Monotonous Forest

Another friend exits

To Barkley (1992-2007), who always upheld the Terrier Code of Honor:

a) If in doubt, growl.

b) If in further doubt, wrestle it to the ground.

c) If all else fails, eat it.

A claustrophobic "Grimes"

Among a number of pleasures of the Met's coming season, what caught my eye immediately is the new production of Britten's Peter Grimes, directed by John Doyle (of Sweeney Todd and Company).  A small model of the set is compelling: Doyle and set designer Scott Pask were inspired by the tall, thin huts used to dry fishing nets in Doyle's home of Hastings, England, and from these created dark, towering wooden walls that close in as the opera progresses and Grimes realizes he is trapped. 

The costumes, by designer Ann Hould-Ward, also look intriguing: late 19th-century fishing gear, but incorporating images of nets and birds.  The cast includes Neil Shicoff and Anthony Dean Griffey taking turns in the title role, with Patricia Racette as Ellen Orford and Anthony Michaels-Moore as Balstrode.  Donald Runnicles will conduct.

[Above: Anthony Dean Griffey in the title role of Britten's Peter Grimes.  Photo: Nick Heavican/Metropolitan Opera; background image (Hastings, England): Aitken Jolly]

Weekend report

Oberlin College should feel very, very, very proud of itself for presenting Olga Neuwirth's Lost Highway.  Ultimately I wasn't quite convinced that it works as well as it might, but there was plenty to occupy the mind for 95 minutes.  And if nothing else, one could muse on the prowess of the show's technical crew, and what Miller Theater's electric bills will be like next month.

Saturday afternoon's Met broadcast of Eugene Onegin melded inspired singing and acting with Valery Gergiev's electrifying work with the Met Orchestra, and all presented in crystal-clear HDTV and sound, directed by Brian Large.  Let's hope these video feeds are expanded next season, and meanwhile, I've already bought tickets for Puccini's Il Trittico on April 28. 

Saturday night's New York Philharmonic concert showed off Joseph Alessi in Melinda Wagner's new Trombone Concerto, and the evening ended with Maazel blazing his way through An American in Paris, on this occasion seeming not unrelated to The Rite of Spring.

And although on Sunday night I was happy to see Martin Scorsese lauded for The Departed, I was just as delighted that editor Thelma Schoonmaker was recognized for her role in ratcheting up the film's tension.  But some of the evening's best moments came from the incomparable Pilobolus, whom I've been following since 1972, when they appeared at Antioch College and startled everyone with their revolutionary ideas about how human bodies can be combined in unexpectedly sculptural ways.

Road trip

I confess I am greatly anticipating tonight's Lost Highway (2003), the 95-minute opera by Olga Neuwirth based on the David Lynch film.  Here's Mark Swed's report on the same production at Oberlin just a few weeks ago.

[Photo: Lost Highway, Graz, 2003 © Peter Manninger]

Walker at the Walker

Kara Walker, artist and recipient of a 1997 MacArthur Foundation grant, is the subject of a huge and disturbing new show at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, which has mounted the first-ever comprehensive survey of her work.  Known for her unnerving use of classic cut-paper silhouettes -- an art form steeped in prim, genteel connotations -- Walker transforms the genre by portraying images of racism, sexual subjugation and violence.  The exhibit is filled with the room-sized silhouettes, but also includes many small drawings and film animation.  Seeing a few of these is alarming; seeing so many at once is almost unbearable. 

The good news is that the show (titled My Enemy, My Complement, My Oppressor, My Love) will appear later this year at the Whitney here in New York, before continuing on to the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles in 2008.  Don't miss it.

