Opera Chic

Jommelli's Demofoonte @ Salzburg With Muti (And Without Opera Chic)

An avid fan of Salzburg's Whitsun Festival, Opera Chic went to the sweetly boring Austrian town in May 2007 and 2008, enjoying Cimarosa's Il Ritorno di Don Calandrino and Paisiello's Il Matrimonio Inaspettato.

This year, though, she's staying home, because as yummy as Demel's Esterhazytorte, as historically informed Tomaselli's coffee is, between the fact that Jommelli's musical talent is not on the same level of Paisiello's absolute genius and that Demofoonte, no disrespect intended, is simply not as engaging as Calandrino's crazy antics, OC chose to sit this edition out. 

This is not to say that the travelers who decide to shell out for the notoriously expensive tickets won't enjoy a serious treat -- the festival opens tomorrow night and the production looks great; and Riccardo Muti's baton is, like Snickers, guaranteed to satisfy. 

***

***

More pictures after the jump.

Liveblogging up in Your Operahouse: Vancouver Opera's New Foray

(Above: Rinat Shaham's gonna cut you! Carmen @ the Vancouver Opera never looked so good. Photo by Tim Matheson.)

Vancouver Opera has pretty much gotten it down by introducing smart initiatives that successfully culture-jam the operatic art form, and break it down for the masses. And O.C. is obviously all about applauding accessibility. We saw it with their manga, and now they've done it again.

Tonight, the Vancouver Opera will be hosting their very first "Blogger Night at The Opera". They've invited four local bloggers (and their laptops) to attend tonight's Carmen at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre and simultaneous liveblog the experience. The majority of the bloggers (URLS found here) have never been to the opera before, and will share their newbie impressions during pre/post show & intermission.

The performance starts at 7:30 pm (Pacific Standard Time). This VO production of Bizet's classic opened on Saturday night and has been slaying the critics, featuring the bewbtastic Rinat Shaham with a kung-fu grip as our smoking temptress (we kinda wonder if this post was just a flimsy excuse to publish the picture of Shaham's magnifi-scent glory above), David Pomeroy as Don José, Mariateresa Magisano as Micaëla, and Daniel Okulitch as Escamillo.

Go get 'em, bloggers!

Thaïs in Torino, Frittoli's Bewbs Get Upstaged By Topless Chorus

Teatro Regio di Torino, under the musical direction of maestro Gianandrea Noseda, is currently staging Massenet's Thaïs. Opening night was awash with bewbs (thanks to Barbara Frittoli's Thaïs in a low-cut costume and topless chorus ladies -- a picture after the jump below), sensitive monkery in a black turtleneck (thanks to Lado Ataneli's Athanaël, tho we also must credit secondary cast's Simone Alberghini), twinkling orchestration (thanks to Noseda), and tumultuous chorus scrimmages, straight out of a Turner canvas (thanks to Stefano Poda's direction). The show runs until December 21, and it's a good excuse to visit Torino for Caffè Mulassano's excellent brioche (and espresso, of course). omg.

~*~

~*~

**Click on the link below for xXx NSFW naked lady bewbs**

Behold, A Virgin Shall Be With Child: Charlotte Church Gives Birth, Gets Pregnant All Over Again

Charlotte Church left a big announcement on her blog earlier today.

This is the second pregnancy for Charlotte Church, 22. Nine months ago, she gave birth to her first daughter, Ruby Megan Henson. Church is partnered with Gavin Henson, her Welsh rugby star boyfriend.

L.A. Opera Borrows La Maria's "Tosca" Jewels

To spice up their Tosca opening tonight, Los Angeles Opera has obtained the jewelry worn by Maria Callas in 1956 for her Metropolitan Opera debut as Tosca.

It's a blinding, sparkling, kicka$$ monstah of 200 tear-shaped Swarovski crystals, by Atelier Marangoni in Milan, Italy, and it'll appear over Adrianne Pieczonka's lucky bewbs.

(foto above, Metropolitan Opera Archives)

Jenkins @ The TV BAFTAs

Bewbs miracolously under control, and rawking some really, really fine Vivienne Westwood,
Katherine Jenkins @ the TV BAFTA Awards looking really pretty -- let's be fair here -- last night in London.

To keep things in perspective, and oldie but goldie image of La Jenkins and La Church, aka The Battle Of The Bewbs (with oversize football used by Brits for a mysterious ancient game, like a pre-NFL pastime of Britannia's Barbarian populations).

OMG The Merkel Bewb Video! The Controversy Rages On, Germany Goes Bananies. Merkel Has To Give Interview About Own Breasts. Our Advice To Angela: Just Flash Them, And Let's Get This Over With

Opera Chic loves the German papers because, unlike most American ones, they seem to operate under the assumption that "classical music" isn't a cuss word and concerts and the opera aren't just pastimes for the morons who don't appreciate a nice night sitting in front of the TV  watching reruns of American TV shows (or even worse, reruns of non-American TV shows).

But the usually rational German press -- and frankly, a lot of Germans, too, apprently -- seems to have lost its collective head over the fact that the Chancellor has breasts (old superfat Helmut Kohl's man bewbs don't count, we assume), as she demonstrated a few days ago at the inauguration of Oslo's opera house.

Days after the Angela Merkel Oslo "incident", where by "incident" one means "went to the opera with a dress, not with a burqa), the debate in the press rages on.

You have the podcasts (the last resort of the desperate, more often than not).

You have the funny guy in Stern who must have watched some dubbed MTV: "P1mp My Dress".

Merkel herself had to actually talk to the media today to try and stop to the circus:

"In any event, there certainly wouldn't be a discussion like this with a man".

Heh.

(Not that anybody would even want to discuss the bulge in former Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder's pants, frankly). OC of all people understands the appeal of bewbs -- she even inaugurated her blog a year and a half ago posting about Mozart's bewbs. Our unofficial motto is "Viva Le Bewbs".

But this Merkel thing is getting silly now.

Opera Chic's advice to Angela: just flash them.

Really.

They're all fourteen year olds, deep inside, these press dudes. And like fourteen year olds  they'll all blush, run away, and then we'll all finally be able to move on.

