SFO's "Xerxes"

San Francisco Opera
Handel’s Xerxes
November 4, 2011


Dealing with the gap between Baroque practices and modern audience expectations is always a bit of a high-wire act, but SFO’s company premiere of Xerxes is right on balance. Production designer Nicholas Hytner provides an intriguing backdrop, using London’s 18th Century Vauxhall Gardens as his model. Director Michael Walling takes every opportunity to use Handel’s florid style for comic ends, thus acknowleding the elephant in the room. The combination provides an energizing framework for an evening of soaring musicality, thanks to conductor Patrick Summers, a period-faithful orchestra and a stunningly talented cast of singers.

The solid core of the production comes from mezzo Susan Graham in the lead role and countertenor David Daniels as the king’s brother, Arsamanes. Graham is a local favorite, having created the role of Sister Helen Prejean in Jake Heggie’s groundbreaking Dead Man Walking. She delivers in full here, although she’s a bit hampered by her sunny exterior. (Xerxes is an A-one jerk, especially in matters romantic.) Daniels provides an intriguing flash of exotica, nimbly delivered, but, I have to admit, not my favorite sound. (It was actually Xerxes who was originally played by a castrato, but gender in Handel is a pretty flexible matter.)

The real plaudits go to two sopranos playing women, Lisette Oropesa as Romilda, the object of the royal brothers’ affections, and Heidi Stober as her crafty sister Atalanta. Both showed tremendous skill with the trademark runs; both took full advantage of crescendoes, cultivating them with great care and effect. Stober’s first-act “Un cenno leggiadretto” was an especial delight.

For sheer athleticism, it’s hard to beat Italian alto Sonia Prina, playing Xerxes’ wronged fiancee, Amastris. She has a way of taking extraordinarily fierce runs and still separating the notes into discrete marcatos, which is somewhere near superhuman. It also fits the character, whose need for vengeance causes her to skulk around in men’s clothing, running sabotage against the king. At one point, she’s wandering through a crowd of stuffy socialites, delivering Handel’s ornaments as booze-soaked grenades of gingivitis.

The chorus is a cosmic joke in itself, dressed and made up completely in gray, and playing The Offended to all off-kilter behavior. As in, bass Michael Sumuel as Arsamenes’ servant Elviro, a very large man disguised as a flower girl to deliver a secret message. Another amusing presence is bass Wayne Tigges as the overenthusiastically martial Ariodates.

It’s a testament to Handel’s creation – based on Silvio Stampiglia’s libretto - that he takes on such a tangled love quadrangle and manages to keep things straight. This is thanks in part to innovations such as the brief arias and recitatives that he was exploring later in life.

It was a joy watching Summers – an unmitigated Handel enthusiast – leading the small orchestra, which included such period instruments as the theorbo (a longnecked lute), arch lute and baroque guitar. Summers handles his chores with great delicacy, providing plentiful space for his singers to luxuriate in his cadenzas.

Although the action took place in Handel’s London, Hytner used the relics often displayed at Vauxhall to pay tribute to the tale’s Persian origins – notably a large bird-like figure from the Persian capitol of of Persepolis, whose construction was completed by Xerxes himself.

Through Nov. 19, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco. $21-$330, 415/864-3330, www.sfopera.com.

Image: Heidi Stober (Atlanta). Photo by Cory Weaver.

SFO's "Don Giovanni"

October 15, 2011

Italian film and theater director Gabriele Lavia makes a profound demonstration of what can be achieved with small, provocative touches. In a production using period costumes, Lavia bestows upon his Giovanni a pair of sunglasses, lending the rapscallion lover the aura of a rock star (in fact, to my companion’s eyes, the late blues/rock icon Stevie Ray Vaughan). The parallel certainly fits, since Giovanni is privileged by his noble status to get away with behavior that would get the rest of us thrown in jail. The production in general seems to bring out the element of classism, drawing a line from Giovanni to Count Almaviva of Figaro – and even between Figaro and Leporello, who sings a strident opening aria, “Voglio far il gentiluomo,” that bears a striking similarity to Figaro’s opening battle cry, “Se vuol ballare.” (Just to extend this game a little further, both operas use the running gag of their lotharios’ inability to land a fish, thanks to the blocking techniques of Cherubino and Donna Elvira.)

Lavia’s high-energy direction is aided greatly by Alessandro Camera’s set designs, a minimalist combination of layabout dining chairs and large flyaway mirrors. One scene proceeds directly to the next as the set shifts, cinematically, around the players.

