Punks for the Opera!

In Michael J. Vaughn's new novel, Punks for the Opera, marketing wiz Marina Quantrill takes two surprising new connections and creates Punks for the Opera, a benefit for San Francisco Opera's community outreach program by four area punk bands. Halfway through the evening, things are not quite the blockbuster she was hoping for, but things are about to change...

Snatcher takes the stage in very unexpected clothing. Macy wears crisp white breeches, a scarlet waistcoat over a Cramps T-shirt, and a black tricorner hat. Jane has a powdered wig, a foot tall. And Lily wears a pink 18th century French ballgown with panniers to either side. Replacing the usual inner layers is a black bodysuit with skeleton bones. Lily plugs in, works the guitar strap around her ship-like dress and guffaws.

“Haw! Whattyathink?”

She sashays, model-like, and the forty patrons shout their approval.

“Just a little something I picked up at the opera. Sergeant Macy? Lady Jane? Shall we rock ‘n’ roll? One two three four!”

The sight of a Mozartean skeleton grinding away on guitar is vastly entertaining. Marina floats away on the cloud of absurdity that she herself has initiated. Macy seems to be enjoying herself as well, even though her military getup has exiled her further into the Land of the Cute. If it’s possible, the band is edgier and tighter than ever, and the crowd responds by moshing.

“This is one helluva show.”

Linda Ortega has crept up to Marina’s shoulder.

“Linda! I wondered where you were.”

Linda adopts the sunny voice of a cult member. “I have a table out front with the most delightful pamphlets!”

“These costumes are amazing. Thanks for getting Callie out here.”

“Least I could do. You’re doing my job for me.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to sell CDs.”

“Sure, sure. Well, just wanted to say hi. I’m gonna go back outside. My ears are a little sensitive.”

Linda disappears. The eyes of the men (and a couple women) follow. Lily cuts off her song and stops for a commercial break.

“Hey! Thanks to our fearless band manager, Marina, we have a brand new CD. Five bucks apiece. Just head to that gorgeous woman in the red shirt and hand her a Lincoln. Proceeds go to San Francisco Opera’s school outreach program. Also, our fearless tavern owner Jay is throwing in a cut of the bar, so bottoms up! The drunker you are, the better we sound. And now, back to noise!”

They creep into Primitive. Red light washes over the stage. Marina notices something else about Lily. She has this rare ability to let a musical moment spell out before rushing to the next. Too many musicians look like they’re already thinking about the next song. Marina sells four CDs and feels a little better. Then she gets a tap on the shoulder. She expects another customer, but this one’s different: a perfectly made-up Asian lady with a small face, delicate features and a dazzling smile. She also seems vaguely familiar.

“Hi. Are you Marina?”

“That I am!”

“I’m Betty Yu. I’m a reporter for channel five? We were covering some storm damage on the seacliffs here and I saw a flyer for ‘Punks for the Opera.’ Well naturally, I gotta check that out. And now with the costumes! Is it okay if we shoot?”

“Oh! Absolutely. Um, how long will you be here?”

Betty looks at her cameraman. “Well, not too long. I need to get Ben back to his pregnant wife or he’s gonna be in trouble.”

Marina laughs. “Reason I ask is that we have a special performance coming up and I’d love for you to see it. Tell you what, I’ll have the band do two more songs, then we’ll cut to the surprise.”

“Fantastic! Ben, you’re on.”

Ben wends his way through the crowd like an explorer dodging undergrowth. Marina swims toward Lily. At the end of the song, she waves like a maniac to get her attention. Lily kneels on the stage, the gown swimming around her, and Marina talks into her ear.

“Channel five is here! Can you do your two best songs - maybe Halloween and Sick - and then make way for the guest stars?”

“Gotcha boss. How cool!”

Lily hops back up and returns to the mic. “Hey! Channel five is in the house. So I want you to be your rowdy best and please keep the freakin’ obscenities to a minimum. This is Every Day is Halloween.”

She looks back to make sure her players are set and counts them off. Ben stands at stage left to catch performers and watchers, and switches on his bright lights. The room is a pandemonium of bouncing bodies and raised arms. Marina watches for a bit, then sneaks out into the cold ocean air. Veronika and Linda are gathered next to a keyboard.

“Hi! Channel five is here.”

“I know,” says Linda. “I told her to talk to you.”

“Really?”

Linda gives her a crafty smile. “It’s your gig. Plus, I wanted to see how you operate under pressure.”

“Very good! Um, well, here’s what I want. We need to do the surprise performance in five minutes.”

“Oh wow,” says Veronika. “Okay. I’ve got my singers warming up in the van.”

