Lise Lindstrom and Marcelo Alvarez. I know! I should feel as if I only moments ago fully readjusted to life in the day-to-day after a visit to a parallel dimension (one of the more un- Kafka/King/Koontz type, you know...), but I very much regret what I'm about to write, the way you regret staying out and partying in a crowd of germ bombs and virus walkers, wishing you'd have stayed at home where you're safe with your vitamin D and Lysol spray. Sure, you can't deny you had a little fun, just a little between trips to the soda and pizza counter, but the taste in your mouth that you woke up with just a few minutes ago... Where the hey is the mouthwash and Dayquil? You just want your regular life back! The words that have been floating around in my mind since last night's broadcast of the Metropolitan Opera's "Turandot" ended are things I wish a few cups of mint- flavored isopropyl could take care of.
Starting in the Pit
"Turandot" is one of those operas in which the orchestration and vocal writing are almost equally colorful and almost equally important to an ideal performance. In addition, Giacomo Puccini didn't design this work to be very much like his others, but started it with something, as he said it, "un-Puccinian" in mind. Sure, the little maidservant, Liu, who loves loyally throughout the story and stabs herself in the end, is on the more traditional side, but almost nothing else about the music is, as it circles around a menace. Paolo Carignani, usually somewhat dynamic, didn't show up with the ceremonial golden claws and dagger and black robes every conductor of the work should. He came in cotton. No majesty. No metal. No sharp edges. Just a huge sign bearing a picture of Mimi in all her holes-in-the-scarf-and-skirt glory with a diadem sitting lopsided on her head. I think, I hope it's just a case of home stereo speaker listening vs. in- person listening. The Met audience seemed pretty ecstatic almost all four hours of their stay.
The Triangle
So, Puccini didn't throw out his entire homemade mold before putting pen to score. One of the big themes of "Turandot" is love, though the dating game the three primary characters play has only a gong in common with a speed- dating session. Liu, Calaf, and Turandot, herself, each stand at one point of a plane figure, hoarding sound space like a speed metal growler with a bullhorn. At least, that's the impression Puccini seems to have given the incredible talents, Lise Lindstrom, Marcelo Alvarez, and Leah Crocetto. These are not dim stars in the opera world's night sky, yet I can't help but wonder if a black hole didn't form between them all sometime during warm-ups, into which their halos of legato seem to have disappeared, walling up the psychological space between themselves and Carignani's cuddly podium. That word, legato, has been used in reference to every one of them many times by the critics whose days, weeks, and years they've made, and I, myself, have heard them weave shiny silken threads between notes on more than a few occasions. This time, they brought scissors. Granted, their voices filled the hall completely, even put a shoe down on the orchestra a few times, but I wonder if they entirely knew what they swapped out for size. It's hard to get a genuine operatic note out, I know, and singing an entire aria straight through is wayyyyy harder, but the pros have all been trained to sing for two hours or more properly, trained to make their music sound much easier on them than it actually is. As I listened to A., L., and C. almost coughing out every note, I worried that the next would be the one that popped a hole in one of their throats. Alvarez jumped on and around the "Nessun Dorma" without mercy. Soft notes only came to Crocetto right before Liu's dying breath. Lindstrom definitely brought out the tenacious (bloody is probably more than a tiny bit more appropriate...) side of Turandot, but didn't sing much more than she hollered, pushing every word of the libretto harder and harder until, at the finale, she seemed to have already spent everything she had. I genuinely hope that none of these artists are feeling too much of the weight of their schedules in their chests or sinuses? The bass, James Morris, sounded afflicted in just such a way.