Lucas Meacham, who appeared (aha!) as Almaviva in last season’s Figaro, does a splendid job of filling out the rockstar aura, playing Giovanni with a James Bond smoothness broken with sudden flares of temper. Vocally, he delivers a smoky baritone with the tender phrasing befitting a wooer of women. This shows itself primarily in the duettino with Zerlina, “Là ci darem la mano,” and in the lilting serenade to Elvira’s maid, “Deh vieni alla finestra.” Another of Lavia’s small touches is to bring up the house lights and have Giovanni sing the second half of said serenade to every single woman in the hall – which is, after all, his true target market. (Meacham also does a fine job with the faster end of things, in a list of orders delivered to Leporello in a stunningly rapid patter.)

Leporello is served to a T by bass Marco Vinco, who employs heaping portions of physical comedy and a facial dexterity on the level of Mr. Bean. (Da Ponte’s quips make the role an absolute prize. Answering his boss’s orders in the darkness after the duel with the Commendatore, Leporello inquires, “Who’s dead – you or him?”) Vinco knocks the immortal Catalogue Aria out of the park, and is absolutely hilarious while lip-synching Giovanni’s lines a la de Bergerac under Elvira’s balcony (assisted by, once again, the magic sunglasses).

Soprano Serena Farnocchia is picture-perfect as Elvira, the librarian who’s only had sex once and will never, ever let go. She sings with a suitably acerbic edge befitting the role, but dials it back for the tender lament of “Mi tradi.” Soprano Ellie Dehn (last season’s Contessa Almaviva), sings Donna Anna with a fetching evenness of tone, gracing the final, heartbreaking acknowledgement of her guilt, “Non mi dir,” with crystalline high pianos.

Faced with an even more conflicted character, tenor Shawn Mathey plays Don Ottavio with great sincerity and angelic lyricism, carefully tracing the emotional shifts of “Dalla sua pace.” As Zerlina, mezzo Kate Lindsey is just plain sexy, singing what I call the S&M Aria, “Batti, batti,” while using a garden bench as a horizontal stripper pole. Faced with such talent, Ryan Kuster’s likeable Masetto has no choice but to forgive all transgressions.

Bass Morris Robinson is superbly imposing as The Commendatore, and performs the cemetery scene so well that even opera veterans might be jolted when the statue begins to sing. I wish I could say the same for Giovanni’s elevator to hell. Although the trapdoor/white smoke approach is effective, I have not once in 25 years seen a Giovanni damnation that truly satisfies. Given the solid theatricality of the rest of this production, I suppose I expected better.

Especially given the preceding minimalism, the backdrop for the dining scene is a truly lavish sight: half-circle folds of plush red drapery rising to the heavens. I also enjoyed Andrea Viotti’s masquerade outfits for the Triumvirate of Vengeance, white ceramic masks topped by humongous powdered wigs.

Through Nov. 10, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco. $21-$330, 415/864-3330, www.sfopera.com

Image: Marco Vinco (Leporello) and Lucas Meachem (Don Giovanni). Photo by Cory Weaver.

San Francisco Opera: Donizetti's Lucrezia Borgia

Sept. 26, 2011

Renée Fleming’s cadenzas are so gorgeously crafted that the true aficionado may forget there’s some kind of opera going on. She manages to deliver these small treasures without sounding the least bit canary-like, and sings so effortlessly that they seem more like conversations that have taken flight.

This was especially evident in the first-act “Com’ è bello!” an aria sung to her sleeping son Gennaro (who does not know that he is her son). But the artfulness went on all night – for instance, an incredibly gradual crescendo that rises into a riotous chorus later in the act. Twenty years after her SFO debut, Fleming is at the top of her game, and it is an utter joy to watch her cast her spells.

Not that she’s alone. SFO has assembled a cast of one divine bel canto voice after another, beginning with tenor Michael Fabiano as Gennaro. Elizabeth DeShong brings a forceful, vibrant mezzo to the pants role of Gennaro’s warrior-lover Orsini; their third-act duet, with its extended passages of unaccompanied harmonizing, are breath-taking. Another treat is bass Vitalij Kowaljow, a powerful, sinister Duke Alfonso who cuts through the orchestra with his assertive, forward-placed tone.