She quick-walks across the lot. Marina looks at Linda.

“Go on in. Enjoy it. I’ll keep things motivated out here.”

“Thanks.”

“TV’s not guaranteed. But you may have hit the jackpot.”

“Fingers crossed!”

She re-enters to find Snatcher at the end of Halloween. Ben is now upstage, shooting Lily from behind as she works the crowd. The dress is a pink ghost, spectacularly weird. She cranks to a stop and the crowd goes apeshit, coked out by the presence of a TV camera.

“OK. We’re gonna play one more and then we’ve got something really special. This is a tender love song called You Make Me Sick. One two three four!”

The choice is perfect, hard-charging, a touch of Ramones, exactly what’s needed to draw out the contrast with opera. Marina finds Betty in her same spot, enjoying herself immensely.

“I love this!” she shout-talks. “I’d like to get some interviews. Maybe your lady in pink there. Whose idea was this?”

“Mine. My roommate is the bass player. A friend of mine works for the opera. We thought, why not bring them together?”

“Great! Let’s get you on tape, too.”

“And maybe the soprano?”

“There’s a soprano?”

Marina smiles. “There’s always a soprano.”

The band slams to a halt and the moshers yell their heads off. Lily grins.

“Okay. We’re gonna take a break, but in a couple of minutes we have a special treat. Go buy a CD. And a drink.”

The stagehands reappear, this time carting in a desk and chair with various accouterments: a blotter, a framed picture, a letter opener, a phone. A bearded man in a business suit comes out and sits in the chair, already in character, talking on the phone, making some notes. He gives off the air of a boss, perhaps a CEO.

Veronika sets up an electric keyboard to stage right and plays a few passages to check the sound. Oddly, Lily hasn’t moved. She waits at stage left, studying something on the back of her guitar, still plugged in and strapped on.

The patrons are all abuzz about the mystery of it all, but they quiet when Veronika stands at her keyboard. She looks to someone near the exit, then to Lily. She raises a hand and brings it down. Lily plays a resounding chord and lets it ring out, collecting some feedback. Veronika plays a sweep of dramatic downward chords, a theme that will appear later in the scene.

A woman stalks onstage in a red vinyl jumpsuit, skin-tight, her dark hair lacquered into triceratops blades. She’s a fiery-looking Latina, a bit like Linda but with sharper, more feline features. The immediate impression is that she’s some kind of pop star, a Britney Spears or Lady Gaga. She charges the CEO and sings in angry bursts, colored in the peculiar tang of Italian.

The CEO replies in a rich baritone, a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God,” says Betty. “It’s Tosca.”

“Really?” whispers Marina. “You’re good.”

CEO circles the desk and tries to touch Popstar, but she flinches away like someone evading a scorpion. She fires off another round of complaints. Veronika lifts a hand from the keyboard and points to Lily, who plays another resounding chord. Veronika cuts her off and returns to the keyboard for that same downward sweep. Popstar releases a note so piercing that it stuns the crowd (a punk crowd!) into silence.

CEO returns to Popstar’s side and sings to her in sinister tones. He waves a hand toward stage right, whereupon a stagehand hiding behind the Greek column produces a harrowing cry of pain.

“They’re torturing her boyfriend,” says Betty. “And Scarpia - the villain - is willing to let him go in return for sexual favors.”

“Scumbag,” says Marina. A guy with a mohawk shushes her.

Popstar agrees to the deal. CEO kisses her hand and returns to his desk to make a phone call. Veronika points to Lily and fans her fingers, producing a quieter, spelled-out chord from her guitar. Veronika plays a slow introduction.

Popstar, overwhelmed at her predicament, comes to kneel at the front of the stage. Marina realizes that the singer is even more beautiful than she thought, with full lips and dark, fathomless eyes. She begins her lament with long, full notes, capturing her listeners. Marina imagines that she’s heard these lines before. Although she’s singing in Italian, her expressions and the music seem to indicate something like the grievous cry of Jesus, “Why God hast thou forsaken me?”

The volume grows with her anguish, all the way to a stunning top note that fills every square inch of the bar. She finally releases it, quieting and descending into an afterthought of exhausted acceptance. When she finally lets go of the final note, the punks go wild. The soprano keeps her eyes down, shaking with sobs even as the applause rolls over her back. Veronika restarts the music, Popstar rises, goes to the CEO’s desk and watches as he signs her boyfriend’s release papers. She reaches for them, but he tucks them into his pocket. The inference is clear: she’s going to have to earn it.

