Category Archives: Live Review

Ethan Iverson & Tom Harrell at Buffalo’s Kleinhans Music Hall

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After a two-year postponement, pianist Ethan Iverson and trumpeter Tom Harrell came to Buffalo for their duo concert at Kleinhans Music Hall’s Mary Seaton Room. Originally scheduled for March 2020, this was the first concert on my calendar to be pushed back or canceled outright due to COVID-19 restrictions. (With Chicago’s Ring Cycle being the second…) Now, more than two years later, it was the first acoustic jazz concert I’ve seen as an audience member since then. This was my first time seeing either musician perform live and hopefully not the last.

(For additional context, a pre-concert interview is here.)

The concert was a compelling 80-minute journey through the The Tradition via The American Songbook and a couple of Harrell originals. An “evening of standards” can go in many directions (good and bad), and the duo deftly navigated the musical waters in a way that was consistently refreshing. On the one hand, their approach was traditional: recognizable tunes, clear melodic lines, alternating solos within the prescribed forms. However, within that rubric there was much variety: harmonic and rhythmic exploration, stylistic wandering (with Iverson occasionally drawing on European classical influences), a wide textural range—notable considering the duo format.

The 11-song set was pretty evenly divided. Each piece was several minutes in length, and I don’t think there was one instance of someone soloing for more than two consecutive choruses. The set ran The Tradition’s gamut, from medium-tempo numbers (“Sentimental Journey,” “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You,” “I Remember You”), to blues (“Philadelphia Creamer,” an Iverson original), to up-tempo swing (“All The Things You Are,” Harrell’s “Improv”), rhythm changes (“Wee”), ballads (“I Can’t Get Started,” “The Man I Love”), and modern fare (Harrell’s “Journey To The Stars”). (Full disclosure: I am missing one title, as there was one tune I couldn’t name.) Many of the tunes are featured on 2019’s Common Practice (ECM), a fun album that showcases Iverson and Harrell in a quartet setting. But the duo format put those same pieces in a new relief, and it nicely highlighted Harrell’s more intimate, understated approach.

Harrell spent most of the evening on flugelhorn, which was a real treat. His full, warm sound complemented the piano nicely. He did play trumpet on two or three occasions in the latter half of the set, but not for a full tune. I appreciated his approach to melodies—straightforward but not plain, providing a nice contrast to his more searching improvisations. His two originals were nice additions. “Improv” was a post bop romp that fit right in with the evening’s standards theme. And “Journey to the Stars” went perhaps the farthest astray from that same theme, with Iverson’s arpeggiated harmonies* and Harrell’s haunting lines.

Given the duo setting, especially when paired with a monodic instrument, Iverson had his work cut out for him and more than rose to the occasion. He was often a one-man rhythm section and sometimes even a one-man horn section. And his melodic approach was diverse, from his borderline shout chorus on “I Remember You” (which sounded like a horn soli) to his crystalline single-note lines and everything in between. His bouncy, bluesy clusters on “Sentimental Journey” filled the hall, and his sparse melodic lines on “I Can’t Get Started” showcased Iverson’s expansive textural range. (And for those familiar with Iverson’s writing, particularly on jazz standards, he practices what he preaches: his playing evinces a keen interplay between the bass and melody, with more emphasis on counterpoint than “chord scales.”)

My only complaint is that the performance didn’t last longer, but it’s better than the alternative. The concert was more than worth the wait. My only hope is that it won’t be another two years until I can see either artist again.

Ethan Iverson and Tom Harrell on April 8, 2022
(photograph by me)

Also, it was nice to briefly meet Ethan Iverson after the concert. He’s just as friendly in person as online (where I occasionally tweet at him, usually about Keith Jarrett).