Musically, this less-performed opera provides some fascinating moments, including a trio for Gennaro, Alfonso and Lucrezia that prefigures devices used by Verdi. Torn between her son and her husband (who assumes Gennaro to be his wife’s lover), Lucrezia’s vocal line flies back and forth between the two like a tennis ball. It’s also a great pleasure to hear the composer’s use of Gennaro’s warriors, akin to having a small men’s chorus.

Dramatically, the opera provides a challenge similar to another recent SFO opera, Puccini’s Turandot: a heroine who also happens to be a mass murderer. The trick is to understand the mythologizing process of the era, which often fell prey to misogyny: in this case, in blaming Lucrezia for the sins of her family. Donizetti clearly allows for this possibility, using Victor Hugo’s empathetic play as his source material, and creating the kind of music that could only serve to soften the historical view of Lucrezia. It’s also intriguing to note the parallels (mistaking a child for a lover, killing a child in a bungled attempt at revenge), in a previous Hugo play, Le Roi S’Amuse, the source for Verdi’s Rigoletto.

The vision of a woman dressed as a man kissing a man (dressed as a man) is a bit of pseudo-homerotica rare even for San Francisco. Another unsettling vision is created by the device used for Lucrezia’s throat-slicing suicide, a knife blade that spouts blood. John Pascoe’s production design is both authentic – the series of Italian limestone walls and facades that shuffle into the opera’s different settings – and fantastical – costumery that takes medieval Italian styles and push them in the direction of fantasy-fiction comic books. Alfonso projects his wicked aura with a black leather robe and crown. Lucrezia turns up in Act III as something akin to Brunnhilde meets Wonder Woman (a testament to Fleming’s well-known workout regimen). The only misfire was with Orsini, whose leggings do nothing to hide Ms. DeShong’s womanly hips (while her gruff red beard butches her up quite a bit).

Conductor Riccardo Frizza guided his orchestra like a man opening a musical treasure chest on Christmas morning. He showed great care in giving his lead singers room to operate.

Through Oct. 11, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco. $30-$389, 415/864-3330, www.sfopera.com.

Image: Renée Fleming (Lucrezia Borgia). Photo by Cory Weaver.

Michael J. Vaughn is a twenty-five year opera critic. You can find excerpts from his latest novel under the Facebook fan page Operaville.

San Francisco Opera: Theofanidis’s "Heart of a Soldier"

Sept. 18, 2011

In the highly compressed world of opera, the idea of a 9/11 opera is truly scary. There’s too much “there” there. In commemorating the tenth anniversary of the Twin Tower attacks, San Francisco Opera landed on the perfect focus: one man’s life, a life that ended on that momentous day. Rick Rescorla, the security chief for the Morgan Stanley investment firm, evacuated all 2,700 of his workers from the South Tower, then, heading back in to seek out stragglers, perished in the ensuing collapse.

The first act of the work, created by composer Christopher Theofanidis and librettist Donna Di Novelli, threatens to fall into a similar trap: trying to sum up a life that is simply too big. This seems especially true of a running Socratic dialogue on the nature of war, conducted by Rescorla and his best friend Dan Hill during tours of duty in Rhodesia and Vietnam. Following a battle in the Ia Drang River Valley, Dan declares “I don’t want to know their names,” while Rick obsesses over every lost soldier. The act feels overburdened with philosophizing, but this is a false sensation. Especially with the glut of attention brought by coverage of the anniversary, one feels impatient to get to the horrors of the main event. In fact, there’s plenty going on in Act 1, it’s all necessary to the conclusive action in Act 2, and the opera’s total running time is a modest two hours, ten minutes.

A crucial line of the narrative centers on the Vietnam platoon’s medic, Tom, played with great heart by baritone Michael Sumuel. A running correspondence with his sweetheart, Juliet (soprano Nadine Sierra), gives the opera a grunt’s-eye view of the real cost, the fear and loneliness of those who wait at home. Tom’s death in battle (one of the more visceral killings you’ll see in an opera) launches Juliet’s aria of worry, “I read and re-read the old letters,” and also helps to illuminate the depth of Rick’s compassion for his men.

The jungle battle scene is terrifying, due to a combination of qualities: singers that actually look and move like soldiers, the use of recorded battle sounds (Tod Nixon, sound designer), a dizzying background of Vietnam-era footage (S. Katy Tucker, projection designer), and Theofanidis’s pulsating, explosive score.

