Jules Massenet, Manon (1882)

So there's this list called "Top 50 Operas" from the Guardian. That title is misleading, as it's not any kind of top-anything list, nor is it meant to be: it's just intended as an overview of the form. I have my issues with it, and I'll probably write about them later, but recently I decided, just for kicks, to watch every opera on it. Not in a particularly focused or systematic way, but eventually, probably sooner rather than later. Why not? I'd seen most of them already, so it's just a fun thing to do.

One of the operas on the list is Manon, and oh my GOD, I'm not quite sure why, but I SO did not want to watch this opera. Seriously, you suggest to me just about any opera I haven't seen, and many that I have, and I'll be like, sure, why not, let's go for it. But the prospect of seeing Manon just filled me with apathy. It's true that I didn't much care for the only other Massenet opera I've seen, Cendrillon, but that wasn't the main thing, I don't think. I'll be down with seeing Werther or Thaïs, for sure. I also found Puccini's Manon Lescaut a bit dull, but why should that make a difference? Different composer, totally different take on the story. I think what it came down to, basically, was that the story in question really fails to excite me and I don't care what anyone does with it. I mean, I still don't know quite why this should be the only one about which I feel this way, but there you are. Still, if I was going to watch everything on the list, I was gonna have to get to it sooner or later, so I forced myself to watch it. I KNOW that that's totally perverse and that it just sets the opera up to fail, but seriously, I don't think I was just going to naturally become more predisposed towards it anytime soon, so what choice did I have?

Well...I don't know if this is just a self-fulfilling prophesy or what, but as I anticipated, I didn't like this very much. I've never read Manon Lescaut the novel (maybe I should?), but this is certainly significantly different than Puccini (then again, I don't remember that one being very well-plotted either, so maybe there are similarities). In Puccini (if I recall aright; it's been a while), Manon goes off to be a rich man's mistress because they're out of money, whereas here, she just leaves des Grieux at the promise of an opulent life. He definitely doesn't become a priest in Puccini after losing her. Perhaps most significantly, the ending is changed: after having been transported to the United States for prostitution, Puccini has her die thirst and exhaustion in the Great Louisiana Desert, but Massenet doesn't even have her transported: thanks to a bribe from Lescaut, she's released, but then she dies anyway for no particular reason. So not super-edifying in either case.

I don't know; maybe I really don't like Massenet's music. Manon has a famous aria as she's preparing to leave des Grieux, "Adieu, notre petite table," which I guess is kind of poignant, but, honestly, nothing here really excited me--though it surely can't help that I find the drama so uncompelling. One notable thing is that Manon herself is incredibly mercenary throughout almost the whole thing. Dunno if that hews closely to the source material, but I found it hard to get too involved in the tragedy. I was watching this version with Netrebko as Manon, but after the first three acts, just out of boredom, I switched to this one: same production, different cast. I will say I preferred Lisette Oropesa in the role, but it's not a strong preference. Des Grieux comes across as kind of gormless in both the one and the other.

That's mostly all I have to say about this, but I wanted to call attention to just one thing in the production. It's updated to the nineteenth century, which, sure, fine, it certainly works better than that comtemporary Manon Lescaut I saw, even if it feels a bit arbitrary, but there's one part, after a ballet sequence, where dudes are abducting the dancers and carrying them off-stage as they're screaming, and, like, WHAT? I mean maybe you could do a feminist production where that would feel appropriate, but here it's just out of nowhere, and it feels like pointless edginess for the sake of it. I was not amused. Boo to the producer.

