Welcome to the 21st Century

Eurydice (Erin Morley) in the Underworld

The Metropolitan Opera has finally turned a new leaf. This season the Met is featuring not one but three contemporary operas: “Fire Shut Up in My Bones,” Eurydice” and “Hamlet.” Fortunately Music Director Yannick Nézet-Séguin, unlike his predecessor James Levine, champions new music, so we can look forward to more of the same in seasons to come.

Last Saturday I attended a performance of “Eurydice,” with music by Matthew Aucoin and libretto by Sarah Ruhl based on her play of the same title. While there have been many retellings of the Orpheus myth in literature, drama, opera and ballet, this work has a special slant—we view the story through Eurydice’s eyes, and her tie to the Underworld ultimately proves stronger than that to her husband. Although I have some reservations about the music, there’s no doubt this opera benefits greatly from an excellent production directed by Mary Zimmerman, and above all, a superlative cast of singers headed by Erin Morley in the title role, Joshua Hopkins as Orpheus, Jakob Józef Orlinski as his double, Nathan Berg as Eurydice’s father and Barry Banks as a marvelously malevolent Hades.

One problem is apparent from the outset—Aucoin employs a large orchestra which results in a very dense sound at times. The unfortunate result is too much bombast in the first few scenes to the extent that key elements are lost in the house. It’s difficult to hear Erin Morley when she’s not above the staff, and the wonderful effect of having the countertenor sound of Orpheus’s double surround the baritone vocal lines is inaudible (It was only when I attended the encore presentation of the HD telecast that I was able to hear these singers in full during the beginning of the opera). While there are some interesting arias and set pieces along the way, especially the wedding dance and Eurydice’s scenes with Hades, it isn’t until the third act that music and libretto coalesce. The orchestration is more transparent, the music becomes more lyrical, we finally hear Orpheus’s song, Eurydice’s father says farewell to memory and most heartbreakingly, Eurydice writes a letter to Orpheus with advice to his next wife in the most touching aria of the opera. I would have liked more of this contemplative style earlier in the work.

Will Liverman as Charles in “Fire Shut Up in My Bones”

A world away from “Eurydice” (literally), Terrence Blanchard’s “Fire Shut Up in My Bones,” which opened the Met’s current season. has received much critical acclaim and rightly so. With a libretto by Kasi Lemmons based on Charles Blow’s memoir of the same title, the work is a cohesive whole, gaining in strength throughout and culminating in an absolutely perfect third act. Along the way there’s so much to admire: the embodiment of Loneliness singing with a blues-y tinge (nothing beats a good musical pun); the gorgeous ballet music that opens the second act; yes, the show-stopping step dance routine that opens the third act; the lyrical love duet of Charles and Greta, his college girlfriend; and the culmination of Charles’s journey with the line “Mama, I’ve got something to tell you,” as he finally opens up about the molestation he suffered at the age of seven by his cousin. As with “Eurydice,” Yannick Nézet-Séguin led the opera, and the singers, Will Liverman (Charles), Walter Russell III (Char’es-Baby), Angel Blue (Destiny,/Loneliness/Greta) and Latonia Moore (Charles’s mother, Billie) could not have been better (I would gladly listen to Ms. Moore sing the phone book, but I’d much rather hear her in “Il Trovatore.” Peter Gelb, you listening?)

Brett Dean’s “Hamlet” is still to come, and we can look forward to the presentation of another Terence Blanchard opera, “Champion,” during the next Met season. The good news is that audiences are responding—several performances of “Fire Shut Up in My Bones” sold out, including the one I attended, and more opera goers were in the house for “Eurydice” than at the performance of “Boris Godunov” I saw in October. Let’s hope the interest continues.

Master Singer

The Metropolitan Opera’s online pay-per-view series, “Met Stars Live in Concert,” has been a boon during COVID-19 times. This past Saturday it was Joyce DiDonato’s turn, live from the Jahrhunderthalle in Bochum, Germany. I’ve been a fan of hers for years, and aside from her artistry, I appreciate her advocacy for arts education and especially her generosity in streaming an impromptu performance of Werther excerpts with Piotr Beczala from her living room during the early days of the pandemic shutdown. I had been looking forward to seeing the two of them perform this opera at the Met at the end of March, but hearing them in fabulous voice via streaming went a long way toward curing the disappointment of missing what would have been perfect casting.

So let’s turn to Saturday’s event. In all honesty I may run out of superlatives before the end of this blog post.

Accompanied by Carrie-Ann Matheson, pianist, a wonderfully sensitive musical partner, and members of Il Pomo D’Oro, a baroque ensemble with whom she frequently appears, Ms. DiDonato’s performance was less of a recital than a dramatic presentation. Focusing on themes of loss, joy in nature and love, the three sections of the program, titled “I Dream a World,”proved that the intelligence displayed in the selection of music amply matched the brilliance of performance.

I was somewhat surprised that Ms. DiDonato began with back-to-back farewell arias from Monteverdi and Berlioz operas. Usually a recital leads off with something upbeat, but these selections, especially Didon’s final scene from Les Troyens, rested entirely at the mournful end of the spectrum. However, her uncommonly bright sound certainly displayed the piece in its best light. These arias were an excellent prelude to what followed: “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” (“I am lost to the world”), the last song in Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder cycle, one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. That Joyce, in her hushed delivery, did it justice is an understatement.

A lovely a capella rendition of the traditional “Oh Shenandoah” opened the next portion of the program. I especially enjoyed her insertion of a musical turn in the last chorus, highly reminiscent of Irish folk music (If I remember Robert McNeil’s “The Story of English” correctly, this is accurate, given the origins of the Appalachian settlers).  The DiDonato touch was wonderfully in evidence for “Dopo notte atra e funesta,” a showstopper of an aria from Handel’s Ariodante in which she was accompanied by members of Il Pomo D’Oro. Prior to this recital I had heard her sing this aria on disk and in a live concert performance of the opera, yet each time the set of vocal embellishments was more complex. And it was so much fun to see her and the instrumentalists bopping along to the syncopation of the music.

The last section of the program opened with the world premiere of a new work, Kenyatta Hughes’ “I Dream a World,” with text by Langston Hughes (no relation), which gave its title to this recital. I enjoyed the reflective nature of the music—it underscored the powerful language and emotion of the poem to a fine degree. But it was what followed that turned out to be my favorite part of the program: a pairing of “Voi che sapete” from Le Nozze di Figaro and that evocative Edith Piaf chanson, “La vie en rose.” Joyce DiDonato is one of those singers whose pleasure in performing is so evident that she easily carries the audience along with her. You could sense her enjoyment in portraying Cherubino’s befuddlement in the Mozart aria, which she made sound incredibly fresh, as well as indulging in a more sophisticated mode with the French song. It was a welcome surprise that she programmed the latter—it was great to hear her display some jazz chops. Following a heartfelt pitch to her audience to write their elected officials to urge more funding for arts education, Ms. DiDonato then wrapped up with the haunting “Canción al árbol del olvido” by Alberto Ginastera and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from the musical Carousel. So to sum up: Works in five languages spanning five centuries performed by an artist at the peak of her career. It never gets better than this. Thank you, Joyce, and brava!