Theofanidis occupies the new school of opera composing, where personal style takes a backseat to the needs of the story. He opens with a troop of Normandy-bound Yanks singing to the tune of the familiar military marching chant (“Left! Left!” etc.) then borrows a Cornish fighting song for young Rick (the fine boy soprano Henry Phipps) to teach to the troops. The wedding song, “Overflow your glasses,” evokes Copland. The drug-addled soldier Dex plays his rifle to the sound of rock guitar, and Dan receives his call to Islam from Mohannad Mchallah, a Syrian singer trained in the secular Mideast form of Muwashshah.

What’s especially welcome – compared to the grinding, moaning tempi of many modern operas – is Theofanidis’s use of rapid rhythms. He applies martial modes throughout, notably in the staccato shouting accents of the training-camp scene at Ft. Benning and the adrenalized, chaotic scenes in Vietnam and at Ground Zero. He even makes use of counterpoint, in a fugue of Morgan Stanley workers gossiping about their strangely intense security chief (“Always watching”).

The second act opens with some much-needed relief: the light-hearted, late-in-life romance between Rescorla and Susan Greer, his New Jersey neighbor. Falling rapidly for each other over coffee, the two fiftysomethings act like teenagers, the accompanying awkwardness delivered by Di Novelli’s artful wit and wordplay in the duet “Do you ever wish?” When Susan assumes that Rick’s Cornwall homeland must be somehow associated with bagpipes, she asks, “Isn’t all the UK kind of bagpipey?” Rick later defends his excessive evacuation drills to his workers by saying, “I’m here to save your asses!” “From what?” they ask. “Exactly!” he replies.

Playing Susan, Melody Moore lights up the stage, delivering extra servings of warmth and humor with her vibrant soprano. William Burden plays Dan Hill with a strong, clear tenor and an underlying toughness. Baritone Thomas Hampson, whose involvement was a primary reason for the opera’s development, performs the forbidding task of taking a half-intellectual, half-warrior, almost mythic figure and making him fully human. “Marathon,” a genuine hit aria foreshadowing the events to come, gives Hampson a chance to shine, backed by sweeping strings and brass.

This central trio provides the perfect setup for the fateful morning: Susan in her bedroom, Dan mowing his lawn as Rick works behind them in the towers: two four-level platforms whose long vertical lines evoke the architecture of the World Trade Center. As the planes strike the North Tower across from them, then their own tower, Rick ignores the Port Authority’s call for the workers to stay put and orders them into their drill, singing all the way down the tower as a way to drive off panic. Hampson’s part could be the first operatic piece delivered entirely through a megaphone (“Exit singing”). Susan and Dan receive their final phone calls from Rick, and react with the same horror and anguish felt by the rest of the country. Moore delivers a fearsome top note as she begs Rick not to go back in (“I want you to stay!”). Burden watches the towers collapse and cries out the names of his friend’s favorite battles: “Marathon! Agincourt! Antietam!”

The set design by Peter J. Davison, and the manipulation of its elements, is masterful. The battle-heavy first act is a dreamlike world of flyaway flats, sets, screens and chin-up bars, augmented by Mark McCollough’s lighting. The eight-ton towers – built by Adirondack Studios in New York – achieve just the right balance of evocation without using actual imagery from the attacks, a smart decision by the production team. The most remarkable image is a rainfall of office papers, providing a moving visual elegy to the lives lost that day. The performance was led by stage director Francesca Zambello, who initiated the project when she read her friend James Stewart’s book of the same title. Conductor Patrick Summers worked with Theofanidis in developing the opera, and led his orchestra in an energetic, nuanced performance.

Through Sept. 30, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco. $21-$389. 415/864-3330, www.sfopera.com

Photo by Cory Weaver.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 25-year opera critic and author of the novel Operaville, available at amazon.com.

San Francisco Opera, Puccini's Turandot

Sept. 14, 2011

As evolutionary creatures, we respond to sudden changes in sound in a primal fashion – as if that sound might be attached to a creature that might eat us. This is why we are energized, sometimes alarmed, by sudden changes in music, and – once we reassure ourselves that we’re not about to end up in someone’s belly – why we often even enjoy the experience.

In Turandot, Puccini created a sonic rollercoaster of haunting elegies and musical grenades to create a provocative mix of fear and love. This aspect of the composer’s last (and unfinished) work was driven home by San Francisco’s resident dynamo, conductor Nicola Luisotti, and a supercharged orchestra, equipped with enough percussion to open a drum store (for the record: four timpani, triangle, snare drum, funeral drum, cymbals, tam-tam, eleven tuned gongs, glockenspiel, xylophone, marimba and chimes).

