identification – my intensity comes from this. I figured if I worked hard and followed advice, it would work. It did, and it does.”

Eventually, Louis Petrini was able to arrange for a piano scholarship to the Brooklyn Music School, where she worked herself into a frenzy. “I put all my energies into music, which was healthy and positive. We also put on plays and I acted, danced and worked with costumes . . . took everything seriously, even ballet. I always won the prize for trying the hardest.”

It's neither surprise nor secret that Troyanos suffered from horrible stage fright, I remember reading from her cast mates in various operas that Tatiana was usually an emotional wreck behind the curtain,. Backstage one could hear her expressing incredible self doubt and unworthiness, and more than once the singer had to be physically pushed out onto the stage. And then magic would happen.  A magic that, for me, few others equalled.

I've always praised her Didon in the Met's Les Troyens, but noticed how in her first scene and aria she sounded nervous, and appeared somehow comfortable. Then something happened she became pure Wow!"

 In Tannhäuser her Venus for me - has no equal in more recent stagings, and Troyanos makes the Goddess of Love as alluring physically as she is vocally.

Posthumously I recall articles speaking about her possibly suffering from some sort of clinical depression, a disease more widespread than most people imagine, and true or not, it's understandable to go there when analyzing the woman and the artist. Whatever she suffered, makes her achievements and accomplishments all the more impressive to me and I'm ever grateful for all she did in making the world a little nicer place to hang out in. 

Musically, dramatically, there seemed to be nothing Tatiana Troyanos couldn't sing. The gamut of a great repertoire from Monteverdi, Purcell, and Handel, through Mozart, Rossini, Verdi and Berlioz. Let's not forget thrilling work in Verdi, Wagner, Strauss . . . and Philip Glass . . . even Penderecki. 

I frequently recall one of the greatest performances I've (yet) witnessed: Handel's Giulio Cesare with Troyanos in the title role (she'd previously sung, and recorded Cleopatra), supported by an excellent festival cast including the young June Anderson, along with Maureen Forrester, Susanne Marsee, Dominic Costa, Paul Eswood, and Mariana Busching, led by Stephen Simon The response after every aria was thunderous and by the end, was pure bedlam. 

The Washington Post wrote:

The imposing demeanor of the celebrated mezzo was always suitably Caesar-like . . . that left one unprepared -- perhaps by design -- for the most breathtaking moment of the performance . . . in the last act, when Caesar returns after all have assumed he was drowned in the sea by Ptolemy's men, he announces that he will free Cleopatra and Cornelia or die."Quel torrente, che cada dal monte" is one of the most intimidatingly difficult display pieces ever conceived. . . . [Troyanos] launched headlong into an incredible cascade of runs, ornaments, embellishments and adornments that left the listeners almost more breathless than she. The aria was superbly articulated and always right on the beat. Where, and why, has Troyanos been hiding this coloratura technique all these years? At the end, there was no question that she herself realized what she had done -- as she grinned broadly while the audience interrupted the opera with a tumultuous standing ovation.

Yes, we did. 

It was years after her death that I first heard about the final day of this amazing lady, and that story frequently haunts me and gets me right there. 

The afternoon of her death, Tatiana, got dressed, put on make-up, then rolled along with her I.V. pole into Lenox Hill Hospital's cancer ward waiting room, and there, for about half an hour, sang an impromptu a capella recital. After cheering her fellow patients and their visitors, Tatiana returned to her room and shortly therafter passed away. The tale always gives me chills.  What an amazing, beautiful gift Tatiana Troyanos was to this world, literally to her final moment in it . . . right up until the last, bringing joy, beauty and comfort to all those around her. Even in death she made something special, and selfless.

Thank you, Tatiana. are still so very loved . . . and missed. 

Opera Maine's Sweeney Todd: A Cut Above

For its 30th anniversary, Opera Maine broke new ground with a theatrically compelling, musically excellent production of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. Guided by Artistic Director, Dona D. Vaughn, a superb cast moved thrillingly across the original 1980 tour sets (created for Angela Lansbury and George Hearn) offering cinematic sweep and operatic force. The audience responded throughout with audible gasps, laughter and long ovations punctuated by cheers. 

