Review
Music lovers should seize this rare opportunity to see Beethoven’s first (1805) version of Fidelio, complete with a reconstruction of Florestan’s original aria.
Given Dickens’ penny-a-word driven verbosity and his fondness for resolving every plot point with a flurry of coincidences, adapter McEleney seems undecided: is this history play a tragedy or a farce?
At 70, Marcia Ball is a non-stop pro, particularly at pacing. Early barn burners gave way to the slow blues of “Just Kiss Me.”
The relative infrequency of big Berio releases makes new recordings of his major works into significant, contemporary music events; Dennis Russell Davies’ new recording of Bernstein’s Mass is done in by lax vocals and a paucity of emotional consistency; Riccardo Muti and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra supply a great Shostakovich Thirteenth Symphony.
Perhaps the book’s most impressive accomplishment is to make a kind of systematic case for Leonard Bernstein’s larger compositional output.
Cheryl McMahon is quietly spectacular as Ida, who tries desperately to conceal her cognitive decline behind a wall of egocentric cheerfulness that borders on the frantic.
It was as if the pianists were performing in a small drawing room for a few friends, not at Jordan Hall.
The Lodge suggests that our money, social privilege, and carefully-crafted stability are not enough to keep the wolves from the door, or to protect us from the dangers that lurk indoors.
There’s hardly a minute in this hour-long show that isn’t stirred by singing, clapping, stomping, and drumming.
The band has tackled the Trump era with an urgent political edge on two recent albums that have surely lost them a share of good ’ole boys who were part of earlier audiences.
Recent Comments