*I should admit, with apologies to the artists, that Iverson’s arpeggiating briefly reminded me of Collective Soul’s “December,” which proved distracting for a few seconds. Not that Collective Soul invented such arpeggiation—far from it—but that’s where my mind took me. Ah well…

Back in the Audience

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Like many others, I’m thankful to finally be part of audiences again. Even though I had (outdoor) gigs all the while, albeit far fewer than originally planned, I went ~18+ months without attending a show as an audience member. Of course, I’m not the only one. (I can’t dwell on it without getting too upset, but I must again note my extreme disappointment over not seeing Chicago’s latest Ring Cycle come to fruition.) While the “return” was notable in and of itself, I’m fortunate that I happened to end the drought with the biggest of bangs. My first four post-pandemic concerts were:

King Crimson @ The Egg in Albany, NY (08.22.21)
Sun Ra Arkestra @ Asbury Hall in Buffalo, NY (09.02.21)
Dave Matthews Band @ Saratoga Performing Arts Center in Saratoga Springs, NY (09.17.21)
Dave Matthews Band @ Saratoga Performing Arts Center in Saratoga Springs, NY (09.18.21)

Some random notes on each.

King Crimson @ The Egg in Albany, NY (08.22.21)
Oh. My. Goodness. (Honestly, this show is the primary reason for this post, just to lightly memorialize it if nothing else.) Two things to note right up front. First, I went into this show completely blind. I’ve long been aware of King Crimson, and I have a couple of Robert Fripp‘s ambient records with reedman Theo Travis, but I didn’t know any of KC’s work well enough to really recognize or discuss it to any extent. (Being such a big Tool fan, I of course had at least a general familiarity with KC.) Second, I walked out a complete convert. At intermission I was blown away, and by the show’s end I considered it probably one of the ten best shows I’ve ever seen. (With a little distance, and a little less recency bias, I maintain that opinion. It was astounding.) To top it off, what a great venue.

This was an invite-only Friends & Family show, and I happened to be the +1 of my friend Dave, who suggested I go and said I’d love it. (Thank again, Dave!) I had also been told as much by one of my very best friends who’s seen King Crimson a couple times (and, like me, I think he went in mostly blind at first). I’m so glad I accepted the invite and made the drive. Given the Friends & Family atmosphere, it was an intimate audience of ~200 superfans, and the band performed two full sets (with intermission) plus an encore, longer than a typical show with an opening act. Additionally, I’m sure it was also the first concert in a long while for many in the audience.

From the first note to the last, I was fully engaged. I truly didn’t know what to expect, especially considering the saxes and flutes I saw on stage before the show began. (I tend to get leery when I see such because saxophones in a rock, even progressive rock, context can be hit or miss. I’m often sensitive about that for obvious reasons.) But everything fit, and the whole was definitely greater than the sum of its formidable parts. I was regularly at a loss as to what was composed and arranged versus what was improvised, and I mean that as a compliment. The current lineup—and I assume its predecessors too—is a tight, cohesive unit, which is saying something for a septet that includes three drummers. To me, the music was a perfect blend of many styles and approaches to music I hold dear: the power of rock, the improvisatory elements of jazz (“Neurotica” sounded like something out of 1980s-flavored electric post-bop, and I wanted to inject it directly into my veins), and the structural elements of classical. (Saxophonist Mel Collins’s off-the-cuff quotation of “Take The A Train” during the fast section of either “Starless” or “21st Century Schizoid Man” was a nice touch.) Were it not for the applause of the surrounding acolytes, I wouldn’t have known where most pieces ended or began. And, to top it all off, Tony Levin‘s virtuosity made me, for the first time in my life, appreciate the Chapman stick as an instrument.

I still grin whenever I think of this concert, which is often. I’ve spent the last couple months digging into the King Crimson discography and history, and I’ve already pre-ordered the official live bootleg of this North American tour which includes some selections from the Albany performance. I can safely say that I’m now and forever will be in the court of the Crimson King…

Go here for a little writeup on the show by David Singleton.

(That evening’s set list, which I’ve used as a starting point for my KC excursions, is here.)

Sun Ra Arkestra @ Asbury Hall in Buffalo, NY (09.02.21)
Similar to King Crimson, Sun Ra‘s music has long been one of my blind spots. I’ve heard some tunes here and there and had a baseline understanding of the late bandleader and his legacy, but I never really dug into the music itself. As for the current lineup, I knew that bandleader and alto saxophonist Marshall Allen had celebrated his 97th birthday over the summer, but that was about it. For some reason I was unaware of this show until shortly before it happened, but I was fortunately able to purchase a ticket. (It looked sold out the night of the show, which was a pleasant surprise.) This particular concert, like many, had been postponed because of the pandemic. To top it off, the concert was at Babeville’s Asbury Hall, the venue in which I was married. (Between this concert at 2019’s Jenny Lewis show, I have a good streak of happy memories at the venue.)