This performance will be available on demand at metopera.org through September 25. Enjoy.

Confluence

Mabel (Alexandra Socha, seated) Just Came in the Room

This past week I had the happy experience of seeing a performance from each of my current arts subscriptions, one every other day. The result? Two near misses, but ending with one smashing hit.

First up on Friday night was Jerry Herman’s “Mack and Mabel,” as presented by the Encores! series, which revisits musicals that initially flopped (rightly or wrongly) or which haven’t been revived in quite some time. Originally Encores! presented these shows in concert form, but now they’re given fully staged productions with the actors down front and the orchestra at the back of the stage.

Although “Mack and Mabel” ran for only 66 performances in 1974, it’s been kept alive in the years since via a very fine original cast album featuring Robert Preston as Mack Sennett and Bernadette Peters as Mabel Normand. The show’s flop status has been primarily blamed on the book, which in truth is unavoidably depressing, given that Mabel, reputedly a drug user (though not proven), died of tuberculosis at the age of 38. There are other problems, too, namely major departures from reality, such as showing Fatty Arbuckle making movies with Sennett at a time when he was in actuality standing trial for murder, and fingering William Desmond Taylor as Mabel Normand’s drug supplier, which is patently false.

But to me the biggest problem with the show is that Mack Sennett is a very unpleasant character, “I Won’t Send Roses” notwithstanding. It’s obvious that in its original production, the creators, including Michael Stewart who wrote the book, and Gower Champion, who directed it (the same team that brought “Hello, Dolly” to life), relied heavily on Robert Preston’s natural warmth and charm to fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, Douglas Sills, who played Mack in the Encores! presentation, failed to exhibit these traits. He alternately blustered and threw away his lines to the extent that if I caught 40% of what he was saying, it was a lot (and based on what I’ve read online, I wasn’t the only one with this complaint). Mabel’s role is better written, and she gets three terrific numbers: “Look What Happened to Mabel,” “Wherever He Ain’t,” and “Time Heals Everything,” which is even more devastating in the context of the show than I had imagined.

In order for “Mack and Mabel” to succeed, we need to be able to see what she sees in him, and unfortunately the view was of a bully who took her for granted until it was too late. It was eye-opening to see the cast perform “When Mabel Comes in the Room,” and to realize what had been missing from the show up until this point—charm and plain old love. It was a treat to see Mabel do a ballroom turn with each of the crew welcoming her back to the studio, and I wish there had been more of it.

Alexandra Socha was an excellent Mabel, but Lilli Cooper, as Lottie Ames, Sennett’s other leading lady in the role originated by Lisa Kirk, was an absolute knockout. Director/Choreographer Josh Rhodes did a terrific job recreating Sennett’s Bathing Beauties and Keystone Kops, but top marks have to go to Music Director Rob Berman and the Encores! Orchestra for their fabulous performance of the restored orchestrations. Their artistry makes me look forward to the next musical in the series, a true rarity, Kurt Weill’s “Love Life.”

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On Sunday I attended a performance of Beethoven’s Symphonies 6 and 7 by John Eliot Gardiner and Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique, part of Carnegie Hall’s celebration of Beethoven’s 250th birthday. This orchestra performs on original instruments, which presented both pluses and minuses. On the one hand, hearing the strings play with taut bows made for a lovely sonority. Woodwinds were brighter sounding than their modern counterparts, if occasionally hooty, and it was amusing to see a contrabassoon, tall as a chimney, unwound to its full sixteen feet, as well as the length of the uncoiled trumpets.

While the first two movements of each of the symphonies were beautifully rendered, expecially the second movement of the Seventh, Gardiner’s tempos for the scherzos and final movements were far too fast, despite his claim of historical accuracy. Quite honestly I felt sorry for the principal horn who simply could not get her lip around the runs of the third movement of the Pastoral at the speed set by Gardiner (If I’m not mistaken, the principal clarinet also missed a couple of notes). As a former violinist and bassoonist, I have to ask: If the tempo is so fast that the musicians can’t articulate the notes, what good is it?

 

Agrippina (Joyce DiDonato) and Nero (Kate Lindsey): “Your Mother’s Got This”

The absolute winner in this sequence was Tuesday night’s performance of the Metropolitan Opera’s “Agrippina,” which the Met notes is the oldest work (1709) this house has ever performed, though you’d never know it from David McVicar’s incredibly clever production. Handel wrote it when he was 24, and while he’s far from the mature composer of “Ariodante” and “Alcina,” there are fascinating glimpses of what’s to come: Agrippina’s first big aria with its dizzying runs and oboe duet, Ottone’s lament, which closes the first half of this new production, in a string setting that seems to suspend time, and an “at the end of my tether” string-accompanied recitative for Agrippina in the second half that points the way to so many future developments in opera.

Despite the libretto, this is a modern dress production that seems to take its cue from the political skullduggery of “House of Cards,” British and American versions both. The opera covers Agrippina’s machinations resulting in her son Nero’s succeeding Claudius as Emperor (and we all know how well that turned out). Although it’s the same ground covered by the book and TV show “I Claudius,” the scheming is never boring, considering that mezzo Joyce DiDonato is onstage as Agrippina, having the time of her life. I can’t remember when I last saw an opera where all the singers were so consistently excellent, all the way down to baritone Duncan Rock and countertenor Nicholas Tamagna, who play Agrippina’s unfortunate pawns.

Although countertenor Iestyn Davies as the put-upon Ottone and bass Matthew Rose as the not-too-bright Claudius are wonderful, this production is definitely Ladies’ Day. There’s not one moment of boredom, whether it’s Joyce DiDonato, shimmying across the stage while thinking up her latest scheme, or soprano Brenda Rae as Poppea, who proves smarter than Agrippina but who’s funniest when drunk in the bar scene that begins the second half, or Kate Lindsey, mistress of physical comedy, as that bad boy Nero, who’s probably the most fun to watch. She’s got that spoiled teenager thing down so well you half expect Joyce DiDonato to bring her stage son up short with “Ya rotten kid, ya.” In addition to the pouts, Ms. Lindsey illustrates Nero’s whiny petulance by singing certain phrases in straight tone, and it’s a marvel to hear her alternate between this and her normally rich mezzo.

Conductor Harry Bicket does his usual fine work with baroque opera here. There’s also a special guest appearance by the superb Bradley Brookshire who serves as the cocktail pianist harpsichordist during the bar scene. And while we’re on that subject, kudos to choreographer Andrew George for his clever work, not only with the dancing bar patrons, but also with the soldiers, whether marching or gyrating to the strains of Handel.

