NEW YORK, NY.- When you get the opportunity to see a bunch of operas in quick succession, the canon starts forming narratives for you.
It suddenly seems obvious that Cherubinis Medea, from 1797, which the Metropolitan Opera opened its season with Tuesday, found a germ of inspiration for its title character in the similarly jealous, witchy Elettra of Mozarts Idomeneo (1781), which the Met performed the next evening.
And if you, like me, were in the house once more Thursday to complete this little marathon, you would have felt that Katerina Ismailova, the murderous, defiant antihero of Shostakovichs Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (1934), had been conceived in the tradition of Medea: a woman who earns our sympathy even as her crimes repel us.
What a week. Three of operas most memorable scores, each distinctive, none overfamiliar, all performed with care and passion.
The standards that dominate the repertory have not been banished: Tosca returns next week, with La Traviata to follow a few weeks later. But this opening trio shouldnt be ignored by newcomers wary of rarer titles; any of these pieces could be enjoyed by anyone. Its not just the chestnuts of Puccini and Verdi that are capable of speaking to a broad audience.
Thats particularly true of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, Shostakovichs ferocious depiction of Russian society out of joint, with crime and corruption rampant. In 1994, director Graham Vick yanked the piece out of its 19th-century setting into what was then the present day: a post-Soviet nation drunk on American-style capitalism, in a horny fever dream of suburban blue skies, comic books, AstroTurf and demented brides wielding vacuum cleaners like rifles.
Nearly 30 years later, it remains one of the Mets most vivid shows, and this scorching revival is an apt tribute to Vick, a visionary artist and opera company leader who died of COVID-19 last year at 67.
Tenor Brandon Jovanovich sang with tireless brashness as the man-child Sergei, whose affair with bored Katerina ends up ruining them both; bass-baritone John Relyea growled powerfully as the father-in-law she poisons before she and Sergei kill his son. The chorus threw itself into the raucous staging, and the peppery supporting cast included Goran Juric (appearing at the Met for the first time, as a gleefully sinful priest) and Alexander Tsymbalyuk (a flood of sonorous earnestness as the Old Convict).
But the opera is dominated by Katerina, its scheming Lady Macbeth. In an excellent Met debut, soprano Svetlana Sozdateleva is seen-it-all yet soulful, and often magnetically still, as if dazed by the world veering around her. Her voice becomes strident and slicing as it rises in pitch and intensity, but its never ugly. When Sergei first seduces Katerina and she limply resists, singing, Im a married woman, Sozdateleva conveys the lines strange cool tenderness; its not sincere, but its not a joke.
Also making a notable company debut was Keri-Lynn Wilson, on the podium. Although Wilson, who is married to Peter Gelb, the Mets general manager, is an experienced conductor, there were some grumbles when the season was announced about a plum gig going to the bosss wife.
But the quality of her work Thursday spoke for itself. Shostakovichs huge score surges from brooding quiet to deafening fierceness, and Wilson led the orchestra in those shattering brassy marches without being overbearing, and in the stretches of stunned lyricism while keeping the music taut and tense.
Indeed, the subtlest, most plainly beautiful passages were among the best, including the glistening dawn as Katerina and Sergei woke up after the Dies Irae-ish crashes of her father-in-laws funeral, and the soft, grim brooding of the convicts on the way to Siberia in the final act. Some frenetic scenes hadnt yet settled into lockstep Thursday, but this was a very fine performance.
Another maestro, Manfred Honeck, also made an impressive Met debut Wednesday, in the aching melodies and choral grandeur of Idomeneo like Medea, a story out of ancient Greece. James Levine brought this opera, about a royal familys agonies in the face of Neptunes demand for a human sacrifice during the Trojan War, to the company for the first time, in 1982, and he single-handedly willed it into something of a perennial here. (By the end of this run, it will have had just shy of 80 performances.)
Although Mozart is now often the precinct of early-music specialists, Honeck, who leads the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra and is a frequent guest across Lincoln Centers plaza at the New York Philharmonic, is in Levines tradition of big-orchestra classicism: full-bodied, with rich vitality, but without the racing cat-feet tempos that are fashionable these days.
Jean-Pierre Ponnelles neoclassical staging is still imposing at 40, and clever in its play of ruins and scrims. Soprano Ying Fang, indispensable at the Met in Mozart, sings with both silky warmth and agile sparkle as Ilia, a Trojan princess in love with Idamante, the prince of Crete, where she has been taken as a prisoner. As Idamante marked by his father, Idomeneo, as the sacrifice to Neptune mezzo-soprano Kate Lindseys tone was elegantly hooded, a little smoky and shadowed.
Making his de facto Met debut in the operas title role, after a pair of Berlioz concert performances with the company early in 2020, tenor Michael Spyres sounded freer than he did as Idomeneo at the Aix-en-Provence Festival in France a few months ago.
But despite the graceful clarity of his declamation and the sweetness of his tone, he did not sound entirely comfortable in the long phrases of the aria Fuor del mar, and his extension into the upper reaches of his voice at the end of that number didnt soar. (The fiery diction and burnished sound of tenor Issachah Savage, in a small role as the High Priest, spoke to his potential future as an Idomeneo.)
Soprano Federica Lombardi is even stronger floating phrases than she is spitting anger as the lovelorn, vengeful Elettra. This Greek princess is the operas strangest element, a force of wildness lurking on the outskirts of the plot. She feels like a character in search of an opera of her own and shed find it, in a sense, 15 years later, in Medea.
This article originally appeared in
The New York Times.