Jubilant, the CEO makes his advances. Popstar puts him off as politely as possible, but matters quickly progress to a classic chase around the desk. After a few laps, the CEO stops to rest, hands on knees. At this point, Popstar discovers the letter opener on his desk and hides it behind her back. CEO finally recovers and makes a lunging advance, but he is met by a knife to the gut. Lily plays another big chord. The moshers let out little syllables of surprise: Ooh! Whoa! Aigh! CEO drops to the stage and sings a few ragged lines as he fights for breath. Popstar stands over him, taunting him as he dies. The music stills to a murmur. She drops the knife, pulls the papers from the CEO’s pocket and dashes from the stage. Lily plays one more burst, followed by a quiet finishing passage from Veronika.

It takes a moment for the Winters congregation to understand that it’s over. They’re cued by Betty, who begins the applause. Popstar comes back to take a bow, then helps the evil baritone to his feet. Linda comes out to Lily’s microphone.

“That was a scene from Puccini’s great opera Tosca. Our lady in red is Jocelyn Rosina Puentes, and our evil Baron Scarpia is Efrain Solis. They are both from our Adler Fellowship Program, and they both participate in the school outreach program that tonight’s show is benefitting. Our keyboardist and conductor is Veronika Agranov-Dafoe, with guest guitarist Lily Kakes! Thanks so much to Snatcher and the other great bands tonight for putting this on, and be sure to buy up those CDs!”

The opera troupe trots off, quickly replaced by Macy and Jane. Lily comes to the mic.

“Holy crap! That was fucking amazing. Okay! Back to rockandroll. One two three four!”

And they’re off.

A Barber with Style

 

The Barber of Seville

Opera San Jose

November 11, 2023

It’s pretty rare to find an opera production that checks off absolutely every box, but Opera San Jose’s definitely got one. Their Barber is vocally scintillating, brilliantly funny, and madly entertaining.

Beginning at the beginning, the overture just makes me smile. Regardless of certain (ahem!) animated connections, or the fact that it was appropriated from Rossini’s earlier opera, Aureliano in Palmira, those familiar, playful passages warm up an operagoer’s heart in the most delightful fashion.

First thing, we’ve got a gang of street musicians, skulking about as if they’re about to pull a bank heist. Their maestro, Fiorello, is bass-baritone Joshua Hughes, the first of many solid supporting players, which has become an OSJ trademark. After a comically loud tuning up from the large orchestra fifteen feet below them, this modest octet does a fine job mimicking their parts as their client, the Count Almaviva, sings a serenade to his mysterious ladylove.

And what a voice Almaviva has! For ‘tis Joshua Sanders, the selfsame tenor whose lyric tones graced OSJ’s recent Romeo et Juliette. Sanders plays Almaviva in a nicely assertive fashion, diving into the screwball personae he uses to sneak into his lady’s place of residence. The best is a hippy-dippy rendition of the music teacher Don Alonso.

And then, as if that weren’t enough, in comes this barber guy to brag about his many skills and connections. Baritone Ricardo Jose Rivera performs the famed “Largo factotum” as if he were merely conversing, making it up on the spot. It’s the perfect approach to a probably-overexposed piece, and just breathtaking to watch. Rivera performs similar tricks throughout the evening, persistently pushing his high-speed patters to the red line.

At this point, a little tired from laughter, I’m thinking, Come on, OSJ! You’re running up the score. You’re showing off. Ah, but things are just beginning.

Because in comes Nikola Adele Printz, the gender-fluid mezzo so fondly remembered for OSJ’s first post-pandemic, in-person production, the 2021 Dido and Aeneas. Printz’ vocal weaponry is almost impossible to describe, ramping gradually from the delicate lyricism of “Una voce poco fa” to its pointed cabaletta, “Io sono docile.” Rosina declares herself to be a meek, submissive lamb, but one who can grow tiger’s claws when crossed. (That all-important “but,” or Italian “ma,” is the center of the piece, and delivered this time with a stab to Rosina’s needlework.) Printz’ cadenzas are moderate, but their top notes are anything but, so assured and stunning that they send chills down one’s spine. Printz also exhibits a superhuman range, dipping into baritone in a later scene to make fun of Rosina's male pursuers.

A more gradual appreciation comes for Dale Travis as Bartolo, the creepy guardian hell-bent on scamming his young ward into marrying him. Travis is opera royalty, recipient of the San Francisco Opera Medal Award, and has been playing these kinds of parts at least since 1987, when he sang Don Pasquale at OSJ. His portrayal of Bartolo is first-class schmuckery, delivering lines of patter that would send the layperson into a coma all while pretending to be a frail old man.