Mikhail Glinka, Ruslan and Lyudmila (1842)

And now, Glinka's other opera, based on a fairie tale poem by you-know-who. He was supposed to write the libretto, but never got around to it on account of being killed. As faerie tales often go, it's sort of hard to summarize, but I shall try. So the two title characters are going to get married! Ruslan is a knight and Lyudmilla is a princess of Kiev. There are also two other knights, Ratmir and Farlaf, who are jealous of Ruslan. But oh no! The court is paralyzed by magic while Lydumila is kidnapped by forces unknown! Her distraught father says that whoever rescues her can marry her, so Ruslan, Ratmir, and Farlaf all set out. Ruslan meets a good wizard named Finn who tells him that an evil dwarf, Chernomor, has kidnapped Lyudmilla, and also--unrelated and yet somehow not--there's an evil sorceress, Naina. Ruslan goes off to find Chernomor while Naina promises Farlaf that she'll help him win Lyudmila. For unclear reasons, in Chernomor's court, in addition to Lyudmila, there's another prisoner, Gorislava, Ratmir's forsaken lover. They meet again and fall back in love. Ruslan defeats Chernomor, but unfortunately, Lyudmila is under a sleeping spell that no one can break. Rusland, Ratmir, and Gorislava take her back home, but before they can get there, Farlaf, with Naina's help, captures her and takes her back so HE can win the prize (Naina just kind of disappears after this). But he can't wake her up! Fortunately, Finn appears and gives Ruslan a nodoz ring that'll break the spell and everyone's happy. Well, I guess Farlaf isn't super-happy (it's not specified in the libretto), but at least in this production, he's forgiven, which is a nice grace note.

Oh, and Ratmir's another trouser role, if you were counting.

I feel like faerie-tale operas are a bit hit-and-miss for me. If you have a comedy like La Cenerentola or Handel und Gretel, it's fine, but sometimes the unreality of the situation in a more serious opera robs it of potential dramatic power. This is even an issue in Rimsky-Korsakov operas that I like. Point being: I felt that that was the case here, and I definitely liked this less than A Life for the Tsar, which was a bit of a surprise, since it seems better-known/regarded.

It's certainly not that the music's bad: the overture opens things with a bang, and there are some real musical highlights herein, notably what I can only describe as a patter-song from Farlaf about how he's going to get Lyudmila and the inevitably Triumphant Chorus at the end. And yet, I feel that sometimes it's too much of a good thing, supporting a not-that-interesting story. In particular, there are several ballet sequences that go on for a VERY long time and that I couldn't help think could have benefitted from some judicious editing.

I dunno. It's all right, but it's hard for me to feel that much enthusiasm for it. Not, as I say, bad--and, as ever, the Mariinsky Theatre puts on a hell of a show (with a young Anna Natrebko as Lyudmila, for what that's worth, but don't get too excited--it's actually a fairly small role, what with the character being a prisoner for most of the runtime, and doesn't really give her much chance to shine), but I cannot help feeling vaguely disappointed.

Donnacha Dennehy, The Second Violinist (2017)

Here's an interesting contemporary opera--maybe the most contemporary I've ever seen. It takes place definitively in the here and now, and it takes advantage of technology to drive that home.

But what's it about? Well...that's a vexed question. It's about the titular violinist, Martin, who is having some sort of life crisis: he's supposed to be practicing and performing, but instead, he just ignores all his voice mails and messes around on his phone and drinks (that's one thing that doesn't ring quite true--who the heck is leaving voicemails in 2017?). He exchanges messages with a woman on a dating site (the opera makes heavy use of a big screen in the background to show what's on his phone). There are...jumps in time? Apparently? And a murder? Probably? Martin's obsessed with the late Renaissance composer Carlo Gesualdo, who murdered his wife and her lover, which may be a hint about something (Quoth wikipedia: "Due to his status as a nobleman, the Gran Corte della Vicaria found that Gesualdo had not committed a crime." Plus ça change...).

The music is tense and unnerving and I sort of tensed up at the climax even though I wasn't totally sure why. But if the above doesn't make it clear: I basically found the story totally impenetrable (this is an Operavision production that's long been taken down). I am absolutely one hundred percent positive that there is in fact a there there, but whether it's just too abstruse to get after a single viewing (at least for a dumb guy like me), or whether the production wasn't filmed entirely clearly--hard to say. Very probably both.