Commanding in voice and presence, Michael Mayes' Sweeney went from quiet brooding to malevolent rage with turn-on-a-dime precision. His revenge-obsessed barber reached fever pitch in a chilling Epiphany that stopped the show. As his partner-in-crime, Mela Sarajane Dailey's beautifully sung Mrs. Lovett, balanced Sweeney's darkness with impeccable comic timing, in a performance far more delicious than her legendary pies. 

As the Beggar Woman, Megan Marino drew uncomfortable laughter while simultaneously breaking our hearts. Todd's concluding explosion of grief was among the most wrenching I've seen. It was no surprise to learn Marino and Mayes are married in real life, adding a palpable frisson as he threw himself across her ragged, lifeless body.

Portraying the young lovers was yet another married couple; Michael Adams and Mary Feminear. They were a delight. Feminear easily sailed through Johanna's highflying music, while Adams' plush baritone added a welcome richness to Anthony, his big number, Johanna, bringing down the house. 

Oozing equal amounts of pomposity and sleaze, David Pittsinger and Nicholas Nestorak were perfectly despicable as Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford, and made the quartet with Anthony and Johanna a highlight. 

As Adolfo Pirelli, Maxwell Levy was clearly having a grand time, hamming up every moment as the elixir selling faux Italian barber, with comically endless high notes adding to the fun.

David Marino’s touching voice and presence won all hearts as the simple Toby, his duet with Mrs. Lovet, Not While I'm Around, easily the most touching moment of the show. 

Sweeney, for me, recalls Britten's Peter Grimes - each relying heavily on its chorus to provide not only suitably grim Victorian atmosphere, but to move their stories forward. Opera Maine's Chorus delivered spectacularly, with two notable stand outs:  God, That's Good, where tricky rhythms and amusing word play garnered laughs, then, in City on Fire setting up the brutal, final sequence. Few directors move people across a stage as convincingly as Vaughn, and in Sweeney we were treated to some of the finest work in her thirty years of leading this company.

Conducting with precision and elan, Israel Gursky brought Sweeney's assorted motifs and themes to life, creating an atmospheric soundscape that perfectly matched what we saw onstage.  His broader tempo for My Friends evoked Debussy, adding even more layers to Sondheim's sophisticated score. I can't recall it more beautifully sung or played.

James Kennerley’s playing of the show’s ominous organ music on the mighty Kotzschmar, was an unexpected treat, and a deafening roar went up from the house as the backdrop of London lifted revealing organ and organist. No one seemed to want to leave. I certainly didn't.

(Photos from Opera Maine)

Parsifal: Memories of the World Premiere

On the 26th of July, we celebrated the 143rd anniversary of the world premiere of Wagner's inal music drama, Parsifal. Rather than calling it an opera, the composer referred to it as a Bühnenweihfestspiel, in English, a stage consecratoin festival play. For those who share my near cultish obsession with this masterpiece there is a wealth of material and fascinating accounts of its creation, premiere and all other manner of Parsifilian lore and facts, but for anyone who hasn't read it, I can't recommend highly enough Charles Dudley Warner's account of the world premiere of Parsifal.  He shared his thoughts, writing at length about it for The Atlantic, his account being published in January 1883.  A most insightful and revealing piece it is, in its way, nearly as moving as Wagner's final work itself.  Warner describes in great detail the intricacies of the the staging, (more than some may like) but does so with such heartfelt enthusiasm and awe, it pulled this reader back into another time and space (see what I did there?)  One gets a sense of where he is coming from (and where he is going to go) from the introduction:

It is the purpose of this paper to give the impression made by the performance of Parsifal at Baireuth, last summer, in view of certain strictures upon the motive of the drama, and without any attempt at musical criticism. In order to do this, I shall have to run over the leading features of the play, already given in the newspapers. Criticism enough, and of an unfavorable sort, there has been, though I heard none of it in Baireuth, nor ever any from those who had been present at the wonderful festival. Perhaps that was because I happened to meet only disciples of Wagner. I fancy that the professional critics, who did publish depreciating comments upon the new opera, and upon Wagner’s methods in general, felt more inclined to that course after they had escaped from the powerful immediate impression of the performance, from the atmosphere of Baireuth, and begun to reflect upon the responsibilities of the special critics to the world at large, and what in particular was their duty towards the whole Wagner movement, assumption, presumption, or whatever it is called, than they did while they were surrounded by the influences that Wagner had skillfully brought to bear to effect his purpose on them.