The other star of the production is Adrian Linford’s set, a series of sliding walls that act as a kind of travelogue. A few seconds of tugging and you’re at Figaro’s barbershop, a village square, Bartolo’s front door, Bartolo’s interior. One of the more brilliant moments has the beleaguered Bartolo nudging aside one wall of the village square while the other follows him from behind like an eager puppy.

This all matches well with Stephen Lawless’s innovative direction. Lawless and lighting designer Thomas C. Hase take the stock Rossini device of the shock-frozen cast (singing of their confusion while standing mannequin-still) and turns it surreal. Lawless’s chaos-theory approach reminds one of the Marx Brothers, except for the Act I finale, the sliding panels closing in on the performers from all sides, which recalls the dumpster scene from Star Wars.

The strong supporting players continue with bass-baritone Vartan Gabrielian, who plays con artist Basilio as a bedraggled Father Guido Sarducci (younger readers, ask your parents). He makes his entrance as a “blind” beggar, shaking down the locals. Mezzo Courtney Miller continues her stellar work in the domestics field, and how beautifully democratic is it that Rossini gives the disapproving maid Berta her own aria, “Il vecchiotto cerca moglie”?

Linford’s costume designs are all impeccable, but the clear standout is Rosina’s dress, butter-yellow with blue piping, tiers of lace descending gracefully to the floor. Wig designer Y. Sharon Peng, meanwhile, gets her own one-woman exhibition as Figaro shows what wonders he has worked on his male customers.

Through Nov. 26 at California Theatre, 345 S. First Street, San Jose. $55-$195. 408/437-4450. operasj.org. In Italian with supertitles in English and Spanish.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 40-year opera critic and author of 29 novels, the most recent of which, Punks for the Opera, is available at Amazon.com.

Image: Joshua Sanders as Count Almaviva, Nikola Adele Printz as Rosina. Photo by David Allen.

Revolutionary Opera

Van Sciver’s Girondines

Mission Opera
October 29, 2023
Santa Clarita, CA

A few months ago I had the pleasure of reviewing a CD, a new work from composer Sarah van Sciver and librettist Kirsten C. Kunkle. Girondines tells the story of six extraordinary women who took on the Jacobins during the violent chaos of the French Revolution. The most famous of these (perhaps infamous) is Charlotte Corday, whose bathtub assassination of Jacobin leader Marat was portrayed in the well-known painting by David.

The work posits the notion that these women likely met and discussed the intense political issues surrounding them. Though it begins as an elevated tea party, it evolves into something like a trial, with each woman bearing witness to her small slice of these momentous times. It also gives us a chance to find out who gets the guillotine, who escapes, who survives undercover, and becomes an intriguing study of how different people respond to great trauma.

When I learned that the work, which first premiered in Delaware, was receiving its West Coast premiere near Los Angeles, I had to see it. Primarily to answer one particular question: how would such a unique piece, constructed with anything but an ordinary narrative arc, make the journey from concert piece to full-fledged opera?

The answer is, largely through the increasingly popular medium of projections. The composer herself assembled hundreds of images, many of them classic paintings of the Revolution and its participants. It’s a dazzling combination, providing a “big picture” background as the performers contribute their individual perspectives. It also lent an active feel to what might have been a dangerously static piece.

The Renaissance woman label could also be applied to librettist Kunkle, who also sang the role of Corday and choreographed ballet interludes performed by Savanna Gonzalez. At the moment of Corday’s execution, someone in the pit let out a very convincing scream; this turned out to be the composer, seated at the piano (apparently she didn’t have enough to do).

The piece is challenging and tricky, demanding a great deal of commitment from its singers. Kunkle sets the standard with Corday, whose commentaries on the Jacobins’ Reign of Terror are thrilling and a bit lunatic. Kunkle’s soprano is impressively agile, and she displays a great ability to manipulate her vibrato. Her date with the executioner is given the proper degree of impact with a sudden disappearance and the sound of the guillotine’s scrape and thud.

Bits of humor and intrigue are provided by Laurice Simmons Kennel as Elisabeth Vigee Le Brun, Marie Antoinette’s portraitist, and by Kaitlyn Tierney as the playful society figure Madame de Stael. Claire Pegram lends an extra dose of pathos to Madame Roland’s prayer that she be the last of the sisterhood to go to the guillotine. As scientist Marianne Pierrette Paulze Lavoisier, Marisa Robinson conducted a seminar in enunciation and phrasing. Kunkle’s libretto is written in unadorned prose, which van Sciver manipulates in unexpected ways. The combination demands a great degree of focus from its singers.

The great finesse of van Sciver’s score comes through double on the stage, notably the conversational fugue as the tea party increases in fervor and cross-purposes. The orchestra included cello, harp, and David Oleg Manukyan’s expressive work on violin.

