April 26 -- It was one of those fabulous nights-- even though it was barely noon-- when Mirella Freni sang Giordano's Fedora for her penultimate performance at the Met (she makes her farewell May 1). The demonstrations began with Ms. Freni's wildly-cheered entrance, and continued with a presentation from Mayor/Media Hog Rudolph Giuliani (whom the audience loudly booed!), climaxing in an old-fashioned confetti and bouquet-throwing standing ovation that went on for at least 20 minutes after the final curtain. Mme. Freni seemed particularly moved by the fans who unfurled a banner reading WE LOVE YOU MIRELLA in Grand Tier.

Mme. Freni, supernaturally well-preserved of face and figure, swore vengeance in midnight blue silk brocade, confronted an alleged murderer in decolletee rose peau-de-soie, and finally shook off her mortal coil in pale mauve lace. Her warm and powerful singing almost completely obscured the fact that she is not ideally cast in this role any way except vocally. Fedora is a seriously underwritten opera compared to, say, Tosca, and the performer has to work very hard to suggest the atmosphere of glamour and intrigue the composer and librettist never got around to creating. For example, in Act One, Fedora insists the witnesses to the murder be interrogated in her presence, which is to say on stage. The scene that ensues affords the prima donna ample opportunity to make faces, gasp, burst into tears and generally ham it up as she reacts to the questioning; Miss Freni gave a pretty good imitation of a soprano waiting patiently for a cue. She never did anything wrong, but, let's face it, the last thing this opera calls for is understated good taste. (Frankly, what this show really needs is Faye Dunaway, but she's busy at the moment with another claptrap melodrama called Master Class.)

In other words, Freni is no Magda Olivero, but, by her own standards, she was in demented form. Her mime during the Act Two interlude (indecision/ infatuation/determination) was graceful and eloquent, and Fedora's protracted bout of remorse in Act Three was vintage Diva Rant (I was afraid all that parlando meant she had run out of voice, but her controlled legato singing in the final few moments proved me wrong.) I may have seen more moving death scenes, but not often.

A surprisingly fresh-voiced Placido Domingo partnered her. Once past a nervously rushed "Amor ti vieta," the tenor settled into one of his increasingly-rare involved and passionate performances-- just like the old days. His gripping last-act confrontation with Fedora (the music shamelessly cribbed from Otello) proves what a real artist can do with third-rate material. Dwayne Croft cut a dashing figure in the pointless role of De Siriex-- he's a real star with a luscious lyric bartitone. Imagine my surprise when the much-hyped Ainhoa Arteta lived up to her reputation-- a glittering lirico-leggero voice, real stage savvy, and pretty to boot. A born Musetta, and I mean that as a good thing.

Beppe de Tomassi's production achieved its end of flattering the prima donna in Ferrucio Villagrossi's too-beautiful-to-be-true sets. Wayne Chouinard's crisp if unsubtle lighting was a welcome relief from the glum designs of some of the Met's regular designers. The orchestra sounded underrehearsed and brassy (they had Gotterdammerung to look forward to in less than three hours), though Roberto Abbado should be commended for his attentiveness to his diva and divo.

The role of the fabulous gay piano virtuoso "Boleasao Lazinski" was entrusted to Jean-Yves Thibaudet, who, naturally enough, seemed very much at home in the part. Edibly-cute M. Thibaudet tinkled the ivories prettily enough to win a bouquet tossed by a boyish admirer at his curtain call.

For La Cieca, the camp highlight of the afternoon was the scene when De Siriex "outs" Lazinski:

This virtuoso of yours has such blond hair, and he's as pretty as a girl, and so... delicate. And he never seems to get romantic with you. Have you ever thought he might be...

What?

...a spy?