Not that the rollercoaster was strictly an audio affair. David Hockney’s 1992 set makes a welcome return, its collison of shocking reds, greens and off-kilter architecture creating an otherworldly Peking. The alien feeling is intensified by the haunting Moon Chorus, sung by the villagers before the arrival of a very busy executioner. (Ian Robertson’s chorus sang assertively and beautifully all evening.) After the execution, with its rousing bursts of brass and the Prince of Persia’s snappy yellow and blue robe (because you only die once), Puccini shifts to absurdist humor in the form of Ping, Pang and Pong, clownish administrators of the Imperial household. Attempting to ridicule our hero, Calaf, out of wooing their deadly princess (“Our graveyards are all full, and we have enough lunatics”), Hyung Yun, Greg Fedderly and Daniel Montenegro perform with such vocal and comic tightness, it’s hard not think of them as s single entity. In Act 2, they follow passages of Rossinian patter with a surprisingly touching andantino, “Ho Una casa nell’Honan”) about the homes they never see.

For sheer emotionality, of course, the opera’s peak moment is Liù’s “Signore, ascolta,” and former SFO Adler Fellow Leah Crocetto does not miss her opportunity. Making her role debut, Crocetto sings with a clarity and directness absolutely reminiscent of Montserrat Caballe. Her final note was a soul-shaking, crystalline dream.

Fear and Love make their appearance in the form of Swedish soprano Iréne Theorin and tenor Marco Berti, who battle it out in the Act 2 riddle scene like a hurricane battling a tornado. In the tradition of tenors with awesome voices, Berti is a little too static in his movements. Theorin begins in the same fashion – especially in Turandot’s fearsome “In questa reggia” – but then, at the answering of the third riddle, reveals a beguiling frailty. This helps later, as Puccini and his “finisher,” the much-debated Franco Alfano, attempt to marry off a serial murderer and a schmuck over the dead body of a devoted servant. (Considering his long history of squeezing effective drama out of his harried librettists, I’m betting that a healthier Puccini would have given the whole thing a massive overhaul.)

Puccini’s fascinating late-life experimentation – the ventures into exotic cultures and 20th century musical trends – tend to distract one from these dramatic flaws. SFO’s lavish production – a cast of 199 performers, a second-act palace that seems to go on forever, rhythmic gymnasts whipping ribboned banners all over the place, and one hell of a headdress – is a pretty amazing show all by itself.

Through Oct. 4, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco. $21-$389. www.sfopera.com, 415/864-3330. Free simulcast 2 p.m. Sept. 25 at AT&T Ballpark.

Photo by Cory Weaver

Michael J. Vaughn is a 25-year opera critic and author of the novel Operaville, available at amazon.com.

Opera San Jose's "Idomeneo"

Sept. 11, 2011

Thanks to a gift from Hewlett-Packard heir David W. Packard, Opera San Jose made its very first Idomeneo a truly lavish affair. The great thing is, the money went not into showy elegance but to elegant authenticity, a production that seemed like a four-hour exhibit of Bronze-Age Minoan art, architecture and dress.

To modern sensibilities, Mozart’s 1781 creation suffers a bit from its story. Cretan King Idomeneo buys his survival in a shipwreck by promising Neptune he will sacrifice the first mortal he sees upon reaching land. That mortal turns out to be his own son, Idamante. Librettist Varesco then tried to crowbar in some Enlightenment values with a deus ex machina that provided several final-act titters.

The opera is worthwhile, regardless, for a view of Mozart’s most ambitious production, including a decided emphasis on choruses and dance. The company takes full advantage of these elements. Andrew Whitfield’s chorus performs as robustly as I’ve ever heard them, particularly in the opening chorus, “Godiam la pace.” A 15-member dance troupe, meanwhile, performs rustic, athletic interludes – notably in the final coronation scene - choreographed by Ballet San Jose director Dennis Nahat.

It was interesting to see how some of OSJ’s now-familiar voices matched up with the opera’s roles. A perfect example is Sandra Bengochea, who should probably travel the world, seeking out chances to sing Ilia, surviving daughter of the fallen Troy. Ilia’s lilting, lyric lines are a perfect match for Bengochea, and I have never heard her sound more vibrant, particularly in Ilia’s third-act farewell to Idamante, “Zeffiretti lusinghieri.” She makes the most of her phrasing, notably in several beautifully shaped sustenatos, and sings with a relaxed optimism that matches Ilia’s resilient demeanor.