The CD of Girondines is available on most music platforms. More info at wilmingtonconcertopera.com or missionopera.com

Michael J. Vaughn is a forty-year opera critic and author of 29 novels. His latest, Punks for the Opera, will be available soon on Amazon.

Photo by Wesley Jow. (Kirsten C. Kunkle as Charlotte Corday.)

Opera San Jose's Romeo et Juliette

Gounod’s Romeo et Juliette

September 9, 2023

Opera San Jose

OSJ opened its 40th anniversary by bringing back R&J after a 17-year absence, and it’s a welcome return. The score is beautiful, pointing backward to Mozart, forward to Massenet, and despite its everpresence in modern culture (in both original and West Side forms), the story still offers poignant and infuriating moments.

The production is also the first that Shawna Lucey has stage directed since becoming OSJ's general director and CEO. Her work in this production immediately establishes the primacy of dance-like movement. This begins with a lengthy dance interlude featuring Antara Bhardwaj, Maansa Kavuri, Juan Magacho and SNJV, mixing balletic and classical Indian styles in an enchanting fashion. The choreographic feeling translates to the players, as well, notably Romeo, whose movements evoke a graceful, mannered feeling.

The cast is superb, beginning with our two leads. As Juliet, Melissa Sondhi introduces herself with the sprightly showpiece “Je veux vivre,” displaying a shimmering, agile soprano. Joshua Sanders exhibits an equally lyric tenor, and one can hardly wait to hear them together. Fortunately, the opera contains four duets, and Gounod delights in unison singing. The balcony scene duet, “O nuit divine,” is especially spine-tingling.

But these two don’t stop there. Both demonstrate an ability to take their lyric voices into dramatic territory, with tremendous results. For Sondhi, this comes with the fiery “Amour ranime mon courage,” the scene in which Juliet considers taking the friar’s death-simulating potion as an escape from her terrible situation. When Romeo discovers Juliet’s apparently dead body laid out on a tomb, Sanders unleashes his own surprising power and intensity, leading into the excruciating, tragic finale. The dynamic range exhibited by both singers is remarkable.

Not that the rest of the cast is wanting. Robert Balonek brings boisterous energy to the bawdy Count Capulet. Courtney Miller has entirely too much fun as Juliet’s scheming nurse, Gertrude. Mezzo Melisa Bonetti Luna shines in the trouser role of Stephano, taunting the Capulets with “Que faisto, blanche tourterelle.” Kenneth Kellogg lends “rizz” and presence to the Duke of Verona.

The center of the tribal conflict is represented by two veteran presences. Alex Boyer plays Tybalt with a powerful tenor and swaggering presence. Baritone Efrain Solis lends a dashing, comic aura to Mercutio, especially in the Queen Mab ballade, an gibe at his suddenly peace-loving friend Romeo. When the two fighters engage in their ill-fated duel, it’s a bit like a good pro wrestling match. Everyone knows it’s fake, but we’re all still a little concerned that someone’s going to get hurt. Romeo’s running-through of Tybalt is especially convincing (fight director Dave Maier).

The choruses, children and adults, are filled with energy, performing the village scenes with great exuberance (Johannes Lohner, chorus master). The choral reaction to Juliet’s wedding-day collapse is exceptionally powerful.

Steven C. Kemp’s set design offers some intriguing ideas: a first half of verdant spring driven by hate to the second half’s starkly apocalyptic vista: the ruins of a church lying in a nuked-out wasteland like a foundering ship. Unfortunately, the ivy-covered walls of the early going resemble furry Astroturf.

I had an equally hard time understanding Caitlin Cisek’s costumes, which were loosely medieval but not always flattering, particularly in the case of Romeo’s hobbit-like togs. I had a change of mind, however, when I looked into Cisek’s approach: she wanted each character’s garments to reflect whatever that particular person was going through in his/her life. Mercutio, for example, wore tight, athletic-looking clothing, forever prepared to participate in his favorite sport of swordplay. In the bedroom scene, Juliet wakes in transparent, lacy lingerie, while Romeo wears simple pajamas, reflecting both her sexual awakening and his adherence to sentimentality. This, along with many other elements, adds to a distinctively feminist reading of Juliet, who really was (especially for her time) a remarkable figure, determined to break away from the patriarchal strictures of church and family.

Joseph Marcheso gave his usual sublime reading of the score (apparently his first performance of this particular opera), wringing a maximum intensity from the many edgy scenes. Every time the strings came out with Gounod’s lovely R&J motif, I felt myself floating with rapture.