Bavarian Governor To Merkel's Rescue Over The Bewbs Opera Incident

Unlike some of his fellow countrymen who did indeed object to the sudden discovery of Chancellor Angela Merkel's ownership of a pair of breasts, that she suddendly displayed in Oslo creating a bit of a media stir, the powerful Bavarian Governor voted "aye" for bewbs, and more powah to him for that.

Günther Beckstein has spoken in favor of Angela Merkel's powerful display of (o) (o) the other night at Oslo's opera (to examine Opera Chic's previous post click here, with in-depth analysis and photographic evidence). Herr Doktor Beckstein was "pleased" by Merkel's outfit, because "we in Bavaria appreciate joie de vivre, I have no objections at all".

And with this we hope the proverbial tempest in a D-cup is finally over.

"OhMeinGott Angela Merkel Is A MILF": German Press Appalled After Oslo Opera Haus Display Of Bundeskanzler (o) (o)

Last December 7, when we saw Angela Merkel at la Scala's premiere of Tristan, she was dressed more conservatively; the other night in Oslo, though, at the inauguration of the new opera house we blogged about last week, Big Angela chose to flaunt some serious bewbage: in the AFP photo above, Norwegian Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg with Scandinavian coolness manages not to ogle while La Merkel shows the operagoing Oslo peeps some serious Teutonic strength.

It's indeed obvious that Otto von Bismarck never would have done this. Thankfully, we add.

The German papers we skinned online this morning seem to be at the very least ambivalent. La Angela is rightly baffled. Unlike the Puritanical German press, as a pro-opera, pro-women, pro-bewbs blog, we happily endorse the new l00k.

Now she just needs to lose the bowl cut and we're defintely getting somewhere.

Pop-up picture below for the more scientifically minded readers:

Not that anybody cares at this point, but, bewbs aside, the main operatic attraction at the inauguration was Maria Guleghina:

Beethoven's Ninth According To Maazel: Slow Tempi, Bewbs And Turkish Baths

(above: Maestro Lorin Maazel and the soloists from the Saturday, March 8, 2008 Beethoven Cycle)

Just back in after a night of Beethoven's Ninth courtesy of Maestro Kim-Jong Maazel @ Milan's Teatro degli Arcimboldi with Symphonica Toscanini and the chorus of Maggio Musicale Fiorentino (Piero Monti, maestro del Coro). Here are just a few impressions before the full review coming hopefully tomorrow.

(above: the exterior of Teatro degli Arcimboldi)

OC had been sorely disappointed by Maazel's Traviata last summer at la Scala, an unfortunate event plagued by shoddy conducting and by Angela Gheorghiu. But OC, even if it's very fashionable back in NYC, has never really chugged the Maazel Haterade; certainly not the warmest of conductors, Maazel nevertheless has very deep knowledge, the clarity and economy of his gesture is so elegant that he always leaves us speechless, and, to quote ourselves because it's late at night here and we're tipsy on post-performance Château d'Yquem, "a good 90 percent of people put in charge of orchestras nowadays would be well served by watching a few DVDs of Maazel in the quiet of their home and just, you know, pay attention to all the things that Maazel knows and they don't".

Anyway, to get immediately rid of the stuff we didn't like:

--> Maazel, unlike his orchestra -- everybody impeccable in white tie and tails -- showed up in a weirdy double-breasted tuxedo -- no tails, obviously -- and no tie at all and, especially, a pair of icky black shoes with thick rubber soles, the kind of shoes you see midlevel managers of second rate insurance companies wear on the LIRR when the weather's bad. We know the man is in his golden years, but if we can manage to strap on a pair of Gucci 7" velvet-printed platforms for the evening, he can equally compromise. The good news is that he at least got rid of the inexplicable mullet he sometimes favors.

--> Soprano Maria Luigia Borsi chose an unflattering cappuccino-colored dress with a downright bizarre fur stole (raccoon? Lordy, lordy). Her hair, greasy and unwashed, looked even worse than that shameless Spears girl who runs around Hollywood without panties. For somebody who already sang at la Scala, la Fenice, Torre del Lago, and the Opernhaus in Zurich, she should know better than look like Britney's older [opera-singing] sister.

--> Young Russian mezzo Anna Smirnova -- she'll be Princess Eboli this December 7th @ la Scala in Don Carlos under Daniele Gatti's baton so more than a few eyes were on her tonight -- showed up in a very tight (frankly, too tight for her) rubbery black dress with a dominatrix theme, and with an impossibly cantilevered (already quite massive) decolletage that made most people in the audience -- we could read it on their faces -- think "OMG b00bs!".

What about the performance itself, you ask? It'll be mostly the subject of our full review, coming soon, but suffice to say that Maazel chose deliberate tempi and very cool -- and, yes, somewhat restrained -- phrasing (one does not listen to Maazel for the big Lenny moments of unabashed emotion, right?). The only exception came in the 4th movement during the Turkish March, when he picked up pulse very fast, and kind of left poor Robert Dean Smith, the American tenor for the night, trying to chase the orchestra as Maazel mercilessly glanced at the poor man who, by the end of his part (sang quite well despite all) looked positively pink-faced (but gleefully giddy) with exertion.

(above: Maazel thanks the orchestra)

Happy 2(.)(.)8 With Roberto Abbado @ La Fenice: Capodanno With Frittoli, Furlanetto, Fraccaro, & Frittoli's Bewbs

Barely awake after partyin' all nite & damaging a fine reserve of vintage bubbly, OC watched live on ZDF a sizable slice of Maestro Pretre's not-so-fresh Sachertorte, the New Year's Concert from Vienna (we love GP, he's like a kindly grandpappy, and he almost always moves us: not today, tho, too weak, too flat -- in the last few years other conductors such as Jansons and Mehta have rawked Strauss much MUCH harder). OC then tuned her big shiny plasma to RaiUno, that had decided instead to broadcast live from la Fenice in Venice the Italian version of Vienna's classic new year's extravaganza.

The first part of the concert (Luisa Miller: Sinfonia; I vespri siciliani: Le quattro stagioni
Inverno, Primavera, Estate, Autunno) has been ruthlessly killed by Rai's powahs because the Pope was simultaneously giving a ginormous speech in Rome and Italy's most popular channel was totally whalin' on that, because if you'd rather listen to an old cranky Italian (Verdi) than an old cranky German (the Pope) you'll make the Baby Jesus cry; after the Pope hath spawken, finally, they managed to beam, live, the images and sound from Venice for the second part of the concert: a mashup of Italian opera arias and the inevitable Va' Pensiero. (not exactly the happiest  sound to welcome the new years, but whatevs).

