Udite, udite: Richard Tucker Foundation Gala

In his opening remarks on Sunday evening, Barry Tucker thanked the loyal audiences of the Richard Tucker Foundation Gala who made the concert a tradition. From the comparatively cheap seats, I enjoyed it for the first time, (upgrading from the Foundation's free citywide concerts.) The all-star lineup had undergone some serious shuffling in the weeks and even days preceding, but I had no reason to complain of the final results. Angela Meade was feted as the Tucker Award winner, and surrounded by colleagues of international stature (Opera Chic provides additional background.) The chosen selections relied more on star power than subtlety for their success, but the latter was not wholly lacking, and the former was often a delight. Members of the Metropolitan Opera orchestra provided sensitive support, playing with fine energy throughout under the leadership of Emmanuel Villaume. Their opening bacchanal from Samson et Dalilah was played with panache, employing sensual rubato in the woodwinds and embracing the clashing of brass and cymbal with gusto. After this orchestral prologue, the evening was turned over to the singers. The program seemed to be organized more around the singers' need for rest than around shared themes in the selections, with occasionally curious results. The overall quality, however, was high.

Grandi, enormi, ed imponenti

A 1987 New York Times article heralding the opening of the Zeffirelli production of Turandot, after a rather awed description of its marvels, concluded that friend and foe alike could not fail to gasp. By 2002 a different critic for the paper was calling it "a veritable symbol of operatic excess." Well, perhaps. Acrobats and parade dragons and dancers with parasols and silk scarves (not to mention gilded pagodas, tiered staircases, and rotating platforms over symmetrical pools) are not all necessary to an effective production of Turandot. But I think the formalized excess with which the ice princess hedges herself round (and about which Ping, Pang, and Pong complain so unforgettably in Act II!) forms a rather nice contrast to the passion of her nameless suitor who has nothing left to lose--except, of course, his life.