Soprano Jasmina Halimic has the kind of Queen of the Night/Lady Macbeth/Tosca intensity that makes a perfect match for Elettra, particularly in her black-and-gold Evil Queen dress (designed by Johann Stegmeir). Halimic suffered some breathing problems in the second-act “Idol mio, se ritroso,” but stole the show with Elettra’s final-act freakout, “D’Oreste, d’Ajace.”

The only real flaw in tenor Alexander Boyer’s OSJ performances has been a bit of awkwardness in his stage movements, but with the tragedy-stricken monarch, he seems to have settled into his skin. (It also helps, in playing royalty, to be very tall.) He was a little tentative with the runs of the second-act aria “Fuor del mar,” but otherwise received many chances to show off the natural warmth of his tone, especially in the more anguished fortes of the final act, when he is faced with actually carrying out his promise to Neptune.

Speaking of Neptune, the company provided a side of beefcake with Paul Gemignani, who also (kidding aside) endowed the non-singing role with a stern god-like presence. Another side-treat was the quartet of “civilian singers,” Trojan men Jo Vincent Parks and Raymond Chavez; Cretan women Tori Grayum and Jillian Boye, all with lead-level voices.

The great emotional heft of the opera belongs to the role of Idamante, shunned by his father for no apparent reason, and infatuated with a woman, Ilia, who considers him an enemy. These conflicts fall to just the right performer, mezzo Betany Coffland, and the results are wonderful. In Act I, Coffland delivers the heartrending lament, “Il padre adorato,” then curls up on the beach as the curtain falls on Idamante’s befuddlement. This emotionality continues into the affair with Ilia, notably the third-act duet with Ilia, “S’io non moro.” The duet leads into the brilliant quartet, “Andro, ramingo e solo,” in which Elettra, Ilia, Idamante and Idomeneo simultaneously explore their varying conflicts. (In the alternate cast, Idamante is played by a tenor, Aaron Blake, in an alternative score written by Mozart in reaction to the growing movement against castrati.)

The orchestra played under the sure hands of George Cleve, one of the finest Mozarteans in the world, and, given his 21 years as director of the San Jose Symphony, a local favorite. Cleve led orchestra and audience in a longstanding tradition – the opening-weekend singing of The Star-Spangled Banner – that, given the date of the performance, carried much more significance than usual.

Through Sept. 25, California Theatre, 345 South First Street, San Jose. $51-$101. 408/437-4450, www.operasj.org

Image: Sandra Bengochea as Ilia. Photo by P. Kirk.

Michael J. Vaughn is a 25-year opera critic and author of the novel Operaville, available at amazon.com.

Betany Coffland: Putting the "Bel" in Bel Canto

By Michael J. Vaughn

With its unique four-year residency program, Opera San Jose offers its patrons a chance to cultivate actual relationships with its singers: perhaps to develop a list of favorites, or even identify that rare performer who has what it takes to make it in the broader world of opera. Since these singers are also steadily improving during those fours years, often these true talents sneak up on you. You might not even remember when it was they first came to your attention. Fortunately, critics have old reviews to jog their memories.

The first thing that struck me about mezzo Betany Coffland was the most obvious: pure vocal power. Singing Dorabella in a February 2009 production of Cosi fan tutte, Coffland paired up with Rebecca Davis’s Fiordiligi to make divine ear candy with Mozart’s female harmonies. She also delivered an excellent rendition of “Smanie implacabili,” Dorabella’s hilariously overwrought lamentation. (Coffland later performed the aria in the 2010 Irene Dalis Vocal Competiton.) Mental checklist: strong voice, musical wit.

The next revelation came in the November 2009 production of Rossini’s La Cenerentola, when Coffland took that vocal power and added “lightness, agility, birdsong.” She also demonstrated the warmth and charisma a singer needs to “carry” a show. Her performance of the finale, “Non più mesta,” was simply masterful. Add to the list: dexterity, star power.

In February 2010, Coffland made her trouser-role debut with the ultimate: Cherubino of Le Nozze di Figaro. Here, she illustrated a quality I call the Audience Comfort Quotient. This happens when a patron attends a favorite opera, sees a performer’s name on the program, and knows that he can simply sit back and enjoy. “I have already developed the belief,” I wrote, “that mezzo Betany Coffland can do no wrong on a stage.” She also had the chance to demonstrate a talent for slapstick that was only hinted at in her previous roles. List: audience confidence, physical humor.