Again, I didn’t really know what to expect other than for the music to be a bit out. I was completely unprepared in the best way, and I was hooked from the first few bars. The evening’s music was an intriguing blend of swinging blues, shout-chorus horn arrangements, unbridled joy, and uncompromising free playing. And, much to my pleasant surprise, Marshall Allen stood and played his heart out all through both sets. I’m so glad I was fortunate to see this incarnation of the group while some of the older members are still performing.

Dave Matthews Band @ Saratoga Performing Arts Center in Saratoga Springs, NY (09.17.21 & 09.18.21)
And of course, a return to concert attendance wouldn’t be complete without a DMB show or two, and it was nice to return to SPAC. (Night two was my 75th show.) What a great weekend all around, as a best friend and I got a rental and made quite the time of it—it definitely felt like a return to some semblance of “normal.” The shows themselves were excellent, and the band sounded particularly tight both nights. I enjoyed what seemed to be quite the rib: keyboardist Buddy Strong was playing violin synth patches in parts he hadn’t been his first couple years with the band, and Dave had a little grin most times he did it. I’d like to think it was the band’s way of replying to former member and violinist Boyd Tinsley’s then-recent odd (and slightly unhinged) Twitter activity, but of course I can’t prove it. (For example, since Tinsley’s departure from the band, the violin part during the introduction of “Pig” has been played by trumpeter Rashawn Ross, whereas that night Buddy Strong played a synthesized violin on keys. It was the best the fiddle ever sounded on “Pig” during a live show.) I hope it’s not a permanent change/reversion, but I was entertained by it throughout the weekend.

Though the band itself was on fire both nights, I thought Friday’s set list was one of the odder ones I’ve seen. It was almost as if someone pulled up the DMB discography and hit “shuffle” while also throwing in a few covers. (For reference, the set list is here.) My friend and I remarked to one another multiple times throughout the night the set was odd—not bad, just sort of the off the wall. Saturday’s set list, however, was one for the history books, featuring arguably one of the best main sets I’ve seen the band play. (Perhaps one more song in the encore could’ve really pushed it over the top, but that’s me being greedy.) Save one new song (“Ocean and the Butterfly”), everything else was from 2008 or before. (Bassist Stefan Lessard’s hat that read “Old Style” wasn’t kidding.)

On top of it all, Saturday’s audience was one of the hottest crowds I’ve been a part of for a DMB show. SPAC is generally a hardcore audience anyway, but throw in a forced year off and a noteworthy opening run of songs, and it was like a spark in dry grass. One powerful moment for me was during “Grey Street” on Saturday night. We knew that the third verse returned this year, but the crowd’s explosion at the start of that verse was almost overwhelming. Such an indelible imprint. The audience took the reins in other spots also, eliciting the infrequent “Louie Louie” interpolation from Dave during “Warehouse,” among other things. I can safely place the Saturday show in my top 10 DMB shows, possibly higher. It was certainly the best one I’ve seen in several years.

Fandom: Here, There, and Back Again

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I attended the second night of Tool’s two-night run at Toronto’s Scotiabank Arena last Tuesday, and it proved to be far more consequential than expected.

The last time I saw the band was nearly eight years ago in January 2012. That Toledo, OH show was a bit underwhelming. Danny, Adam, and Justin were at the top of their game, collectively and individually, but Maynard seemed disinterested at best. To say nothing of his blasé vocals throughout, he was the last one on the stage and the first one off. Sure, people have off nights (myself included, not that I’m in the same league), and the show wasn’t bad overall. But what a bummer, especially after a long drive, the cost of the ticket and merchandise, and having not seen the band for several years before that. It was disheartening. I mean, I’ve seen less-than-great shows before by many bands—some downright bad (yes, Iron Maiden, thinking of you)—but not by an artist or group I hold in such high regard. More than that, as lame as I know it seems, as a fan I took it personally. And it festered.

