From the moment the new season of the Gran Teatre del Liceu was announced, something shifted within me. It was immediate, almost instinctive. My imagination ignited, my thoughts began to race ahead in time, and without even realizing it, I was already living in the future—already standing on that night. September 25, 2026. A Friday.
And what a Friday it will be.
I have always loved Fridays. There is something inherently full of promise in them—the quiet anticipation of something about to begin, the sense that the ordinary is giving way to something more luminous. But this particular Friday transcends all others. It is not just the end of a week. It is the beginning of a memory.
Because on that night, everything aligns.
Anna Netrebko.
To write her name is already to feel the weight of expectation. But this is something beyond admiration. It is a kind of artistic inevitability. There are singers one admires, others one follows, and then there are those rare artists who define an era—who become, almost without effort, the reference point against which everything else is measured.
Netrebko belongs to that last category.
And in Aida, she becomes something even greater.
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Giuseppe Verdi
There are roles that are beautiful, and there are roles that are essential. Aida is essential. It demands not only vocal mastery but emotional truth, inner conflict, and a profound connection to Verdi’s world—a world of love, sacrifice, identity, and destiny. It is not enough to sing Aida. One must become her.
And that is precisely what I imagine will happen that night.
As the orchestra of the Liceu begins the prelude—soft, almost suspended in time—the theatre will hold its breath. And then, slowly, inevitably, she will appear.
Not just as a soprano.
But as Aida.
Her voice—dark velvet illuminated from within—will carry both fragility and grandeur. It will not impose itself; it will unfold. Phrase by phrase, emotion by emotion, she will draw us into a world where everything feels heightened, intensified, almost sacred.
And yet, she will not be alone.
At her side, Yusif Eyvazov
The definitive Radamès for our time, possessing a voice of striking metallic brilliance and unwavering resilience. His portrayal is marked by a rare combination of heroic power and Italianate 'squillo' that cuts through Verdi’s massive orchestrations with ease.Yet, it is his onstage alchemy with Anna Netrebko that elevates the performance to a legendary status. Their partnership transcends mere technical precision; it is a profound artistic symbiosis built over years of shared stagecraft. There is an instinctive trust in their phrasing and a visceral intensity in their gaze that cannot be rehearsed. When they share the stage, the boundaries between theatre and reality blur, creating a magnetic tension that only a duo with such a deep, long-standing creative bond could achieve.
There is a reason their pairing feels so inevitable.
His voice—metallic, direct, cutting through the orchestra with precision—forms the perfect counterbalance to her darker, more velvety timbre. Where she envelops, he penetrates. Where she shades, he projects. Together, they create a sonic architecture that fills the theatre completely.
But beyond technique, there is something deeper.
Trust.
Requiem - La Scala on 25 May 1874, with Verdi conducting. The soloists depicted are (left to right) Ormondo Maini , Giuseppe Capponi, Maria Waldmann, and Teresa Stolz .
Verdi’s Requiem: A Historic Resonance at the Liceu""In a direct echo of Verdi’s legendary 1874 La Scala performance, the Gran Teatre del Liceu presents a new 'quartet of titans.' Under the masterful baton of Nicola Luisotti, the world-class voices of Lise Davidsen, Aigul Akhmetshina, Freddie De Tommaso, and Christian Van Horn unite for a seismic musical event. This rare convergence of talent ensures a performance of Verdi’s masterpiece that will be remembered for generations.
In the great duets of Aida, where emotion reaches its peak and the vocal writing becomes almost perilous, Eyvazov provides something invaluable: certainty. His secure upper register, his unwavering projection—these become the foundation upon which Netrebko can build her most nuanced, most daring interpretations.
He is, in many ways, the anchor that allows her to fly.
Completing this extraordinary triangle is Ekaterina Semenchuk as Amneris.
