Showing posts with label Aida. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aida. Show all posts

Friday, February 20, 2026

New York - Season 2026 / 2027 - Aida















What an extraordinary season is coming up at the Metropolitan Opera! I'm still struggling to contain my excitement at the announcement of the 2026–2027 season: a perfect blend of great classics, bold new productions, and absolutely dazzling casts. It's one of those seasons that reminds us why we love opera so passionately.

From the very first moment, the curtain will rise powerfully with Giuseppe Verdi's Macbeth, chosen to open the season. And what an opening it will be: none other than the magnificent Lise Davidsen as Lady Macbeth. Her powerful and magnetic voice promises an electrifying evening, full of dramatic intensity and Verdian fire.

Among the titles I'm most excited to see again is Verdi's Aida, with its lavish production that never fails to impress. I'm especially thrilled to know that it will feature the wonderful Anna Pirozzi, one of the great dramatic sopranos of our time. And, of course, discovering new Aidas and Amneris will be part of the pleasure: there's nothing more exciting than hearing new voices take on these imperial roles.

Another of my dream comebacks is Giacomo Puccini's La Bohème, always so moving and timeless. Each performance is an invitation to fall in love with Mimì and Rodolfo all over again.

And speaking of Puccini… Tosca! For me, the most fabulous opera he ever wrote. This season will be a true feast for Tosca lovers, with a variety of performers that makes each performance unique. That's the magic of the Met: different sopranos, each with her own style, her own fire, her own way of tearing at our hearts.

Among my favorites will be Aleksandra Kurzak, Sondra Radvanovsky, Eleonora Buratto, Natalya Romaniw, and the impressive Saioa Hernández, fresh from her triumph as Gioconda, who will be kicking off this series of performances. Drama, passion, and stage presence! These will be absolutely unmissable evenings.

I am also eagerly anticipating Maria Stuarda by Gaetano Donizetti, one of my favorite operas from the celebrated Tudor trilogy. And what a privilege to have the star Lisette Oropesa, who has already triumphed as the Queen of Scots in Madrid. Her bel canto sensitivity and dramatic intensity promise unforgettable moments.

In the French repertoire, Jules Massenet's Manon holds a very special place in my heart. Rediscovering it with the voice that captivates me, the marvelous Nadine Sierra, will undoubtedly be one of the season's highlights.

The season also shines with beloved titles such as Così fan tutte and the festive Christmas presentation of The Magic Flute, both masterpieces by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. It is always a gift to return to Mozart, and even more so in a home like the Met.

In the dramatic and monumental repertoire, we find Otello, Richard Wagner's Parsifal, Richard Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier, Camille Saint-Saëns's Samson et Dalila, and Luigi Cherubini's Medea: titles that demand stellar voices and extraordinary interpretive intensity.

And I can't fail to mention the new productions that bring freshness and variety, such as Kevin Puts's Silent Night and Missy Mazzoli's Lincoln in the Bardo. It's wonderful to see how the Met combines tradition and modernity, offering both the great pillars of the repertoire and contemporary works that broaden horizons.

The season also includes gems like Leoš Janáček's Jenůfa and La Fanciulla del West, another new Puccini production that promises to be captivating.

Honestly, I couldn't single out just one title: they all thrill me deeply. But what excites me most is seeing so many of my favorite sopranos together in roles I adore. Yes, the tenors and baritones are absolutely stellar, the cast is dazzling… but my heart beats especially strongly for these titles and for these great divas who will bring immortal characters to life.

The Met’s 2026–2027 season is shaping up to be fabulous, varied, and exciting. For those of us who love opera—and especially for lovers of Puccini, Verdi, Donizetti, and Mozart—we are in for a treat.

Now there’s only one thing left to do: wait with bated breath for the curtain to rise. And enjoy, performance after performance, the unique magic of the Met.

There are seasons… and then there are seasons that feel almost providential. The 2026–2027 lineup at the Metropolitan Opera is not merely a calendar of performances—it is a radiant affirmation that opera, in the 21st century, is gloriously alive. For those of us who believe that opera is the supreme synthesis of human imagination—where music, poetry, theater, image, and raw emotion converge into something transcendent—this season feels nothing short of divine.

At the heart of my excitement stand the sopranos. The luminous, fearless, incandescent women who carry forward a lineage that stretches back through the most sacred names in operatic history. These are the voices of our century—artists who take the torch from legends and ensure that the flame burns brighter than ever.

Let us begin with Aida, Verdi’s monumental hymn to love, sacrifice, and destiny. This production, already famed for its splendor, becomes even more thrilling with the presence of the magnificent Anna Pirozzi. Pirozzi possesses a voice of blazing amplitude and bronze-like brilliance, yet she tempers that power with extraordinary sensitivity. Her high notes soar like sunlit banners over the Nile, while her pianissimi shimmer with heartbreaking vulnerability. In her artistry one feels the echo of the great Aidas of the past—Leontyne Price, Shirley Verrett, Grace Bumbry, Martina Arroyo—yet she is unmistakably, thrillingly modern.

And how wonderful to anticipate Angel Blue at the Met, whose voice combines velvety warmth with radiant steel. She sings with a sincerity that pierces the heart; there is an emotional truth in her phrasing that feels almost confessional. Hers is a voice that wraps the audience in velvet and then, in a single phrase, sets it ablaze. I'm so excited to discover Leah Hawkins' voice in Aida.

On September 22, 2026, there will be no place in the world where an opera lover should be but Manhattan. That night, the curtain at the Metropolitan Opera House will rise to open the season with an event already generating fervor in all operatic circles: Lise Davidsen's debut as Lady Macbeth.