Still, I don't know. This is a sort of story that you don't see often in opera, and I enjoy being challenged and I enjoy the fact that contemporary opera is a vibrant thing. I feel like it's like Disney comics in that it's totally unknown to outsiders ("what, they still make those things?), but I am a cool ninja who appreciates such things. End of story.

Mikhail Glinka, A Life for the Tsar (1836)

Yup, here we go. It's not the first-ever Russian opera, but it was the one that established Russian opera as its own distinctive thing. Or so I am told by the internet, which Knows All.

The life in question is a peasant, Ivan Susanin. There's a new Tsar, and his, Ivan's, daughter is going to get married! So that's fun. But Holy Rus is being menaced by the evil Poles! That's bad (sorry, Maciek; that's just the way it goes). They want to capture the new Tsar, which would also be bad, but when they demand that Susanin show them where he is, he leads them off in the wrong direction into the forest while his son Vanya goes to warn the Tsar that he's gotta get going. When the Poles learn that Susanin tricked them, they kill him, but the Tsar is safe! Woo patriotism!

Obviously, the sensibilities of the piece are not my own. Don't sacrifice yourself for the Tsar, Susanin! He doesn't care about you! You owe him nothing! Also, there's a scene where Vanya, who is young, is eager to grow up so he can join the army and his dad's like, yeah! Great! Think of all the glory you'll earn and SERIOUSLY dude, don't encourage your son to go abroad fighting for strangers! That is never a good idea!

But to be clear, none of this really bothered me; I got swept up in the drama and enjoyed the opera a lot. What's not to like? In particular, Susanin's aria as he's preparing for death when the Poles notice his perfidy is very powerful. Act II takes place amongst the Poles, and the bulk of it is a lengthy ballet sequence where Glinka presumably thought, well hell, I've got all these bangin' tunes; might as well stick them in there. So it may be some comfort to know that, while the Poles are the villains, they've got some great music. Also--a highly specific milestone--I think this is the first time I've seen a trouser role in a Russian opera: Vanya is a contralto role, although here, big surprise, it's sung by a mezzo. It's a good production, though; it's a movie from the Bolshi Opera from sometime in the nineties, and Evgeny Nesterenko shines as Susanin.

Are you perhaps thinking, "huh, 'a life for the Tsar.' I wonder if this presented a dilemma for the Soviet government, which obviously wanted to celebrate Russia's cultural heritage but at the same time has no use whatsoever for Tsars?" That's probably what you're thinking. Well, apparently during the Soviet era this was performed with a revised libretto that removes the Tsar altogether. Do I understand how that could possibly work? Not really! But the music probably still made it worth seeing even in bowdlerized form.

Claudio Monteverdi, L'incoronazione di Poppea (1643)

Aaaah! Incoronazionevirus!

So I saw the Met in HD production of Handel's Agrappina on Saturday, and it was deeeee-lightful. A certain number of purists on the Met in HD facebook group scoffed at it, but GOOD GOD purists are tedious. How do they live in their head without putting themselves to sleep all the time? ANYWAY, my only point is, there was like a minute or so of random backstage stuff after the curtain call, and you could hear Iestyn Davies (who played Ottone) jokily remarking to Brenda Rae (who played Poppea, his love interest) "I know what you get up to in Monteverdi." And I figured it was ABOUT TIME that I too learned what she gets up to in Monteverdi. This is definitely one of the most prominent operas I hadn't seen (in addition to Orfeo, I have seen Il ritorno d'Ulisse in Patria, though I don't think I wrote about it here; I don't remember being overly impressed, but I should probably revisit it).

Even though it does feature allegorical figures of virtue, fortune, and love, this generally feels more grounded than Orfeo; more about actual people. The emperor Nerone: he's in love and having an affair with Ottone's wife Poppea, in spite of being married himself. She manipulates him into having Seneca killed, because he's the one, she feels, who's keeping him from ditching his wife and marrying her. And he does! But don't worry about Ottone; he finds a new girlfriend. There's also a lot of stuff with comic-relief servants. Is this an all-around comedy? I find that a little difficult to say, but it certainly demonstrates that people didn't always want pure solemnity in their operas.

