Me and Marcel P.

Listening last night to the third act of the Met's live broadcast, on Sirius, of Lucia, I thought about Marcel Proust, who, about a hundred years ago, subscribed to a service that allowed Parisians to listen to performances from the stage of the Opera in Paris over their telephones. Must have been the perfect entertainment for the reclusive opera lover in his cork-lined room. And here I was, a century later, listening over (DSL) phone lines to live opera.

One question, though: Is there something about the microphone placements or the netcast-sound quality that makes every singer sound like their vibrato is a mile wide in the upper part of their registers? That is how it's sounded to me the last two nights that I've listened, and without a reality check in the hall, it's hard for me to be completely sure of what I heard, so I'll go easy on questions of vibrato.

With that qualification, let me say that I thought Dessay sang with great security and her usual ability to invest every note and ornament with purpose. Giordani sounded fatigued--yes, it's easy to say that, given his heroics over the weekend. Still, his voice was hoarse and sounded effortful--although he was able to command some melting tone and Corelli-like diminuendi. (And had no pitch problems.) Heretical as it may be to say, I wonder if they couldn't have given Giordani a break and dispensed with the Wolf's Glen scene.

It's probably not fair to judge a performance on the basis of one act, but I thought Levine did a swell job. The orchestra sounded much better last night than I'd heard in a while--maybe they're on their best behavior with the music director in the pit? He brought a nice sense of detail to small moments, without being fussy. I loved, for instance, the way the orchestra echoed precisely the inflection of Raimondo's "Eccola" at the start of the Mad Scene. Also, kudos to the decision to do away with the flute obbligato that echoes Lucia's cadenza. To quote from Ashbrook's Donizetti and His Operas:

"Nor should it be assumed that the established tradition of a cadenza with flute obbligato at this point stems from [Fanny] Persiani [the first Lucia]; according to [19th-century music critic and writer Henry] Chorley, she altered her cadenza depending on her vocal health and mood, and since the flute participation must be fixed in advance, it would be highly unlikely that she used it." (Cambridge University Press, paperback edition, 1983, page 376)

How much more haunting is it to have Lucia's solo voice at that moment!

For me, the secret to conducting Donizetti is not to hold the reins too tightly or too slackly. OK, that's a little too easy to say, and I guess the same could be said about many composers. But what I mean is that if you conduct Donizetti's music too vigorously, as though it's prototypical Verdi, it will buckle under the assault. And if you leave out the rhythmic point, then it's simply boring.

Levine knew exactly how to play it, giving flexibility and scope to the singers while still maintaining the music's thrust. The storm that begins the Wolf's Glen scene was not overly wild, burnished even, but still dramatic. The introductory music to the mad scene was not goosed to sound pregnant with meaning. There wasn't the clattering and banging that some conductors bring to scores of this vintage.

I'm looking forward to listening to Annick Massis's Lucia on Otober 25th--she is an impressive coloratura soprano, who sang a wonderful Giullietta with OONY some years ago, and whose performances on various Opera Rara recordings of lesser-known Donizetti scores are superb.