The great Norwegian soprano, one of the most imposing, majestic and admired voices of our time, will take on for the first time one of the most feared and fascinating roles ever written by Giuseppe Verdi.

Lady Macbeth is no ordinary role. It is a vocal and dramatic abyss. Verdi, obsessed with expressive intensity, had the soprano from the Florence premiere rehearse more than 150 times. He wasn't looking for conventional beauty: he demanded character, ferocity, darkness, theatrical electricity. New York, as demanding as Verdi himself, expects exactly that.

And Davidsen has everything she needs to set the stage ablaze.mporada 


In Maria Stuarda by Gaetano Donizetti—the jewel of the Tudor trilogy—my anticipation is almost unbearable. This opera occupies a sacred place in my heart. I listen endlessly to the Tudor trilogy, especially as immortalized by Beverly Sills, whose queens remain benchmarks of bel canto artistry. And now, the role returns in triumph with Lisette Oropesa, a soprano of crystalline precision and expressive fire. Oropesa’s technique is immaculate, her coloratura like spun silver, yet what moves me most is her dramatic intensity. She does not merely sing Maria—she becomes the doomed queen, regal and fragile, proud and wounded. It feels like the continuation of a grand tradition. And oh—if only the Met would crown this Tudor journey with Anna Bolena in 2028! That would be operatic paradise.

Then there is Manon by Jules Massenet, one of the most intoxicating jewels of the French repertoire. How delicious to rediscover it through the voice of Nadine Sierra. Sierra’s timbre is pure satin, glowing and youthful, yet supported by impeccable technique and dramatic intelligence. She evokes the elegance and charm once embodied by Beverly Sills, yet she brings her own irresistible sparkle. Her Manon promises to be seductive, tender, capricious, and tragic—all in a single, shimmering arc.

And then—Tosca. Tosca by Giacomo Puccini remains, to me, the most theatrically perfect opera ever written. Passion distilled into three acts. And what a constellation of Toscas this season offers.

Sondra Radvanovsky, with her volcanic intensity and fearless dramatic commitment, channels the spirit of Maria Callas—not by imitation, but through a shared willingness to risk everything emotionally. Her voice can blaze like lightning and then break into the most fragile prayer.

Aleksandra Kurzak brings elegance and emotional immediacy, a silken line that can suddenly ignite into flame.

Saioa Hernández—currently triumphing as Gioconda—arrives with a voice of molten gold, expansive and thrilling, capable of filling the house with sumptuous tone while maintaining dramatic precision.

Each Tosca will be different. That is the miracle of the Met: the same score, yet infinite interpretations. We remember the towering legacies of Renata Tebaldi and Montserrat Caballé—voices that defined eras. And yet, these 21st-century sopranos prove that the lineage is unbroken. The torch passes, the fire remains.

The season’s grandeur extends further: Macbeth, Otello, Parsifal, Der Rosenkavalier, Samson et Dalila, and the magic of The Magic Flute—each title a pillar of the repertoire, each demanding voices of heroic scale and refined artistry.

But what moves me most is this: opera endures because of artists like these. Because new generations rise to meet the impossible standards set by the past—and then surpass them in their own way. Opera is, to me, the supreme art form. Cinema and theater are magnificent, of course. But opera is the ultimate human creation: the total artwork, where orchestra, poetry, stagecraft, light, costume, voice, and soul converge into transcendence.

As a French philosopher once suggested, if one can spend a couple of hours at the opera, life is already justified.

And with a season like this at the Metropolitan Opera—divine in its ambition, incandescent in its casting, resplendent in its repertoire—we are not merely attending performances. We are witnessing the continuation of greatness.

I am counting the days. And my heart is already in the opera house. 


Sunday, February 1, 2026

Barcelona - Historic Teatre Principal












Teatre Principal,  Barcelona ,  April 16 , 1876 


The first performance of Aida in Barcelona was on April 16, 1876 at the Teatro Principal. The premiere at the rival theater, the Gran Teatre del Liceu, was months later, on February 25, 1877.

For decades, Barcelona lived a true operatic passion divided between two worlds.

Two theaters, two audiences, two ways of understanding society and prestige: the historic Teatro Principal and the young, modern, and dazzling Gran Teatre del Liceu.

The Principal was the ancient, venerable temple, steeped in centuries of music. Its gilded boxes, warm chandeliers, and intimate atmosphere had witnessed the birth of opera in Spain. There, Mozart, Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini had first reached Spanish audiences. For many Barcelona families, going to the Principal was not just attending a performance: it was continuing a tradition inherited from generations.

But when the Liceu opened its doors, everything changed.

Larger, more lavish, with spectacular halls and dazzling architecture, the Liceu quickly became the place to be. The upper industrial bourgeoisie, the nouveau riche, and the most ostentatious members of the aristocracy began to favor it. There, one could see and be seen.

In the cafés of La Rambla and in private salons, the conversation was:

— “Are you going to the Liceu tonight?”

— “Of course, the Principal is a thing of the past…”

And yet, the past lived on.

Because the Teatro Principal still possessed something the Liceu couldn't buy: history, musical prestige, and an incomparable operatic tradition.

For years, the two societies coexisted almost like two opposing camps. There were the Principal's loyal patrons—lovers of pure opera, of memory, of art—and the new devotees of the Liceu—seduced by the social glamour, the grand spaces, and the modernity.

And then came the night that no one would ever forget.

The night of Aida.

Verdi was already the most admired composer in Europe, and Aida was considered the grandest opera ever created: monumental, exotic, profoundly human, and musically sublime. Everything indicated that its Barcelona premiere should take place at the Liceu, the theater favored by the elegant society of those years.