La Cieca is sure Steven and all the other multitudes of Callasites will want to visit the all-new "official" Maria Callas page which includes photos, essays, appreciations from some famous primadonnas (Sutherland, Zeani, Simionato, Tebaldi, Carteri, etc.) and links to various other Maria sites. It's administered by Callas biographer Bruno Tosi. If you sign their guestbook, you'll receive a jpg photo of La Callas via email!

parterre box continues its conquest of new worlds with the debut of The Unofficial Diana Soviero Homepage, designed by the ever-lustrous Enzo Bordello and dedicated to the last of the red hot verismo sopranos.

The site, which includes a bio, a schedule of upcoming engagements, tributes from colleagues and critics, sound clips and some lovely photos, can be found at

Italian Rossini specialist Anna Caterina Antonacci (who opened the 1996-97 La Scala season as Gluck's Armide) is the subject of a Diva Page authored by pb critic Nick Fishbone. The page is at

and includes a biography of the diva, several photos, and her truly amazing repertoire list.

Drop us an email so we can get started on a Diva Page for your favorite goddess!

La Cieca was in diva heaven the night of March 17: two sultry young studs-about-town and new fans of da box invited her (yes!) to attend the Renata Scotto Master Class at Merkin Hall.

The Scottissima looked smashing in a simple black silk suit and four-inch spikes, and,. girls, she worked that microphone cord. I swear I wouldn't have been surprised if she had broken into a chorus of "Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart."

After enjoying a rousing ovation from a capacity crowd of adoring fans, La Scotto ("My heart is bumping!") settled in for some serious pedagogy:

Always her emphasis was on legato, clear and idiomatic Italian diction, and carefully considered expression in good taste.

For the record, the singers were:

Laura Tucker, mezzo-soprano ("Ces lettres" from Werther)

Alan Held, bass ("Quand la flamme de l'amour" from La Jolie Fille de Perth) (yeah, Scotto hadn't heard of it either.)

Theodore Green, 23-year-old tenor ("Una furtiva lagrima")[best singing, and most learning, of the night!]

Emily Pulley ("Mi chiamano Mimi")

William Hicks was the very helpful and sympathetic pianist.

Scotto spoke briefly of her Singing Academy, to hold its first session in the summer of 1997 "on the beautiful shores of the Italian Riviera." Unlike some real or semi-fictional divas, she seems not at all bitter that her performing career is in its twilight years; she seems to take enormous pleasure, even gusto, in teaching. La Cieca saw no evidence tonight of the "toughness" or "bitchiness" some have reported at her other classes.

The severed head of Wagnerian diva Hildegard Behrens was found early this morning floating a puddle of gore in Damrosch Park. When contacted for comment, Metropolitan Opera General Manager Joseph Volpe tersely muttered, "I don't know nothing about nothing." No names of suspects have been released at this time, but a spokesman for the NYPD admits that Deborah Polaski has been detained for questioning.

La Cieca must says she just adores everything L'Opera Francais de New York does. It's just so damn chic! Yves Abel the boyish maestro (this guy makes Michael Tilson Thomas look like a crone) has discovered the secret of perfect ensemble despite the fact that the cast is downstage of him and acting the whole time. Does he follow them? Do they follow him? It's an Astaire-Rogers kind of partnership and just about as poetic.

The opera comique "La Colombe" (presented March 19) is quite short, about an hour of music, with a very slight and sentimental plot. Gounod's music is utterly charming and light, with more than a hint of Offenbach and Chabrier to come. The performing version by Michael Kaye incorporated recitatives composed in 1923 by Francis Poulenc for a revival mounted by Serge Diaghilev. The occasional pre-echo of such works as "Les Mamelles de Tiresias" can be heard in several spots, especially in Sylvie's chattering entrance scene.

Maestro Abel or whoever does the casting always comes up with winners: superb French diction, attractive, good acting, and -- most important of all -- fresh, sweet unforced voices (with one partial exception this time) You guys know by now La Cieca is a soprano freak, and she has discovered a new goddess. Her name is Aline Kutan (Sylvie), and she is tiny and round and adorable with flashing dark eyes and a baby-doll mouth from which floats the most adorable voice: like a combination of young Mesple and young Popp. The sound "speaks" instantly like a glass harmonica, and she is capable of both smooth legato and sparkly-clean coloratura -- and both effects come from the same voice with no sense of turning a switch. She is also a delightful actress with real star quality. This was her New York operatic debut, and if La Cieca were running NYCO, Ms. Kutan would be under contract by now.