Yup! So anyway, here's an opera where we're celebrating the bad guys! I'm still sort of surprised by the deadpan sense of irony that people had back in the day. That feels more contemporary. Well, in fact, everyone other than Seneca also ends up okay (much unlike history), but still, it feels like a different thing from Agrippina, where, even if most of the characters are amoral at best, they're still sort of loveable. I wouldn't exactly call Nerone and Poppea here "loveable." I WILL say, though: they have some alarmingly sexy duets. Not appropriate for small children. I wouldn't have thought ol' Claudio had it in him. In general, the music is very varied and good; you can see the start of the development of the aria, and Monteverdi writes very well for specific characters. Apparently, Agrippina is the oldest opera the Met has ever performed, and while you can certainly see why they've given Lully the miss, this one seems like an obvious choice for their first seventeenth-century work.

There are many productions, but I saw this one, with Danielle de Niese as Poppea and Alice Coote as Nerone (also Davies again as Ottone); they're very good. Coote seems to be having fun playing a psychopath, and de Niese is as magnetic as ever. More so, probably. It's a sort of contemporary-ish production, although I'm coming to be more and more of the belief that it's not very helpful, or accurate, to describe these things in that way. They're stylized no matter what you do. Still, I liked it, with two big exceptions: first, there's a scene with Nerone and the poet Lucan[o]; they're just supposed to be drunkenly making up love songs, but here Nerone is flirting with Lucan, culminating in him kissing him and then drowning him in a bathtub. That strikes me as excessive and probably vaguely homophobic, and in any case, it undermines the whole point of the dang piece, which is his and Poppea's single-minded obsession with one another. And on that note, they made a really bad decision at the end: the two of them are singing one last duet, and as staged here, Nerone drifts to the side of the stage and off, leaving Poppea staring out into the audience in shock, and DUDE, are you trying to apply some sort of moral framework to this opera? Even though the fact that they absolutely get exactly what they want is, once again, the whole dang point? Bah. Seriously, this would be more or less perfect without those two missteps.

It's quite unfortunate that there are only the three extant Monteverdi operas, but I'm definitely glad we had this one (which was apparently also lost before being rediscovered in the last nineteenth century).  It's his last one, so maybe his best?  I wish we knew.  Hot tip: if you ever have the opportunity, I would strongly recommend rediscovering a lost Monteverdi opera.  The world of early music appreciation will be abuzz.

Benjamin Britten, Gloriana (1953)

One of your lesser-known Britten operas. It's about Queen Elizabeth I and the Earl of Essex, Robert Devereux, who was a favorite of the Queen but then started a rebellion and was executed. Eagle-eyed viewers may remember that as exactly the plot of Donizetti's Roberto Devereux, although that I think was significantly more fictionalized than this--in Donizetti, Elizabeth is explicitly in love with Roberto and his execution is in large part due to her jealousy. Not so in this; her being into him is just barely implied. It was written for Elizabeth II's coronation, so it was supposed to be sort of positive about the British monarchy in some way. To me, the idea of an opera meant to glorify a monarch feels incredibly archaic in the mid-twentieth century. That's what La clemenza di Tito was commissioned for, fercrissake. Though in fairness, while not exactly a vicious assault on anyone, Britten's opera isn't much of glorification--which probably explains in part why it was a significant failure at its premiere.

Well, failure or not, there are definitely thinks to say in Gloriana's favor. The music is good as always--not, I feel, as dramatic as the others, but still plenty lush and attractive. In particular, there's one scene at a dance, and there's a series of dance pieces where Britten does an excellent job of mimicking a late Renaissance/early Baroque style. Impressive. Also, it does a good job of portraying the queen: competent administrator, vulnerable woman, and someone who sometimes just likes to GET DOWN. Definitely an actor's role, and Sarah Walker does a great job (in this version; I'm a little surprised that there are no less than THREE performances on disc of such an obscure work--but maybe I'm just wrong about the "obscure" part).