But the unthinkable happened.

It was the Teatro Principal that secured the premiere.

That decision was almost a historical provocation.

Imagine the city buzzing with rumors. Carriages gliding along La Rambla. Ladies in silk and lace gowns, gentlemen in tailcoats, some proud to be at the Principal, others displeased at not being at the Liceu.

"How is it possible that Aida isn't premiering at the Liceu?"

"Because the Principal remains the true opera house," its defenders responded.

And when the lights of the grand gilded auditorium rose, when the enormous chandelier illuminated the red boxes filled with an elegant audience, the Teatro Principal reclaimed its crown for one night—and forever.

From the stage, the theater must have seemed like a living palace: tiered floors of gold and velvet, attentive faces, eyes shining with emotion. Not overcrowded, but brimming with refined life, allowing one to appreciate every box, every architectural detail.

And then the first notes of Aida rang out.

Barcelona understood that it was witnessing history.

The Liceu could be bigger.

It could be more modern.

But the Teatro Principal had just proven that it was still the operatic heart of the city.

Later would come Wagner, the great international singers, Adelina Patti, Tamberlick… but that night of Aida was etched in memory as a glorious victory of the old theater over its younger rival.

Over the years, the balance slowly tipped toward the Liceu. Elegant society eventually transformed it into Barcelona's grand operatic temple, while the Principal gradually lost its prominence until it became a theater of spoken dialogue.

But no one could erase its legacy.

Opera in Spain was born there.

There, Mozart's music was first heard. There, Verdi triumphantly entered with his most legendary work.

And although the theater no longer exists as it once did, its spirit lives on in photographs, memories, and these recreated images that allow us to relive those magical nights.

Nights of music, rivalry, elegance, and passion.

Nights in which Barcelona's operatic history was decided between two theaters…

and in which the old Teatro Principal, at least once, shone as the greatest of them all.

The Teatre Principal of Barcelona possesses a fascinating and extraordinarily long history. It is not only the oldest theatre in Barcelona, but the oldest in all of Spain, and one of the oldest in Europe and even in the world.

Let us focus especially on its operatic life — the aspect that fascinates me the most — and on its famous rivalry with its neighbour, the Gran Teatre del Liceu.

Briefly, let us recall its origins. Construction began in 1596, and shortly afterwards artistic life already flourished on La Rambla within this historic building. For centuries it stood as the great cultural heart of the city.

But let us move forward in time — to the era when the Teatro Principal was the true operatic centre of Barcelona.

From 1735 onward, the theatre regularly hosted opera and ballet performances. As the most important and largest theatre in the city at the time, all major operatic premieres in Barcelona — and often in Spain itself — took place here.

Mozart’s Così fan tutte was heard for the first time in Spain in this very theatre, long before reaching Valencia or Madrid. And so it was with countless new works arriving from France, Italy, and Germany.

Rossini was heard here shortly after his operas triumphed in Italy. His famous The Barber of Seville was performed for the first time in Barcelona at the Teatro Principal in 1819, along with many of his other operas.

Mercadante — sadly almost forgotten today — was extremely popular throughout Europe in those years. His opera Elisa e Claudio was premiered here with tremendous success, followed by many more of his works.




















Donizetti could not be absent from this glorious story. His first opera heard here was L’ajo nell’imbarazzo in 1828.

Bellini followed shortly after, in 1830, with Bianca e Fernando.

One must especially highlight Anna Bolena, Donizetti’s masterpiece, which was performed here in 1835 with enormous success. This very opera would later be chosen, twelve years afterward, to inaugurate the new rival theatre — the Gran Teatre del Liceu.

On April 17, the Liceu opened its doors with Anna Bolena, conducted by Marià Obiols and featuring a distinguished cast led by Giovanna Rossi-Caccia — a Catalan singer of Italian mother who was greatly admired at the time — alongside Carlotta Maironi, Manuel Renou, and Andrea Castellan.

It was a magnificent social event — and the beginning of a delicate rivalry.

Barcelona now had two great opera houses: the Teatro Principal and the Liceu.

The Liceu was larger, more dazzling, more spectacular — with greater capacity, more boxes, grand salons, and an architecture that dazzled the eye. Gradually, Barcelona’s high society, the aristocracy, and many opera lovers began to frequent the Liceu more often, leaving the Teatro Principal behind.

Yet for many years both theatres flourished beautifully. Each had its own subscribers, orchestras, productions, and even world premieres.

Amazingly, the Teatro Principal premiered Aida by Verdi in Barcelona — despite the Liceu already being the fashionable opera house of the elite. Logically, one might have expected such a monumental work to open at the Liceu, but history chose otherwise, and the Teatro Principal forever holds the honour of having presented Aida first in the city.

Wagner, too, was first heard here in Barcelona, with Lohengrin.

Great voices graced its stage: Enrico Tamberlick — the legendary Don Alvaro of La forza del destino in Saint Petersburg — sang here, and the incomparable Adelina Patti, Verdi’s favourite soprano, performed at the Teatro Principal rather than at the Liceu.

The auditorium itself, though not as vast as the Liceu, was exquisite — adorned with elegant tiers of boxes, glowing with warm light, filled with refined audiences in silk gowns and formal attire. For centuries, before the Liceu existed, it was without question the finest opera house in Spain — a jewel of beauty, acoustics, and prestige.

As more theatres opened across Barcelona, competition increased. Slowly, the Liceu became the city’s primary operatic temple, while the Teatro Principal gradually slipped into second place. Eventually, it transformed into a spoken theatre, while opera and ballet became exclusive to the Liceu.