Maestro Roberto Abbado -- who hadn't chosen personally the program for the second part of the concert but had to execute a RAI-made list of blockbuster tunes, as he managed to wisely let know to Corriere della Sera's a few days ago -- managed to make lemonade out of those state-TV lemons, showing us once again what a fine, fine, elegant, underrated conductor he really is.

The singers: a juicy Barbara Frittoli who flaunted some exquisite colors, a massive bewbétage and, we're frank because we *heart* her, a dangerously sagging neckline (at the very least, she needs to be lighted very differently; Dr. 90210 can come to the rescue too); il maestro Ferruccio Furlanetto who shook the Fenice's recently rebuilt walls with the raw powah of his bass-baritone; and Marcello Giordani's last-minute replacement, il signor Walter Fraccaro -- Alagna's doppelganger for Zeffirelli's unlucky Aida of December '06 at la Scala -- who was just happy that Alagna was nowhere to be seen. Sadly, Alagna would have totally eaten WF's lunch, and we're not sayin' much here, are we.   

As we said above, Abbado's beautiful phrasing managed not to drown Va' Pensiero in the usual sea of corniness, kept Libiamo's band-like waves of sound within the limits of the acceptable,  and even Aida's Marcia Trionfale (photo above) was elegantly  shaped by the Milanese maestro. Who gets a bonus because he didn't show up, like many conductors lazily choose to do, in white tie for a morning concert. Avoiding the stuffy classic morning suit, he opted for a beautiful midnite blue suit with simple white shirt and pearl gray tie, an OC rating of A. Very nice also the natural gray of the maestro's hair. 

Abbado's hand clasping Frittoli's for the post-concert applause:

New Year bonus for our readers: a closeup of la signora Frittoli's impressive cleavage. No n1pple slip, mebbe next year! Rawk on 2(.)(.)8

Fabio Armiliato Does His Thang; aka, Italy Strikes Back

Since Luciano Pavarotti died, Opera Chic has been receiving a fair amount of email asking basically the same question: why is it that Pavarotti was the last of the great Italian tenors, and now Italian opera is all about Peruvian, or Mexican, or Argentinian tenors? Why is it, they ask, that the Italians are getting pwnZrd at their own game? Whare r the great Italian tenors, they ask?

OC's verdict is, ahem, no qway Kosay. Because maybe it is true that, as Juan Diego Florez usually says, there must be something in the Peruvian tap water that works some strange magic for tenors -- and that magic water does seem to have gotten scarce in Italy's aqueducts.   

But dissing the Italian singers doesn't really cut it -- because even if it is true that, for example, recently, Italy's biggest hope circa 2000-2003 -- Salvatore Licitra -- has turned out to be not as awesome as we all thought/hoped he'd become, and we all know about Roberto Alagna's troubles in recent years -- RA comes from a family of Italian immigrants to France, and he's more Franco-Italian, technically, and his best repertoire is French opera, even if his youthful Alfredo at la Scala under Muti is still a joy to listen to -- but despite Licitra's and Alagna's problems Opera Chic thinks that hope is on the way.

Because not only there are excellent singers who are becoming better known -- such as Giuseppe Filianoti, 32, who has a brilliant future ahead if he carries himself better than other less professional contemporaries -- and, we have to say, we're impressed by Vittorio Grigolo, whose talent is definitely there but who risks to follow the dangerous sirens of crossover big buck$ toward the abyss of crapstatic artistic achievement. If Filianoti keeps studying and takes good care of his voice, and if Grigolo tones down the Orlando Bloom-ish photo shoots and the "popera" stuff -- how barfogenic are his side projects, fo' reals -- the glory is just there, gleaming in the distance.

And Filianoti studied with Carlo Bergonzi, Grigolo with Pavarotti: they certainly had the best teachers, it's up to them now -- the future can be theirs.

But history is now, and Italy already has a tenor with a gigantisaurous voice, a beautiful timbre, impeccable professional credentials and intense acting skillz.

You may not hear his name a lot because by all accounts -- OC has never had the pleasure to meet him -- he is a shy, private man who'd rather spend his work hours rehearsing and studying, and his free time with family (and we hear that -- he's a native Genoan -- he cooks a mean linguine al pesto); averse to the pimptastic media system that often builds hype where there is very little voice to support such hype, he nevertheless sings the Italian repertorio with talent, passion, and class in many of the most important opera houses around the world (Vienna Staatsoper, Scala, Liceu, Met, Covent Garden, San Carlo di Napoli, Regio di Parma).

But then, he can afford to avoid the pitfalls of the hype machine.

Because Fabio Armiliato, heir to the greatest lineage of Italian opera tenors, has this voice *

No wonder he gets this kind of reaction from audiences as musical as the Liceu's (where he is appearing next week, by the way, in Andrea Chenier).

* and we ride in a LOLs Royce every time we see this video's ending, because Gergiev as always loses his peWp and goes full blasts drowning poor Armiliato, Val just can't avoid it, the baton is like a sledgehammer for him sometimes, but the Baden-Baden Festspielhaus's audience drowns Gergiev back, with a thunder of applause, all for Fabio.

Lap Opera: Anna Pole Dances

Here's another interesting image from the Netrebko/Villazon hawt
hawt production of Manon. Much more on Angela -- because you know you want it -- coming l8r.

vvvvv xtra bonus vvvvv

Watch Villazón get tickled!

Reader Donna Anna sent us the YouTube link to an (edited) montage of the LA Opera Manon where you can see Netrebko in axxxion. At 1:52 minutes in, Anna starts working the pole. @_@

Daniela Dessì: Adriana Lecouvreur with Bewbs

Opera Chic will barely have the time to unpack her bags, and tomorrow night she'll be at la Scala to witness the glory of Daniela Dessì's voice and of her Gigantor b00bs: Adriana Lecouvreur.

Appearing alongisde Dessì will be her boytoy tenor, the bearded wonder that is Fabio Armiliato.

