Opera is finally upon us for another season!  Portland Opera served up its first treat of the season with the opening performance of Verdi's La Traviata last Friday and on Monday the Met broadcast its season opening Gala starring Renée Fleming.  I have not yet seen a performance of this production of Traviata - I shall be attending on Saturday, the closing night - but I did attend the final dress rehearsal and all the indications are that this show is a winner.  I do not review Portland Opera productions in this blog as you probably have figured out by now but I should be very happy to hear from any of you who have already seen this show and to hear your views.

By and large if I were to be offered the opportunity to attend either a performance or a rehearsal of a work I know well, I would choose to go to the rehearsal. There is something I find totally gripping about the process through which art is formed. Now don't get me wrong; I enjoy every bit as much as the next man to be able to sit in a concert hall or opera house (or even the Keller Auditorium!) and witness a live performance. But some how there is an extra special feeling attached to being able to witness performers work through a piece, finding nuances which perhaps had escaped them before or shaping certain phrases in a way they haven't done previously in order to see whether something exciting or plausible emanates. Every Summer I attend the open rehearsals which are such a wonderful part of the Chamber Music Northwest festival and I always leave them energised and in awe of what transpires when great musicians bring all of their skill and intelligence to bear on a piece of music. And even when one is aware that,say, a string quartet has played the particular piece being rehearsed many many times before one is often left feeling that the piece is fresh to them - that the ink on the page is barely dry from the composer's pen.

In no art form I know is the sense of excitement so palpable in rehearsal as it is in opera. When the 'stage' is deliniated by no more than marks or pieces of tape on the floor, when sets and costumes are minimal and there is no orchestra to provide distraction there is then a priceless opportunity to see and hear the guts of the piece.

Vernon Handley, a friend of mine for forty years, died last week but I just learned of it today. I first got to know Handley - Tod to his many friends - in the 1960's when he was the conductor of the Guildford Philharmonic Orchestra and I sang in the Philharmonic Choir. Over the next few years I came to know him well. He was a fierce defender, promoter and champion of British music which, like British cuisine, was not always accorded the respect that was its due. My respect for Tod grew into a deep affection as the years passed and our friendship grew. After a while without any contact we touched base again a few months ago and I last heard from him a matter of weeks ago.

If you have never listened to his recordings I urge you to do so. They are numerous and of the highest quality. The world of music became a poorer place with his leaving of it. I shall miss him.

Here's what the The Guardian had to say.

When Bryn Terfel wimped out on the Royal Opera's Ring Cycle last year citing a family crisis, I wondered what on earth was going on.  It transpired that his teenage son had broken his finger and Mrs. Terfel demanded that her hubby put his fatherly duties before his public and contractual responsibilities ("All you people see is a singer but to me he is a husband and father!" quoth she). Had the lad been mortally ill I would have sympathized.  But a broken finger?  C'mon, dude.  That's just lame.  Since then I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop and in a sense this week it did.  Terfel announced that he plans to retire in about three years time. Not surprisingly the opera world's collective jaw dropped.  He has now backed away somewhat from the word “retirement” and has said he intends to "slow down.”  He told the BBC in an interview this week that he was concentrating on concert and other performances away from the opera stage, including sporting events.  In other words he too wishes to join the growing throng of singers who can earn much more by doing much less.  You may call it what you will but I would tag it as shamelessly selling out.  It both angers and saddens me that a man with such a glorious voice and immense talent is choosing the easy path.  Doubtless we may now look forward to hearing him sing “The Ash Grove” before a Welsh Rugby International at Cardiff Arms Park.  I'm sure it will be lovely but not quite as satisfying as settling in to experience his Wotan at the Royal Opera House.  Oh, well.

You know those bizarre dreams where things seem to make complete sense and yet somehow everything is very strange and disconnected?  Yes?  Well.  That is precisely how I felt when I saw this page of The New York Times. The Maestro's year is finished? And no more Ring Cycles or Parsifal or Flying Dutchman at the Lincoln Center?  Because he needs surgery on his elbow?  And why is this on the sports page??  I was on the point of pinching myself when sanity - or as close to it as I get - reasserted itself and I realized it was Billy Wagner (no relation) about whom they wrote and the “Met” is actually the Mets.  Phew.  What a relief!  For while I have heard the composer of some of the canon's longest operas called many things I have never before seen him referred to as a "left-handed closer.”

I am leaving for southern Oregon at o-dark-thirty tomorrow morning and had hoped to have this week's post ready before I left but it isn't going to happen.  I will not spare the horses and will speed back on Monday so please forgive the delay and come back on Tuesday when I hope your patience will be rewarded and Operaman will appear as usual.  There is fun stuff to report so don't miss it!

Eva and Katharina Wagner, both of them great-granddaughters of Richard Wagner have been selected by the foundation Board to govern the Bayreuth Festival.  Katharina has promised changes which will include "productions geared toward children" and "a training academy".  I can't help it - the phrase 'Wagner Youth' keeps spinning in my brain .  It's unfair, I know.

With Labor Day behind us and the opening of our opera season just a little more than three weeks away I guess we should all be prepared for Fall.  Except, well, I am not ready for Fall yet! I am still enjoying Summer so much.  Over this weekend I drove Holly and Elizabeth down to the Oregon/California border where they are beginning the Oregon portion of the Pacific Crest Trail.  For the next  month they will be toting fifty-pound backpacks hundreds of miles through the Oregon wilderness.  The starting point was close to the peak of Mount Ashland at approximately 7000 feet.  The air was crisp and clean and one could see forever or so it seemed.  The sky was that amazing Oregon blue and sported not a single a cloud.  The sun was warm and it just seemed like a glorious Summer's day.  And yet when I arrived back in Portland somewhat after 10pm last night when I opened the car door the first thing I smelled was woodsmoke.  The neighbours had made a fire as the air was on the chilly side of cool, and when I got out of the car the night had a very autumnal feel.