Following that, I continued to listen to and love the band’s music, but a part of me did it at a distance. Some months after I moved from East Lansing to Buffalo, I passed up trying to see the band in either Rochester, Hamilton, or Detroit during the brief 2017 run. Even though I had a lot going on in my life at the time and didn’t need another event on my plate, I know that had that 2012 show gone differently then I wouldn’t have thought twice about whether to attend in 2017. (I would’ve been there without question.) But I had a chip on my shoulder and considered my passivity an act of defiance, particularly for a band that tours so infrequently. (My ~15 shows in 22 years is notable only because of that infrequency.) I thought that, if nothing else, I had a lot of good shows under my belt and didn’t need to go out on a limb at that time. Plus, it’s not like my emotional investment in the band was a waste. After all, that May 2001 show at Detroit’s State Theater is arguably my favorite concert I’ve attended. It’s in my top 3 or 5 (of everything) at least.

Even in 2019 I was hesitant, more so than in previous years. When Fear Inoculum, the band’s first album in thirteen years, was officially announced, I was skeptical. Would it be worth the wait? Should I even bother with the expensive deluxe packaging of the studio album or just buy it digitally? Will the live show be worth not only the wait but also the expense? I knew I’d go to a show if the opportunity presented itself, but there was a part of me that felt obliged to do so. Partially out of principle, but also out of procrastination, I avoided really listening to the album’s title track before the album’s release. (It was made available to stream weeks in advance.) I considered it best to just hear the entire album with fresh ears once available. Coincidentally, Fear Inoculum was released the same day as Bon Iver’s i,i. (Also coincidentally, I saw Bon Iver at the same venue as Tool ~6 weeks ago.) When I made a trip to the store that day, I knew immediately upon seeing Fear Inoculum and its oversized packaging that I had to go big or go home. If nothing else, I had well over two decades of emotional investment to honor, which outweighed my weird little grudge. (Yes, I wore it like a crown…)

Skittish, I listened to i,i first that day. But eventually…

I listened to Fear Inoculum. Then I listened again. And again.

My boys were back, I thought. I really liked it the first time through. By the second listen I loved it. And more with each full listen. Hot damn. A lot of hype surrounded the album. Not only was it the first album in over a decade—many of us fans thought it’d never happen—but there was also seemingly endless discussion about how it was a big album (the shortest song being over ten minutes long) that covered new ground for the band. Plus, given the amount of time that had passed since 2006’s 10,000 Days and Fear Inoculum, there was a lot of concern that the band just wasn’t as invested as before, not to mention the music industry itself being a whole different beast than it was in 2006. But I wasn’t the only one who got sucked in. Enough people did for Tool to dethrone Taylor Swift on the Billboard charts.

But the hesitancy remained. The tour was announced and I didn’t try to get a close seat. Furthermore, I figured I’d play it safe and only go to one of the Toronto shows instead of both. I considered writing a full album review, going so far as to start multiple drafts but abandoning them.

Without making this a full album review, suffice it to say that it’s a great next step in the band’s evolution. There’s been some back-and-forth among the fans as to whether it’s heavy enough, but I think that misses the mark some. Maynard’s vocal stylings aren’t as aggressive as in previous albums, but instrumentals certainly contend with the rest of the catalogue. The blending of those two aspects is part of the band’s secret sauce. Tool was never going to release a direct-to-video sequel to Undertow, so it’s lame to hear when people expect it. (Just as Miles wasn’t going to treat his audiences to an acoustic rendition of “My Funny Valentine” after 1970.) As far as a review is concerned, right now I’ll note that if you like Lateralus‘s “The Patient” (as I do—one of my favorites from the band’s output), then Fear Inoculum is right up your alley. For me, “Pneuma” and “7empest” are the album’s MVPs.

