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Diagnosing my case of operatic angst
And exploring some of its causes
Image created with Adobe Firefly
As the San Diego Opera’s production of Richard Strauss’s Salome opens, I’ve come to a realization. I have opera angst.
Upcoming Event
Salome
- Friday, March 21, 2025, 7:30 p.m.
- San Diego Civic Theatre, 1100 Third Avenue, San Diego
- Age Limit: Not available
There was a time when my ears greedily devoured every opera production I could feed them.
Once upon a time, I went to every production mounted by San Diego Opera. I traveled on up to Los Angeles for Tristan und Isolde, Tosca, Girl of the Golden West, Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Götterdämmerung, and Il Trovatore.
I pushed further north to San Francisco for Samson et Dalila. I flew across the country to New York for Meistersinger, William Tell, Italian Girl in Algiers, La Boheme, Der Rosenkavalier — and La Boheme again.
It seems that time has passed. It wasn't any kind of decision on my part. Just a gradually dawning realization. Over the past several years, I’ve had opportunities to travel for opera — specifically to Los Angeles — but I found I didn’t want to face three to five hours of traffic and risk seeing a disappointing effort. And make no mistake: if you want to really get into opera, outside of New York, you’re going to have to travel. These days, I find I’m reluctant to travel down to the Civic Theatre for Salome — let alone face Chicago in November for Cav/Pag.
The reasons for my angst are legion. First and foremost, I don’t trust the current crop of singers. Back in the day, I could rely on Richard Leech, Ferruccio Furlanetto, Greer Grimsley, and Katherine Malfitano. There were — and are — other impressive voices, such as Lise Lindstrom, Piotr Beczala, Morris Robertson, Stephen Powell, and Gerald Finley. However, these singers are closer to the end of their race than the beginning.
Video:
Greer Grimsley in Salome
Now, I realize I have been making my way through dozens of “meh” singers, doing their best but just not moving the needle. Without great singing, opera doesn’t make sense. It’s not great theater without great singing. It’s like ballet. Without great dancing, ballet doesn’t make much sense.
Of course, another reason for my opera angst is the character of contemporary productions. I don’t mind an experimental or non-traditional production — if it makes sense. When I say it needs to make sense, I mean it needs to make obvious sense. My favorite example is the Willy Decker production of La Traviata. There, the stage was dominated by a massive clock. It was obvious, in a big and operatic way, that the clock was ticking on Violetta’s tuberculosis. From the very start, the emphasis was that she was on borrowed time. I loved it.
Too often, however, modern productions are nonsensical. They jump between representational elements in one scene to abstract elements in another. The actions on stage often have nothing to do with the words that the characters are singing. It’s madness, but more and more, it appears to be an accepted practice.
I am quickly becoming one of those guys who is content to live in the operatic past.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Diagnosing my case of operatic angst
And exploring some of its causes
Diagnosing my case of operatic angst
And exploring some of its causes
Image created with Adobe Firefly
As the San Diego Opera’s production of Richard Strauss’s Salome opens, I’ve come to a realization. I have opera angst.
Upcoming Event
Salome
- Friday, March 21, 2025, 7:30 p.m.
- San Diego Civic Theatre, 1100 Third Avenue, San Diego
- Age Limit: Not available
There was a time when my ears greedily devoured every opera production I could feed them.
Once upon a time, I went to every production mounted by San Diego Opera. I traveled on up to Los Angeles for Tristan und Isolde, Tosca, Girl of the Golden West, Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Götterdämmerung, and Il Trovatore.
I pushed further north to San Francisco for Samson et Dalila. I flew across the country to New York for Meistersinger, William Tell, Italian Girl in Algiers, La Boheme, Der Rosenkavalier — and La Boheme again.
It seems that time has passed. It wasn't any kind of decision on my part. Just a gradually dawning realization. Over the past several years, I’ve had opportunities to travel for opera — specifically to Los Angeles — but I found I didn’t want to face three to five hours of traffic and risk seeing a disappointing effort. And make no mistake: if you want to really get into opera, outside of New York, you’re going to have to travel. These days, I find I’m reluctant to travel down to the Civic Theatre for Salome — let alone face Chicago in November for Cav/Pag.
The reasons for my angst are legion. First and foremost, I don’t trust the current crop of singers. Back in the day, I could rely on Richard Leech, Ferruccio Furlanetto, Greer Grimsley, and Katherine Malfitano. There were — and are — other impressive voices, such as Lise Lindstrom, Piotr Beczala, Morris Robertson, Stephen Powell, and Gerald Finley. However, these singers are closer to the end of their race than the beginning.
Video:
Greer Grimsley in Salome
Now, I realize I have been making my way through dozens of “meh” singers, doing their best but just not moving the needle. Without great singing, opera doesn’t make sense. It’s not great theater without great singing. It’s like ballet. Without great dancing, ballet doesn’t make much sense.
Of course, another reason for my opera angst is the character of contemporary productions. I don’t mind an experimental or non-traditional production — if it makes sense. When I say it needs to make sense, I mean it needs to make obvious sense. My favorite example is the Willy Decker production of La Traviata. There, the stage was dominated by a massive clock. It was obvious, in a big and operatic way, that the clock was ticking on Violetta’s tuberculosis. From the very start, the emphasis was that she was on borrowed time. I loved it.
Too often, however, modern productions are nonsensical. They jump between representational elements in one scene to abstract elements in another. The actions on stage often have nothing to do with the words that the characters are singing. It’s madness, but more and more, it appears to be an accepted practice.
I am quickly becoming one of those guys who is content to live in the operatic past.