Welcome to the Golden Age
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

Over the weekend, the Metropolitan Opera presented two great operas, to magnificent effect. On Friday night, it was Verdi’s “Falstaff.” And on Saturday afternoon, it was Strauss’s “Ariadne auf Naxos.” We’ll consider the second performance first.
In recent memory, the Met has had many top singers in “Ariadne”: Jessye Norman and Deborah Voigt as the Prima Donna; Tatiana Troyanos and Susanne Mentzer as the Composer; Kathleen Battle and Natalie Dessay as Zerbinetta. The current cast includes Violeta Urmana (the Prima Donna), Susan Graham (the Composer), and Diana Damrau (Zerbinetta). It’s hard to imagine that this team could ever be outdone.
Ms. Urmana is the Lithuanian star who recently converted from mezzosoprano to soprano. On Saturday afternoon, she produced long lines of regal sound, and was every inch that Prima Donna. I couldn’t help smiling when she sang the “low” A flat in her aria, “Es gibt ein Reich.” I put “low” in quotation marks, because, from this singer, it sounded almost in the middle. Yet Ms. Urmana’s top notes were utterly, gloriously, hugely soprano-like.
Susan Graham is a model Octavian (in “Der Rosenkavalier”), and a model Composer. Does anyone today sing with more assurance or reliability? Praise of that singing is merely redundant. And as the Composer, Ms. Graham was the perfect earnest young man. (This is another trouser role, recall.) And speaking of the mezzo-soprano/soprano divide: When Ms. Graham – very much a mezzo – sang a soft high A, it was with the ease of a soprano.
Bringing the house down was the newcomer, Ms. Damrau, a German soprano. She is a newcomer to the Met, but she is well established in Europe. This summer, she gave a recital in Salzburg that was the talk of the town. I was unable to attend that – but, after hearing Ms. Damrau two days ago, I understand what all the fuss was about. Ms. Damrau has nothing, except for voice, technique, and personality. I mean, oodles of all three. And I left out looks – she has those, too. Her coloratura was spot-on, and her range is enormous: Miles above the staff she is free and lovely; in the lower register, she is equally free and lovely, and also a little bit smoky (which is nice).It’s hard to see what obstacles Ms. Damrau faces: Singing is a breeze to her. The ovation she received after Zerbinetta’s fireworks was one of the longest I can remember at the Met.
In the role of the Tenor was Jon Villars, an American who, like Ms. Damrau, was making his Metropolitan Opera debut. He was suitably heroic, almost monumental. Another tenor – though not the Tenor – was Tony Stevenson, singing the Dancing Master. He was his usual bright, fresh-sounding self. Sir Thomas Allen portrayed the Music Master, one of the roles in which he is still ideal. He combined elegance and authority, as he has for decades. Christopher Maltman was Harlekin – there was another Met debut – showing off a rich, creamy, enveloping baritone. And the Three Nymphs were Olga Makarina, Susanna Poretsky, and Nicole Heaston. All contributed fine displays of singing, in not-so-easy music. Ms. Heaston, in particular, was beautiful: That is a sound of rare evenness and satisfaction.
Not to be forgotten is Bernard Fitch, who was the Major-Domo – snooty, annoying, and lordly. All factotums take on the airs of their bosses. The Major-Domo is lieutenant to the richest man in Vienna. Mr. Fitch seemed to know this.
Serving as conductor was Kirill Petrenko, a Russian who is music director of Berlin’s Komische Oper. He led a faithful and conscientious performance. There were minor breakdowns or falterings here and there, but they were, indeed, minor. I might note that Mr. Petrenko held his hands high in the air when conducting the Three Nymphs – in this production (Elijah Moshinsky’s of 1993), those gals are way up on stilts (or something).
New York has had a nice dose of operatic Strauss lately – and this is forgetting the Philharmonic’s performance of the “Rosenkavalier” Suite, under Lorin Maazel. City Opera has just completed a run of “Capriccio,” which, like “Ariadne auf Naxos,” is an opera about the creative process: the composer writing about his profession, in a way. At the Strauss home in Garmisch this summer, a group of us was informed that every night, somewhere in the world, a Strauss opera is being performed. The old boy cared about box office, and it’s still booming.