“Agrippina” will be shown in movie theaters on Saturday, February 29, as part of the Met’s Live in HD series. Don’t miss it.

The Sound of Broadway–Reprise

Ah. Broadway! It’s been a while since I did a round-up of some favorite cast albums, so a sequel is definitely in order. All of these have taken up residence in my MP3 player, as they’re well worth the listen.

The New York City Center’s “Encores!” series has rescued a number of musicals which have fallen into obscurity, closed prematurely due to plain bad luck or are just ripe for revival. “Encores!” productions, all of very limited runs, were initially semi-staged, but later blossomed into more elaborate performances. Some have transferred to Broadway: the current production of “Chicago” that’s been running for the last 20 years began as an “Encores!” presentation, and many fine recordings have resulted from the work of this series.

The latest is an absolute gem that memorializes the revival of Lerner and Loewe’s “Brigadoon,” that starred Patrick Wilson and Kelli O’Hara. Before this I had never really been a fan of the show, which relies on the fairy-tale premise of a magical village that avoids the strife of the world by appearing for only one day each century. It has some lovely songs: “Come To Me, Bend To Me,” “The Heather on the Hill,” and especially “Almost Like Being In Love,” the musical’s hit tune. A number of years ago John McGlinn, the conductor responsible for the classic recording of “Show Boat,” recorded “Brigadoon” with Brent Barrett and Rebecca Luker. Much as I admire these performers, I wasn’t impressed. The tempos were slower than they should have been, and the approach taken was too sunny bright, even though there’s a darker side to the story. It seemed like a first tentative reading of the score. I listened to it once and put it away.

The new “Encores!” recording, which was only released a few months ago, is another matter entirely. It’s wonderfully alive. There’s an urgency to the performance—the chorus of villagers in “Down on MacConnachy Square” is brisk and beautifully sung. Kelli O’Hara is such a natural for Fiona that it’s almost ridiculous. Listening to this recording, I was struck by how high her music lies—I believe only Cunegonde in Leonard Bernstein’s “Candide” sits higher. But it’s Patrick Wilson who makes the difference in this recording. Whether in song or dialogue, he presents as a true believer in the magic of Brigadoon, which in turn makes true believers of us. These two performers, along with a vibrant Stephanie J. Block as Meg , Ross Lekites as Charlie, and the rest, seem to have had a wonderful time playing this show, as you can see here. My recommendation: Buy it before it goes out of print or otherwise disappears.

Moving from the introverted to the extroverted (to say the least), perhaps the best represented Broadway show on disk is “Gypsy,” with music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and an exceptionally strong book by Arthur Laurents.  The gifts this show provides are endless: that classic overture during which the audience always loses it when the strip music begins; a female starring role that’s generally acknowledged to be the Mount Everest of musical roles; and the strippers’ “You Gotta Have a Gimmick” perhaps the best showstopper in Broadway history, among other charms. The musical runs an emotional gamut ranging from show business love letter to wrenching self-confession. Louise, aka Gypsy Rose Lee, isn’t the only one who strips; her mother Rose peels away many emotional layers to admit a core desire: “Someone tell me when is it my turn?”

The original cast album with Ethel Merman is of course the blueprint of performance, presenting the creators’ original intentions. It’s been followed by a number of worthy Roses: Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly, Bette Midler, Bernadette Peters, Patti LuPone, Imelda Staunton, all of whose performances are available on CD or through streaming services. Each of their recordings is interesting, all valid in one particular or another. I saw Bernadette Peters perform the role onstage (twice) and Bette Midler in the made for TV version, though after listening to the Tyne Daly recording, I really wish I had seen her on stage.

Which recording do I prefer? Your mileage may vary, but my vote goes to  Bernadette, not just because I’m a fan. This seems to contain every note of music in the show, with if not the original orchestrations, some accurate facsimiles. I like her approach to the role–she charms more, shouts less, though there’s some steel there. She’s partnered by John Dossett as Herbie, and refreshingly, the man can really sing. The other recorded Herbies are funny and cute when they can’t carry a tune, but it makes a big difference when there’s a Herbie who can be Rose’s musical foil. And we finally get to hear in their entirety the four strip acts Louise performs on her way to becoming a Minsky’s headliner (This was a wonder to see in the theater—there must have been an army of dressers on each side of the stage to facilitate each costume change). Beginning as a scared to death newbie, she audibly grows in confidence and delight in performing.

The runner-up in the “Gypsy” recording sweepstakes for me is the one with Patti LuPone. I’m not a particular fan of hers, but Laura Benanti is the best Louise on disk. It’s interesting to hear a soprano sing it, plus she plays the comedy exceptionally well—her wickedly accurate imitation of Patti LuPone during one of her strips is worth the price of the recording. Whichever one you favor, enjoy the score of one of the greatest musicals ever written.

One of the funniest shows I’ve ever seen is “The Prom,” now running on Broadway. The story begins with four narcissistic Broadway actors in need of some good publicity who come to the aid of a gay Indiana teenager. The problem? Her desire to take her girlfriend to their prom has resulted in the event’s cancellation by the town’s powers that be. The results are hilarious but with an underlying sweetness that makes the audience cheer. And yes, there’s a prom for all at the end where girl gets girl.

The original cast album is an excellent representation of the work of composer Matthew Sklar and Chad Beguelin, author of the exceptionally witty lyrics. When I first heard the score I thought it a bit generic, but subsequent listening reveals the frequent references to other Broadway shows, in the same fashion the lyrics allude to these other musicals. Broadway diva Dee Dee’s song, “It’s Not About Me” has the rhythmic pulse of “America” from “West Side Story,” and the ending of Emma’s ballad, “Unruly Heart,” is reminiscent of “One Boy” from “Bye Bye Birdie,” as if to say straight or gay, a teenager is still a teenager. Taking the cake, though, is “Zazz,” a Kander & Ebb/Bob Fosse send-up sung by Angie, a girl who’s been in the chorus of a “Chicago” touring company for twenty years, who instructs Emma in the art of strutting her stuff.

“The Prom” cast album presents many other rewards: Christopher Siebert’s ringing tenor in “Love Thy Neighbor,” as he demonstrates that cherry-picking the Bible is not a good idea; Brooks Ashmanskas’ “Barry’s Going to the Prom,” as he finally has the opportunity to make up for what he missed out on as a gay teenager; and Caitlin Kinnunen and Isabelle McCalla as Emma and Alyssa, who share the same vocal range and sing in tight harmony, the universal signal that they’re meant to be together. And because this is a show about a prom, the dance music is a great way to get your blood flowing in the morning if you’re slow to wake up. Here’s a taste, which juxtaposes the recording of the prom-posal scene with scenes from the show.

There’s nothing like a Broadway show, is there?

