Where Did They Go?

Listening to a 1977 Met broadcast of Madama Butterfly last night on Sirius was somewhat nostalgic for me. The Sharpless was the American baritone Ryan Edwards. I had heard him the previous season when he sang Enrico to Beverly Sills's Lucia. He had a capacious instrument, strong and steady, and his Sharpless showed me that my memory wasn't playing tricks. He sang only 40-odd performances at the Met, mostly in the late '70s. I'm not sure what happened after that, although he maintains a web site that fills in some of the details.

Pinkerton was Giacomo Aragall, who had been singing at the Met for nearly a decade. He was in truly good voice. I never heard him in the house, but this performance really makes you wonder why he only sang 38 performances at the Met. His tenor was firm and elegant, although perhaps lacking somewhat in squillante and the kind of Italianate ring that some long for in these kinds of roles. Perhaps in the house it sounded washed out, although I'd find that hard to believe.

In those days, European opera houses, flooded with state subsidies, could offer singers more money than the Met, which was facing its own budgetary woes during a period when the United States was suffering through an economic downturn. Singers with big recording contracts needed the Met for promotional purposes, but a whole tier of excellent singers, like Aragall, may have felt that they could make more money in Europe.

As for the Butterfly, it was Renata Scotto in her justly famous portrayal. The wobble had started to creep into her singing, but overall her performance was heartbreaking, progressing from innocence to defiance and, finally, to tragic resolution. I missed some of these elements in Racette's recent characterization.

The only disappointing element was Giuseppe Patane's conducting. I always liked Patane--he never went for cheap effects and maintained good old-fashioned ensemble. In this performance he was perhaps a little too deferential to his singers; at times the momentum sagged to the point of stasis.

You never know what you're going to get in those '70s Met broadcasts--some performances were truly forgettable. Not this one.