This week I received an email from a professional musician friend of mine in England. He had been away for a while and not been keeping up with this blog (can you imagine?). When he finally caught up he saw what I had written last week - and in the past - about Bryn Terfel and had some very interesting things to say. I will quote from his missive:

"From friends in the Royal Opera Orchestra, I already knew of the Terfel troubles. Sadly, watching and listening to him on Last Night of the Proms revealed real problems, of both nerve and technique. Sweating profusely, he struggled through Silent Noon and some folk songs, breathing every two notes as if suffering from a chronic lung condition, and was quite unable to sustain any sound after the first 'push'. It's not greed, but desperation - he has to retire from opera as he simply can't do it any more, and, probably because of having to maintain lifestyle, taxman, family and agent , has to bluff his way in the pop world where audiences are ignorant and uncritical - but HE KNOWS and is obviously traumatised. Having admired his Elijah and countless other things, I feel very sorry for him - too much too soon, and the pressure got to him. One would have thought he had the physique and stamina but I believe it's a genuine psychological crisis.( and the finger story just does not hold up) He needs to get off that treadmill and take a couple of years off. For someone like that it's a long way down".

I am left feeling very conflicted. On the one hand I am pleased to know that he isn't just being a divo. At the same time it is distressing to hear that he is in crisis mode. I think the only proper course for me now is to keep my thoughts to myself unless and until there is some official word on Terfel's situation and in the mean time to wish him nothing but the best. The man has - or had - a glorious voice and immense talent. If he has become a victim of the pressures to which modern singers are subject by the system within which they have no alternative other than to work then I feel very sorry for him and his family.

Terfel would not be the first singer of international renown to have been pushed over the edge of his capacity by the demands of his career. Only last year, tenor Rolando Villazon had to cancel a number of very prestigious engagements including his debut recital at Carnegie Hall and Roméo et Juliette at the Met citing "health problems". Villazon, whose wife is a psychologist, was pretty forthright about what went on and admitted to feeling burned out. "Being exhausted it was difficult to sing. I am very nervous when I go onstage and that's a wonderful struggle. But when it becomes fear it is horrible and I began to feel fear". He took a few months off and returned to great warmth and acclaim and a much slimmed-down performance schedule.

So perhaps Terfel just needs to give his body time to relax and heal. I certainly hope so. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have him back as Scarpia once again (see above)? Meanwhile I had better find a fruity valpolicella to match the large helping of crow I will probably find myself dining upon.

I went with Holly and Elizabeth to La Traviata on Saturday evening. I don't do reviews of Portland Opera performances here as this is my blog and not a corporate news letter. However, as the show has now closed I don't think there is any reason why I shouldn't tell you about my visit to the Keller. Before the show itself we went to hear Bob Kingston give one of his regular pre-performance talks. If you have never been then you really should. He is informative, fun and totally unintimidating. So instead of coming away thinking to oneself "Man, this opera stuff is hard!" one feels jazzed by having more information about what one is to see. Good stuff. And the talks are free; just go to the first balcony level at 6:30pm on the evening of the show. I shall be interested to hear what he has to saya about Beethoven's Fidelio which is next up and which is in my view one strange opera.

The performance itself was everything I was expecting having seen a couple of rehearsals. The three principals, Richard Zeller, Richard Troxell and Maria Kanyova were all in splendid voice. I have not seen Ms Konyova in any other production but I shall be looking out for her in future. Her voice is quite delicious and very much under control. She managed successfully to negotiate the extraordinary emotional and vocal range Act 1 requires and then just kept getting better. Act 2 is one of the most moving in all of opera. Violetta's meeting with Germont is three-Kleenex stuff. Richard Zeller brought a sense of humanity to the role of Alfredo's father which gave it a depth one doesn't often see. And this role fitted him like a glove. I don't think I have ever seen him better. One of the things I like so much about Richard Troxell's voice is that it is invariably in tune. That is not damning with faint praise. The tenor who is consistently pitch-perfect is a rare treasure. I always enjoy Troxell when he performs here. He makes me feel comfortable. I can sit back in my seat knowing that he will deliver the goods. And that is just what he did on Saturday evening.