The list of operas first heard here is astonishing.

Gluck’s masterpiece Orfeo ed Euridice was performed here for the first time in Spain in 1780.

The first Mozart opera ever heard in Spain was performed here in 1790 — while Mozart himself was still alive — once again Così fan tutte.

Anna Bolena, though first performed in Barcelona at the Teatro Principal, had already been heard in Madrid, and therefore was not an absolute Spanish premiere.

However, Verdi’s very first opera, Oberto, was performed in Spain for the first time in this theatre, only three years after its premiere at La Scala in Milan.

















With the passing of time, the theatre eventually closed. At the end of the 20th century it reopened briefly and even hosted opera performances once more — I personally attended one of them — but sadly it closed again.

Today it remains shut.

Let us hope that one day it will reopen, return to life, and recover the splendour it once knew — the stage where centuries of music, voices, passion, and history once illuminated Barcelona.

Barcelona's Teatro Principal wasn't just a building: it was a universe of music, light, and life.

For centuries, it was the beating heart of opera in Spain, a place where the city breathed art and where European music found one of its first great Iberian voices.

Built in 1596 at the end of the 16th century on the Rambla, already vibrant with movement and humanity, the theater grew along with Barcelona. Long before the Liceu existed, the Teatro Principal was already a cathedral of opera. From 1735 onward, its opera and ballet seasons transformed the city into a musical capital.

The interior, while not as vast as that of the future Liceu, was dazzlingly beautiful: stacked tiers of gilded boxes, deep red velvet, warm lights shimmering on the decorations, and a grand chandelier that resembled a crystal waterfall suspended in the theater's ceiling.

From their seats and boxes, ladies in silk gowns and gentlemen in tailcoats gazed at the stage in a silence filled with emotion, aware that they were witnessing something unique.

It was here that Spain first heard Mozart, when Così fan tutte resounded in 1790 during the composer's lifetime.

It was here that Rossini conquered Barcelona with The Barber of Seville in 1819.

It was here that Mercadante achieved triumphs now almost forgotten with Elisa and Claudio.

Donizetti arrived in 1828, Bellini in 1830, and in 1835, Anna Bolena exploded into extraordinary success.

That same Anna Bolena would later inaugurate the new rival, the Gran Teatre del Liceu, twelve years later. From then on, the city had two great temples of opera.

The Liceu was larger, more modern, more sumptuous—and slowly attracted Barcelona's high society. But the Teatro Principal never ceased to be glorious.

Here, Barcelona saw Verdi's Aida for the first time.

Here, it heard Wagner perform Lohengrin.

Here, giants like Enrico Tamberlick and the legendary Adelina Patti, Verdi's favorite soprano, sang.

Imagining a premiere at the Teatro Principal—perhaps even for Aida—is like entering a living painting.

From the stage, the gaze takes in a sea of ​​faces illuminated by the chandelier. The gilded boxes shine like molten gold, the red velvets envelop the room in a warm embrace, and the air vibrates with anticipation.

Not a chaotic crowd, but an elegant, composed, present audience—every box filled, every order alive, every gaze directed toward the music.

For decades, this theater was the soul of opera in Spain.

Then, slowly, time changed everything. New theaters, new habits, new fashions. The Liceu became the operatic hub, while the Principal faded into the background, eventually becoming a theater for plays.

Eventually, it closed.

At the end of the 20th century, it reopened briefly—and even opera returned for a moment. I myself attended one of those evenings, like a final farewell to a sleeping giant. Then, silence again.

Today, the Teatro Principal no longer exists as a temple of opera.

But thanks to photographs, memories, and now even recreated images, we can bring it back to life.

We can see it again from the stage:











the illuminated boxes, the ladies dressed in 19th-century fashion, the great chandelier lit, the audience waiting for the orchestra to strike the first notes.

A tribute not only to a building, but to centuries of music, emotion, and beauty.

And who knows—perhaps one day, Barcelona will once again fully honor this theater that, before anyone else, taught the city to love opera.

Il Teatro Principal di Barcellona non era semplicemente un edificio: era un universo di musica, luce e vita.
Per secoli fu il cuore pulsante dell’opera in Spagna, un luogo dove la città respirava arte e dove l’Europa musicale trovava una delle sue prime grandi voci iberiche.

Costruito alla fine del XVI secolo, nel 1596, sulla Rambla già vibrante di movimento e umanità, il teatro crebbe insieme a Barcellona. Molto prima che il Liceu esistesse, il Principal era già una cattedrale della lirica. Dal 1735 in poi, le sue stagioni d’opera e balletto trasformarono la città in una capitale musicale.

L’interno, pur non vasto come quello del futuro Liceu, era di una bellezza abbagliante: ordini sovrapposti di palchi dorati, velluti rossi profondi, luci calde che scintillavano sulle decorazioni, e un grande lampadario che sembrava una cascata di cristallo sospesa nel cielo del teatro.

Dalle poltrone e dai palchi, dame in abiti di seta e signori in frac osservavano il palcoscenico con un silenzio carico di emozione, consapevoli di assistere a qualcosa di unico.

Fu qui che la Spagna ascoltò per la prima volta Mozart, quando Così fan tutte risuonò nel 1790 mentre il compositore era ancora in vita.
Fu qui che Rossini conquistò Barcellona con Il barbiere di Siviglia nel 1819.
Fu qui che Mercadante con Elisa e Claudio ottenne trionfi oggi quasi dimenticati.
Donizetti arrivò nel 1828, Bellini nel 1830, e nel 1835 Anna Bolena esplose in un successo straordinario.