Marnie

Marnie (Isabel Leonard) and her Shadows (Copyright Metropolitan Opera)

Luckily Alfred Hitchcock did not have the last word. In its new, operatic form, “Marnie” is an interesting work, not necessarily in spite of its flaws but perhaps because of them. Composed by Nico Muhly with a libretto by Nicholas Wright, the opera ended its run at the Metropolitan Opera last Saturday with a live HD transmission. Prior to that I was fortunate to see it in the house.

For better or worse, what consistently drives “Marnie” is the drama. The problem? What works best on the page doesn’t necessarily work all that well on the stage. The basis of both the opera and the Alfred Hitchcock film of the same title is a 1961 novel by Winston Graham, author of the “Poldark” series. Narrated by the title character, “Marnie” is the story of a thief who steals from her employers and continually changes her identity to conceal her crimes. She’s caught in the act by Mark Rutland, head of his family’s publishing firm who’s obsessed with her. He essentially blackmails her into marriage though she has an absolute horror of sex. Her refusal to sleep with him culminates in what is now legally known as marital rape. Despite this (or perhaps because of it), Mark continually protects Marnie as her past begins to catch up with her.

To say this is not your usual operatic subject is an understatement.

In resetting the work to 1958, the opera’s creative team made some alterations to the story, both major and minor. I think it was a mistake to make Mark’s mother something of a villain—I missed the cordial relationship Marnie has with her in the book, as well as her friendship with several of Mark’s tenants, all of which serve to present a warmer side of the character. Further, the original Terry is Mark’s cousin, not his brother as he is in the opera, and the corporate in-fighting between them plays a far larger and more bitter role in the novel. It’s Mark, not his mother, who’s behind a buy-out and later a sale of the company, thus triggering Terry, who knows full well of Mark’s obsession with Marnie, to retaliate by reporting her to the police. Most importantly, though, in a nod to more enlightened sensibilities, the creative team has turned Mark’s rape of Marnie into an attempt rather than a completed act, which is immediately followed by a stunning visual (in silhouette) of her suicide attempt. While this change was certainly welcome, I thought the operatic team should have picked up on Graham’s strong hint that Marnie had been sexually abused as a child by at least one of her mother’s “customers” during the latter’s time as a prostitute.

“Marnie” proves that Nico Muhly has grown enormously as an opera composer since “Two Boys.” He’s writing more closely to character now, and the music becomes more lyrical as the opera unfolds, especially in the second act. Muhly is celebrated for his choral writing, but perhaps we have too much of a good thing here. The first act chorus of office workers commenting on the storm and stress of Marnie’s life is somewhat excessive, and goes beyond just covering one of her fifteen (!) costume changes. On the other hand, his writing for the chorus at the country club dinner, and particularly at the hunt and at Marnie’s mother’s graveside, is spot on. Best of all are the Shadow Marnies, the four singers who frequently accompany her and illustrate her state of mind. Muhly directs them to sing in vibrato-less fashion, which results in an eerie sound perfectly suited to a psychological thriller. It’s an updated version of the theremin soundtrack used so often in 1940’s movies to underscore disturbed characters (See “Spellbound” and “The Lost Weekend”). The Shadow Marnies’ list of her many aliases in the opera’s final scene is particularly chilling, and they provide a great visual, especially during Marnie’s sessions with a psychiatrist, as they literally take turns on the couch.

Even the critics who panned the opera have applauded the production, and rightly so. Designed by Julian Crouch and directed by Michael Meyer, creator of the Met’s Las Vegas “Rigoletto,” this is the best I’ve seen at the Met since Robert Carsen’s “Der Rosenkavalier” of two seasons ago. Some choices seemed odd at first, especially the appearance of several male dancers in gray suits and fedoras during Marnie’s first theft—I thought they were plainclothes detectives. However, they’re put to excellent use during the hunt scene as they embody the tumult that ends in Marnie’s destroying her injured horse, Forio. Speaking of gray suits, the 1950’s costumes, designed by Arianne Phillips, were classic, and stylishly worn by both principals and choristers. What a welcome sight to see such a unified vision on stage.

The cast couldn’t have been better. Muhly wrote the opera with Isabel Leonard in mind, and the role suits her to a T, both vocally and dramatically—plus she looked fantastic in her ’50’s wardrobe (all fifteen outfits). Christopher Maltman brought some gravitas to the obsessed Mark; his besotted gaze at Ms. Leonard when she tied his black tie but continually turned his head away from her, spoke volumes. His diction was superb, to the extent that I didn’t need the titles when he sang. Iestyn Davies was perfect casting for the slippery Terry; Muhly rightly illustrated the character’s observation to Marnie in the novel that “We’re two of a kind” by scoring Terry for countertenor, thus having him share a good portion of her mezzo-soprano vocal range. The supporting cast was likewise excellent, including Janis Kelly as Mark’s mother, and Anthony Dean Griffey (Mr. Strutt) and Denyce Graves, still in terrific voice as Marnie’s mother, both back at the Met after many years.

While I think “Marnie” is a good work, as opposed to a great one, it makes me want to hear more from Nico Muhly. He’s only 37. I’m eager to see what he does next.

The Artistry of Barbara Cook

She had the blessing of two phenomenal careers, both of which remain unparalleled.

I’ve collected Barbara Cook’s recordings for years, and started to delve into them more systematically a number of months ago after I read “Then & Now,” her almost painfully honest memoir. Following her recent passing, I returned to her catalog of work, and once again found myself astonished by her way with a song.

I was fortunate to see her live twice. The first time she performed many of the songs on her “It’s Better With a Band” album, but what remains indelible in my memory is the encore she sang—Jerome Kern’s “Long Ago and Far Away,” without a mike—just that silvery sound with no electronic enhancement whatsoever. The song just floated throughout the hall. I later heard her with the New Jersey Symphony, conducted by Wally Harper, her long-time music director, and most of the material came from her “Disney Album,” which had just been released. Was there ever a more perfect match of singer and song? The most refreshing aspect of her performance was her lack of pretense. I remember her putting on her glasses to read the sheet music during the “Disney” concert (for lyrics–she famously never learned to read music). This carried through in an interview she gave at one point on WQXR, New York’s classical music station. She was asked “How long do you warm up before a performance?” Ms. Cook replied “I don’t warm up. I just hum a few bars to see what I’ve got to work with that night.” And she was also a knowledgeable and opinionated opera fan (Is there any other kind?) whose interviews during Metropolitan Opera broadcast intermissions were a treat.

I have to think being Broadway’s favorite ingenue during the 1950’s and early ’60’s was excellent preparation for her second act as a solo performer. Among her many accomplishments, she created three indelible characters: Cunegonde in Leonard Bernstein’s “Candide,” Marian Paroo in Meredith Wilson’s “The Music Man,” and Amalia in Bock and Harnick’s “She Loves Me.” She also graced revivals of  “The King and I,” “Showboat” and “Carousel,” both as Carrie Pipperidge and later as Julie Jordan (she famously preferred the former). While her performances in all of the these shows have been captured on disk, the one I always return to is “The Music Man.” Is there a more evocative number than “Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You?,” Marian’s duet with the barbershop quartet? The real 1912 was, I’m sure, far removed from the theatrical River City, but listening to that number automatically transports you to a long ago summer night. It’s the way we always wished that era had been.