If Netrebko is the soul and Eyvazov the force, Semenchuk is the fire. Her Amneris is not merely a rival—it is a storm.Having witnessed her monumental triumph in La Gioconda earlier this year, it is clear that Ekaterina is at the absolute zenith of her powers. Much like the legendary years of Tebaldi and Callas, both she and Anna have reached a 'golden maturity' in 2026. Their voices are now more secure, more expressive, and more resonant than ever before, offering a beauty that only comes with artistic seasoned wisdom.Semenchuk possesses a rare, chameleonic instrument capable of navigating the treacherous waters of both Gioconda and Turandot, making her duets with Netrebko a once-in-a-century event. The earth-shaking power of their confrontation will undoubtedly be matched by Ekaterina’s 'Judgment Scene,' where her dramatic authority and vocal opulence promise to leave the audience in a state of collective awe.
Her current momentum is truly unstoppable. Just a few days ago, on April 30th, Ekaterina achieved a monumental triumph in St. Petersburg. She performed in a historic production of La Forza del Destino at the very theatre where the opera was born. Most incredibly, she sang within the original 1862 stage setting—the exact same production that Verdi himself attended and supervised during the world premiere. To witness her command the stage in such a hallowed, historical context only confirms that she is the definitive Verdi voice of our era. Her success there is the perfect prelude to the historic duets we anticipate with Anna; it is as if the spirit of Verdi’s original vision is alive in her voice
Together, with Anna Netrebko and Yusif Eyvazov , they form what can only be described as a perfect Verdian triad.
A “triangle of steel.”
Three voices capable of riding Verdi’s vast orchestral waves without losing clarity. Three artists who do not simply perform drama, but inhabit it with a visceral intensity. Three timbres shaped by that unmistakable Eastern European depth—dark, burnished, and profoundly expressive.
Elevating this musical feast is the divine vision of Iranian director Shirin Neshat. Moving away from literal interpretations, Neshat embraces a world of symbolic beauty and overwhelming visual elegance.
Her production is a masterpiece of light and shadow, where the night belongs to the passion ignited by a Radamès who loves only Aida, and an Amneris obsessed with claiming a heart that is not hers.
The aesthetic is breathtaking: exquisite jewel-dresses inspired by the Golden Age of Persian craftsmanship clothe the rivals in fire and earth tones. This sophisticated interplay of lights and colors creates a magical atmosphere that will be equally captivating from every tier of the Liceu. It is a show where the brilliance of the staging meets the most definitive voices of our era—a poetic, melancholic, and fiery journey that is destined to become the 'Aida of the Century.
What makes Shirin Neshat’s direction truly divine is her ability to transform the operatic stage into a sanctuary of high art. For those who cherish elegance and formal beauty, her production of Aida is a masterpiece of restraint and impact. She does not rely on the literal or the cluttered; instead, she masters the art of captivating contrasts.Her vision is a sophisticated play of light and shadow, where the starkness of the architectural spaces meets the intricate richness of the costumes. The way she uses light is almost architectural itself—carving out the emotions of the characters and highlighting the 'jewel-dresses' that evoke the lost majesty of the Golden Age of Persia. It is an overwhelming visual elegance that treats every scene like a gallery-worthy photograph.The impact of Neshat’s work lies in its silence and its fire. She understands that true drama is found in the stillness of a gaze or the way a deep earth-tone silk catches the light. For a lover of refined productions, her work is a dream realized: a world where the spirit of ancient Egypt is reimagined through a Persian lens of exquisite beauty. Neshat does not just direct an opera; she sculpts a visual experience that is as hauntingly melancholic as it is fiercely passionate. It is, quite simply, fascinating.
As the final notes of Verdi’s score fade into the silence of the theater, one can already envision the thunderous 'Bravos' echoing from the gallery to the stalls. It is a production where history, fashion, and vocal genius collide—a visual and emotional masterpiece that will forever be remembered as the night the spirits of Persia and Egypt met on the stage of the Liceu.
In a theatre like the Liceu, this combination is not just effective.
It is explosive. And this is why that night feels so inevitable.
Because everything about it suggests not just excellence, but alignment.
But when the curtain rises, all of that will dissolve.
There will be only Verdi. Only Aida. Only that voice.