Quella stessa Anna Bolena avrebbe poi inaugurato il nuovo rivale, il Gran Teatre del Liceu, dodici anni più tardi. Da quel momento, la città ebbe due grandi templi dell’opera.

Il Liceu era più grande, più moderno, più sontuoso — e lentamente attirò l’alta società barcellonese. Ma il Principal non smise mai di essere glorioso.

Qui Barcellona vide per la prima volta Aida di Verdi.
Qui ascoltò Wagner con Lohengrin.
Qui cantarono giganti come Enrico Tamberlick e la leggendaria Adelina Patti, la soprano prediletta da Verdi.

Immaginare una sera di prima al Teatro Principal — magari proprio per Aida — è come entrare in un dipinto vivente.
Dal palcoscenico, lo sguardo abbraccia un mare di volti illuminati dal lampadario. I palchi dorati brillano come oro fuso, i velluti rossi avvolgono la sala in un caldo abbraccio, e l’aria vibra di attesa.

Non una folla caotica, ma un pubblico elegante, composto, presente — ogni palco abitato, ogni ordine vivo, ogni sguardo rivolto verso la musica.

Per decenni, questo teatro fu l’anima dell’opera in Spagna.

Poi, lentamente, il tempo cambiò tutto. Nuovi teatri, nuove abitudini, nuove mode. Il Liceu divenne il riferimento lirico, mentre il Principal scivolò in secondo piano, fino a trasformarsi in teatro di prosa.

Alla fine chiuse.

Alla fine del XX secolo riaprì brevemente — e persino l’opera tornò per un istante. Io stesso ho assistito a una di quelle serate, come un ultimo saluto a un gigante addormentato. Poi di nuovo il silenzio.

Oggi il Teatro Principal non esiste più come tempio della lirica.
Ma grazie alle fotografie, ai ricordi, e ora anche alle immagini ricreate, possiamo restituirgli vita.

Possiamo tornare a vederlo dal palcoscenico:
i palchi illuminati, le dame vestite alla moda ottocentesca, il grande lampadario acceso, il pubblico in attesa che l’orchestra attacchi le prime note.

Un omaggio non solo a un edificio, ma a secoli di musica, emozione e bellezza.

E chissà — forse un giorno Barcellona saprà ancora onorare pienamente questo teatro che, prima di tutti, insegnò alla città ad amare l’opera.

Le Teatro Principal de Barcelone n'était pas qu'un simple bâtiment : c'était un univers de musique, de lumière et de vie.

Pendant des siècles, il fut le cœur battant de l'opéra en Espagne, un lieu où la ville respirait l'art et où la musique européenne trouva l'une de ses premières grandes voix ibériques.

Construit en 1596, à la fin du XVIe siècle, sur les Ramblas, déjà vibrantes de mouvement et d'humanité, le théâtre grandit au rythme de Barcelone. Bien avant l'existence du Liceu, le Teatro Principal était déjà une cathédrale de l'opéra. À partir de 1735, ses saisons d'opéra et de ballet transformèrent la ville en capitale musicale.

L'intérieur, bien que moins vaste que celui du futur Liceu, était d'une beauté éblouissante : des loges dorées superposées, du velours rouge profond, des lumières chaudes qui scintillaient sur les décorations et un grand lustre qui ressemblait à une cascade de cristal suspendue au plafond du théâtre.

Depuis leurs sièges et leurs loges, dames en robes de soie et messieurs en queue-de-pie contemplaient la scène dans un silence empli d'émotion, conscients d'assister à un moment unique.

C'est ici que l'Espagne entendit Mozart pour la première fois, lorsque Così fan tutte résonna en 1790, du vivant du compositeur.

C'est ici que Rossini conquit Barcelone avec Le Barbier de Séville en 1819.

C'est ici que Mercadante connut des triomphes aujourd'hui presque oubliés avec Elisa et Claudio.

Donizetti arriva en 1828, Bellini en 1830, et en 1835, Anna Bolena connut un succès fulgurant.

Cette même Anna Bolena inaugurera douze ans plus tard le nouveau rival, le Gran Teatre del Liceu. Dès lors, la ville possédait deux grands temples de l'opéra.

Le Liceu était plus grand, plus moderne, plus somptueux – et attira peu à peu la haute société barcelonaise. Mais le Teatro Principal n'a jamais cessé de briller.

C'est ici que Barcelone a vu pour la première fois Aida de Verdi.

C'est ici qu'elle a entendu Wagner interpréter Lohengrin.

C'est ici que des géants comme Enrico Tamberlick et la légendaire Adelina Patti, la soprano préférée de Verdi, ont chanté.

Imaginer une première au Teatro Principal – peut-être même pour Aida – c'est comme entrer dans un tableau vivant.

Depuis la scène, le regard embrasse une mer de visages illuminés par le lustre. Les loges dorées brillent comme de l'or en fusion, les velours rouges enveloppent la salle d'une douce étreinte et l'air vibre d'impatience.

Non pas une foule chaotique, mais un public élégant, serein et attentif – chaque loge est occupée, chaque salle est animée, chaque regard est tourné vers la musique.

Pendant des décennies, ce théâtre a été l'âme de l'opéra en Espagne.

Puis, lentement, le temps a tout changé. De nouveaux théâtres, de nouvelles habitudes, de nouvelles modes. Le Liceu devint le centre névralgique de l'opéra, tandis que le Principal tomba dans l'oubli, se transformant peu à peu en théâtre.

Finalement, il ferma ses portes.

À la fin du XXe siècle, il rouvrit brièvement – ​​et même l'opéra y fit son retour, l'espace d'un instant. J'ai moi-même assisté à une représentation d'opéra, comme un dernier adieu à un géant endormi. Puis, le silence retomba.