As great as her Broadway career was, she set an even higher bar as a solo/cabaret artist. What I most liked about her was the emotional level she brought to a song. Nothing drives me up the wall faster than a singer who goes dramatically over the top, pedal to the metal, when the song is not intended to carry such heavy baggage. Singers who consistently resort to that approach don’t trust the material they’re performing, which makes me not trust them. Ms. Cook, on the other hand, knew what a song was saying, and within that context illuminated the composer and lyricist’s intent. Musically she sang what fit her voice, whether it was traditionally a “man’s song” or a “woman’s song;” “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her His Face,” “This Nearly Was Mine” and “The Surrey With the Fringe on Top” were standards in her repertoire, and on “Marianne,” a lovely Jerry Herman number which surprisingly fit her voice like a glove, she didn’t bother to change pronouns, letting the music carry the emotion of the song. Few singers possess the art of illuminating both music and words simultaneously, but Ms. Cook certainly did. Listen to “I’m in Love With a Wonderful Guy” from her “Barbara Cook at the Met” album. She so obviously loved singing it–she relishes the phrase “corny as Kansas as August,” and leans on certain words to build to the eventual climax of the song: “fearlessly,” “loudly,” “flatly” finally, of course, “love.” Her musicianship was superb. I had no idea that Stephen Sondheim’s “Another Hundred People” had such lovely music until I heard her sing it.

She never remained static in her approach, instead revisiting a song to find more within. Case in point: Jerry Herman’s “Time Heals Everything” from his show “Mack and Mabel.” Her first recording of this number, on “Barbara Cook at Carnegie Hall,” presents an almost objective approach, as if she’s trying to give herself a pep talk to overcome the present grief of loss.  A number of years later, on her “Barbara Cook’s Broadway” album, she’s sadder but just as determined to survive the pain. On this recording the song is paired in a medley with a beautiful rendition of Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do?” in which her ability to sing legato—the smooth transition from note to note—is on full display. She could go the dramatic route—she makes her voice break twice in an even later, more pain-driven version of “Time Heals Everything” on her live “The Champion Season” recording—but it really doesn’t suit her. Nevertheless she manages to save that performance with a floated final note so ravishing that a “Lovely!” from a man in the audience is audible.

Fortunately she left a considerable body of work covering the best of the American Song Book. It’s so hard to pick my favorite Barbara Cook recordings, but I’ll try. All of these are currently available:

“Barbara Cook at Carnegie Hall.” Her return to performing after many years away. Although the lady tells the audience “I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be,” you can tell she is at the start, though two songs in, she’s totally relaxed. “Carolina in the Morning,” with its peach of an arrangement, and “Wait Till You See Him” are tremendous.

“It’s Better With a Band.” Here she’s in full command of her resources, with excellent material, and her confidence as an artist is off the charts. “Them There Eyes,” her vocal/kazoo duet with tuba, the medley of Leonard Bernstein songs, especially “I Can Cook Too,”and the aforementioned “Marianne” are highlights. You can see her perform a number of songs from this album in “An Evening With Barbara Cook,” on YouTube.

“Follies.” With all due respect to Dorothy Collins, who originated the role of Sally Plummer, Ms. Cook delivers what may be the definitive version of “Losing My Mind.”

“Oscar Winners,” consisting entirely of songs with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein, on which Ms. Cook sings a stunning “All the Things You Are” and “The Gentleman is a Dope.”

“The Disney Album.” “Lavender Blue” alone is worth the price of the CD, though hearing Barbara Cook in triplicate, courtesy of over-dubbing, on “When I See an Elephant Fly” is an absolute treat. I love songs from the older Disney films, and I only wish she had recorded “Never Smile at a Crocodile.”

“No One is Alone,””Rainbow ‘Round My Shoulder,” “You Make Me Feel So Young,” and “Loverman.” These four recordings date from 2007 to 2012, and though she was pushing 80, she could still sustain a phrase. Her voice maintained its quality, and in fact only became warmer when she lowered the keys in which she sang. If your only acquaintance with “I’m Through With Love,” is hearing Alfalfa sing it in an old “Our Gang” short, you need to hear Ms. Cook’s version on “Rainbow ‘Round My Shoulder,” as well as her superlative rendition of Sondheim’s “I Wish I Could Forget You.” That last song also appears on “No One is Alone,” which features a lovely medley of “Long Before I knew You”/”I Fall in Love Too Easily,” as well as Sondheim’s “One More Kiss.””You Make Me Feel So Young,” from a live 2011 performance, has some great up-tempo numbers on which she clearly has a ball—“Frim Fram Sauce” and “Love is Good For Anything That Ails You,” plus her discourse on how difficult it is to find a good kazoo. “Loverman” contains an arresting a capella version of “House of the Rising Sun.” While her voice by then was not what it once was, what she did have was far more than most singers, and she makes it work.

One last compelling example of Barbara Cook’s way with a song: “For All We Know,” on the “Rainbow ‘Round My Shoulder” album (I had always thought of this as the quintessential World War II song, and was surprised to learn it had been composed in 1934). Accompanied on piano by her then-music director, Lee Musiker, Ms. Cook delivers an indelible performance. It’s easy to go over the top with this number, but she underscores the sentiment with just a touch of sorrow. She tells you volumes, not only about the woman who’s able to face such a parting while keeping it together, but also about the man she’s singing it to, who inspired such emotion.

Two minutes of heaven.

Lingering in the Glow

Party Like It’s 1911: Elina Garança (Octavian) and Renée Fleming (The Marschallin)

If you think the customer is always right, you might have believed the audience members who booed the production team of the new Robert Carsen “Der Rosenkavalier” that premiered at the Metropolitan Opera several weeks ago. But you would have been dead wrong. I saw it last Friday, and it’s a breath of fresh air.

Carsen has tossed aside the powdered wigs and knee breeches and set the opera in the year of its premiere, 1911. His take on this Richard Strauss-Hugo von Hofmannsthal masterpiece is a marvel of detail, so much so that I plan to attend the Live in HD telecast in two weeks just to catch some business I might have missed. It’s spot-on to see the egotistical Italian tenor (a terrific Matthew Polenzani) present the Marschallin with a 78 rpm recording of his latest hit, which he proceeds to autograph for her with a flourish. And in an uproarious Act III, how can anyone be surprised that the band showing up to serenade Ochs and Mariandel is clearly Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopaters from “Some Like It Hot,” complete with sax and bass. (I know that’s the 1920’s, but if Strauss can write an 18th century opera replete with three-quarter time though the waltz wouldn’t be invented until decades later, anachronism becomes the norm). I could go on, but I don’t want to give away all the incidentals that make this production such fun.