A Dramatic Musical Event: Teddy Tahu Rhodes and His Abs

Here's the official site for the forthcoming Dead Man Walking
in Australia, starring TTR's steely abs.

Opera Chic has never been to Australia but Teddy's washboard vocal talent  may be enough to convince us to visit, next September.

I dreamed I sang a duet at the Met in my Maidenform bra!

“I'm beside myself with joy -- Maidenform and I make such marvelous music together with Sweet Music©! The genius lies in the cups, each exquisitely sculptured from 8 separate triangles. Ingenious new "lifts" in the undercups hit a high note in comfort and curves!”

This is one of the highlights from the successful, nostalgic "I Dreamed" Maidenform bra ad campaign that was launched in 1949, and lasted well through the 1960s. [An article on Ida Rosenthal, founder and chair(woman) of American company Maidenform can be found here.] The advertisements highlighted models in both everyday situations and extraordinary scenarios, wearing nothing but the appropriate costumes accented with Maidenform bras.

"Sweet Music", a specific model of bra, was available for a mere $2.50, and was proclaimed as the: "Sweetest bra this side of heaven...it was born to be worn with the 'Empire Look'". The actual bra can be found here. No offense, but when OC makes her triumphant debut at the MET, you sure as heyll won’t find no Maidenform supporting my (.)(.) I’d have to be paid in the souls of the innocent to put that bewb armor near my tender skin.

Another ad from the “I Dreamed” series features the epiphany, “I dreamed I played in an all-girl orchestra in my maidenform bra.” Or maybe it's one of Gérard Mortier's edgy new ideas for the NYCO.

The all-girl orchestra is pretty hot, tho. In fact, it reminds me of this vvvvv

Teddy Tahu Rhodes Says NO to the Death Penalty, Thankfully Keeps Saying YES to Hawt Abs

That big lumberjack of a sek-say baritone, surfer dude Teddy "Abz of Steel" Tahu Rhodes, is back as convicted killer Joseph de Rocher in the Dead Man Walking opera (he had already starred in the role in 2003). Leave it to him to make a murderer hawt as, huh, hell.

In the picture right above, TTR, sadly with abs concealed under his shirt, is standing next to Sister Helen Prejean, author of the Dead Man Walking book. 

And we can only close a post as depressing as one on the death penalty with the uplifting image of Teddy's abs in glorious close-up (100% size image pops up, watch out! those things attack!).

Pier Luigi Pizzi's Match Point: La Pietra del Paragone as Tennis Match, plus Seks

Pier Luigi Pizzi makes Madrid feel all tingly (especially the tennis fans) with his refreshing, Lacosterrific production of Rossini's La Pietra del Paragone @ Madrid's Teatro Real.

Set! Match! Abs! Bewbs!

Stanley Kowalski messes with Vienna: Teddy Tahu Rhodes Sings With His Abs

At Vienna's Theater an der Wien New Zealander surfer dude Teddy Tahu Rhodes and his abs star as Stanley Kowalski in André Previn's A Streetcar Named Desire. Sister-in-law Blanche is played by Janice Watson and preggers wife Stella is played by Mary Mills.

This was the Austrian premiere of an operatic version of Tennessee Williams's superawesome 1947 play

I <3 the Way You Handle Haendel: Suzanne McNaughty Bares Her (o)(o)

Maestro Charles Mackerras is conducting Haendel's Orlando at the Royal Opera House, and all O_o eyes O_o are on the very impressive Suzanne McNaughton.

NSFW links (with NSFW pictures) are here ["Londra, il topless sbarca anche all'Opera"] and here ["Opera singer performs topless"].

Buon San Valentino!

And, fittingly:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RENEE!!!111

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Obligatory shoutout to opera's secksiest couple, Dessì+Armiliato

Dessì + Armiliato: Valentines, Triumph in Vienna & Bewbs (.) (.)

Valentine's Day is approaching and there's no better way to celebrate it on an Opera blog than to pay our respects to a cool opera couple -- on stage and off: the divinely bewbalicious Daniela Dessì -- an Opera Chic favorite -- and her dark boytoy Fabio Armiliato. The couple is getting the excellent reviews they deserve for their performance in Vienna: a hawt, Robert Carsen directed Manon Lescaut with big extra helpings of teh sexiness, and lots of pushup bras. Costumes by Victoria's Secret.

Maruska Albertazzi's Lucky Day

For those of you who hate when things go unresolved, an update:

From Opera di Roma's buff-Salome-actress Maruska Albertazzi's blog comes a new entry regarding the status of her missing briefcase and the accompanying media.

As of this past Monday, Albertazzi's cabbie, "Mr. Roma 31", returned her bag with the documents and her "special" autographed photograph is quite the happy ending.

The Vespers of the Blessed Virgin Make the Baby Jesus Cry

A naked actress struts among singers and musicians during the Luk Perceval-directed Claudio Monteverdi's Marienvesper, currently in rotation at Berlin's Staatsoper Unter den Linden.

NSFW (naked lady) Opera Chic Flickr album can be found here.

[Obligatory Alanis Morissette Thank You reference here.]

WANTED: MARUSKA ALBERTAZZI'S CABBIE

Actress Maruska Albertazzi, one of the two Salomes in the barenaked, nude, naked, Brazilian-waxed, scandalous, pant-pant Salome at Opera di Roma (the other Salome is hawt soprano Francesca Patané), has a (NSFW) blog.

And a few minutes ago she has posted an entry explaining that after tonight's show, she took a cab to go to dinner with her family. And she left a small briefcase in the taxi's trunk. Inside an envelope, there were "personal documents of great importance" and an 8x10 glossy of the actress, naked. Nuda.

Maruska is asking the cabbie to kindly bring back the documents.

He can keep the photo.

If said, hopefully non-horny taxi driver reads Opera Chic, we are happy to join the kind Miss Albertazzi in requesting he please brings back the documents.

And if he does keep the photo, would he please scan it and send a nice hi-res file to Opera Chic's e-mail addy? THX

Even More Francesca Patané Hawtness

As promised (and btw, a shoutout to all the thousands of opera lovers who come here daily googling and yahooing and AOLing for "Francesca Patané nuda"), here is a NSFW set of new, nude Francesca Patané images from Rome's naked Salome.