* * * * 

Of the ending of Act I Dudley wrote:

During the repast of which Amfortas has not partaken, he sinks from his momentary exaltation, the wound in his side opens afresh, and he cries out in agony. Hearing the cry, Parsifal clutches his heart, and seems to share his agony, but otherwise he stands motionless . . . the knights rise . . . slowly depart in the order in which they came. To the last Parsifal gazes in wonder; and when his guide comes to speak to him, he is so dazed that Gurnemanz, losing all patience at his unresponsive stupidity, pushes him out of the door, and spurns him for a fool. The curtains sweep together, and shut us out from the world that had come to seem to us more real than our own.

For a moment we sat in absolute silence, a stillness that had been unbroken during the whole performance. There was not a note of applause, not a sound. The impression was too profound for expression. We felt that we had been in the presence of a great spiritual reality. I have spoken of this as the impression of a scene. Of course it is understood that this would have been all an empty theatrical spectacle but for the music, which raised us to such heights of imagination and vision. For a moment or two, as I saw, the audience sat in silence; many of them were in tears. Then the doors were opened; the light streamed in. We all arose, with no bustle and hardly a word spoken, and went out into the pleasant sunshine.

I recall the first time I read this description, I could feel my heart swelling, recalling my own experiences with the opera, and imagining his.I loved this.

Warner went on with a moving description of the curtain at the end of the second act:

When the act ended, the audience, still under the spell of the music . . . sat, as before, silent for a moment. Then it rose en masse, and turned to the high box in the rear, where, concealed behind his friends, Wagner sat, and hailed him with a long tempest of applause.

Finally, there is the sharing of his overall experience with Parsifal:

I, for one, did not feel that I had assisted at an opera, but rather that I had witnessed some sacred drama, perhaps a modern miracle play. There were many things in the performance that separated it by a whole world from the opera, as it is usually understood. The drama had a noble theme; there was unity of purpose throughout, and unity in the orchestra, the singing, and the scenery. There were no digressions, no personal excursions of singers, exhibiting themselves and their voices, to destroy the illusion.

The orchestra was a part of the story, and not a mere accompaniment. The players never played, the singers never sang, to the audience. There was not a solo, duet, or any concerted piece 'for effect.' No performer came down to the foot-lights and appealed to the audience . . No applause was given, no encores were asked, no singer turned to the spectators. There was no connection or communication between the stage and the audience. Yet I doubt if singers in any opera ever made a more profound impression, or received more real applause. They were satisfied that they were producing the effect intended. And the composer must have been content when he saw the audience so take his design as to pay his creation the homage of rapt appreciation due to a great work of art.

I'm listening to today to a magnificent live performance from the place it all began: Bayreuth. It is under the leadership of Pablo  Heras-Casado - who has become a magnificent interpreter and for me approaches the level of Knappertsbusch and his legendary performances from the same house 70+ year ago. Today's cast is one of the best that can be assembled: Andreas Schager (Parsifal), Georg Zeppenfeld (Gurnemanz), Michael Volle (Amfortas), Ekaterina Gubanova (Kundry) and Jordan Shamajam (Klingsor), and Tobias Kehrer.  It's almost time for the second act so . . . 

Enthüllet den Gral! - Öffnet den Schrein!

Why Do We Keep Doing This?

Complain about corruption, inefficiency and downright evil all we want, the citizens of the United States seem to have a propensity for the idée fixe  that we NEED politicians who are corrupt, inefficient, and evil. We keep voting them into office, and then screaming about them, marching against them, crying and whining and doing little else - like electing leaders who want to destroy us. Do we love self-inflicted victimhood so much that we prefer complaints to solutions, bad men over good. Despite our arguments, we keep voting them in . . . or the "yes men/women" who are complicit in allowing them to proliferate.