And perhaps that is what moves me most—the awareness that this night will not come again. That it exists only once, suspended in time, waiting to be lived fully, intensely, without distraction.
The summer before it… will feel endless.
And yet, in a strange way, that is part of the beauty.
Because every day of that summer will carry a quiet, luminous thought:
This is coming. This night exists. And I will be there. Waiting for the first note.
From the moment the season was announced, everything began to orbit around that night. Not simply because it is the opening, but because it carries the unmistakable aura of inevitability—the sense that something extraordinary will occur, something that will be spoken of long after the final applause has dissolved into memory.
The season itself unfolds like a dream carefully composed. Verdi, Bellini, Mozart, Wagner — pillars of the repertoire brought to life by some of the most extraordinary voices of our time. One reads the names of such great stars and feels a quiet astonishment: Anna Netrebko, Ekaterina Semenchuk, Fiorenza Cedolins, Ksenia Dudnikova, Anna Pirozzi, Olga Maslova, Ewa Plonka, Yusif Eyvazov, Piotr Beczala, Artur Rucinski, Ariun Ganbaatar, Lisette Oropesa, Marina Monzó, Caterina Piva , Raffaella Lupinacci, Karine Deshayes, Jack Swanson, Marianne Crebassa, Lina Johnson, Freddie De Tommaso, Pene Pati, Roberto Alagna, Kang Wang, Artur Rucinski, Andrzej Filonczyk, Pretty Yende, Ermonela Jaho, Carolina López Moreno, Serena Sanz, Sara Blanch, Stefano Palatchi, Bo Skovhus, Nicholas Brownlee, Tanja Ariane Baumgartner, Okka von der Damerau, Nicky Spence, Mikeldi Atxalandabaso, Sondra Radvanovsky, Angelo Villari, Àngel Òdena, Hilary Summers, Claudia Boyle, Christine Rice, Ilanah Lobel-Torres, Nicky Spence, Askim Grigorian, Marta Infante, Nina Stemme, Elsa Benoit, Florian Sempey, Josep Bros, Laura del Río, Aigul Akhmetshina.
Each of them could anchor a season. Here, they form a galaxy of wonderful voices.
And yet—even among such brilliance—there is one star whose gravity is absolute.
Anna Netrebko.
To speak of anticipation is almost insufficient. What surrounds her appearance as Aida is something closer to a collective emotional crescendo, building month after month, fed by memory, admiration, and the simple, undeniable truth that we are witnessing one of the defining artists of our era in a role that seems destined for her.
Aida.
There are roles that singers perform, and there are roles that reveal them. Aida belongs to the latter. It demands not only vocal grandeur but also vulnerability, introspection, and an almost spiritual connection to Verdi’s musical language. In the hands of Netrebko, one senses that this role will not merely be sung—it will be lived, inhabited, transformed into something intensely personal and, at the same time, universally resonant.
But before a single note is heard, before the orchestra breathes its first phrase, there is the city.
Barcelona on that evening will not simply host an event; it will become an atmosphere.
As the sun lowers itself into the Mediterranean, the light over the city takes on that golden softness that feels almost cinematic. Along the coast, in Port Vell and beyond, the silhouettes of yachts gather like quiet witnesses to what is about to unfold. These are not incidental presences—they are part of the ritual. Their passengers, having crossed seas or continents, arrive not merely as spectators but as participants in a global pilgrimage of culture.
At Barcelona–El Prat Airport, private jets touch down with quiet precision, releasing into the Catalan air figures whose lives are usually defined by distance and exclusivity. And yet, on this night, all distances collapse into a single destination: the Liceu.
By the time the first guests approach La Rambla, the transformation is complete.
The theatre stands illuminated, its façade both welcoming and majestic, as if aware of its own role in the evening’s narrative. The red carpet extends outward like an invitation—and a statement. It is not merely a path; it is a threshold between the everyday and the exceptional.
And what a gathering it becomes.