Aujourd'hui, le Teatro Principal n'est plus un temple de l'opéra.

Mais grâce aux photographies, aux souvenirs, et même aux reconstitutions, nous pouvons lui redonner vie.

Nous pouvons le revoir depuis la scène :

les loges illuminées, les dames vêtues à la mode du XIXe siècle, le grand lustre étincelant, le public attendant les premières notes de l'orchestre.

Un hommage non seulement à un bâtiment, mais à des siècles de musique, d'émotion et de beauté.

Et qui sait – peut-être qu'un jour, Barcelone rendra pleinement hommage à ce théâtre qui, avant tout autre, a appris à la ville à aimer l'opéra.

El Teatro Principal de Barcelona no era solo un edificio: era un universo de música, luz y vida.

Durante siglos, fue el corazón palpitante de la ópera en España, un lugar donde la ciudad respiraba arte y donde la música europea encontró una de sus primeras grandes voces ibéricas.

Construido en 1596 a finales del siglo XVI en la Rambla, ya vibrante de movimiento y humanidad, el teatro creció junto con Barcelona. Mucho antes de la existencia del Liceu, el Teatro Principal ya era una catedral de la ópera. A partir de 1735, sus temporadas de ópera y ballet transformaron la ciudad en una capital musical.

El interior, aunque no tan vasto como el del futuro Liceu, era de una belleza deslumbrante: hileras de palcos dorados, terciopelo rojo intenso, luces cálidas que brillaban sobre la decoración y una gran lámpara de araña que parecía una cascada de cristal suspendida en el techo del teatro.

Desde sus asientos y palcos, damas con vestidos de seda y caballeros con frac contemplaban el escenario en un silencio cargado de emoción, conscientes de estar presenciando algo único.

Fue aquí donde España escuchó por primera vez a Mozart, cuando Così fan tutte resonó en 1790, durante la vida del compositor.

Fue aquí donde Rossini conquistó Barcelona con El barbero de Sevilla en 1819.

Fue aquí donde Mercadante alcanzó triunfos ahora casi olvidados con Elisa y Claudio.

Donizetti llegó en 1828, Bellini en 1830, y en 1835, Anna Bolena arrasó con un éxito extraordinario.

Esa misma Anna Bolena inauguraría el nuevo rival, el Gran Teatre del Liceu, doce años después. A partir de entonces, la ciudad contó con dos grandes templos de la ópera.

El Liceu era más grande, más moderno, más suntuoso, y poco a poco atrajo a la alta sociedad barcelonesa. Pero el Teatro Principal nunca dejó de ser glorioso. Aquí, Barcelona vio por primera vez Aida de Verdi. Aquí, escuchó a Wagner interpretar Lohengrin. Aquí, cantaron gigantes como Enrico Tamberlick y la legendaria Adelina Patti, la soprano favorita de Verdi.

Imaginar un estreno en el Teatro Principal —quizás incluso para Aida— es como entrar en un cuadro viviente.

Desde el escenario, la mirada se posa en un mar de rostros iluminados por la lámpara de araña. Los palcos dorados brillan como oro fundido, los terciopelos rojos envuelven la sala en un cálido abrazo y el aire vibra de expectación.

No una multitud caótica, sino un público elegante, sereno y presente: cada palco lleno, cada orden vivo, cada mirada dirigida hacia la música.

Durante décadas, este teatro fue el alma de la ópera en España.

Luego, poco a poco, el tiempo lo cambió todo. Nuevos teatros, nuevas costumbres, nuevas modas. El Liceu se convirtió en el centro neurálgico de la ópera, mientras que el Principal quedó relegado a un segundo plano, convirtiéndose finalmente en un teatro de obras. Finalmente, cerró.

A finales del siglo XX, reabrió brevemente, e incluso la ópera regresó por un momento. Yo mismo asistí a una de esas veladas, como una despedida final a un gigante dormido. Luego, de nuevo, silencio.

Hoy, el Teatro Principal ya no existe como templo de la ópera.

Pero gracias a fotografías, recuerdos e incluso imágenes recreadas, podemos revivirlo.

Podemos verlo de nuevo desde el escenario: los palcos iluminados, las damas vestidas a la moda del siglo XIX, la gran lámpara encendida, el público esperando a que la orquesta diera las primeras notas.

Un homenaje no solo a un edificio, sino a siglos de música, emoción y belleza.

Y quién sabe, quizás algún día Barcelona vuelva a honrar plenamente a este teatro que, antes que nadie, enseñó a la ciudad a amar la ópera.


Saturday, January 31, 2026

New York - Aida - Metropolitan Opera House - 2027














What a delightful thrill to think about what awaits us in the 2026–2027 season at the Metropolitan Opera House! It seems far off, but we know that time flies… and before we know it, the Met lights will dim, the curtain will rise, and ancient Egypt will come alive with Giuseppe Verdi’s majestic Aida.

Premiered in 1871 at the Khedival Opera House, Aida is the quintessential grand opera: monumental, dazzling, with imposing choruses and sumptuous ballets, yet at its core profoundly intimate. Amidst military glory and pharaonic splendor beats a story of impossible love, of loyalty torn between duty and heart. Few works have managed to unite the spectacular and the human with such perfection.

And the Met knows it. That’s why one of its most lavish productions is returning, with costumes that evoke the golden age of Hollywood—as if we were witnessing Cleopatra’s triumphant entrance in the style of Elizabeth Taylor. It will be a breathtaking visual and musical experience.