Then Tuesday came. And the band DELIVERED. The boys are indeed back, and I still float on a cloud when I think of it. Some thoughts on the show, in no particular order:
• The band was TIGHT. Everyone, including Maynard, was locked in and the ensemble worked as one unit.
• Maynard seemed as into the performance as his bandmates. I dare say he even seemed jovial at times in his own way, interacting with the others on stage as well as the audience.
• The sound mix was excellent. That particular Tool concert may have been the best the band has sounded live. Even with it being so very loud (always wear your earplugs), everything was crystal clear. Considering Tool’s wide dynamic range and sudden juxtapositions, this really put things in welcome relief.
• Justin’s bass really cut through the texture in a tasteful way. Sometimes bass guitar can be muddled in such an environment, but thanks to the live mix it was clear as a bell.
• The phone ban was a dream come true. (Kudos to the arena’s staff for strict enforcement.) It’d been years since I’d watched an arena show with an audience that was free of phone screens due to photos and video. Of course, I do admit to taking one photo for posterity when the ban was lifted during the final song, but it was otherwise lovely to just take in the show without such distractions.
• The set list was an interesting mix, and only one song from 1992’s Opiate and 1993’s Undertow combined was included. “Part of Me” was such a surprise and a real treat. It was only the second time I’d heard that live, I think. Given the band’s penchant for mostly static set lists for a single tour, I’m glad I completely avoided looking up the shows prior to mine. Each song was an unexpected turn. (Consequently I won’t post the set list here.)
• “The Pot” hit me like a ton of bricks. For whatever reason, that had long been for me the weak link on 10,000 Days. Chalk it up to the euphoria from that night’s rekindling of the flame if nothing else, but I’ve been making up for lost time with that song over the last week.
• It never ceases to impress me that a band can rock such a large crowd so hard for two hours and yet only one six-minute song is in a continuous, steady 4/4 time.
• Some tweaking of the older material was a nice touch. For example, the extended jam during “Jambi” and the extended double-time during the bridge in “Schism.” (I thought Danny’s drumset would explode.) I did miss the “Suspicious Minds” interpolation in “Stinkfist,” but you can’t have it all.

All this is to say that my Tool fandom has gained a second wind of sorts. Not that it ever went away. Certainly not. But since the show I’ve been caught off guard at just how much it affected my spirits and how I see my relationship to the band’s music. It’s refreshing to know that after so many years I can still get that giddy, deeply connected feeling to it. And, without question, I now can’t wait for the next show.

Though the band didn’t perform it at last week’s show, it’s only fitting I include a live video of “The Grudge,” this from ’02. The lyrics are here.


‘Siegfried’ at Lyric Opera of Chicago

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The Lyric Opera of Chicago‘s new production of Richard Wagner‘s Siegfried is a triumph. Considering the production as a whole, it’s the strongest installment yet of the company‘s new Der Ring des Nibelungen, all of which is directed by David Pountney.

Pountney’s Siegfried continues tropes and themes from earlier installments while also, occasionally and more boldly than before, cleverly punctuating the story with his own narrative decisions. In my review of Die Walküre, I wrote:

In a similar vein to Das Rheingold, Pountney’s conceit here is less of a Regietheater-esque reinterpretation than one of a theatrical telling of the “original” story—or at least largely staying out of the way in order for you to come to your own interpretive conclusions. The twist, though, is that, as an audience member, you’re not watching and listening to a story so much as you are watching a story being told (likely decades ago). The stagehands-as-characters—moving sets, operating spotlights, etc.—is critical to this. Also welcome is the fact that the production is self-aware enough to not take itself too seriously.

While this largely applies to Siegfried, Pountney asserts himself narratively a bit more than before, and for the better—first, via the production’s visual language, and second, through the stage direction.

In stark contrast to the overall more muted tones of Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, the curtain opens for Siegfried to reveal a bright white stage and neon colors aplenty—greens, reds, yellows—with childlike writing and drawings on the wall and floor (visible to those in the balconies). Also visible is a crib (or cage?). Alas, we are in Siegfried’s room. Mime’s workstation, which is more practical and less playful, is also visible, but, as with most any child, the little one has the run of the place: toys everywhere, their room or designated play area spilling out into the rest of the abode. And when Siegfried finally appears, the infantilization is complete. Our nascent hero wears a baggy striped t-shirt, baggy cargo shorts, and sneakers. Instead of leaning into the young and strapping, but naive and simple, warrior, Pountney and the rest of the production team lean into Siegfried’s youth and naive confidence.

