Boccanegra! Boccanegra!

The Met's "must-see" Simon Boccanegra was high on my spring wishlist, but I didn't make it down until the penultimate performance on Tuesday night.  Giancarlo Del Monaco's production was heavy with wood, stone, and velvet.  I do have a soft spot for fourteenth-century costumes, but the hyper-realism (especially of Amelia's garden and the Genoese council chamber) was a bit much for me.  And we never see the sea!  Of course, I'm spoiled, because my first acquaintance with this opera was made through a Christof Loy production (Frankfurt, 2007) I wasn't nearly well-informed enough to appreciate properly.  Feel free to hate me for that; rest assured I am properly ashamed.  On Tuesday, the Personenregie, or lack thereof, was an even bigger problem for me, with stand-and-sing delivery and semaphore-stylized gestures.  It was, then, All About The Singing.  Fortunately, this was strong.

The chorus was great, with incisive diction and simply thrilling sound.  In Act I, Scene 2, their off-stage cries built in urgency until they finally erupted into the council chamber - brilliant.  Nicola Alaimo, as Paolo, seemed a bit "off" to me at first, perhaps riding close to the bottom of the pitch, but his voice warmed up considerably over the course of the opera.  Also, the student tickets which the Beloved Flatmate and I secured put us in the orchestra but back under the overhang, and I'm not sure how that affected my perception of sound.  Barbara Frittoli's Amelia struck me as rather bland.  Perhaps her voice would have made a stronger impression in a different role.  At the outset, especially, she had a noticeably wide vibrato, and seemed less than secure at the top of her range.  When these problems were smoothed out, she sang an Amelia of considerable beauty--her "Pace! Pace!" was exquisite--but without much vocal or dramatic individuality, I felt.

Ramon Vargas sang with creamy tone, and charmed with a sweet, sympathetic persona.  It was very hard to picture his Adorno as a rabble-rouser; he's just an impetuous chap, going around singing charming canzone about how much he's in love.  He sang with elegance, as well as warmth, and enough expression to give his Adorno some dramatic bite despite the limitations of the blocking.  Ferruccio Furlanetto combined Fiesco's nobility and ruthlessness with masterful ability.  His snarling disconcerted me, but I concluded it must have been purposeful, as he also consistently created amazingly beautiful, full sound, with thrilling lows.  Through superlative musicianship, Furlanetto created a Fiesco of tragic stature.

In the title role, Dmitri Hvorostovsky made a remarkably successful departure from his usual persona of Smoldering Baritone.  His sensitive characterization made Boccanegra noble throughout, ageing credibly, and giving the corsair-doge an edge of fiery temper that makes it clear his wisdom is hard won.  His voice lacks the heft I mentally associate with that elusive creature, the Verdi Baritone, but his gorgeous tone was wielded with great intelligence.  He was at his best in the lyric passages, where he shaped phrases beautifully.  His expressive singing served him well in evoking the doge's anguish, anger, joy, and, finally, spiritual peace.  On a superlatively strong night, it was still the world-class orchestra who emerged as the star.  Under Levine's leadership the score was treated with subtlety and restraint which nevertheless did not shirk the thunderous drama of the climaxes to the prologue and Act I.  The emotional resonance of the repeated themes was beautifully captured.  And although the sea was never seen, its cool breezes and eternal tides were certainly in the orchestra.  The audience's applause, warm for all the principals, turned rapturous for Maestro Levine, which was acknowledged with a cheery waving of his cane.