Through September 24 at California Theatre, 345 S. First Street, San Jose. In French with English and Spanish supertitles. Jasmine Habersham sings Juliet on 9/15 and 9/24. $55-$195, operasj.org, 408/437-4450.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 39-year opera critic and the author of 28 novels, including the acclaimed Mermaids’ Tears, available at Amazon.

Photos by Kristen Loken.

Raving About Tolstoy

 

Corey Bryant as Balaga

Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812

San Jose Playhouse

April 29, 2023

To quote that other highly unusual 2010s musical, it would have been great to be “in the room” when someone came up with the idea for Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812. “Let’s dramatize 70 pages of Tolstoy’s War and Peace using Russian folk music, musical theater ballads and electronic dance music.” Sure! Why not? A dozen 2017 Tony nominations later, it would seem that the crazy idea worked.

The other meeting must have come at San Jose Playhouse, where someone asked, “What incredibly difficult musical can we do next?” With their nicely solidifying company of talented regulars, it seems this group can pull of just about anything. The result is a dazzling and beautifuly eccentric evening of theater, full of captivating imagery and music.

Paloma Maia Aisenberg as Natasha,
Juanita Harris as Helene.

The action revolves around Natasha (Paloma Maia Aisenberg), a young noblewoman whose fiance has gone off to war. The homefront conflict appears in the form of Anatole (Jared Lee), a swaggering young man determined to capture Natasha’s heart, despite his marriage to a woman in Poland.

At first the show doesn’t seem that odd - perhaps a few rock beats here and there, or the fact that some of the actors are playing instruments. Then Princess Mary (Osher Fine) delivers a dark, comic account of dealing with her aging father (F. James Raasch), and her father’s behavior causes her to be rude to her guest, Natasha. Forced into defending their respective turfs, the two women land on long, intentional dissonances, beautiful in their bitterness. (Ah! thinks I. This composer Dave Malloy is clever.)

Almost from that point, the show goes haywire in a delicious fashion. Anatole strips off his ornate Russian uniform to reveal stylish club-wear, the men get drunk at a trendy EDM spot, and the frustrated cuckold Pierre (Stephen Guggenheim) manages to survive a duel with the assassin Dolokhov (Nicholas Rodrigues).

Speaking as a novelist, this show is frankly what Tolstoy needs. When you strip out the endless ocean of mundane details and present the bones of the story with some kick-ass music, it’s amazingly entertaining. (Seriously, I tried reading Anna Karenina once and I wanted to throw myself in front of a train.)

Stephen Guggenheim as Pierre

The heart of the show is Aisenberg, gifted with an irresistible radiance and a gorgeous voice that sounds unnervingly (and not in a bad way) like that of a Disney heroine. Natasha’s impulsive behavior - the foolishness of youth in love - is balanced by Guggenheim’s heart-rending performance as Pierre, a man lifted from a dreary, beaten-down existence by an wayward bullet.

But there are stars everywhere. Corey Bryant delivers an adrenalized show-stopper as the crazed troika driver Balaga, hired to whisk the lovers away. As Pierre’s wandering wife, Helene, Juanita Harris throws in Patti LaBelle vocal flights when she’s not playing violin or leading Natasha astray. As Sonya, Annie Hunt tugs at heartstrings with “Sonya Alone,” a desperate prayer toward saving her cousin Natasha from a bad end.

Kudos to director Scott Evan Guggenheim for weaving all these crazy threads into a unified piece, and to Shannon Guggenheim for endlessly inventive choreography. As a drummer, I got a special kick from watching Jerald Bittle navigate an incredible array of beats.

Photos by Scott Donschikowski.

Through May 28 at 3Below Theaters, 288 S. Second Street, San Jose. 408/404-7711. Sanjoseplayhouse.org.

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of 28 novels, including Mermaids’ Tears and Lavender, and two plays, Darcy LaMont and Cafe Phryque. His titles can be found on Amazon.com.

Making Tosca Even Edgier

 

Adrian Kramer as Cavaradossi,
Maria Natale as Tosca.
Photos by David Allen

Opera San Jose, Puccini's Tosca, April 14, 2023

It’s amazing to see how a few seemingly minor details can have an enormous effect on an opera. OSJ stage director Tara Branham’s small innovations, combined with an energetic, blunt approach, led to a different and provocative Tosca.

The opera’s opening is usually a mildly comic back-and-forth between the sacristan (a divinely grumpy Igor Vieira) and the painter Cavaradossi. Branham introduces a young lady with whom the painter is having a tryst. This produces some fun “hide-the-girl” humor, but it also sends a major ripple across the storyline. Traditionally, Tosca’s jealousy toward Cavaradossi has been portrayed as a irrational, commemorated by the tender duet, “Mia gelosa.” This jealousy is also seen as the fatal flaw that leads to the couple’s downfall. Now, with the introduction of the side chick, it seems that Tosca had reason to be suspicious.