Critics pan Salome; the audience boos; the Internets ogle

Today's Corriere della Sera (story not online, see photo below) reports that last night, la prima in Rome of Giorgio Albertazzi's superhawt staging of the Strauss opera (barenaked Francesca Patané is Salome, NSFW gallery is here) has not gone well: director Albertazzi -- a legend of Italian theatre and cinema, unforgettable in Last Year At Marienbad -- has been booed by the (not nearly as snarky as La Scala's) audience.

The audience and the critics have been kinder with Patanè's performance. And reporters guarantee that Maruska Albertazzi (the actress who plays Salome in a tacked-on, non-musical prologue), as promised was completely naked. And her crotch, as promised by the director and anticipated by Opera Chic, was completely hairless.

The question remains, though: Brazilian wax or simple razor?

PS: Opera Chic promises her kind readers who are Salome fans, Patané fans, or just horny, that she'll post more hi-res pictures of Salome tomorrow. Today has just been very, very busy.

More Francesca Patané / Albertazzi pictures

Corriere della Sera's website links a NSFW gallery of the Rome Salome: the NSFW images are here.

Tanz für mich, Salome!!

Remember this post where I reported on Teatro dell'Opera di Roma's super erotic Salome with the late Giuseppe Patanè's daughter Francesca and her "Never Say Never" nude on-stage appearance?

Well, Opera Chic ensures that you don't have to haul yourself over to Rome just to get a glimpse of the action. Patanè certainly bared-it-all (aside from ultra-thin pasties and some fake henna tattoos).

The edited images (with strategically-placed kawaii ^__^) appear below...

However, if you are *still* aching to see Patanè's unedited assets, follow the download links below for the NSFW untinkered, scintillating, smoking-hawt jpegs NSFW:

Download patanesalome01.jpg (NSFW)

Download patanesalome02.jpg (NSFW)

vvvvUPDATEvvvv

As dear reader fignaz pointed-out, Patanè is rawkin' teh stockin'.

 

Sexy time @ Rome Opera with Salome x2

Teatro dell'Opera di Roma opens their season on January 16, 2007 with a bang, that promises to be supple, silky and smooth, and last 1-2 months. What?!? Okay, let's try this again:

Corriere della Sera has reported that Opera di Roma is presenting a new production of Strauss' Salome, conducted by Alain Lombard and directed by Giorgio Albertazzi, which is sending everyone clamoring for tickets. The reason?

In addition to promising sex, violence, and eroticism, and boasting the lead role of Salome as the cult-favorite soprano, Francesca Patanè, daughter of famous Italian conductor Giuseppe Patanè (who tragically died in 1989 while conducting Il Barbiere di Siviglia at the Bavarian State Opera), there has been scripted a fifteen-minute prologue which will display, "due Salome al prezzo di una. E tutt'e due nude," which reads, "Two Salomes for the price of one, and both are nude."

OMG things like this don't happen at the opera!!! Two naked Salomes, you say?! Now, if that isn't enough nudity in the name of l'art pour l'art, this Salome offers a bit more:

The counterpart Salome for Francesca Patanè's soprano will be played by actress Maruska Albertazzi (no relation to the producer), who will portray the non-singing Salome in the prologue.

In adition to the usual perk of nudity (albeit usually wrapped in a flesh-colored body-stocking), Maruska Albertazzi has vowed to make her nubile appearance "sara nuda, completamente depilata," which translates, "I will be naked, completely hairless." [ed: shaved or waxed, whatevs -- there isn't really anything lost in translation here...because the point is, she will be appearing (down there) "bald as an eagle."]

Apparently, this isn't such a bold leap for Maruska Albertazzi (LINK NOT SAFE FOR WORK), who had previously appeared in 2003 in an extremely trashy/erotic movie "Fallo!", followed by a handful of naked on-stage performances. Hay, LAY OFF! She's an exotic DANCER. What she does is ART! ^____^

This performance will also mark the first time that Francesca Patanè has agreed to appear on stage naked. Not so shocking, as we've already seen tons of sopranos embrace semi-nudity for the sake of Salome. But Patanè was once quoted in an interview in 1995 saying, "non mi sarei mai spogliata in scene," or, that she would never appear naked on stage. When questioned about her former stance, she utters three simple words, "mai dire mai" (translation: "Never say never"). Okay Patanè, time to dust-off the backpeddle bike and start peddling!

Francesca Patanè has always been the undisputed princess of contention among Opera Chic's closest circle of friends, and none of us can particularly agree on our approval; although those who admire her, tend to laud her for her spotless technique. As I favor the delicate little doves of coloratura, you can imagine my take on the hearty, red-haired sauciness of Patanè. Well, you can be the judge, too...if you are lucky enough to sample Patanè's voice on this incredibly bootleg recording (found at the very discerning Buscemi Dischi on Corso Magenta) released from Kicco Classic.

Manon Lescaut in Barcelona: Now with more (.)(.)

Daniela Dessi and Fabio Armiliato in Manon Lescaut, currently at the Gran Teatre del Liceu Opera House in Barcelona.

"There are few men who can truthfully say that their eye made contact with the right nipple of Maria Callas"

British author and journalist Frank Johnson died on December 18, 2006 at age sixty-three after a seven-year fight with cancer.

Johnson attended the now-infamous Sunday night performance of Zeffirelli's Aida at Teatro alla Scala, where Alagna was booed-off the stage; after the performance, he filed his story, and checked-into the hospital where he passed away a few days later.

The Telegraph recently ran an article that highlighted Johnson's career. Johnson leaves a wealth of anecdotes, including this gem about his unique experience with Maria Callas and her bust of steel:

"At the age of 14 Frank appeared on stage at Covent Garden in Norma alongside Maria Callas. Children's parts at the Royal Opera House were taken by pupils at Frank's school, and he and a classmate (Arthur) were recruited to perform as Norma's two sons. Johnson recalled the experience in a hilarious article 25 years later:"

"Arthur and I learned with some consternation that a woman was coming to Covent Garden who was known as 'Opera's Tigress'. Furthermore, she had been in a 'storm' in New York. She had got the sack for a baritone who had held a final note longer than her in a duet. The latter was untrue, as the books now make clear, but that was no good to Arthur and me at the time."