In February 2011, everything on the list came together with Rosina of Il Barbiere di Siviglia. The physical humor was cast-wide, and Coffland offered an intriguing interpretive choice, playing Rosina much “feistier” than the usual. Feeling that I was beginning to run out of superlatives, I wrote that the performance “should confirm Coffland’s genius in the special discipline of bel canto mezzo.”

As far as next-big-thing predictions go, here’s the clincher. Not only does Coffland possess the perfect skills for the Mozartean/Rossinian mezzo – she knows it, and seems fully capable of resisting the Puccini-Verdi temptations that have ruined many a singer before her. Even a rather intriguing venture into a Mendocino Carmen was undertaken with the understanding that she would sing with Betany’s voice, and not the usual double-wide Spanish sultry.

I had the pleasure of bumping into Betany at this summer’s San Francisco Ring Cycle, two Italophiles feeling a little lost in the German bigness. We spent our intermissions chatting about bel canto, Opera San Jose and her upcoming role as Idamante in Idomeneo, and I asked her if we could continue our conversation for the readers of The Opera Critic.

How did you first get into singing?

I was surrounded by music as a child. One of my first singing memories is my mother playing the guitar while myself and my three siblings would harmonize to “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog.” My mother also loved to sing opera and I grew up with her singing “Ch' il bel sogno” and “Depuis le jour.” To this day, they are still two of my favorite arias.

I began taking voice lessons at age 12 and when I was 15, I started performing in musicals and plays. That first year, I think I juggled school and performing in five different productions. I was constantly busy with late-night rehearsals. I ended up wearing myself out and even getting mononucleosis. Yet, I loved every minute of it.

How did you discover opera?

I was interested in becoming an actress, but knew that I had a voice. The option of going into musical theater was thrown out by my lack of dancing skills. I had a huge “Aha” moment when I attended The Missouri Fine Arts Academy during high school. It was the first time I was completely surrounded by artists: singers, writers, painters, dancers, actors and instrumentalists. These people were creative, interesting and strange. I was hooked. It was that experience that convinced me to choose to attend New England Conservatory of Music. However, the drama and being an honest actress is still an integral part of my creative process and interest in performing opera.

Regarding the Rossinian mezzo repertoire: Did you have an early exposure to this area of opera, or was it a later discovery?

For the first seven years of my singing studies, I sang soprano. It wasn't until my second year of conservatory that I made the switch to mezzo-soprano. At first, this was a really difficult change for me. We singers are so emotionallly connected to our voice type and it is a bit of an identity crisis when we switch vocal fachs. However, now I'm so grateful to be a mezzo. It fits my personality.

While I was an undergraduate at New England Conservatory, I auditioned for the graduate program's Opera Workshop Class. It was there that I was assigned my first Rossini aria. During that time I was singing some Handel which also can involve a lot of coloratura singing. Even back then, I knew that it was a good fit.

However, it wasn't until my second season at Opera San Jose that I was given the chance to sing a full role as a Rossini heroine - Angelina, in La Cenerentola. I loved it, and people began to pay attention.

What is it about this area of singing that you enjoy?

There are definitely difficult technical aspects about singing Rossini and I like that challenge. I'm a hard worker and enjoy finding those moments of finally letting go and trusting that the technique is there.

Part of our job as a singer is making it all look easy. Believe me, it's not. For 30 seconds of Rossini's coloratura you hear on stage, I spend literally hours and hours trying to work that all out. It's amazing to me to think that I have the patience to do that, but ultimately, my voice likes the workout. Finding the body coordination and trust to finally let the voice go is what the audience is waiting to hear. There's something so exquisite in letting go and trusting. Inherently, I believe it's one of the most beautiful things we can do in art and in life. It's extraordinary to think that Rossini brings this out.

Is there a difference in the way you approach trouser roles? What's been
your experience with these?

I believe that passion and raw emotions aren't gender-based, regardless of
the boundaries society attempts to put on the sexes. When performing a
pants-role, in an attempt to be less feminine, I might change my gait and
gestures, but ultimately, I don't consciously attempt to “act like a boy.”
While getting my Masters at Juilliard, I sang Miles in Britten's The Turn
of the Screw and I covered L'enfant in Ravel's L'enfant et les sortileges.
I've also sung Cherubino and will be doing Siebel this coming Spring. I'm
currently singing Idamante in Opera San Jose's production of Mozart's
Idomeneo. I love that the name Idamante literally means “from the heart.”
He's such a beautiful character caught in the emotional juxtaposition of
some major drama. I think ultimately there's something about the timbre
of a lyric mezzo-soprano's voice that captures the sentiments of young men
who are coming of age.