Another small addition comes in the second act, which takes places in Baron Scarpia’s apartment - which now features, for the first time that I’ve ever seen, a bed. Right there. Branham even brought in a couple of housemaids to replace the covers and pillows, as if to say, Look, a bed, right there.

Once again, huge ripples. Every time Scarpia mentions his creepy affections toward Tosca, and the extortive leverage he has recently obtained with the capture of her rebel boyfriend, there stands the end goal, the bed. Right there.

The overall effect of Branham’s approach is to remove whatever subtlety remained from Victorien Sardou’s play and just be right out front with everything. A despot who weaponizes religion to seize power and get himself laid? In an era when a President pays off a porn star while touting Christian nationalism and white supremacy, Baron Scarpia is a rank amateur.

This let-it-fly attitude seems to transfer readily to the cast, who perform with a fun, loose-limbed energy. This reaches its first-act peak with the Te Deum, the choir singing the sacred text as Scarpia paints graffiti all over it with his cries of lust for the hot soprano. The sound builds to spine-chilling heights, with the California Theater’s 1927 pipe organ rumbling magnificently beneath (played by Veronika Agranov-Dafoe).

Maria Natale as Tosca,
Kidon Choi as Scarpia.

Adrian Kramer gives Cavaradossi an unusual rock-star quality (most tenors being much stouter), that fits with the rapscallion angle. His voice has impressive weight (his first few lines feel almost baritonish) but this evened out as it rose to the upper regions. Not a spinto, but let’s call him a “luxury lyric.” He showed much art in moderating the big voice in tender moments like the lovely Act 3 aria “Oh dolci mani.” His “E lucevan le stelle” was riveting.

Scarpia is one of the more malleable villains in opera, and changes with the character of each singer. Baritone Kidon Choi brings a social stiffness combined with a fierce alpha presence. He spices it with a radioactive sense of danger, a la Darth Vader or Joe Pesci, as if at any moment he’ll cut off your breathing or slam a bottle over your head. Those around him - notably Joshua Hughes as his lieutenant Sciarrone - do some excellent reaction work, as if they are always one wrong answer away from the gallows.

And then there’s Tosca. Maria Natale is as perfect as you can get. Her voice has so many gears: the dramatic soprano who scream-sings at Scarpia’s attacks, the pure lyric who recalls better days in Tosca’s tender Act 3 remembrances, and especially the dramatic lyric who agonizes over her fate in “Vissi d’arte,” delivering top notes so rich and full you want them to go on forever.

Natale’s acting powers are on full display in Act 2, as Tosca negotiates the crushing conflict of trying to save her lover but not having the information to do so. (As Cavaradossi yells in pain from the adjoining room, a metallic band squeezing blood from his temples.) In understanding why this particular Act 2 was such a nail-biting, stomach-churning experience, I realized it was Natale’s ability to force the audience to feel her pain. She has a marvelously expressive stage-face that inspires deep empathy.

And then, the killing. Oh, what a killing! Tosca discovers the knife sticking out of the ham (the one the true Toscaphile has been eyeing since the beginning of the act) and holds it behind her back as she positions herself near the bed, seemingly ready to give Scarpia whatever he wants. When the Baron makes his creepy approach, she stabs him in the gut. As he falls to the bed, she throws the knife across his face and a stream of blood gushes out. Then she stabs him a few more times as he lies atop the bed. It may have been the best opera-killing I’ve ever seen. Bonus points to fight director Dave Maier.

You could feel the joy in Joseph Marcheso’s conducting, fully at home in Puccini’s lush score and leading the orchestra in an elegant, rich performance. Bass-baritone Robert Balonek gave a great desperate feel to the fugitive Angelotti. Steven C. Kemp’s set designs focused on tremendous period paintings in the church scene and a sprawling battlefield tapestry for Scarpia’s apartment. My favorite of Elizabeth Poindexter’s costumes was Scarpia’s black waistcoat with white embroidery.

General director Shawna Lucey’s tenure has been marked by some fun marketing ideas. The latest is a classic Tosca poster with a cut-out face so patrons can pretend to stand over the mannequin corpse of a freshly slaughtered Baron Scarpia. OSJ’s ‘23’-’24 season includes Romeo and Juliet (9/9-24), The Barber of Seville (11/11-23), Rigoletto (2/17-3/3) and Florencia en el Amazonas (4/20-5/5).