"Of the performance, Johnson went on: 'I could not forget that when Callas bore down on us with the knife, her nostrils flared; that when, dropping the knife, she repentantly clasped us to her bosom, her perfume smelt like that of an aunt who was always kissing me; and that at the first performance on February 2 there penetrated, into my left eye, the tip of the diva's right breast, which partnership remained throughout the subsequent duet with [Ebe] Stignani...there are few men who can truthfully say that their eye made contact with the right nipple of Maria Callas.'"

J’ai deux amours, mon pays et Paris

Jérôme Savary's current show at the Opéra Comique in Paris, "A la recherche de Joséphine - à La Nouvelle-Orléans" (Looking for Joséphine - New Orleans), celebrates the ubiquitous allure of Josephine Baker, the evolution of jazz as an inherently African American art form, and commemorates the devastation of Hurricane Katrina into one big, raunchy fable.

Jérôme Savary’s previous work as a stage director should be familiar to opera fans, as this master of mise-en-scène was responsible for Muti's 1991 Attila at Teatro alla Scala with Ramey and Studer, as well as the Théâtre Antique's Carmen from 2004 with Roberto Alagna and Béatrice Uria-Monzon.

Jérôme Savary's new show on Baker, running until January 14, 2007, stars Nicolle Rochelle, or better known quite ambitiously on myspace as, "Nicolle Rochelle -AKA- 'La Nouvelle Josephine'" (let’s hope her myspace webpage design is supposed to be “ironic”). Apparently girl got it together, as a review of a dance recital from last year stated, "Rochelle stood out more for her heavy bangs and bright-red hair than for her dancing", and her last credits I found online were from Chappelle’s Show.

Although I can't read French language very well, (gazes long and hard in the direction adelynlee) it's worth the ticket, as the show includes reenactments of Baker's famous Danse Sauvage from La Revue Nègre. With bananas, feathers, and Eiffel Tower pasties (NSFW), of course. Viva La Baker!

(You can find three images from the current production on the Opera Chic flickr photostream here.)

$$$ sex apparently doesn't sell $$$

William Friedkin, best known for his films The Exorcist and 12 Angry Men, recently made a mess out of Bavarian Staatsoper's early November production of Richard Strauss's Salome. Andante's Shirley Apthorp gleefully tears it apart, calling it (in one of her nicer sentiments) both "inept and ugly".

Unfortunately, this Salome had big expectations, with Kent Nagano at the helm, and situated as the second half of a double bill, preceded by the world premiere of Wolfgang Rihm's Das Gehege. But Friedkin's production apparently suffused too much nudity and eroticism into the screenplay, and it appeared quite lazy, unimaginative, and unwatchable.

"Unable to create any plausible erotic tension between Alan Titus's musty, uncharismatic Jochanaan and Angela Denoke's neurotic Salome, Friedkin had his soprano simply strip. She danced her own Dance of the Seven Veils, just as embarrassingly as any less slender and lissome singer might have done, and then let Herodes (sung like a Disney caricature by Wolfgang Schmidt) tear off her top and lick her nipples."

...and of Angela Denoke's singing? Even more brutal, "She swoops up to her high notes and hoots when the going gets tough. The range of expressive color is narrow, and the basic sound is unlovely." MEE-OW.

Anyway, get your butts over to the Opera Chic flickr stream, where I uploaded four Hi-Resolution photos from the production. With less nipple-licking.

OMG OMG RENÉE IS A MILF

For those of you who aren't fluent in l33t speak from like 2001, "MILF" (Warning: Link is NSFW in regards to profanity) is a pretty crude way to describe a hawt, mature woman. Literally, the acronym stands for: "Moms I'd Like to F**k". heh.

GUESS WHO??!!

Three more Renée cleavage photos have been uploaded! You can find more of Renée at the Gala Dinner Set, or go directly to the Opera Chic flickr page.

New Pictures from Ascanio in Alba and the Renée Fleming Gala to FAUNO over...

Quiet extraordinarily, I would like to offer my new readers rare images from both la prima of Ascanio in Alba and the Renée Fleming Gala that surfaced in my caches today. Since I want to present them to you in the highest resolution and quality as possible, I have decided to host all large media on flickr. You can find me there as none other than, "Opera Chic", and you can find my photostream here. And you'll all be happy to hear that Renée did indeed change dresses for the Gala. (Take that, Angela Gheorghiu!)

Here’s just a little tease of what I put up today:

(the Renée that we all know and love...with Gianfranco Ferré)

Renée + Ferré sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

(Click here to view eleven pictures from the performance.)

(Click here to view four additional high-resolution pictures from the evening.)

I know that some of you may be giddy in anticipation to hear yet another blogger slam Renée Fleming, and want me to be all like, “NICE ______ YOU ______  _______”, but let me establish from this from the beginning: I like (yes, like) La Fleming. By circumstance of my numerous MET Opera mentors, I was indoctrinated at an early age, and finally saw her live in NYC in 2003 as a haunted, fragile Violetta under the direction of Gergiev. Granted, as I mature, I am able to distinguish the annoying idiosyncrasies that profoundly affect her voice...and I haven’t been able to stomach anything of hers after the legendary 2004 Conlon Rusalka DVD. But it was not even a question if I should attend or not, having submissively remembered the infamous booing incident ("va [sic] via, put*na americana"), during her high “G” of Lucrezia Borgia that sent her scurrying from La Scala in 1998.

The Renée recital was backed by Fondazione Francesca Rava with a charitable agenda of establishing medical facilities and hospice care for children of economically-depressed nations. On the Fondazione website, you can find the press release (in Italian), which ostentatiously conveys their overall tone via one piece of copy: they describe La Fleming as, "il migliore soprano al mondo", (trans: the best soprano in the world). lol. (btw, for all you “Flemmers”, you can download the official “Save the Date” pdf file here.)