Adding to the caricature of an infantilized Siegfried is Mime, the Nibelung dwarf who raised him after the death of his parents Wälsung parents. Here, he’s wearing a dirty, tattered dress and, when we initially see him, work gloves that closely resemble rubber (dish-)washing gloves. He appears to the audience as both mother (visually) and father (vocally) to Siegfried, toiling away both forging swords and cleaning the kitchen. And while I could take umbrage as an at-home father of a toddler, I understood the visual caricature the team was going for—seeing Mime and Siegfried go back and forth in the messy play area was almost cartoonish.

The production team includes original set designers Robert Innes Hopkins and the late Johan Engels (who also designed Lyric’s Parsifal in 2013), costume designer Marie-Jeanne Lecca, and lighting designer Fabrice Kebour. It’s worth mentioning this team not only in relation to its work on Chicago’s new Ring cycle, but also because this is a team that’s worked together for years. Throughout the evening, I was regularly reminded of the same team’s (sans Hopkins, before Engels’s death) production of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte at the Bregenzer Festspiele in 2013-14, which I saw both years while teaching in Bregenz. Pountney et al. took that approach of heavily emphasizing the fairy tale elements and perfected it for Siegfried. (Complete with growing grass and a dragon in Act Two! I felt like I was sitting on the Bodensee shore, only watching a better production and performance.)

For quick reference, here’s an image of Siegfried confronting Fafner in Act Two of Siegfried:
chicagosiegfried
And here’s an image of the same team’s set for Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte at the 2013-14 Bregenzer Festspiele:bregenzzauberfloete

Other light-hearted visual cues abound throughout the first two acts and a little of the third. A prime example, pun intended, is the reforging of Nothung, Siegfried’s sword. Instead of using Mime’s workstation, the little tike receives packages (delivered by stagehands-as-couriers) from “Rhein Logistik,” complete with the familiar logo of a black background, white font, and that familiar orange arrow. Fafner is also given cartoonish treatment that is rather effective. (It’s certainly better than trying to seriously portray an onstage battle with a dragon.) Once again, he’s operated by the visible stagehands.

In the program’s Director’s Note, Pountney emphasizes Siegfried’s place as the Ring‘s “Scherzo,” and that “it is the story of a child.” The end result is an entertaining romp for two acts that is capped off by an emotionally anguished third.

Act Three, by contrast, is much more visually subdued. Although Erda’s emergence and dress are a sight to behold, the red/white/dark motif is reminiscent of the final act of Die Walküre, and of course both acts end in the same place: Brünnhilde’s rock. Also, Siegfried’s appearance is made to seem that much more out of place when his youthful outfit is juxtaposed against the austere background and Brünnhilde’s formal, minimal attire. She’s clearly more mature, both emotionally and in age.

Separate from the set design and costumes, Pountney’s direction for Wotan gives the aging god a more malicious bent, particularly in Act Two. As an example, when Siegfried is able to understand the forest bird’s song after tasting the slain dragon’s blood, it’s not simply a conversation between our hero and his woodland acquaintance. Instead, Valhalla partially descends from the top of the stage, and we see Wotan working the forest bird’s voice (sung beautifully by Diana Newman) like a hand puppet while Siegfried interacts with the bird below. This, along with other appearances in the second act, make more explicit Wotan’s scheming and behind-the-scenes machinations, particularly when Siegfried is viewed as a standalone work instead of in conjunction with Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, both of which feature Wotan more prominently.

The musical performances were strong across the board. Burkhard Fritz‘s Siegfried was energetic and youthful, but also quite moving when in dialogue with Christine Goerke‘s Brünnhilde in Act Three. Goerke was soaring and passionate, and offered a nice complement to Brunnhilde’s much younger soon-to-be lover. For me, it was one of the standout performances of the evening. Mattias Klink portrayed a frustrated and tired yet scheming Mime while maintaining a full and resonant sound. Vocally, Act Three is hard to beat. Not only does it end with Brünnhilde and Siegfried, but it begins with Wotan/The Wanderer and Erda, and here Eric Owens and Ronnita Miller really upped the production’s already strong musical game, eventually giving way to Goerke and Fritz to bring it home. Although Owens now feels very comfortable and powerful as Wotan, Miller’s anguished Erda nearly stole that first scene. And though their parts are small by comparison, Samuel Youn continued to entertain as Alberich, Patrick Guetti‘s Fafner was formidable and rich, and Diana Newman’s forest bird was playful and elegant, offering a nice respite from the male-heavy first two acts. Enveloping it all, of course, was the Lyric Opera orchestra, led by Sir Andrew Davis.