As sharply observed as this production is, it wouldn’t have the impact it enjoys without its cast. Much publicity has surrounded Renée Fleming’s final appearances as the Marschallin, and while I can’t say that her voice retains all the luster it once possessed, dramatically speaking she’s grown enormously in the role. Years ago I saw one of her first Marschallins at the Met, and she seemed somewhat intimidated by the part. In Carsen’s production she easily achieves what all good Marschallins must—she holds the audience throughout the levée, her monologue and the following scene with Octavian, and captures the bittersweet ending of Act I perfectly. Yet her final exit in Act III, on the arm of the Feldmarschall’s “brave orderly,” after a not-quite covert glance or two, reminds us that Octavian wasn’t her first lover, and certainly won’t be her last.

(A propos of absolutely nothing, what do Marschallins do when they’re off-stage during Act II and the first half of Act III? Play cards with the stage hands? Take a snooze? Maybe Ms. Fleming will spill the beans during the HD telecast intermission).

Elina Garança is a phenomenal Octavian. She certainly makes a gorgeous guy and her voice is lovely, but the uniqueness of her portrayal rests on her vivid embodiment of the 17 year-old boy he’s supposed to be. The petulance and impetuosity are there, but her Octavian is slightly more deferential to his lover than most, and his departure at the end of Act I is done not so much out of anger as of befuddled sorrow. Garança hints at his growing knowledge that his affair with a married woman really can’t go anywhere, yet she still manages to convince us that his love for Sophie is not just a matter of falling for the first pretty face he sees. She plays the comedy very well—her “Victor/Victoria” in Act III (the trick of a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman) is flawless.

Waltzing Away Act II: Ochs (Günther Groissböck) and Annina (Helene Schneiderman)

Because Baron Ochs is usually played as a fat fool, you tend to forget that Strauss and von Hoffmannsthal had something else in mind. Günther Groissböck portrays him as the 35-year old bachelor he was conceived to be, and it’s wonderfully refreshing to see a young, attractive bass in the role. This Ochs may be an idiot over Mariandel, but he’s no fool. His harping on “die Marschallin…Octavian…Mariandel” in Act III poses a real threat, and it’s only when the Marschallin doesn’t flinch that he gives in to her insistence that he depart the field.

Unfortunately the performance I saw was missing the excellent Sophie of Erin Morley, but she’s due to return shortly and will be on hand for the live telecast on May 13 that will also feature Ms. Fleming’s last ever Marschallin as well as Ms. Garança’s final Octavian (she’s headed for the more dramatic flair of Amneris, Santuzza and Dalila).

The score and libretto of “Der Rosenkavalier” are among the finest in the literature. But Robert Carsen’s production also reminds us what superb theater this work can (and should) always be. Bravo!

________________________________

It was a double-header weekend for me. Yesterday I attended a concert performance of Handel’s “Ariodante” at Carnegie Hall that was simulcast on Medici TV. The entire opera will be viewable on the Carnegie Hall website for the next 90 days, and if you’d like to hear what perfection sounds like, cue the webcast at 1:10:30 for Joyce DiDonato’s “Scherza infida,” accompanied by Harry Bicket and The English Concert. Time stands still.

The Sound of Broadway

Two recent events have once again proven there are few performances more iconic than those given in Broadway musicals. The death of John McMartin, an actor who graced the original Broadway productions of “Sweet Charity” and the landmark”Follies,” reminded me that the original cast albums of these shows are among my favorite listening experiences. And the sheer joy and exuberance that Zachary Levy brings to the recording of the recent “She Loves Me” revival are the perfect antidote to a down-in-the-dumps day.

Whether on 10-inch shellac 78 rpm disks, vinyl, cassette tape or CD, the original cast album has always served a dual purpose: as advertising for the show and its score and as souvenir for those lucky enough to have seen it on Broadway or on tour. But before we go any further, let’s get one of my pet peeves out of the way. A cast album of a theatrical production is not a “soundtrack,” no matter what retailers, web sites and streaming services may tell you. A soundtrack is what you hear when you see a movie; in CD form it’s the music and/or vocal score of a film. And the differences between a cast album and a soundtrack in terms of performers’ energy and the quality of sound involved can be amazing.

I’ve written before about the cast albums of “Parade,” “LoveMusik,” and “A Little Night Music,” but these are by no means my only favorites. One of my most listened-to recordings is of a show I’ve never seen on stage: “Sweet Charity,” which absolutely crackles with its Cy Coleman-Dorothy Fields score; in its original form, it far outstrips the score of the film version starring Shirley MacLaine (surprise, surprise). Had the movie kept “Baby, Dream Your Dream” and the Broadway version of the title song as sung by John McMartin, not to mention the guitars and mariachi of “There’s Gotta Be Something Better Than This,” it might not have been the flop that it was. The sizzle of “Big Spender” (dum dum da-dum dum-dum) and the contrapuntal chorus in “The Rhythm of Life” are just icing on the cake. I can’t leave “Sweet Charity,” though, without singling out Gwen Verdon as one of the best in the original cast album universe. I only saw her on stage once, in the original production of “Chicago,” but the albums of her shows are among the most energetic and fun to hear.

Another Cy Coleman score, “Little Me,” is another great listen. Among its assets is an absolute knock-out performance by Swen Swenson of “I’ve Got Your Number” with the sexiest come-on baritone imaginable. For this show Mr. Coleman’s lyricist was Carolyn Leigh; one of the choruses of “Real Live Girl,” sung by World War I doughboys, never fails to make me smile in its fashion accuracy:

Girls were like fellas was once my belief
What a reversal and what a relief
I’ll take the flowering hat and the towering heel
And the squeal
Of a real live girl.

The late Mr. McMartin was Ben Stone in the legendary original production of “Follies.” It’s one of the biggest cheats in the history of Broadway musicals that Capitol Records, which produced the cast album, couldn’t or wouldn’t release it on two disks. Suffice it to say there’s a ton of missing Sondheim; verses, choruses, reprises and entire numbers vanished. Nevertheless, despite its truncated state this album is still a keeper. Every original cast recording is a direct expression of the composer’s and lyricist’s intentions—straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak (This is perfectly apparent in D.A. Pennebaker’s classic documentary of the recording of the “Company” cast album). Given the fall and rise of “Follies” since its 1971 premiere, not to mention the various revisions to the show during these years, it’s always fun to return to the blueprint.