[Above: detail from Excavated from the Black Heart of a Negress (2002), Walker Art Center]

Vodka chuckles

Last Friday night, my sister led me to St. Petersburg, a vodka haven in (of all places) Robbinsdale, Minnesota, and on the second floor of an American Legion outpost.  The lobby at the top of the stairs could be the waiting area for some sort of overwrought Russian funeral parlor, until you park yourself at the bar to be enthralled by the expert staff shepherding over 200 different vodkas.  When I mentioned I like "dirty" martinis (i.e., with a splash of olive juice) our new pal suggested Türi (from Estonia), which is 100% rye (as opposed to wheat, corn, oats or potatoes) and absolutely delicious.  He then suggested the same drink made with Pravda (Poland), also all-rye, and also remarkably ethereal and smooth. 

On Saturday night, my brother-in-law and I found ourselves at the new Chambers Hotel, which has an "ice bar" carved from 12,000 pounds of the stuff, smack in the middle of the courtyard and yes, outside.  (The temperature that evening was approximately fifteen degrees.)  After ordering drinks (vodka, of course), and then quickly hovering around the sleek fire pit filled with shards of black glass, we and about six other patrons finally decided we had stuck it out long enough and drifted inside.

And oh yes, The Grapes of Wrath: bravo, Minnesota Opera, for a production as ambitious and as desolate as Steinbeck's novel.  More on it soon.

Wrath in Minneapolis

Tomorrow I'm off to bask in the Minnesota sun and catch Ricky Ian Gordon's new opera, The Grapes of Wrath.  And don't try to distract me en route; I'll be re-reading the novel.

[Photo, left to right: Peter Halverson as Pa Joad, Joshua Kohl as Al, Brian Leerhuber as Tom Joad and Deanne Meek as Ma Joad.  Photo © Michal Daniel, 2007 for The Minnesota Opera.]

Last night at the Weismann

Thanks to a good friend (Amy, you rock!) I was in the audience for the final, electric night of Stephen Sondheim's Follies (1971) by New York City Center's Encores!, which presents semi-staged, concert versions of Broadway musicals with meticulous attention to musical detail.  Smack in the middle of the stage and led with verve by Eric Stern, last night's orchestra numbered thirty players, virtually unheard of in today's cost-cutting Broadway. 

Highlights (of many): Mimi Hines in a worldly "Broadway Baby" and getting laughs by narrowly avoiding her cat, JoAnne Worley (yes, that's right) leading a triumphant charge in "Who's That Woman?" and a blazing Christine Baranski in "I'm Still Here."  Victor Garber and Victoria Clark seemed completely intertwined in a rapturous "Too Many Mornings," followed later by Donna Murphy in the heavenly sarcasm of "Could I Leave You?"  Ms. Clark probably had eyes watering all over the house in "Losing My Mind," and then Ms. Murphy tossed off every hilarious turn of the tongue-twisting "The Story of Lucy and Jessie."   

Spotted in the audience: Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker, Georgia Engel, Fred Willard, Martin Short, and the composer/lyricist himself, just a few rows away.

Update: in my unmitigated gawking spree, apparently I missed Barbara Cook and Bernadette Peters.

[Photo: Stephen Sondheim (1960) by Hans Namuth, from the National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution]

I heart contemporary violin sonatas

On Wednesday, if you haven't yet seen Janáček's Jenůfa at the Met, and your Valentine date isn't turned off by infanticide, then by all means go.  Otherwise, you can still get a Janáček fix that night at the 92nd Street Y, where violinist Jennifer Koh will be giving a recital with pianist Reiko Uchida, in a program that includes a new sonata by Jennifer Higdon plus works by Schubert, Schumann and Kurtág.  I last heard Koh in 2005, when she and the Oberlin Contemporary Music Ensemble dazzled us all in Ligeti's Violin Concerto.

[Photo: Jennifer Koh by Janette Beckman]

Accordion coda

If I'm not too stunned or drained by Kevin Bowyers' organ recital on Sunday, you'll find me at Connolly's on West 45th Street, where one of my favorite zydeco bands, Steve Riley & the Mamou Playboys, will be anchoring a Mardi Gras party.  (Sorry, I won't be in costume.)

[Bayou Ruler, from 1998.]