After three successful productions, I’m quite looking forward to seeing how next season’s Götterdämmerung unfolds, as well as then seeing this new full Ring cycle in its entirety in early 2020.

‘Die Walküre’ at Lyric Opera of Chicago

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Lyric Opera of Chicago‘s new production of Die Walküre is a success. Go see it! The company’s new Ring cycle is now officially full steam ahead.

Last year’s Das Rheingold not only started this new production of Der Ring des Nibelungen, which will culminate in three full cycles in the spring of 2020, but it also symbolized a break from the past. Whereas 2005’s cycle featured marquee names in signature roles (most notably James Morris as Wotan, and also Jane Eaglen as Brünnhilde), this 2016-2020 production is visually rich and centered around two marquee names in newer roles, Eric Owens as Wotan in a role debut and Christine Goerke hitting her stride as Brünnhilde. (I saw her in Canadian Opera Company’s Götterdämmerung in February, in which she commanded the stage. Ain Anger, who portrayed Hunding in Die Walküre, gave a masterful performance as Hagen in that same Götterdämmerung.) This is also director David Pountney‘s first full cycle, and he is accompanied by the late Johan Engels—carried on by his successor Robert Innes Hopkins—and costume designer Marie-Jeanne Lecca, lighting designer Fabrice Kebour, and choreographer Denni Sayers. The production has traded stark minimalism for captivating sets and costumes that fill up every inch of stage and bar of music—even during the vorspiels, some sort of action is occurring to propel the story forward.

Pountney, Engels et al. put together a visually compelling production. There is some continuity with Das Rheingold that I’ll now expect to see in some fashion in Siegfried and Götterdämmerung, namely the aspect of making some of the stagehands characters themselves, thereby acknowledging that this is a theatrical work through and through. Also, whereas the gods in Das Rheingold dressed as eighteenth-century patricians, they now appear as nineteenth-century aristocracy in Die Walküre. Which makes sense, considering that we’re now at least a generation removed from the events of Das Rheingold. The contrast in color throughout, coupled with the attention to detail for both costumes and set design, makes for a vivid presentation. This is perhaps most apparent in the third act, with the red Valkyries against the set’s whites, blacks, and grays. (The hues, though bold in contrast, are themselves worn, suggesting that the Valkyries have been at this a while.) But other acts and scenes also made their marks: Hunding’s pale quarters giving way to the warm and sensually bright springtime of Siegmund and Sieglinde’s love; Fricka’s red dress and Wotan’s white coat against Valhalla’s austere hall; Loge’s consuming fire. The contrast in color becomes more apparent in each successive act.

And the acting! Generally, even when the score, libretto, and set design work well together on the opera stage, what passes for “acting” often has a much lower bar. This production, however, has the right mix of personnel and direction. Movements were often organic. Perhaps a subtle facial tick from Goerke’s Brünnhilde or Tanja Ariane Baumgartner‘s Fricka (a role she continued from Das Rheingold) as opposed to grand gesture, or the passionate caressing between Elisabeth Strid‘s Sieglinde and Brandon Jovanovich‘s Siegmund instead of the more typical glacial embrace. The hypnotic, almost desperate love between the Wälsung twins was believable, which only amplified their high passions and low grief. As a viewer, I nearly felt as if I were witnessing private moments between them.