However, I’m equally fascinated by the songs written for “Follies” that never made it to opening night. Although they’ve popped up on various recordings of lost show tunes and in reviews based on Sondheim scores, you can hear all of them sung in character on the recording of the Paper Mill Playhouse production that set the bar for all “Follies” revivals. Donna McKechnie and Tony Roberts may not totally measure up vocally as Sally and Buddy, but Dee Hoty and Lawrence Guittard certainly do as Phyllis and Ben. This two-disk version of “Follies” contains every song ever written for the show, among which are some of Sondheim’s finest work. You’ll wonder why these songs were cut, especially “Bring on the Girls,” which, with its emphatically descending bass line, is a perfect accompaniment to show girls making their entrance (In his book “Finishing the Hat,” Sondheim admits that he should never have replaced it with “Beautiful Girls”). However, the cut song that remains in memory the longest is the original version of the double duet in the “Follies” section of the show, in this instance sung by the younger versions of Ben and Phyllis: “Who Could Be Blue/Little White House.” Its haunting melody and the wistful innocence of its expression are lovely; the contrast with “You’re Gonna Love Tomorrow/Love Will See Us Through” is particularly poignant. By the way, this recording includes all three versions of Phyllis’ “Follies” number: “The Story of Lucy and Jessie,” “Uptown, Downtown,” and “Ah, But Underneath.” For my money, the first of these remains the best; who else but Sondheim would write the line “That’s the sorrowful précis”?

Other cast albums bring standout moments: Kelli O’Hara’s successive astonishment, wonderment and delight as she sings “I’m in love!” at the climax of “A Wonderful Guy” in the revival of “South Pacific;” Beth Malone’s desperation, singing “Telephone Wire” in “Fun Home,” as her character so longs for a different past; Ms. O’Hara again, this time with Harry Connick, Jr. and Michael McKean, in the revival of “Pajama Game,” doing a bang-up job on “I’m Not at All in Love” (As a devoted fan of 50’s pop, I love this score).  There’s an entire series of recordings from the revivals produced by the Music Theater of Lincoln Center in the 1960’s; I frequently play the disk of “Kismet” to hear soprano Lee Venora as Marsinah sing a tremendous”Baubles, Bangles and Beads” (and Alfred Drake’s “Olive Tree” ain’t too shabby either).

Which brings me to the recent revival of Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick’s “She Loves Me.” Its excellent recording comes with a substantial bonus: the performance of Zachary Levi as Georg. I saw the show in June (thanks again, Jane!), and while the four principals were well matched, it was Jane Krakowski as Ilona who was just a bit more memorable. On disk, however, it’s Mr. Levi who takes the honors; it’s impossible to hear him sing the show’s title song without grinning from ear to ear. Here’s hoping he comes back to Broadway to do another musical soon.

And your favorites are?

All in a Weekend

Bill Irwin and David Shiner in “Old Hats”

There are ups and downs to the freelancing life, and one of the latter is sometimes having to work on holidays. While I did so on Presidents’ Day, I still enjoyed fine theater and music throughout the weekend. Unfortunately, though, I ended with the Metropolitan Opera’s latest dead-on-arrival new production, “Manon Lescaut.” In the immortal words of every baseball manager who ever lived, “You can’t win ’em all.”

Fortunately my weekend kickoff was “Old Hats,” a return engagement of the 2013 show starring Bill Irwin and David Shiner. Although I wasn’t previously familiar with David Shiner’s work, I feel like Bill Irwin and I go way back. I remember him as the mime Enrico Ballati on “Northern Exposure,” and was fortunate to see his Tony-winning performance as George in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” opposite Kathleen Turner (the corrosive look those two exchanged after his “get the guests” game will remain with me forever).

“Old Hats” predictably begins with Irwin and Shiner one-upping each other in a hat routine; what follows is one cleverly outlandish sequence after another. What is most striking about the evening’s entertainment is how fresh and spontaneous they made everything seem, even after working together for twenty years. You’d think a routine featuring two politicians engaged in debate would be a yawner, but aside from the timeliness during this election year, how quickly they responded to each other became its own source of delight.

My favorite sequence in “Old Hats” consisted of an act featuring an over-the-hill magician (Shiner) and his blowsy blonde assistant (Irwin in drag). He goes into a disco move every time something goes wrong (which is frequently); she looks daggers at the young female “volunteer” from the audience who’s about to be sawed in half. In short this is a compilation of every bad act that ever appeared on the old Ed Sullivan show, and I could not stop laughing. Equally good is Shiner’s take on silent cowboy movies, featuring a cast recruited from the audience. Whether some or all of these people were plants is immaterial—Shiner’s inventiveness was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.

While Irwin and Shiner are for the most part silent throughout, Shaina Taub and her band who supply the music, songs and occasional sound effects fortunately are not. This is clowning at its finest, and I can’t recommend “Old Hats” highly enough.

Love in Occupied France: “Manon Lescaut”

Had Jonas Kaufmann not cancelled his appearance in the Met’s new production of “Manon Lescaut,” the approach taken by director Richard Eyre might have worked, at least in part. Instead we were left with an ill-conceived staging that did few favors for the spirit of the work. By the end of the opera it seemed apparent that the only heroes of the night were Puccini and conductor Fabio Luisi.

Eyre set this production in Occupied France, ostensibly because he feels “Manon Lescaut” has a noirish tone. Certainly he can’t get this from the music—Act I just pops with youth and springtime. To say it killed the joy to see the stage populated with German soldiers is an understatement. Their presence begged so many questions: How could the crowd at the outdoor cafe get away with taunting them en masse? Why would the Wehrmacht, not the gendarmerie, come to arrest Manon for common theft? Any deportations during World War II would have been to the death camps, not to the swamps of Louisiana envisioned by Puccini, Massenet (composer of the earlier Manon) or even Abbé Prévost, author of the 1731 novel on which both operas are based. While I usually enjoy updated opera—I particularly liked Eyre’s own “Le Nozze di Figaro” set during the “Regle du jeu” 1930’s—the setting has to serve the work and the intentions of the composer and librettist. It did not do so here.

Jonas Kaufmann’s participation would have wall-papered over some of the shortcomings of Eyre’s approach. At least he and Kristine Opalais (Manon) would have had chemistry. Unfortunately with Roberto Alagna as des Grieux, we were stuck with two hard-working professionals who simply didn’t relate to each other. In fact despite the bedroom scene in the second act, there was no discernible heat on stage until Act III, when the lovers’ plight became desperate. I was also bothered by Eyre’s view of Manon. Simply putting Opalais in a Veronica Lake wig and silk negligee does not supply motivation for the character. Mirella Freni was the first Manon Lescaut I ever saw onstage, and though she probably wouldn’t have seen 60 again at that point, she had a firm view of the character that was expressed from within. She let you know in Act II that Manon had her bitchy side, but more than that, the character enjoyed showing it. Opalais could reach that watermark, but in a different production of “Manon Lescaut” that doesn’t saddle her with such a wrong directorial concept.

My advice is to stay home and listen to the radio broadcast on March 5. Fabio Luisi leads a sympathetic reading of the score, the singers tend to the musical side of things in good form and you won’t be distracted by all the nonsense that transpires on stage.