It's All Weird and Complicated
This is definitely a roaring opera. However, it is, indeed, an opera. It's a story put to music, and that's my sole reason for writing all the words above that I wish I didn't have to. Furthermore, it's a pretty strange story in which villains abound and the heroes are only three, though one of them has such a taste in women that makes us wonder two things: if he has something twisted up in his princely noggin (Yes, he's a prince... That's no reason to start drawing conclusions nowadays, though, is it? Anyone here seen "The Other Boleyn Girl?" Royals and romance... I'm not seeing any factual basis here!) or if he sees something unsee-able in his bride-to-be that should earn him our sympathy. After all, the lady of his life is Turandot, princess of China, who has no tolerance for testosterone, especially not that of royalty. A killer doesn't usually have sunshine in her backstory, and Turandot has become an advocate of sorts for noblewomen everywhere (Sweet, isn't she?), after learning of the gruesome fate her great, great, great, great, great (or some other) grandmother suffered many years ago at the hands of belligerent boys in royal robes. Riddles are Turandot's specialty now, or, better, chopping off the heads of the guys who get them wrong. Hey, Snow White has to get the tension out of her neck somehow... Calaf is a prince from a kingdom that has since been destroyed by Turandot's father, and he's come with big ideas for revenge. Unfortunately, after he watches a Persian elite get his Princess T. treatment and flies into a rage, striking the gong that anounces his intentions to challenge the woman, he sees her. Yup. She's stunning. Yup. He falls head-over-rocker. It's opera... This is bad news for Liu, a servant who follows Timur, Calaf's father, around. She's loves Calaf, and she goes to death for him after he answers every riddle correctly, is engaged to Turandot (By law she must marry the man who answers them all... It goes something like the bit about the three chests in Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice," only kind of backwards...) but, after watching his woman in gold throw a fit at her father's feet, has agreed to die if the princess can get his name before dawn. If she can't, she will have her bond (You all saw that coming and you know it!). Then comes the fame-fame-famous "Nessun Dorma" (No Man Shall Sleep), once Turandot has issued an order that no man shall sleep until his name becomes known, unless everyone who attended court the day he arrived wants to die (I'm sure that with her as a princess and an Emperor who never tells her, "no," some of them could go either way, but...). Calaf is overheard in conversation with Timur, who calls him by his name, and the two, with Liu, are hauled in to Turandot, who does everything she can to get the name out of the girl. Liu becomes afraid that she'll give Calaf away if tortured, so she puts a knife in her own chest instead. As Puccini, himself, said, when considering whether he should add her death to the story, "Why not?" Calaf flies into another rage and, knowing Turandot is actually afraid of loving and being loved, lays an intense kiss on her. The proverbial ice is broken and (Plot twist!) a happy ending ensues. Yeah, the head- rolling brat really gets hers.
As I've tried to say, the range of emotions and personality changes and developments in the music and story of the opera is pretty wide. I could certainly have wished for a more insightful performance than the one I got yesterday, but I can't say that the voices weren't big. I can, however, hope the next Metropolitan Opera performance is more carefully built. Thanks for reading, my friends, and I happy opera loving!
Starting in the Pit
"Turandot" is one of those operas in which the orchestration and vocal writing are almost equally colorful and almost equally important to an ideal performance. In addition, Giacomo Puccini didn't design this work to be very much like his others, but started it with something, as he said it, "un-Puccinian" in mind. Sure, the little maidservant, Liu, who loves loyally throughout the story and stabs herself in the end, is on the more traditional side, but almost nothing else about the music is, as it circles around a menace. Paolo Carignani, usually somewhat dynamic, didn't show up with the ceremonial golden claws and dagger and black robes every conductor of the work should. He came in cotton. No majesty. No metal. No sharp edges. Just a huge sign bearing a picture of Mimi in all her holes-in-the-scarf-and-skirt glory with a diadem sitting lopsided on her head. I think, I hope it's just a case of home stereo speaker listening vs. in- person listening. The Met audience seemed pretty ecstatic almost all four hours of their stay.