The totally excellent Lyne Comtois seems to specialize in trouser roles (she was Oreste in OFNY's "Belle Helene") and she was appropriately baby butch in her tweed knickers and cap. What a joy to hear such unforced lyric mezzo-soprano singing, and with such clear, unforced French diction, too!

The men were for various reasons not on quite so exalted a level. Dean Elzinga offered a solid and stylish bass-baritone as Maitre Jean, but he camped a little too hard and wore out his welcome. He did do a nice job with his "No one can cook any more" aria in Act 2. I wasn't at all impressed with Richard Troxell, whom some of you may have seen in the recent film of Madama Butterfly. At that time La Cieca wondered why Goro was singing Pinkerton's lines, and I can't say he sounds much better live. The voice is shallow and glassy, with no real legato; when he and Ms. Kutan sang identical phrases in the finale, the difference between a so-so singer and a real artist was glaring.

My compliments to Christopher Alden for his witty but never obtrusive stage direction; perhaps the constraint of working on a shoestring encourages the director to explore more subtle solutions than the bold effects he is known for elsewhere. I loved Carol Bailey's charming decor of origami doves.

The Metropolitan Opera's 1997-98 season has finally been announced, and what one must assume is an accurate roster for next year is available on their website

La Cieca proposes a new party game: which Met performance next year promises to be the most hellish?

The Sweet/Schmidt/Altmeyer Tannhauser shows a lot of promise, as does the Anderson/Margison/Simone Young Trovatore.

And who will want to miss Turandot with Sweet, Johannsen and Swenson?

Angela Gheorghiu's Juliette doesn't worry me because she will surely cancel; Waltraud Meier's Dalila, on the other hand, is terrifying, because she *won't*.

Hold it, I just took a second look at the schedule and now I say there is no contest: the absolute worst night of this or any other season has to be... Chris Merritt as Peter Grimes.

Notte, notte d'orror!!!!!

The Met's new Eugene Onegin production was a disappointing but not a disastrous evening; the big event was Neil Shicoff's return to the house, warmly applauded by a capacity audience.

La Cieca get the feeling both conductor Antonio Pappano and director Robert Carsen (both debuting ) are capable of better work. Pappano's orchestra sounded monochromatic and loudish, and the ensemble could certainly have been tighter. I felt no real sense of climax at the end of the Letter Scene, or, for that matter, at the very end of the opera. Carsen certainly did not deserve the very loud booing he and his team met at the curtain call-- after all, it's not their fault that this is the third empty-box production at the Met this season.

Mr. Carsen did have, it must be said, several questionable, even unworkable ideas. Perhaps the worst was going directly from the duel (Act 2, Scene 2) to Gremin's ball (Act 3 Scene 1) without even a curtain. Onegin looked up from his friend's corpse, and liveried footmen enter with a basin of water in which he washed his hands. The footmen then did a complete makeover on Vladimir Chernov (accompanied by the Polonaise); by the time he is formally dressed (and his nails buffed!) we were in Gremin's palace. Of course, this scene is supposed to be years later, but the effect is that Onegin murdered his best friend and then went to a party!

Elsewhere, despite the occasional "arty" touch, Carsen created meaningful movement and stage pictures. The infamous stageful of leaves in Act 1 actually works, especially when the chorus of peasant women sweep the leaves in scene 3. But the problem all evening was that huge empty stage. Very few artists can command so large a space, and so "normal" a drama tends to look a little trivial without walls and furniture to give us a sense of scale.

The production was updated to the 1850's and 1860's for no reason La Cieca can think of, but she will say most of Michael Levine's costumes are both attractive and in character. The one howler is an olive-green velvet day dress for Tatiana's final scene: the color is horribly unflattering to Galina Gorchakova's alabaster complexion, and the style made her look dumpy and middle-aged.