I am sick unto death seeing superior, well-liked politicians, with vision - even far reaching "pie-in-the-sky" visions, like Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders, Pete Buttigieg, AOC, et al, constantly being slammed, dismissed as "too idealistic" - "not ready" - "just as bad as Whoozis," and to that growing list we can now add the name of Zohran Mamdani.

"He's a socialist" (sound familiar?) . . . "he's too young "how about "too old?") - "he's naive and doesn't stand a chance."  

We heard about Sanders and Warren being "too old" - incapable of leading the country. Does anyone with a modicum of common sense believe that either of those two seniors would have put the country into the fucking tailspin of a disaster we're seeing now?  A disaster many of us saw clearly a decade ago - though to give Trump and Co., credit, they've exceeded expectations on their criminality, abuse of power, self-interest and "screw the people" tactics. They don't even try to hide them anymore. Why would they? 

Yes, many of us despise the Trump regime, but there were - and there remains - enough who approve and fully support the authoritarian dictator-esque, Trump who issues forth executive orders by the dozens, without even a clue as to what he's signing. This, from the idiot who accused his predecessor of using an "autopen."  

I got into an argument with someone when I brought up the changes Mamdani wants to attempt in New York City, with (gasp) "radical socialist" ideas like free transportation, affordable rents, lower food costs for quality groceries making good nutrition - which actually promotes good health - available to the marginalized, raising taxes on the wealthy, and . . . ahhhh - there it is. That last one is the kicker innit? 

There are fears that any kind of financial restructuring that increases the taxes on the super wealthy of the U.S. is always a cause for concern.  "Businesses and the rich will elave NYC in an exodus the likes of which have never been seen before."  For wanting to help people?  Yup. We Americans love our oligarchs, we love to pool our meager resources from low salaries paid by the billionaire class to give them gifts like cars and planes and mansions. This isn't just seen in our politics, we see it daily in the bullshit bullshit industry of religion. Giant shiny (and usually hideous) structures holding thousands of poor people singing the praises of the likes of Joel Olsteen whose church members pay him over $40 million a year while many of them live in in near poverty - but Joel "deserves" it because . . . I have no idea why, because he doesn't. But good for him - living the AGD - American Grifter's Dream. Ditto Kenneth Copeland , or Todd Coontz  - one of the rare examples who got "caught" and is now serving a prison sentence. He must not have made enough money.

So today, when I brought up how encouraged I am for my home city and seeing Mandami's victory, the first thing I heard was, "he's a Jew hater. He supports Hamas."  I countered this was simply untrue, and backed it up. I realized this was a one issue only voter, and for this non-Jew "Jews" was that one issue. I continued, "you're wrong. He believes in equal rights and dignity for BOTH Israel and Palestine - he has spoken about the atrocities of Hamas and YES, he openly despises Netanyahu, as does every single Israeli I personally know. Regardless of any of this, if he wins - he will become "Mayor of New York City"  - a role which, as far as I know, has no actual bearing on foreign policy be it Israel's Ukraine's or Japan's."  

"He's a socialist idiot who will destroy New York."  

I could not go on. I was trying to remain calm while my "opponent" was growing hysterical and turning red. That was the end of that, but it left me wondering why are we so suspicious of people who seem to be really good people, who don't have any real scandal in their past, yet willingly turn the blind eye towards those who cheat on their companies, spouses, governments, constituents, and congregations. Do we feel we don't deserve "nice things" like affordable quality healthcare, or education, or liveable wages?  These are seen by too many Americans as "pipe dreams" when they should be realities . . . or at least the striving towards them should be. 

I don't think I'm naive, stupid, a "low IQ individual" - but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the way we're going IS the right way, and I am just too limited to comprehend how any of this benefits anyone . . .  other than those we see who benefit from it massively. Maybe I'm wrong to despise them and their policies and what I perceive as "corruption" with my entire soul. I don't think so, but maybe just don't know. What I do know is how very tired I am.