 

Every so often it’s refreshing to leave the standard Italian/French/German vocal repertoire for works from other cultural traditions. Mezzo-soprano Isabel Leonard’s recent album “Preludios” presents some wonderfully ear-catching Spanish song, including de Falla’s “Siete canciones populares españolas” and Montsalvatge’s “Cinco canciónes negras”; her performance of the latter is worth the price of the CD alone.

The Catalonian Xavier Montsalvage composed this cycle in 1946, and its reliance on both Spanish and Cuban styles resulted in the composer’s best-known work. I’ve loved this from first hearing via a Victoria de los Angeles song anthology. Her version had symphonic accompaniment; Miss Leonard is partnered by the talented pianist Brian Zeger. The high point of both song cycle and CD is without question her performance of “Canción de cuña para dormir a un negrito.” Leonard takes this work with its unusual sliding chromaticism at a markedly slower tempo than de los Angeles—it’s a lullaby after all. This, in addition to the progressively softer dynamic, serves to underscore the beauty of the alluring melody and the lovely sound of Leonard’s voice. The result is absolutely stunning. The exuberant “Canto negro” follows to end this expressive song cycle.

Brava Isabel!

Brain Bits for a Frigid February

While we’re awaiting yet another storm on [insert day of the week here], some brain bits are definitely in order. Even in the face of arctic temperatures, I can still muster good cheer. So I’ll refrain from trashing the season finale of “Last Tango in Halifax” (much remedial work is needed for sure) and the Met’s new production of “Iolanta” (“meh” is the word, though the second half of the double bill, Bartok’s “Bluebeard’s Castle,” is absolutely riveting).

So let’s get on with the good stuff, shall we?

© The New York Times

I recently had the pleasure of a spectacular evening of musicianship at Carnegie’s Zankel Hall, courtesy of Joyce DiDonato and the Brentano String Quartet. The quartet had the first half of the program, which included Charpentier’s “Concert pour quatre parties de violes,” a dance suite, and the iconic Debussy String Quartet. This was the first time I’d heard the latter in live performance, and what an experience. It’s like seeing the whole of 20th century music stretching out before you like an audio super-highway.

The Brentanos can sing, which is a talent I admire without end. My days as a school-age musician taught me the most difficult thing to learn as a string player is phrasing. If you sing or play a wind instrument, it comes naturally. However, it’s a more difficult proposition when you’re learning violin or cello, since they’re not breath- actvated. But to listen to the Brentanos you’d never know there was a difference.

Ms. DiDonato and the Quartet opened the second half with the Aaron Copland-esque “MotherSongs,” an arrangement of works from The Lullaby Project. But the highlight of the evening was Jake Heggie’s “Camille Claudel: Into the Fire,” the New York premiere of a song cycle originally composed with Ms. DiDonato in mind. I was curious how they’d set up on stage since I knew Joyce would have to be able to have eye contact with the first violinist, at a minimum. As you can see from the photograph, the solution was an easy one. Instead of a solo singer accompanied by string quartet, we saw a single entity—a quintet, in which every member interacted with each other.

Quite honestly I enjoyed the expertise of the collaboration almost as much as the music. Joyce DiDonato is not only a great singer—she’s a superlative musician as well, and honored both text and score in the performance of Heggie’s sketches of the life and works of sculptor Camille Claudel. Particularly ear-catching were “Shakuntala,” with its Middle Eastern exoticism, “La petite chatelaine,” an ode to Camille’s aborted child, and the Epilogue, in which she’s visited at the asylum by her friend Jessie Lipscomb, so many years after her confinement. Her reminiscing about their student days and the momentary glimpse of the life she might have had draw the cycle to an exceptionally poignant close.

What artistry. After that, I didn’t mind my frozen walk to the subway (almost).

At long last…the showdown we were waiting for

An actor any less talented than Gillian Anderson wouldn’t be able to hold our attention the way she does in the second season of “The Fall.” During the glacial pace of the first episode all I could think was “Lord, this is slow.” But then Stella Gibson (Ms. Anderson) took center stage and all snapped into place.

Stella maintains her laser-like focus in pursuit of Paul Spector (Jamie Dornan), but cracks in the facade begin to appear. Her dreams turn threatening, haunted by his shadowy presence. Her guilt is overwhelming when Rose Stagg is kidnapped, and her tears as she views this woman on video Paul posts on the internet are shocking–you just don’t expect that from her. Yet old habits remain; her libido survives intact. While she admits that her pass at Dr. Reed Smith (Archie Panjabi) was “inappropriate,” she picks out and beds yet another young studly cop (Colin Morgan). One thing you can say for Stella–she’s definitely got good taste.

I was intrigued by a number of things during this season of “The Fall,” not the least of which was the detail of the police work shown. Granted, it didn’t always pan out, as witness the cop falling through the ceiling of Paul’s bedroom (I have to admit I had a good laugh over that, since I did the same thing at my house last year while checking on the heating unit in the attic). But the sheer doggedness of the detective work pays off, and along the way there are chilling moments: Paul’s grief counseling session with Annie Brawley, whose brother he had murdered before assaulting her, and that eerie sense of dislocation when one of Stella’s detectives demonstrates how Paul parroted his boss’s remarks while the latter fired him.

At the last episode we were once again left with both cliffhangers and a burning desire that the BBC commission another series of “The Fall.” Paul may or may not survive, the erstwhile babysitter, Katie Benedetto, is a virtual Charles Manson girl in her worship of Paul, and Stella’s depths are just waiting to be explored (We already know she has daddy issues. Who knows what else lurks in that psyche?).

Let’s hope for much more of TV’s best thriller.

● ● ●

Do you ever wonder about the turning points of your life? What things would have been like had you made a different decision, taken a different train, stayed home on a given night instead of going out, or vice versa?

Kate Atkinson’s engrossing “Life After Life” is a masterful exploration of this premise as we follow Ursula Todd, born in 1910 (or is she?) through the multiple versions of her life. While there are certain constants in every scenario—her odious older brother, her adored sister and younger brother—the outcomes vary tremendously.

We’re far from smooth sailing here. Ursula’s life seems to snag at particularly sticky points, generating more and more do-overs until things turn right: There’s her difficult birth. That rogue wave at the seashore. Her encounter with that awful friend of her brother. The wall that crumbles (or doesn’t) during the Blitz.

What’s particularly fun is that Atkinson primes you to look for those turning points. For example, you wonder if that man who, at the height of the Blitz, watches Ursula work her crosswords and hands her his card as a recruiter of puzzle-solving whizzes isn’t Alan Turing. You relish the fact that as a teen-ager Ursula comes to realize that her occasional feelings of dread are premonitions that what has happened in a previous version of her life may happen yet again. Atkinson’s story leaves you wanting more, especially to know what happens after certain of Ursula’s “deaths”.

Needless to say I loved “Life After Life.” I haven’t read such a sweet pay-off of an ending in a very long time. Fortunately the story isn’t over, since there’s a companion volume in the works. Publication day can’t come soon enough.