In a similar vein to Das Rheingold, Pountney’s conceit here is less of a Regietheater-esque reinterpretation than one of a theatrical telling of the “original” story—or at least largely staying out of the way in order for you to come to your own interpretive conclusions. The twist, though, is that, as an audience member, you’re not watching and listening to a story so much as you are watching a story being told (likely decades ago). The stagehands-as-characters—moving sets, operating spotlights, etc.—is critical to this. Also welcome is the fact that the production is self-aware enough to not take itself too seriously. When the spotlight instantly shone on Nothung in the ash tree for the first time, it’s as if the production team did it with their tongues firmly in cheek. And, though I won’t spoil it, Loge’s in-person appearance hours later had a similar effect without intruding on the drama too much. Dare I say that it’s a fun production of Die Walküre? All I know is that the audience laughed with the production far more than I had expected.

Pountney and other members of the team have made reference to Henrik Ibsen in discussions of any sort of approach or interpretive framework, citing “intimate relationships within a family” as well as the feminist leanings of A Doll’s House. Given that, I’d be remiss to not at least briefly address the viewing experience in November 2017. This tale of romantic, familial, and power politics rife with emotional and sometimes physical abuse is particularly resonant right now, given that every news cycle is now saturated with what hopefully becomes a necessary, though grievously belated, reckoning regarding sexual harassment and abuse as well as skewed gender dynamics in general.

After I left the theater I read Anthony Tommasini’s review in the New York Times, an overall positive assessment that otherwise chides Pountney for Hunding’s literally chaining Sieglinde to the ash tree running through his home, arguing that her captivity was more emotional than literal. (As a general rule, I try to avoid all reviews beforehand.) I disagree. It not only restricted her movements, making for an interesting staging device, but it made painfully obvious that Sieglinde isn’t just in a loveless marriage with Hunding, but rather she is his slave for all intents and purposes. (Nothing wrong with beating that point home with a sledgehammer.) In a way, this is similar to the Valkyries being scolded by their father Wotan in Act III. Within minutes, the Valkyries regress from triumphant warrior-goddesses with weapons and horses to disobedient schoolgirls being reprimanded while seated in comically small chairs, all while Wotan—seemingly all-powerful father and god, but ultimately just a man behind his own curtain—scolds them from Valhalla above. The visual infantilization was powerful. This context creates extra resonance for the most threatening and insulting remark over the course of the work: when Wotan tells his favorite daughter Brünnhilde that she will submit to a husband and honor his will. Goerke’s reaction was clear; she may as well be chained to a tree like her half-sister Sieglinde.

The vocal roster was superb and delivered powerful performances across the board. Owens’s Wotan was richer and more powerful than in last year’s Das Rheingold. And Goerke’s Brünnhilde was youthful and energetic, and a definite contrast to her portrayal in Canadian Opera Company’s Götterdämmerung—a Brünnhilde that is older, wiser, and vengeful. (And apparently Goerke was fighting a cold Tuesday night. She sure fooled us!) Both Jovanovich’s Siegmund and Strid’s Sieglinde were lyrical across the full emotional spectrum, and I followed them wherever they led. Anger’s Hunding was dark and oppressive to great effect, whereas Baumgartner’s Fricka was guarded and vulnerable. And then the Valkyries1…whew! There were a couple moments in which I couldn’t believe just how mightily big those warrior-singers could get.

Sir Andrew Davis led the Lyric Opera Orchestra through a rousing performance, and I was struck by just how well the voices and orchestra blended with one another. So many graceful transitions of melodic lines throughout. It was sometimes difficult to tell where an instrument would end and a voice would begin. Tuesday’s performance marked Davis’s 30th anniversary since he first stood at Lyric’s podium, and he marked the occasion with a strong, moving delivery.

A few performances remain through November 30th. Don’t wait until 2020 to see this production of Die Walküre for the first time.

1.  Despite an illness and understudy being announced twice before the performance, I regret to write that I know neither which vocalist was ill nor her replacement. (Neither did the gentleman sitting next to me, as we immediately tried clarifying with another.) That said, the official casting includes: Whitney Morrison as Gerhilde, Alexandra LoBianco as Helmwige, Laura Wilde as Ortlinde (and Freia in this cycle’s Das Rheingold), Catherine Martin as Waltraute, Deborah Nansteel as Siegrune, Lindsay Ammann as Rossweisse (and Flosshilde in this cycle’s Das Rheingold), Zanda Švēde as Grimgerde, and Lauren Decker as Schwertleite.↩