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With apologies to Strauss, some people consider “Falstaff” the greatest opera in the repertory, and certainly Verdi’s. Whether we believe that or not, the Met is making a strong case for “Falstaff.” And leading that case is the conductor, James Levine.
He greatly admires Toscanini, who greatly admired this opera, and was supreme in it. But more supreme than Mr. Levine? Is that suggestion blasphemy? On Friday night, Mr. Levine was firing on all cylinders, running at his peak. He was clear, witty, sweeping, nimble, boisterous, sly – brilliant. Absent was any trace of the lethargy that has dogged him in recent seasons. I thought of Hamilton’s phrase, “energy in the executive.” That’s what this performance had.
The orchestra played splendidly for him, highlighting the symphonic qualities of the work. Often, the orchestra mimicked the remarks and moods of the singers onstage. Or did they mimic the orchestra? When Falstaff taunted, the orchestra taunted, when a lover swooned, the orchestra swooned, when the conspirators plotted, so did the orchestra. There were some moments of untogetherness, such as at the beginning of Act I, Scene 2.And not every ensemble was taut and accurate. But if you wait for a better performance, you will wait forever.
In the title role, the Met has the Falstaff of our day, Bryn Terfel. To say that he was born to sing this role is trite but true. He is a totally natural Falstaff. All by himself, Mr. Terfel is larger than life. And then add Falstaff to that …
You might ask, “Is Terfel over the top in this role – even a smidge?” The answer is no. On Friday night, he was not the least bit histrionic, and he knows that Falstaff takes himself seriously – very seriously – even if no one else does. Mr. Terfel was as effective dramatically as he was vocally (which is saying something): The words seemed to be occurring to him as he spoke, or sang, them.
One thinks of the great operatic portrayals in the world today: Renee Fleming’s Arabella; Rene Pape’s King Mark. (I will come up with another Renee, or Rene, if you give me a second.) Nothing is more exemplary than Bryn Terfel’s Falstaff.
When the curtain opens on the aforementioned Act I, Scene 2, we have a jolly foursome of women: Patricia Racette is Alice Ford, and she employs that liquid, pleasing soprano. Stephanie Blythe is Quickly, inheriting the role from Marilyn Horne (from whom Ms. Blythe has inherited lots of roles). Her singing was first-rate, and her comic touch sure. Maria Zifchak was a suitable Meg Page, and Heidi Grant Murphy makes a winning Nannetta, as you might expect. In her excitement, the character sings, “How sweetly I shall sing” – and HGM would not let you down. I might also say that she ended the opera – its vocal portion – with a wonderful, affirmative high C.
Roberto Frontali portrayed Ford, and he is a classic Italian baritone – just what the doctor ordered, for this role. Mr. Frontali’s “E sogno? O realta?” was utterly compelling. Matthew Polenzani was Fenton, in youthful, unforced voice, as always. In the above re view, I spoke of the almost unseemly ease with which Diana Damrau sings; Mr. Polenzani is another of those effortless ones. Jean-Paul Fouchecourt was smart and deft as Bardolfo. Just as appropriate was the Pistola of Mikhail Petrenko – no relation to the conductor of “Ariadne,” presumably!
I have never been one to exalt “Falstaff,” as others do, but Friday night made me reassess: James Levine revealed the genius of this work, which its librettist, Arrigo Boito, famously described as “an immense outburst of hilarity,” and “dazzling.”
Regular readers know that one of my pet themes is that no one recognizes a golden age while we are in one. Musical people, and opera goers in particular, are smitten with nostalgia. Years from now, people will say, “Can you imagine being at the Met for ‘Falstaff,’ when Levine was in the pit, and Falstaff was Terfel, with Stephanie Blythe, Pat Racette, and all those others?” In fact, they will say the same thing about the current “Ariadne.” Don’t be a sad and shielded nostalgist. Seek out the greatness of today, if you can get a ticket.