Three Aidas… three dreams

The grandeur of this season is concentrated in one wonderful detail: three extraordinary sopranos embodying the Ethiopian princess!

🌟 Angel Blue

Opening night, March 9, 2027, will be hers. Born in Los Angeles and a Grammy Award winner, Angel Blue possesses a velvety, luminous timbre, with a vocal range and nobility that have led many to consider her the great heir to Leontyne Price in the 21st century. Her Aida promises to be majestic and profoundly human: a queen on stage and, at the same time, a vulnerable woman torn apart by love. March will be her month, and New York will know it.

🌟 Anna Pirozzi

In April, the dramatic intensity will take on a new dimension with Anna Pirozzi. With a powerful, incisive, and electrifying voice, the Italian soprano brings a tragic force that transforms every phrase into a fiery declaration. Her Aida will be passionate, almost volcanic, with brilliant high notes that will pierce the hall like fiery lances. A performance that promises to be breathtaking.

🌟 Leah Hawkins

The Aida of late spring and early summer will be Leah Hawkins, a native of Philadelphia. Elegant, highly musical, with exquisite phrasing, her voice combines lyricism and breadth with a deeply moving sensitivity. Her approach to the character promises to be introspective and refined, highlighting the most poetic and spiritual dimension of the Ethiopian princess. A dreamlike Aida to close the series with a flourish.

Three distinct visions. Three vocal personalities. Three irresistible reasons to want to attend… all of them!

Musical Direction

Daniele Callegari

Marco Armiliato

John Keenan

Aida

Angel Blue

Anna Pirozzi

Leah Hawkins

Amneris

Judit Kutasi

Olesya Petrova

Radamès

Michael Fabiano

SeokJong Baek

Amonasro

Quinn Kelsey

George Gagnidze

Michael Chioldi

Ramfis

Alexander Köpeczi

Soloman Howard

The King

Huanhong Li

Harold Wilson

Krzysztof Bączyk

The night of March 9, 2027, will mark the beginning of a series that promises to be historic. New York will be there. The Met's audience, always demanding and passionate, will be captivated by the magnificence of this production and the galaxy of artists who will bring it to life.

And you've said it perfectly: the only dilemma will be deciding which Aida to listen to… although, to be honest, the best decision will be to experience all three. Because each one will reveal a different facet of this immortal work, and each performance will be unrepeatable.

Quel plaisir de penser à ce que nous réserve la saison 2026-2027 au Metropolitan Opera House ! Cela paraît encore loin, mais le temps passe vite… et bientôt, les lumières du Met s’éteindront, le rideau se lèvera et l’Égypte antique s’animera au son de la majestueuse Aida de Giuseppe Verdi.

Créée en 1871 à l’Opéra Khédival, Aida est l’opéra grandiose par excellence : monumentale, éblouissante, avec ses chœurs imposants et ses ballets somptueux, et pourtant profondément intime. Au milieu de la gloire militaire et de la splendeur pharaonique se tisse une histoire d’amour impossible, de loyauté déchirée entre devoir et sentiments. Rares sont les œuvres qui ont su unir le spectaculaire et l’humain avec une telle perfection.

Et le Met en est conscient. C’est pourquoi l’une de ses productions les plus fastueuses fait son grand retour, avec des costumes qui évoquent l’âge d’or d’Hollywood – comme si nous assistions à l’entrée triomphale de Cléopâtre dans le style d’Elizabeth Taylor. Ce sera une expérience visuelle et musicale à couper le souffle.

Trois Aida… trois rêves

La grandeur de cette saison se concentre en un détail merveilleux : trois sopranos extraordinaires incarnent la princesse éthiopienne !

🌟 Angel Blue

La première, le 9 mars 2027, sera la sienne. Née à Los Angeles et lauréate d’un Grammy Award, Angel Blue possède un timbre velouté et lumineux, une tessiture et une noblesse vocales qui ont conduit beaucoup à la considérer comme la digne héritière de Leontyne Price au XXIe siècle. Son Aida promet d’être majestueuse et profondément humaine : une reine sur scène et, en même temps, une femme vulnérable déchirée par l’amour. Mars sera son mois, et New York s’en souviendra.

🌟 Anna Pirozzi

En avril, l’intensité dramatique prendra une nouvelle dimension avec Anna Pirozzi. Dotée d’une voix puissante, incisive et électrisante, la soprano italienne apporte une force tragique qui transforme chaque phrase en une déclaration enflammée. Son interprétation d'Aida sera passionnée, presque volcanique, avec des aigus brillants qui transperceront la salle comme des lances de feu. Une performance qui promet d'être époustouflante.

🌟 Leah Hawkins

L'Aida de la fin du printemps et du début de l'été sera interprétée par Leah Hawkins, native de Philadelphie. Élégante, d'une grande musicalité et dotée d'un phrasé exquis, sa voix allie lyrisme et ampleur à une sensibilité profondément émouvante. Son approche du personnage promet d'être introspective et raffinée, mettant en lumière la dimension la plus poétique et spirituelle de la princesse éthiopienne. Une Aida onirique pour clore la série en beauté.

Trois visions distinctes. Trois personnalités vocales. Trois raisons irrésistibles d'y assister… toutes !

Distribution 

Direction musicale

Daniele Callegari

Marco Armiliato

John Keenan

Aida

Angel Blue

Anna Pirozzi

Leah Hawkins

Amneris

Judit Kutasi

Olesya Petrova

Radamès

Michael Fabiano

SeokJong Baek

Amonasro

Quinn Kelsey

George Gagnidze

Michael Chioldi

Ramfis

Alexander Köpeczi

Soloman Howard

Le Roi

Huanhong Li

Harold Wilson

Krzysztof Bączyk

Le 9 mars 2027 marquera le début d'une série qui s'annonce historique. New York sera au rendez-vous. Le public du Met, toujours exigeant et passionné, sera captivé par la magnificence de cette production et la pléiade d'artistes qui lui donneront vie.