Robert Ainsley has given the chorus a sheen and power which for me has become one of the hallmarks of a Portland Opera production. And the orchestra, which seems to have improved a good deal over the last couple of years, responded well to Stephen Lord's reading of the piece. The production? Meh. I can't say I am a big fan of that look but that is very subjective of course.

All in all we had a very good evening. As I stood in line for the mens' restroom during the second intermission I asked the man in front of me what he thought of the show. I find this is a good way to get an honest and unvarnished opinion. At that point in the evening people are asking themselves that very question and will tell you precisely what is in their mind. This particular chap said he has been coming to Portland Opera for three years and this was the best production he has seen but that he thought he had seen a general improvement in the quality of what he was watching. Not much to argue with there.

One of the reasons I am so happy to have seen the portland Opera production of La Traviata is that I missed it at Zurich Railway Station when it showed there a couple of weeks ago. It did. Really. You don't believe me? Go here! Those Swiss are a real hoot, huh?

I am off to the shower now. I think I'll entertain myself with a rendition of Ah, Mes Amis! That's the aria from La Fille du Régiment with the nine high C's. Actually, in my case they are nine notes of variable and sometimes indeterminate pitch. That will not prevent me acknowledging the rapturous applause from the huge audience who while they won't fit into my bathroom have plenty of room in my imagination. I may take an encore. We'll see how it goes.

Have a great week.

Opera is finally upon us for another season!  Portland Opera served up its first treat of the season with the opening performance of Verdi's La Traviata last Friday and on Monday the Met broadcast its season opening Gala starring Renée Fleming.  I have not yet seen a performance of this production of Traviata - I shall be attending on Saturday, the closing night - but I did attend the final dress rehearsal and all the indications are that this show is a winner.  I do not review Portland Opera productions in this blog as you probably have figured out by now but I should be very happy to hear from any of you who have already seen this show and to hear your views.

By and large if I were to be offered the opportunity to attend either a performance or a rehearsal of a work I know well, I would choose to go to the rehearsal. There is something I find totally gripping about the process through which art is formed. Now don't get me wrong; I enjoy every bit as much as the next man to be able to sit in a concert hall or opera house (or even the Keller Auditorium!) and witness a live performance. But some how there is an extra special feeling attached to being able to witness performers work through a piece, finding nuances which perhaps had escaped them before or shaping certain phrases in a way they haven't done previously in order to see whether something exciting or plausible emanates. Every Summer I attend the open rehearsals which are such a wonderful part of the Chamber Music Northwest festival and I always leave them energised and in awe of what transpires when great musicians bring all of their skill and intelligence to bear on a piece of music. And even when one is aware that,say, a string quartet has played the particular piece being rehearsed many many times before one is often left feeling that the piece is fresh to them - that the ink on the page is barely dry from the composer's pen.

In no art form I know is the sense of excitement so palpable in rehearsal as it is in opera. When the 'stage' is deliniated by no more than marks or pieces of tape on the floor, when sets and costumes are minimal and there is no orchestra to provide distraction there is then a priceless opportunity to see and hear the guts of the piece.

Vernon Handley, a friend of mine for forty years, died last week but I just learned of it today. I first got to know Handley - Tod to his many friends - in the 1960's when he was the conductor of the Guildford Philharmonic Orchestra and I sang in the Philharmonic Choir. Over the next few years I came to know him well. He was a fierce defender, promoter and champion of British music which, like British cuisine, was not always accorded the respect that was its due. My respect for Tod grew into a deep affection as the years passed and our friendship grew. After a while without any contact we touched base again a few months ago and I last heard from him a matter of weeks ago.

If you have never listened to his recordings I urge you to do so. They are numerous and of the highest quality. The world of music became a poorer place with his leaving of it. I shall miss him.

Here's what the The Guardian had to say.

