Bobby Bob's big mouth

We bombed in Lisbon

Wig angst in Tokyo

Plaisir d'Amour

Twilight of a Diva

Bette on the Nile?

questo e quello

by La Cieca - June 1997

Says the diva:

The second performance I'm about two seconds from making my entrance and the curtain goes down! I look at the monitor and Maestro has laid down his baton. Next thing I know the chorus is running off the stage saying "Bomb! Bomb!". "BOMB ???", say I. A stage manager ran up and said "Miss Voigt, we have received a bomb threat and must clear the building". No arguments from me. They threw a coat over my shoulders and out into the streets of Lisbon we fled. (Cast went out the stage door, public out the front of the house.) Now this is a strange picture... the entire cast of Troyens in costume all standing huddled on a street corner. The locals are laughing about this, say it's happened three times in the last year and a half. I am, of course, thinking Oklahoma City and not seeing the humor of the moment. Well, after half an hour it IS becoming rather hysterical until I realize there is no damn bomb and after hanging around in the cold night air for an hour and a half I'm still going to have to sing the performance. Sure enough, that's what happened. The police cleared the building and after we got the public back in and filled with champagne to calm them (and where was MY champagne to calm ME?) we finally began, at 10:30pm. A long night. When I write the book this chapter will be called "Lisbomb" -- and not because of my performance, darling!

La Deb further reports she is already stocking up on industrial-strength hairspray in preparation for that big-hair opera par excellence, Strauss's Aegyptische Helena, on the bill for London and New York in January. A Salzburg Festival Fidelio is also in the works.

Se non e vero e ben trovato: you know La Cieca's favorite stories are all Wig Stories-and this (whether it's true or not) ranks with the greatest Wig Stories of all time. At the touring Met's dress rehearsal of Carmen, Angela Gheorghiu put her foot down and announced she was NOT going to wear that ooogly strawberry-blond natte tombante designed by La Zeffirelli. (After all, is Waltraud Meier still wearing that hideous black perruque? Uh-uh, no way, no how.) "Fine," says The Boss, "But I'll tell you this: that wig is going on stage tonight -- with you or without you."

Well, the wig had a lovely night, thank you (worn by Ainhoa Arteta) -- the divette and her hubby can tell you all about it because they were in the theater to watch the performance she cancelled-and were gracious enough to autograph the fans' programs as proof!

So, comes the dawn, the Singing Breeders get called on the tatami by Uncle Joe. We hear that the scene went something like this: Bobby Bob takes the offensive: "Well, Mr. Volpe, if you think we are so disrespectful, perhaps we do not belong in your theater. Perhaps, indeed, you should return our contract for Romeo et Juliette!" And the Sly Fox reaches in his jacket pocket, pulls out the contract, and hands it to the dumbstruck tenorino, saying simply, "Suit yourself…" (There's more news from Tokyo, courtesy of Akira.)

This latest in a series of disastrous career moves comes in the wake of an interview in the April 7, 1997 London Daily Telegraph, in which "fourth tenor" Alagna indulged in what appeared to be homophobic hate speech. The interview, written by Susannah Herbert, states:

In a vox pop - screened as part of a Channel 4 documentary in January - sceptical listeners shook their heads over his missing high notes. "He's noivus" and "like a frog" were among the kinder phrases used. Two months after trying and failing - to have the documentary pulled, Alagna's fury is still strong enough to send waves across the surface of his soup and silence the restaurant. "It's not reality, what they showed on television. Those women who said I was not good. They were prostitutes. From the street. Hah! And that man who said I didn't hit the top C. I know he is a homosexual. It's outrageous, outrageous!" Alagna's Sicilian blood, and his early years spent singing in Parisian bars, lend his colourfully vulgar outburst ("Putains!") a force which freezes the smile on his wife's lips.

parterre box is seeking an apology or at least an explanation from Mr. Alagna; so far, a publicist for Angel Records has denied knowledge of the tenor's statement, and his manager has not answered our faxes. La Cieca knows, however, that until Alagna takes back his fag-bashing rant, she will neither buy his recordings nor patronize his performances.

And meanwhile, La Cieca would just like to note that there is only ONE way you can know a man is a homosexual. Do you suppose this whole affair is simply Bobby's sneaky way of coming out?

Then Brunnhilde and Siegfried (Jerusalem) enter and she opens her mouth, and out comes....gargling. She's doing that in-and-out-of-chest yodel thing she's been manufacturing for years. In fact, she sounds rather better than she did in Walkure a month ago. But in her concentration on making the voice work (and it does, mostly, albeit only one note at at time -- and it's not as if she has any vocal means left over to sing expressively) she has completely abandoned any connection with her body. She just stands there or occasionally makes a meaningless leading-lady sweeping cross. The one thing that always made Behrens special, the physical intensity of her acting, is gone, gone, gone. She looks about as committed as Martina Arroyo at her most passive.

Jerusalem sounds okayish if really dry, but at least he's spiritually here and thinking. He still moves well, probably the most graceful big-role tenor around today with the possible exception of a Mr. Domingo. Behrens' high C is a yell but at least she has the sense to get off it quickly.

The brass are tired and playing not quite up to pitch; otherwise the orchestra sounds A+. Many listers have commented on Maestro Levine's quicker tempi this time around, and I will admit that some pages do go faster. What La Cieca is still missing is a sense of rhythmic excitement, of forward movement. Even the fast passages sound static, like a buffalo with a broken leg flailing around but getting nowhere. And then there are sections that are taken far too slowly, so slowly in fact that the singers have to breathe about every other note (more on that in a moment).