Another prominent benefactor that night was couturier Gianfranco Ferré, who not only designed La Fleming’s dress for the evening, but was hosting a Gala after the recital. I was worried that the dress would be a particularly horrendous concoction, like the ones seen on certain album covers (I'm looking at you By Request! *shakes fist*), but it was nothing too improbable, and it was inspired by a typical ball gown style - with a long skirt and bosom-skimming, tight bodice - that Renée favors. The tint and fabric was a bit odd because it was that shiny, multifaceted textile that changes color in light. So it was unpredictable, and appeared both chocolate-brown and deep maroon at the same time. I really think that Ferré was going for a whole, “we must coordinate your dress with the La Scala interior” theme, because she sort of blended into her surroundings in the murky, amorphous colors that he chose. Her hair was equally drab: relatively flat, blond, parted towards one side, and lacquered. Hartmut Höll (pianista) complemented La Fleming in his dashing, full white tie (in italian, "il frac") with very long, deep tails. 

For all these reasons, I made sure to dress myself accordingly in classic, and indisputably chic designers. I chose from my closet a Marios Schwab black cashmere shell dress with a pair of vintage Chanel round-toe heels, and black stockings bought at Kristina Ti. Over it went my Ann Demeulmeester double-breasted silk jacket, with a matching black silk scarf to keep at bay the chills, and my Chloe Paddington black bag.

Onto the recital! A summery first: Höll played magnificently as Renée showed-off her trademark tortured, breathless, meek, lamenting...as well as her patented missy-piggy-esque, strangled, roundhouse punches, all to an unenthused and blasé La Scala audience that, not once, uttered a single “brava”.

Interestingly, La Fleming had arranged to be basked in the glow of a peachy, pinkish spotlight. Hartmut Höll instead was replete in the flat, sterile, blue/white light, which by default, is implemented for every other normal recital. I mean, homegirl looked good, but it was like Liz Taylor and her vaseline filters.

The first flub of the night (there were only two major stress-points) started immediately with an excerpt from Mozart's Great Mass in C Minor, K427, Laudamus Te. She unfortunately went too breathless and thin towards the final crescendo - only a few bars away from the end of the movement - and her voice fell flat. However, by the next work - Schumann's Ständchen, Opus 36, Number 2 - she had returned with controlled elegance, and finished the subsequent five movements with charisma and confidence.

She took to exiting the stage after each selection was over, and would dissapear with Höll for a good twenty seconds before returning. Well, that didn’t fly with the La Scala directors, and someone clearly told her to, “cut the Diva crap”. Because after the intermission, she only exited one time during the final half.

Her trademark Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém (Song of the Moon) from Rusalka was perfect; but really, how many times do you have to sing something before you master it? She sang it in full Fleming mode, with the breathlessness of an asthmatic, and her voice breaking with emotion like dry twigs snapping. I found it gorgeous, but I always have. However, it did not elicit a single brava from the La Scala audience, and they remained nonplussed.

La Fleming then took an intermission, which was one of the longest ones I’ve ever witnessed at La Scala. Which is why, when she reappeared in the SAME EXACT DRESS (travesty!), I was incredulous. I mean, even Angela Gheorghiu changed dresses during intermission for her April 2006 recital at La Scala, and it looked like she browsed for hers at a mall bridal store! Instead, Renée reappeared in the same dress with a huge swath of maroon velvet wrapped around her shoulders. She tried to fool us with her velvet wrap! Naughty! RENÉE, I SAW WHAT YOU DID THERE!

It was during the second half of the recital that things got a bit more interesting. First there was the inexplicable “laughing spell”, which infected her during Gounod's Le ciel rayonne...Ŏ légère hirondelle. Initially, she had excelled with the scales and arpeggios. But halfway through, she dropped one of the scales so devastatingly hard, that she tried to pass it off as a dramatic laugh, and inserted a tittering giggle mid-measure. What the hell happened there? The aberration was so glaring, because prior to the giggle, she had precisely nailed each scale and note with a very confident, light touch. After the piece, while she took her applause, she egregiously smiled and laughed, leaving us all to wonder what drug she had taken before the show.

Harold Arlen's Over the Rainbow was a disaster. Her diction was clear, but she did this annoying freestyle at the end, where on the very last “I” of the final lyrics, “Why, oh why can't I?", she “broke it down”, and did one of those Mariah Carey/Christina Aguilera spontaneous “look at me, I’ve got soul” tirades. Meanwhile, the whole thing was just too reminiscent of a cruise lounge act.

After the performance, Renée stationed herself beside the piano with a small card in her hand. She began to explain in English that her Italian is not pristine so she would rather read from a prompt. She proceeded to read a handful of basic sentences in Italian, which included gratitude for the audience, the needy Hatian children, and then a final, gushing thanks to her, “grande amico Gianfranco Ferré”. heh. RF +GF = BFFFF4ev4&E&E&E!!11!

She then performed two encores: and now you musicologists are going to maim me for this omission, but it was really hard to hear what she was mumbling; so I heard composer and work, but no titles of arias. The first bis was a short aria from Wagner's Das Rheingold. It was a sweet lullaby with a short recitative in the middle. Second bis was another aria from Massenet's Manon.

La Fleming had only two curtain calls after the bis, and the crowd nonchalantly packed their programs away, and headed home. The charity gala dinner was hosted by Gianfranco Ferré at his palazzo, which resides at the beginning of Corso Garibaldi on via Pontaccio, 21. (I pulled-up the actual address on TuttoCittà, which is our version of MapQuest). The palazzo is beautiful; but honestly, I walk by it at least once a week, as we live in the same zona, and I always mistook it for a private gallery space or auditorium – certainly not as a living space.

If you happened not to be in the beneficence of Il Maestro Ferré and his cohort of Milanese glitterati, there was still hope for the tragically bourgeois transplants and expatriates to attend through the Benvenuto Milano Club: a loosely organized group of English-speaking women from an international arena, who organize coffee, outings, and general socialization for bored, listless housewives who are baffled and intimidated by their new Medieval settings. For the price of 160€ per person, ($205.00 USD), the pleasure of fretting among Ferré, Renée, and a bunch of other people with accented names, this enticing ticket could be yours. I passed, fearing that Ferré would corner me and try to swap my Marios Schwab for one of his ghastly creations.

Mozart + women in pants + bewbs = good times

(Click here to view one photos from the night of the performance.)

(Click here to view i dont know how many additional high-resolution photos from the performance.)