How has Opera San Jose helped your development as an artist?

To be a part of the only resident artist opera company in the U.S. has been
such a blessing. Imagine that I've been able stay in one place for four
years and gain all this experience! I feel so lucky to have been a part
of Irene Dalis's vision and hard work. Ms. Dalis and my experience at
Opera San Jose have taught me lessons for which I will be forever
grateful.

The main thing I take away from Opera San Jose is confidence. Confidence
in my singing and performing, confidence in “carrying a show,” and
confidence in hard work. I've worked with so many different personalities
of stage directors, conductors and singers, and it's been important to
learn how to be a good colleague to all those personalities. I will leave
OSJ as a resident with so many good memories and lifelong friends.

You don't seem the type (vocally) for Carmen. What was your strategy in
approaching that role? Also, what was it like performing in Mendocino?

The most important thing I can say about my adventure with Carmen is that
Opera San Jose told me to sing her with my own voice. I also got the
green light from my teacher, Cesar Ulloa, which was very important to me.
While I'm definitely not a “Mama Mezzo” voice that most people are used to
hearing sing Carmen, that doesn't mean that I can't sing her. The range
is perfect for me and she feels so good for me to sing. Honestly, I
thought I didn't want to tackle the role because my Finnish/English
heritage doesn't contain an ounce of Spanish blood. However, after taking
flamenco dance lessons for a year and donning a dark brown wig, I really
inhabited the role quite easily.

Fortunately, I was able to perform Carmen for a second time at the
Mendocino Music Festival last summer. Music Director, Allan Pollack, has
something really special going on up there. This glorious coastal town
just bustles with energy from the music-making for three weeks during the
summer and I had a lovely experience. This festival really is a gem.


How far along are you in your OSJ residency?

I'm just beginning my fourth and final season. Of course, I hope to
return as a guest artist!

Any plans for your post-OSJ career?

I'll be thrown into the abyss of unemployed singers auditioning for work.
Finding work now is even harder than it was four years ago due to opera
companies cutting back. It's a scary and exciting time, but I definitely
have a great support system behind me.

What would be the absolute perfect situation for you?

Honestly, I don't like being away from my husband, Joseph, for very long.
As a computer software engineer, he works from home and, fortunately, we
really like to be around each other. Therefore, that means that I don't
want to be traveling ten months out of the year, living out of hotel rooms.
That lifestyle just doesn't appeal to me. However, he is able to travel
with me a bit.

The perfect situation? Settling in the Bay Area and working on
the West Coast for four months out of the year. Then working regionally in
the U.S. or internationally for 4 months (with Joseph coming along for the
ride) and the other four months saved for learning new roles.

What's the weirdest thing that's happened to you on stage?

As opera singers who are trained to have excellent diction, we spit a lot
on stage while emoting or attempting to get out those consonants. It's
an interesting thing to have gotten used to my colleagues spitting on me.
Recently, in our production of The Barber of Seville, one of my dear
friends spit and it landed directly on my own lip. Of course, I had to
remain in character and smile as if that was normal. And I guess in some
weird way, I have gotten used to it.

What’s your favorite popular aria and lesser-known aria?

Popular aria: “Ombra mai fu” from Handel's Xerxes. Lesser know aria? “Perfect As We Are” from Mark Adamo's Little Women.

What's your absolute favorite role and opera?

That I've performed: Dorabella in Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte My favorite opera that I would never sing in is Stravinksy's The Rake's Progress. My dream role? Melisande in Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande.

I note that Idamante is also being done by a tenor in the alternate cast.
Are there different versions for each voice type, or is he more of a
countertenor?

Yes, the other Idamante is being sung by a tenor. Mozart originally
wrote Idamante for a castrato, which has now been taken over by mezzos. A
revision of the score by Mozart was written for a tenor. The notes we are
singing are the same, but obviously, I'm singing an octave above the
tenor.

Mozart’s Idomeneo, with alternate casts, Sept. 10-25 at the California Theatre, 345 South First St., San Jose, California. Tickets are $51-$101. 408/437-4450, www.operasj.org

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of the novel Operaville, available with a companion CD by soprano Barbara Divis at amazon.com. He is also a contributing editor to Writer’s Digest.

Photo by Elena Generally