When Bryn Terfel wimped out on the Royal Opera's Ring Cycle last year citing a family crisis, I wondered what on earth was going on.  It transpired that his teenage son had broken his finger and Mrs. Terfel demanded that her hubby put his fatherly duties before his public and contractual responsibilities ("All you people see is a singer but to me he is a husband and father!" quoth she). Had the lad been mortally ill I would have sympathized.  But a broken finger?  C'mon, dude.  That's just lame.  Since then I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop and in a sense this week it did.  Terfel announced that he plans to retire in about three years time. Not surprisingly the opera world's collective jaw dropped.  He has now backed away somewhat from the word “retirement” and has said he intends to "slow down.”  He told the BBC in an interview this week that he was concentrating on concert and other performances away from the opera stage, including sporting events.  In other words he too wishes to join the growing throng of singers who can earn much more by doing much less.  You may call it what you will but I would tag it as shamelessly selling out.  It both angers and saddens me that a man with such a glorious voice and immense talent is choosing the easy path.  Doubtless we may now look forward to hearing him sing “The Ash Grove” before a Welsh Rugby International at Cardiff Arms Park.  I'm sure it will be lovely but not quite as satisfying as settling in to experience his Wotan at the Royal Opera House.  Oh, well.

You know those bizarre dreams where things seem to make complete sense and yet somehow everything is very strange and disconnected?  Yes?  Well.  That is precisely how I felt when I saw this page of The New York Times. The Maestro's year is finished? And no more Ring Cycles or Parsifal or Flying Dutchman at the Lincoln Center?  Because he needs surgery on his elbow?  And why is this on the sports page??  I was on the point of pinching myself when sanity - or as close to it as I get - reasserted itself and I realized it was Billy Wagner (no relation) about whom they wrote and the “Met” is actually the Mets.  Phew.  What a relief!  For while I have heard the composer of some of the canon's longest operas called many things I have never before seen him referred to as a "left-handed closer.”

I am leaving for southern Oregon at o-dark-thirty tomorrow morning and had hoped to have this week's post ready before I left but it isn't going to happen.  I will not spare the horses and will speed back on Monday so please forgive the delay and come back on Tuesday when I hope your patience will be rewarded and Operaman will appear as usual.  There is fun stuff to report so don't miss it!

Eva and Katharina Wagner, both of them great-granddaughters of Richard Wagner have been selected by the foundation Board to govern the Bayreuth Festival.  Katharina has promised changes which will include "productions geared toward children" and "a training academy".  I can't help it - the phrase 'Wagner Youth' keeps spinning in my brain .  It's unfair, I know.

With Labor Day behind us and the opening of our opera season just a little more than three weeks away I guess we should all be prepared for Fall.  Except, well, I am not ready for Fall yet! I am still enjoying Summer so much.  Over this weekend I drove Holly and Elizabeth down to the Oregon/California border where they are beginning the Oregon portion of the Pacific Crest Trail.  For the next  month they will be toting fifty-pound backpacks hundreds of miles through the Oregon wilderness.  The starting point was close to the peak of Mount Ashland at approximately 7000 feet.  The air was crisp and clean and one could see forever or so it seemed.  The sky was that amazing Oregon blue and sported not a single a cloud.  The sun was warm and it just seemed like a glorious Summer's day.  And yet when I arrived back in Portland somewhat after 10pm last night when I opened the car door the first thing I smelled was woodsmoke.  The neighbours had made a fire as the air was on the chilly side of cool, and when I got out of the car the night had a very autumnal feel.

Regular readers of this blog will know that from time to time I have a whine about regie opera, that strange European invention by which directors of opera inflict productions upon us the paying public which are little or no more than an expression of their own ego without regard to the composer's or librettist's original intentions. I have always found it perplexing that while I am not exactly a lone voice crying in the wilderness there does seem to have been a dearth of known figures in the opera world echoing my complaints. Until this week. A few days ago an interview with Lorin Maazel was published in Milan's foremost newspaper Corriere della Serra in which he had a few things to say. I particularly liked "I've had enough (of conducting at the Salzburg Festival) with weirdly provocative stagings of arrogant directors who think innovation means boring the audience using public funds" and "I feel like speaking up for the people who buy tickets and are subjected to the wrongheaded interpretations of great operas.” He then put it nicely in a nutshell: "They only care about scandals. But the audience are not offended they're simply bored.” He was particularly scathing about Peter Zadek's recent production in Hamburg of Verdi's Otello "...where a naked Desdemona was hung out to dry on a rope like laundry, her a** in the air. I have nothing against nudity. At the Lido or the Moulin Rouge beautiful girls look great with their t***s hanging out. But the only thing a lady with her vocal chords in order needs to expose is her voice. People go to the opera for that.” C'mon Lorin, don't hold back. Tell us how you really feel!