Alan Held and Marie Plette are quality Gibichungs: in fact, La Cieca thinks they could be promoted to Wotan and Sieglinde and do an honorable job. Held looks hungry for direction: he does the blocking with a kind of fierce intensity that suggests he is looking for motivation, but, of course, that has never been what this Ring is "about." Ms. Plette really is a charmer; she occasionally startles me by actually singing legato, a style otherwise unknown in this performance (except for the first act of Walkure.) Eric Halvarson is a disappointment: big voice, but pushed beyond its limits and frequently sharp.

Now, another complaint about the production: while Siegfried and the various Gibich kin are wandering around aimlessly, one constant holds true: their faces are always in shadow. The terrazzo of the Gibichung's patio is illuminated as if by the noonday sun, but WE CAN'T SEE THE SINGERS' FACES! This perversity is apparently an idiosyncracy of Gil Wechler's. We suffer another of his mannerisms in the following (Valkyrie rock) scene: that gray, flat overcast look that obscures all detail, including (especially) the singers' faces. Hanna Schwarz could have been wearing Groucho glasses for all La Cieca knows. La Schwarz was in more pleasant form tonight than she was for Fricka; her "swimming underwater" gestures didn't bother me so much, though I must say her acting is 100% phony, lacking either versimilitude or style. She coped with Waltraute's Narrative well enough until the long,sustained passage beginning with "Des Stammes Scheite.." which Levine took at an absurdly slow tempo that no human being could sustain. I swear he must have beaten it in 8. Well, Ms. Schwarz huffed and puffed and did what she could, but she ran out of breath, and the climactic high note sounded like hell.

And then, during Waltraute's yelling match with Brunnhilde, it struck La Cieca that the performance was dead, as devoid of momentum as the orchestra's playing the performers sleepwalking, the whole experience without a single not a spark of dramatic fire, like a "marking" rehearsal with desperately tired artists giving the absolute minimum. Another thing: all night long, Behrens' voice kept getting noticeably larger and smaller in general volume, and then, just before Siegfried/Gunther's entrance came the giveaway: when the fans came on for the stage smoke, the roar was deafening, drowning out her voice. But when Mme. Behrens moved a couple of feet upstage, the roar suddenly dropped in volume while the smoke continued to pour out unabated. Again, a strong clue that the Met indeed uses amplification for certain "special" artists.

By this time La Cieca had made up her tiny mind not to stay for the remaining two acts. So I stood through the listless confrontation between Brunnhilde and the disguised Siegfried (potentially as exciting as the murder scene in Tosca), and left during the (sparse) applause -- a nice hand for Schwarz, very few cheers, and, yes, a few boos aimed at La Behrens.

Well, she deserved it. The word around the house from smug Behrens fans was that the diva was by no manner of means sick a couple of nights before when she cancelled Siegfried: she was only "resting." Now, Behrens agreed to perform Siegfried as well as the other operas of the Ring; tickets were sold (at inflated prices) on the strength of her name; she was awarded the most prestigous performances including the broadcasts; she was granted the privilege of claiming "indisposition" on the frequent occasions she was afraid to face the public with the tattered remains of her voice. And now she seems to have claimed the right to cancel whatever performances she pleases in order to conserve her "precious" resources. Singing a cycle of the Ring is a grueling experience not to be undertaken lightly: if Behrens wasn't up to the task, she should have ceded her role to Janis Martin or Gabriele Schnaut or even Jane Eaglen, who was in town during the run. (La Cieca caught a glimpse of La Eaglen entering her loge on the parterre level; a large woman, to be sure, but nothing like the side-of-a-house we saw at the Levine Gala. Listening to a few diet tips from Debbie Voigt, perhaps!) Now, if Behrens had anything to offer (acting, musicianship, commitment, presence, beauty of timbre) to make up for her croaking vocalism, La Cieca could perhaps condone the pampering she demands and receives from the Met. But everything that ever made her special as an artist is gone, sacrificed to the single goal of squeezing out (some of) the notes. All she is now is famous, and if I want to see someone famous, I'll go to a Madonna concert-- where I'll also hear better-quality singing. La Cieca is so tired of hearing excuses for Behrens' irresponsible and selfish behavior! She's washed up, trading on our sympathy without regard to the very rare and expensive performances she wrecks along the way.

One last thought: La Cieca swears she has never seen so many Germans in one opera house, not even in Germany. The ladies were dressed in that uniquely German drab-tacky mode so familiar from photos of the audience entering the Festspielhaus. And Cieca's bosom buddy Eugenie (who swore to stick this show out until the bitter end, but in the event walked out during the Summoning of the Vassals) called later to suggest I should entitle my review Zweite Krautnacht!

More from Tokyo: Seiji Ozawa conducted Zauberfloete here in Tokyo a couple of days ago (review coming up in pb #26). At that time I heard he would conduct Pelleas et Melisande next year; here's the scheduled cast:

I can't fathom the idea of Stratas singing Melisande at this stage of her long career. She is of course notorious for her cancellations, but it seems that the Japanese yen is so attractive to such habitual cancelers as Carlos Kleiber and Julia Varady, who, to the best of my knowledge, have never cancelled in Japan, so Stratas may actually come to Japan to sing the role! Frankly, I'd rather see a younger singer, say Dawn Upshaw or Alison Hagley, in this part....

Producer/Designer/Filmmaker/Big Old Queen Franco Zeffirelli did a few lunches in Lalaville recently, pitching his new knockabout comedy farce flick set in the wild and wacky world of Grand Opera. The high-concept premise involves two lookalike sisters, Classy Opera Diva Aprile Millo and Sassy Cabaret Chantoozy Bette Midler. One night at Aida, doncha know, Aprile succumbs to a pesky case of abassimento di voce, leaving brave Bette to strap on the platform wedgies and go barging down the Nile her own divine self! Cute, huh? (Though La Cieca must admit the whole setup sounds awfully like that stalled Luciano Pavarotti/Dom DeLuise project!)

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