Through April 30 at the Caifornia Theatre, 345 S. First Street, San Jose. $55-$195. operasj.org, 408/437-4450.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 35-year opera critic and author of 28 novels, including Operaville and Gabriella’s Voice (available at Amazon.com). He is currently at work on a novel titled Punks for the Opera.

A Fun, Fine, Falstaff

Opera San Jose
Falstaff
February 11, 2023

Chanae Curtis as Alice Ford.

Opera San Jose’s production of Verdi’s final opera is a madly entertaining evening, thanks to a superb cast, a repurposing of Steven C. Kemp’s imaginative 2013 set design, and a high level of comic energy under stage director Jose Maria Condemi. All of which serves to underscore the brilliance of an opera that is probably not performed as often as it should be.

It all begins with our titular character, of course, and baritone Darren Lekeith Drone is perfection. He carries the big man’s great lusty presence, mints comic currency from his delusional confidence and problematic anatomy, and even makes us feel his pain, railing against the suggestion that he should give in to age and fat-shaming. (Coming from an 80-year-old composer, these are salient points.)

Sir John is assisted in his shenanigans by two able comedians, bass-baritone Andrew Allan Hiers as the lumbering Pistola and tenor Marc Molomot as the troll-like Bardolfo. Molomot’s exaggerated tremblings before his lord’s lectures are hysterically funny.

Chanae Curtis as
Alice Ford, Darren
Lekeith Drone as 
Falstaff.

The vocal delights are plentiful, starting with the potent soprano of Chanae Curtis as Alice Ford. Curtis’s instrument is lyric but strong, notably in the many marcato passages that run through Alice’s part (befitting her role as the female ring-leader). Playing Dr. Caius, the standard old-dude-your-dad-wants-you-to-marry, Zhengyi Bai exhibited a gorgeous lirico spinto tenor. Let’s hope he returns in some lead roles. (Bai also has the best costume, an elegant concoction of black andsilver from Sarasota Opera.)

The most memorable performance comes from baritone Eugene Brancoveanu, who’s always been one of my favorites but has outdone himself as Ford. Convinced (mistakenly) that his wife actually means to have a tryst with the bloated Falstaff, Ford launches into a full-blown tirade, beginning with the cuckold’s arioso, “E sogno?” The music swings into the language of dramatic opera and Brancoveanu dives in head-first, conveying Ford’s anger with a thrilling intensity, both vocally and dramatically.

The fullness of this anger pays comic dividends in the following scene, when Ford and his men ransack his house like FBI agents looking for classified documents. The genius stroke from Condemi is how Ford’s men go through every last drawer, throwing papers around like jumbo confetti, even though they’re searching for a 300-pound man who would probably not fit into such small spaces. It’s all completely absurd, except that papers flying all over the place is just really freakin’ funny. At the end of the scene, as they approach their quarry (which is actually Ford’s daughter necking with her boyfriend), they hold up their cabinet drawers like riot shields.

As masterworks do, Falstaff reveals more and more of its brilliance on further viewings. It may take until I’m eighty years old before I completely understand all its machinations. This time, the revelation came in a moment when the four female conspirators were hiding by the stairwell as four male conspirators gathered downstage. Each and every one of these eight singers had their own vocal line, going off all at once, and still, it all made sense, like a great operatic cantata. It’s as if, after eight decades of developing new skills, Verdi needed exactly such a many-charactered farce to provide him with the necessary challenges. It’s wonderful to imagine an 80-year-old artist so open-minded and energized that he’s helping to push opera into a new idea like through-composing, the erosion of the walls previously placed between set pieces (arias, choruses, etc.). (Compare this to your older friends who won’t even listen to a song recorded after 1980.)

Kemp’s set was placed into a stage-wide wine barrel, which gives the opera a certain Alice (Ford) in Wonderland surreality. Having seen a few conductors who lack this quality, I was struck by Joseph Marcheso’s ability to negotiate the space between singers and orchestra, particularly in a moment when he waited for soprano Natalia Santaliz to finish a long sustenato before cuing his players. This is such a valuable skill.

I truly enjoy the little accidents of stage business, and a scene between Falstaff and Mistress Quickly (Megan Esther Gray) provided a choice example. Gray’s top hat went flying off during an emotional passage and sat there on the floor as she (rightly) concentrated on her rather involved vocal work. But Drone found a moment in Falstaff’s blocking to return it to her. She placed it back on her head, and, a minute later, it flew off once more.

Through February 26 at California Theater, 345 S. First Street, San Jose. $55-$195, www.operasj.org, 408/437-4450.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 35-year opera critic and author of 28 novels, including Gabriella’s Voice and Operaville, available at Amazon.