Top honors go to Mr. Shicoff. La Cieca has made no secret of the fact she is no fan of this tenor, but she must admit he was in excellent vocal shape tonight. The voice is larger, darker, and more even than it was a decade ago, and he has suppressed most of his "ecole de Corelli" sobs and gulps. He was also on good behavior as an actor, in general not indulging in the hamminess that led me on a previous occasion to call him "Mandy Patinkin's Evil Twin." May the mature and centered Mr. Shicoff stay just that way -- the Met is lucky to have him back.

Both Ms. Gorchakova and Mr. Chernov moved well, looked fine and sang with feeling and style. But. I got no sense of obsession or torment or anguish. Both were just too, well, too grown-up, too well-balanced, their emotions too much under control. Both are solid enough performers, but neither is exactly inspired or subtle. The Malfitano/Croft "Onegin" scene at the Levine Gala struck sparks of excitement this pair did not even suggest.

Michel Senechal was quite the old pro in M. Triquet's couplets, despite a momentary memory lapse. Debutante Irina Arkhipova was solid, nothing more, as old Fillipyevna. It's not a showy role, and she is not really a "cameo" performer, so her appearance tonight had not much going for it than sentimental value.

And, oh yes, Mr. Carsen staged the overture (thus breaking Dr. Repertoire's Rule #1 for Stage Directors): Onegin tears up a letter and looks unhappy; the rest of the show is presumably a flashback. Sigh. Been there. Done it. Sort of the way the whole production feels.

Boys and girls,

Once upon a time there was a naughty little pig, and this naughty little pig's name was Lieutenant B.F. Piggerton.

One lovely day in February, Lieutenant Piggerton decided to check out the big shiny new Opera News Online.

Well, to start with, Lt. Piggerton was a little peeved that the site was so fukkin buggy: half the time all you get is incomprehensible error messages. I mean, who programmed this stuff, Heaven's Gate? And some of the coolest promised features, such as the schedule of upcoming operatic events and the archive of Opera News articles were still not up and running. True, he could browse the current issue of the magazine online, but since he was required to subscribe to the print version in order to obtain a password to enter the site, he had already seen all the pretty pictures and read all the fascinating features and chuckled at all the funny reviews.

But, oh, goody, the site had some yummy, delicious-looking discussion boards, and Lieutenant Piggerton jumped up and down with glee. He posted a few posting on such topics as "Can June Anderson Really Sing Norma?" and "Nobody Can Sing Any More, So What's the Use?" and "What's the Deal with this Alagna Guy, Anyway, Is He Some Kind of Nut?" and other subjects near and dear to his piggy little heart.

And then, just to test the waters, this naughty piggy decided to so something silly.

A posting on the subject "Ruth Ann Swenson" asked:

I think Ruth Ann Swenson is a wonderful singer. Does anyone have any idea how far she may go?

To which the silly little piggy replied:

Well, this guy I knew in college claimed he got to second base with Ruth Ann, but I think he was just trying to impress his frat brothers.

Oh me oh my, boys and girls, would you fucking believe that Lt. Piggerton's naughty posting stayed on the board less than 12 hours before it was deleted by operanews.com's big bad guardian of public decency? It's true, it's true, cross my piggy little heart!

And Lieutenant Piggerton cried, "Ah, non reggo al tuo squallor! Ah, son pork! Ah, son pork!" all the way home.

The moral of this piggy story is: the Opera News Online boards are moderated. And how! So, have fun at Opera News Online, boys and girls, but keep it squeaky clean.

Ed Rosen's totally excellent opera program can be heard Tuesdays on WTRN 93.5 at 9:05 PM. Be there. Aloha.

The funniest operatic site on the Net
is La Perla Nera, a collection of goofs, bloopers and clinkers assembled by OperaWeb. This week these hilarious audio clips include Has Anybody Seen My High C? featuring Roberto Alagna, and the aptly named Ooops! with Cecelia Gasdia.

For a listing of all these "Black Pearls", click here!