However, I can also see why it was a flop: of the five Britten operas I've seen thusfar, this is definitely the least, and it's more down to the drama than anything else. As I said, Elizabeth is depicted well, but Devereux? I dunno. He just comes across as kind of whiny through most of it: oh, how come good things happen to Mountjoy and not me? Why can't I attack Ireland? IT'S NOT FAIR; and then his state of mind and his motivations for starting a rebellion are extremely far from clear, as is the Queen's relationship to him. I think the tragedy would have more weight if he were more of a significant character.

So no, not gonna match up to Donizetti quite, I wouldn't say, but hey, it's all right, and I still want to see everything by Britten.

Philip Glass, Satyagraha (1980)

SO. I'd been wanting to watch this ever since seeing Akhnaten. There was a Live in HD Met performance in, I think, 2011, but due to something or other having to do with the licensing, it ain't available on disc or On Demand or anything. On the plus side, there is an older production from 1983 on DVD. On the minus side, it's super out-of-print, and am I willing to pay a hundred fifty dollars for it? I mean, given the lengths I've gone to see operas, it probably wouldn't come as a surprise. Still, the idea gave me pause. But I would periodically check ebay, and I finally found a copy for a reasonable-ish price, so I pounced. And that is the story of how I came to see Satyagraha.

It's a Sanskrit word, meaning "truthful force" or "forceful truth" or something like that. It's what Gandhi called his principle of non-violent resistance. The libretto consists entirely of extracts from the Bhagavad Gita, and thus, this is my first, and almost certainly the only, Sanskrit-language opera (here is a helpful Wikipedia list of "Sanskrit-language operas," and, yup, this is the only one. I feel like you need at least two of something to have a "list"). It's considered to be part of a loose trilogy with Einstein on the Beach and Akhnaten, each serving as a sort of portrait of a famous person and treating of a major aspect of human existence: Einstein/science, Gandhi/politics, and Akhnaten/religion.

So yes. This is putatively about Gandhi and the development of the non-violent resistance principle. It takes place--I think, in theory--during his earlier life as a civil rights activist in South Africa. It's far more recognizable than Einstein as an opera: things happen, and there are characters who sing arias. That said, the action was still mostly inscrutable to me, and while that's partially because of the nature of the narrative, I think this is also a case where if you don't already have a pretty in-depth knowledge of the history, you're not going to get much of anywhere. Each of the three acts is...well, supposedly "about" a figure related to Gandhi's life: first it's Leo Tolstoy, with whom he apparently corresponded in his youth; then Rabindranath Tagore, who was a friend of his; and finally, Martin Luther King Jr, on whom he himself was an influence. But, while it's easy to connect the third act (most of which consists of a protest) to King, the other two...you have one hundred percent got me.

And yet, that somehow doesn't matter, because even if you don't quite know the context for a given scene, you can still kind of feel the relevant emotion. There is a LOT of stuff here that's just powerful on its own, and DAMN is Glass' music great. I mean...really. I know there are a lot of people who hate him, who think he's just the absolute worst clothesless emperor ever, but...really, people, that's just pathetic. You really settled on this extremely likable composer as your bête noire? You couldn't put a little effort into it to find someone legitimately bad and annoying? Crikey. This is mesmerizing stuff, and I do feel that the Sanskrit really adds something: maybe I'm just saying this because I knew in advance that that's what it was and my mind filled in the blanks, but it just seems to really work with the subject matter, and be an appropriate language for this kind of music. Right on!

I wasn't sure what the disc quality would be like; it has mixed reviews on amazon. But I actually thought it was fine. The visuals are a little murky in places, but not in a way that presents any barrier to enjoyment; it's a very elaborate, colorful production, and that shows. Similar comment on the sound, I suppose: it's not absolutely crystal-clear, cutting-edge audio, but it's more than enough. I am extremely satisfied. I still hope that at some point, somehow, that Met in HD version is made public, because I can only imagine how awesome this would be in a new production with perfect sound and video.