The elegance is immediate, but it is also layered. There are the great figures of Catalan cultural life, dignified and rooted, sharing space with international collectors of experience—individuals for whom opera is not simply entertainment but a form of emotional truth. One glimpses guests from Latin America, from Europe, from Asia—voices in different languages, united by a single expectation.
Fashion moves like a living gallery: couture that reflects not only wealth but intention, taste, and the desire to honor the occasion. There is a rhythm to the arrivals, a choreography of presence and perception. Cameras flash, but even the photographers seem aware that they are documenting a prelude, not the main act.
Because the true center of gravity is not outside.
It is behind the curtain.
Inside the theatre, beyond the golden proscenium, beyond the murmurs and the chandeliers, Anna Netrebko is already there. Preparing. Focusing. Entering that sacred space where the artist withdraws from the world in order to give it something greater.
There is something profoundly moving in this contrast. Outside, movement, light, voices. Inside, stillness. Concentration. The quiet forging of what will soon become sound, emotion, revelation.
Meanwhile, in the Saló dels Miralls, conversations unfold in a dozen languages. Glasses meet in soft toasts. Names are exchanged, recognitions spark, and yet—beneath it all—there is a shared awareness that everything leads to the same moment.
When the lights dim.
When the orchestra begins.
When Verdi’s music rises like a breath drawn collectively by everyone in the room.
And then—Aida.
The opening night cast itself reads like a declaration:
Yusif Eyvazov as Radamès, bringing a voice of heroic intensity and ardent expression. His timbre, unmistakable and direct, carries the kind of emotional immediacy that makes Verdi’s lines feel urgent, alive.
Ekaterina Semenchuk as Amneris, a role she inhabits with formidable authority. Hers is not merely a voice—it is an instrument of dramatic truth, capable of both regal command and devastating vulnerability.
And at the center, Netrebko’s Aida—fragile and immense, intimate and monumental. A voice that can whisper and fill a theatre in the same breath. A presence that transforms the stage into something almost sacred.
That night will not be just a performance. It will be a convergence of artistry at its highest level—a moment in which everything aligns: the music, the voices, the audience, the city.
And yet, the richness of this Aida extends far beyond its opening.
The multiple casts offer a panorama of interpretations, each bringing new color and perspective. Anna Pirozzi’s Aida, for instance, promises a different but equally compelling journey—her voice, generous and luminous, infused with that unmistakable Verdian amplitude that speaks directly to the heart. Olga Maslova and Ewa Plonka add further depth, ensuring that each performance carries its own identity, its own emotional architecture.
The same multiplicity enriches the roles of Amneris and Radamès, with artists such as Ksenia Dudnikova, Fiorenza Cedolins, Piotr Beczała, and Arsen Soghomonyan contributing their distinct vocal and dramatic signatures. It is this abundance that transforms Aida from a single highlight into a sustained celebration.
Beyond Verdi, the season continues to unfold with equal elegance.
Bellini returns in I Capuleti e i Montecchi, where Lisette Oropesa takes on Giulietta—a role that seems written for her sensibility. There is a purity in her singing, a line so refined that it feels almost suspended in air. Her artistry does not impose; it reveals. And in Bellini, that quality becomes transcendent.
Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito offers a different emotional landscape—one of introspection, moral complexity, and luminous balance. Under refined musical direction, it becomes not just an opera, but a meditation on power, forgiveness, and humanity.
And then, like a summit awaiting ascent, the presence of Lise Davidsen. To hear her in Verdi is to encounter a voice that seems almost elemental—vast, radiant, unyielding. She represents something rare: not only excellence, but expansion. The sense that the art form itself grows through her.To follow her journey beyond Barcelona—to Berlin, to La forza del destino—is to trace the arc of a truly exceptional career, one that defines an era.
And so, the season unfolds.
But always, the mind returns to that first night.
To the anticipation that builds not only in the weeks before, but in the imagination itself. To the knowledge that, in a world so often fragmented and fleeting, there are still moments that gather us together—across languages, across cultures, across lives—for a shared experience of beauty.
Teresa Stolz - Aida - 1872
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