The Triangle
So, Puccini didn't throw out his entire homemade mold before putting pen to score. One of the big themes of "Turandot" is love, though the dating game the three primary characters play has only a gong in common with a speed- dating session. Liu, Calaf, and Turandot, herself, each stand at one point of a plane figure, hoarding sound space like a speed metal growler with a bullhorn. At least, that's the impression Puccini seems to have given the incredible talents, Lise Lindstrom, Marcelo Alvarez, and Leah Crocetto. These are not dim stars in the opera world's night sky, yet I can't help but wonder if a black hole didn't form between them all sometime during warm-ups, into which their halos of legato seem to have disappeared, walling up the psychological space between themselves and Carignani's cuddly podium. That word, legato, has been used in reference to every one of them many times by the critics whose days, weeks, and years they've made, and I, myself, have heard them weave shiny silken threads between notes on more than a few occasions. This time, they brought scissors. Granted, their voices filled the hall completely, even put a shoe down on the orchestra a few times, but I wonder if they entirely knew what they swapped out for size. It's hard to get a genuine operatic note out, I know, and singing an entire aria straight through is wayyyyy harder, but the pros have all been trained to sing for two hours or more properly, trained to make their music sound much easier on them than it actually is. As I listened to A., L., and C. almost coughing out every note, I worried that the next would be the one that popped a hole in one of their throats. Alvarez jumped on and around the "Nessun Dorma" without mercy. Soft notes only came to Crocetto right before Liu's dying breath. Lindstrom definitely brought out the tenacious (bloody is probably more than a tiny bit more appropriate...) side of Turandot, but didn't sing much more than she hollered, pushing every word of the libretto harder and harder until, at the finale, she seemed to have already spent everything she had. I genuinely hope that none of these artists are feeling too much of the weight of their schedules in their chests or sinuses? The bass, James Morris, sounded afflicted in just such a way.
It's All Weird and Complicated
This is definitely a roaring opera. However, it is, indeed, an opera. It's a story put to music, and that's my sole reason for writing all the words above that I wish I didn't have to. Furthermore, it's a pretty strange story in which villains abound and the heroes are only three, though one of them has such a taste in women that makes us wonder two things: if he has something twisted up in his princely noggin (Yes, he's a prince... That's no reason to start drawing conclusions nowadays, though, is it? Anyone here seen "The Other Boleyn Girl?" Royals and romance... I'm not seeing any factual basis here!) or if he sees something unsee-able in his bride-to-be that should earn him our sympathy. After all, the lady of his life is Turandot, princess of China, who has no tolerance for testosterone, especially not that of royalty. A killer doesn't usually have sunshine in her backstory, and Turandot has become an advocate of sorts for noblewomen everywhere (Sweet, isn't she?), after learning of the gruesome fate her great, great, great, great, great (or some other) grandmother suffered many years ago at the hands of belligerent boys in royal robes. Riddles are Turandot's specialty now, or, better, chopping off the heads of the guys who get them wrong. Hey, Snow White has to get the tension out of her neck somehow... Calaf is a prince from a kingdom that has since been destroyed by Turandot's father, and he's come with big ideas for revenge. Unfortunately, after he watches a Persian elite get his Princess T. treatment and flies into a rage, striking the gong that anounces his intentions to challenge the woman, he sees her. Yup. She's stunning. Yup. He falls head-over-rocker. It's opera... This is bad news for Liu, a servant who follows Timur, Calaf's father, around. She's loves Calaf, and she goes to death for him after he answers every riddle correctly, is engaged to Turandot (By law she must marry the man who answers them all... It goes something like the bit about the three chests in Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice," only kind of backwards...) but, after watching his woman in gold throw a fit at her father's feet, has agreed to die if the princess can get his name before dawn. If she can't, she will have her bond (You all saw that coming and you know it!). Then comes the fame-fame-famous "Nessun Dorma" (No Man Shall Sleep), once Turandot has issued an order that no man shall sleep until his name becomes known, unless everyone who attended court the day he arrived wants to die (I'm sure that with her as a princess and an Emperor who never tells her, "no," some of them could go either way, but...). Calaf is overheard in conversation with Timur, who calls him by his name, and the two, with Liu, are hauled in to Turandot, who does everything she can to get the name out of the girl. Liu becomes afraid that she'll give Calaf away if tortured, so she puts a knife in her own chest instead. As Puccini, himself, said, when considering whether he should add her death to the story, "Why not?" Calaf flies into another rage and, knowing Turandot is actually afraid of loving and being loved, lays an intense kiss on her. The proverbial ice is broken and (Plot twist!) a happy ending ensues. Yeah, the head- rolling brat really gets hers.
As I've tried to say, the range of emotions and personality changes and developments in the music and story of the opera is pretty wide. I could certainly have wished for a more insightful performance than the one I got yesterday, but I can't say that the voices weren't big. I can, however, hope the next Metropolitan Opera performance is more carefully built. Thanks for reading, my friends, and I happy opera loving!
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