Word: sopranos
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...lesson may be that rock travels well, but does not translate. Conversely, what does not translate easily to the West sounds the best, like the luminous, haunting folk-song collections of Zhanna Bichevskaya, whose mesmerizing soprano melds historical traditions and new directions. Alla Pugacheva has attained greater popular success, however, by going West. Pugacheva's act is a salmagundi of recycled Pink Floyd instrumentals, a sort of sunflower delicacy grafted from Joni Mitchell and chanteuse dramaturgy...
...Soprano Leontyne Price, who was married at the Abyssinian in 1952, got standing ovations before, between and after her splendid performances of Pace, pace from Verdi's La Forza del Destino and He's Got the Whole World in His Hands. Price knew her audience, and knew it was not to be patronized. Announcing her encore, Vissi d'arte from Puccini's Tosca, she was engulfed by cheers of recognition. The program then moved from Tosca to toe-tapping, as Gospel Superstar Betty Perkins swept onstage and picked up a microphone. The Philharmonic percussion section laid...
...real drama involves the principals, Tenor Luciano Pavarotti and Soprano Renata Scotto. San Francisco is his territory, the town that virtually takes credit for his American success; the lady is understandably apprehensive. She is a warm and pretty woman and also a diva who knows the craft of staging and upstaging. From Stage Director Lotfi Mansouri she seeksand getsendless reassurance...
...from discord to concord in a progress that sinks deep into the layers of Shakespeare's meanings, to emerge restored and invigorated. Stage movement as much as language becomes a spade they use to unearth poetic ambiguities, in several mimes enacted to bits of Purcell's score: while a soprano sings a mournful aria, Stephen Rowe's Demetrius and Lisa Sloan's Helena wander about in a ghostly love-dance, with Helena reaching for and grasping Demetrius just as he turns away; after the night of illusion in the forest is over, and the lovers are rubbing the sleep...
...topic of conversation drifted from Alan Watts' latest treatise to the whereabouts of the celebrated soprano who had been vacationing on the far bank of the Neckar. I thought I recognized one of the young men from The Whiskey, who turned to me. "Alexis' sister?" he asked, "don't you like the plum cake? You're not eating anything." Except for the presence of the servant, I felt particularly at ease with this mildly pretentious intellectual crowd and their coffee-table chit-chat. The sun pouring in the window relaxed the guests, who sat on ottomans around the black grand...