For la prima (“opening night”) of Mozart's Ascanio in Alba at Teatro alla Scala, the night started poorly, despite my carefully chosen outfit. I had decided on my Isabella Tonchi silk herringbone brown skirt under a Comme des Garçons sable georgette ruffle shell (that I had bought at 10 Corso Como) and a Paul Costelloe cashmere oatmeal sweater-jacket (gifted from mother-in-law) thrown over. My swag was held in my vintage Gucci midollino, and I wore a pair of stacked Balenciaga round-toe burgundy pumps. Yeah, 'cause that's how I roll.

By my own negligence, I had not read the libretto before I attended, so I had to piece together the story with the clues provided by the sets. Despite the omnipresent gender confusion of "women in pants" (with four female sopranos singing two male roles, "Finkel is Einhorn! Einhorn is Finkel!" kept repeating in my head), I endured by splicing together root infinitives and vaguely familiar nouns. But I fared poorly: After being spoon-fed the eloquent and poetic libretti of Piave, Boito, and Da Ponte, I was completely adrift in ancient Italian of three centuries ago.

Ascanio in Alba was conceived when a fifteen-year-old giovinetto Mozart was requested by Hapsburg royalty to write an opera, which he successfully finished in three-and-a-half weeks (unfortunately, his myspace page and LJ suffered greatly during this committment). It was commissioned by Empress Maria Theresa to commemorate the wedding of her third son, Archduke Ferdinand of Habsburg to Princess Maria Beatrice d’Este of Modena. The matrimony took place in Milan on October 15, 1771 at Il Duomo, and the opera premiered on October 17, 1771, at the old Teatro Regio Ducale di Milano (where the Tourist Information pavilion to the right of Il Duomo now stands.

Btw, how cool would it be to have Mozart write an opera for your wedding? Best. Gift. Ev4r! Am i rite? It would totally pwn all that crap from your registry at Tiffany & Co. I mean, today’s equivalent is just so sad: Elton John playing piano at a washed-up celebrity's wedding, or 50 Cent rapping at the bar mitzvah of some socialite New Yorker's son: "Go shorty, it's your bat mitzvah, we gon' sip on Bacardi like it's your bar mitzvah!'

The 2006 version of Ascanio in Alba at La Scala, under the direction of Franco Ripa di Meana opened with a sparse, white space (stage boundaries of white, wooden floors, and white panels). You can find gorgeous sketches of his work here. At the front of the stage was a plexiglass runway of deep blue, which symbolized a stream. The chorus frolicked, about 50-60 in number. They were a youthful brigade of angels, clothed in white knickers, white dress shirts, and white riding jackets, with wings poking between their shoulders. They all wore red, styled wigs. Meh.

The first act was lovely. When Venus arrived, she was ensconced in Old Master landscape paintings of Arcadia, which were wheeled-out from the curtains, and ornamented with stuffed, life-sized sheep. As the opera progressed, the chorus transformed into costumes of town people, replete in dressed and knickers of turquoise, burgundy, and mustard.

Aceste’s appearance was stately, and he was seated in a throne atop a long, white platform that - via a trick of lighting - bloomed with small paper flowers as the arias progressed. One of my favorite mid-act scenes was a lively pastoral, complete with herders and farmers who sat on their flock of stuffed sheep. The sheep were put on casters, and were rolled past three broad strips of bright-green astroturf in a mock race. It recalled to me those turn-of-the-century, portable pinball games that were made with delicate paper cut-outs, resplendent in verdant greens, murky yellows, and carmine reds.

More stunning, however, was the final scene of Act I, when the preparations for the wedding were made. While Venus sang her, “Là dove sale la Colle”, a handful of chorus appeared in court apparel. They bore among themselves a giant blueprint, while one brandished a red-white striped Venetian pole. Simultaneous to the aria, at the back of the stage had been implemented a giant movie screen. Projected onto this, they showed a black/white biographical film of the rebuilding of La Scala.

The film was shown in time-lapse format as a frenzy of activity, with small vignettes spliced together. They showed images of giant cranes hovering over Piazza alla Scala, concrete cascading down the sides of molds, and wooden renderings of the La Scala horseshoe-shaped auditorium. When the film flickered-out, a transparent screen (which was lit so that you could still see the chorus behind) was raised slowly from the floor, as they sang, “Di te più amabile, Né Dea maggiore”. Sketched onto the screen was the entire façade of Teatro alla Scala, drawn in the simplified style of Giovanni Battista Falda’s architectural studies of Rome. It was stunning, and effective in implemented a beautiful billet doux to both Milan and La Scala.

Act II began with another stark set, save a giant platform target in the middle of the stage. After a few recitatives, an oversized golden bed (with Fauno reclining between white satin sheets ), was lowered slowly from the ceiling. As Silvia and Ascanio boarded the bed (Fauno still lying between them), he began singing, “Dal tuo gentil sembiante”.

But halfway through the aria, (s)he rips-open his/her shirt, and was singing topless. WTF? Did I really just see teh bewbs? I was in the second galleria, so maybe I was high from the reheated air mingling with old ladies perfume, but I swear she was topless. The only reason that I doubt myself is that not a single person in the audience batted an eye. I swear it was dead calm in that auditorium. I looked around in giddy anticipation hoping to catch someone’s incredulous gaze. But no. I mean, there could be satyrs and elephants fornicating on stage, and no one in La Scala flinches. Meanwhile, Karita Mattila gets naked for three seconds during the “Dance of the Seven Veils” at the NYC MET two years ago, and it’s the most controversial (and, c’mon: most anticipated) event of the 2004 season.

Act II progressed, and aside from the topless orgy part, there was only one other scene: On a blue platform appeared our three heroes, who were nestled in three egg-shape forms, resplendent as gorgeous portraits in Faberge. Then the chorus came out in modern-day dress, and lifted saplings that were strewn across the platform, heralding the end of the opera.

It was really a gorgeous, youthful, and lovely interpretation. Despite being La Prima, it was tight. I enjoyed it thoroughly: the agile singing, the youthful conducting, and the provocative sets. As of this recap, Corriere’s Enrico Girardi has written that it was, "Una ventata d’aria fresca" (a gust of fresh air), which is totally accurate. Lorenzo Arruga of Il Giornale also wrote a glowing review, and word-of-mouth equally designates praise to singers, director, and conductor.