APRIL 1996
A MATCH MADE FOR THE MET
Two years ago, in La Bohème at London's
Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, a Rumanian Mimì named Angela Gheorghiu
knocked on the garret door of an Italian-French Rodolfo named Roberto Alagna,
requested a light for her candle, and precipitated a heart-wrenching love
affair. He with his mischievous smile, she with her soulful eyes . . . they
made a fetching pair. Vocally, too, they were beautifully matched, each
blessed with a distinctive, touching timbre, each excellently schooled and
spontaneously expressive. Audiences wept, but when the curtain fell, Puccini's
Bohemians went their separate ways. A year later Gheorghiu and Alagna met up
again, and this time life imitated art. Today they are opera's golden couple,
in demand as a pair around the world. In the recording studio they have
collaborated on a program of duets and on Gounod's Roméo et
Juliette (both forthcoming on EMI Classics). In the opera house not all
their projects coincide: there is no suitable role for her in Verdi's
Don Carlos (in which Alagna sang this winter in Paris), nor is there one
for him in Puccini's Turandot (in which she portrayed the slave girl
Liù at the Met during the same period). But they join forces when they
can, as in performances of La Bohème this month at the Met (April
10, 13, 24, and 27; 212-362-6000).
Roberto Alagna
Photo: courtesy of EMI Classics
In Paris the Terror rages. In prison a poet awaits execution, rapt with the
thought that his dying breath will clinch the rhyme in the poem that is his
life. Yes, this is grand opera, and against high standards it definitely
qualifies as over the top. Umberto Giordano's Andrea Chénier
embroiders freely on the history of the obscure poet and journalist
André Chénier (1762-1794), frequently calling to mind works both
better and better-known: A Tale of Two Cities, for instance, with its
lofty self-sacrifice en route to the guillotine, or Tosca (which was
written later), for the strongarm political tactics in the service of wicked
lust. If Chénier's scenario is both sketchy and far-fetched, the
score's proto-cinematic flow and sensitivity to atmosphere display
craftsmanship verging on genius. A hundred years after its world premiere the
right cast could make the protagonists' unabashed surrender to woes and
ecstasies that are absurdly larger than life hard to resist. Above all, a
go-for-broke star tenor must be found to keep the abundant fuel of
Chénier's idealism ablaze with an unstinting flame of conviction and
ringing tone. Who, for instance? At the age of sixty-one, Luciano Pavarotti
plays the part for the first time, in a new production at the Metropolitan
Opera (April 6-25; 212-362-6000). Truth to tell, his lyric instrument is
underweight for the beefy assignment. Still, his honesty and commitment could
carry the day. At the Seattle Opera later this month the strapping Canadian
tenor Ben Heppner sings Chénier. He is forty and in his prime, and
though he may not have Pavarotti's Latin pathos, Heppner's voice is exactly the
sort Giordano had in mind (April 27, May 1, 4, 8, and 11;
206-389-7676).
The Seattle Opera's set
Photo: courtesy of L'Opera de Montréal
Call him flashy; call him grandiose. But unfashionable? Apart from a performance
of An Alpine Symphony by the Vienna Philharmonic last month, the music
of Richard Strauss (1864-1949) will be presented by Carnegie Hall only twice
this spring: in two all-Strauss programs by the Dresden Staatskapelle. Signals
notwithstanding, Strauss is in no danger of going out of style. Few composers
give an orchestra better chances to show its stuff. Voluptuous to listen to
(which endears it to audiences), the music is also devilishly hard to play.
Ambitious virtuosi find the combination irresistible, which in itself would
guarantee Strauss's immortality. Dresden's orchestra was a favorite with
Strauss; he led it often. And Strauss is a favorite with Giuseppe Sinopoli, the
orchestra's current music director, a conductor much drawn to alchemical color
effects, as his Strauss recordings for Deutsche Grammophon attest. At Carnegie
Hall he leads the season's second interpretation of the crashing Alpine
Symphony, coupled with the dark Metamorphosen (April 15;
212-247-7800). A second program combines the ravishing Don Juan, the
autumnal Four Last Songs, and the self-dramatizing spiritual
autobiography Ein Heldenleben (April 16). For information on the
remainder of the Staatskapelle's current American tour (April 14-28), see
listings in Greenvale, New York; New Brunswick, New Jersey; Champaign-Urbana,
Illinois; Overland Park, Kansas; Ames, Iowa; San Francisco, Palm Desert, Santa
Barbara, and Costa Mesa, California.
Giuseppe Sinopoli
Photo: S. Lauterwausser