Et vous l'avez parfaitement dit : le seul dilemme sera de choisir quelle version d'Aida écouter… même si, à vrai dire, le mieux serait de les écouter toutes les trois. Car chacune révélera une facette différente de cette œuvre immortelle, et chaque interprétation sera unique.

Sunday, January 21, 2001

Buenos Aires - Opera Gala - 9 July 1949


Eva Perón - 9 July 1949 

On the evening of July 9, 1949, the Teatro Colón became more than an opera house: it was a ceremonial stage where art, history, and politics converged. The gala celebrating the 133rd anniversary of the Argentine Declaration of Independence gathered Buenos Aires’ high society, diplomats, cultural leaders, journalists, and distinguished foreign visitors. In the presidential box sat Juan Domingo Perón and Eva Perón, symbols of a nation redefining itself. At the center of the evening, radiant and commanding, stood a 26-year-old soprano who was still officially unknown to the wider world: Maria Meneghini Callas.

By that night, however, Buenos Aires already knew.
For more than a month, the city had been living under the spell of her voice.

Arriving from Europe after a long sea voyage—during which she reportedly rehearsed relentlessly—Callas undertook a feat that today seems almost unimaginable. In a single season at the Colón, she sang four performances of Turandot, four of Norma, and closed her stay with Aida: three of the most demanding dramatic soprano roles in the repertoire, requiring radically different vocal colors, technical approaches, and emotional weight. No soprano of the 21st century would be asked to do this. No management would dare propose it. Yet Callas not only accepted the challenge—she triumphed.












Her debut on May 20 as Turandot, opposite Mario Del Monaco’s Calaf, announced a force of nature. The repeated performances only deepened the impression. When she sang Norma, unveiling a bel canto authority fused with tragic intensity, it became clear that something unprecedented was unfolding. Buenos Aires spoke of little else.

Thus, on July 9, when Callas appeared at the gala and sang excerpts including “Sediziose voci,” “Casta diva,” and “Ah! bello a me ritorna,” the audience was no longer witnessing a promising young soprano. They were witnessing the early coronation of a legend—though few could yet imagine just how vast her reign would be.

That gala crystallized what her entire Argentine stay had revealed: an artist of fearless ambition, extraordinary stamina, and rare intelligence. At just 26, Maria Callas carried on her shoulders a repertoire that would exhaust even the greatest singers at the height of their maturity. She did so not merely with power, but with musical insight, dramatic truth, and an instinctive grasp of style that set her apart from all others.




















Maria Meneghini Callas  - Turandot - Buenos Aires - 1949

Her Buenos Aires engagement remains historic, not only for what she sang, but for what it proved: that once in a great while, opera is transformed by a phenomenon who redefines what is possible. That stay has never been repeated—anywhere, by anyone.

And on that winter night of July 9, 1949, beneath the chandeliers of the Teatro Colón, Argentina bore witness to the birth of the greatest soprano in the history of opera.

Lorsque le navire accosta enfin dans le port de Buenos Aires au printemps 1948, peu de noms suscitaient encore la curiosité du public lyrique. Maria Meneghini Callas ne disait presque rien à la majorité des abonnés du Teatro Colón. Quelques initiés, cependant, murmuraient déjà : une jeune soprano venue d’Europe, à peine vingt-six ans, annoncée pour Turandot, Norma et Aida. Trois rôles redoutables. Trop redoutables, pensait-on, pour une chanteuse aussi jeune. L’interrogation planait partout : comment allait-elle chanter ?

Buenos Aires,  l’une des capitales mondiales de l’opéra, n’était pas une ville indulgente. Son public était exigeant, érudit, parfois impitoyable. Le Colón avait entendu les plus grandes voix du temps. On y venait avec une réputation à défendre — ou à construire. Et celle de Callas était encore fragile, presque inexistante hors de quelques cercles européens. On savait seulement qu’elle travaillait sans relâche, qu’elle possédait une voix puissante, hors normes, et un tempérament peu commun. Rien de plus. Rien de moins.

Les jours précédant le premier lever de rideau furent chargés d’attente. Dans les foyers du théâtre, dans les cafés, dans les rédactions culturelles, la même question revenait : qui était vraiment cette soprano à laquelle on confiait des rôles que même des carrières établies hésitaient à enchaîner ? Était-ce un pari audacieux ou une imprudence ?

Puis vint le soir du 20 mai 1949. Dès les premières mesures de Turandot, le doute se dissipa. Ce que Buenos Aires découvrit alors n’était pas simplement une voix, mais une présence, une autorité presque déconcertante pour un âge si jeune. L’inconnue devint immédiatement sujet de fascination. Chaque représentation renforçait l’évidence : quelque chose d’exceptionnel était en train de se produire.

Au fil des semaines, la ville passa de la curiosité à l’admiration, puis à une forme de certitude silencieuse. Cette soprano n’était pas de passage. Elle marquait l’histoire. Lorsque, quelques semaines plus tard, elle chanta lors de la gala du 9 juillet, en présence de Perón et d’Evita, l’attente avait laissé place à la reconnaissance. Buenos Aires ne se demandait plus comment elle chanterait. Elle savait.

Cette arrivée, enveloppée d’incertitude et de scepticisme, demeure l’un des moments les plus fascinants de l’histoire lyrique du Teatro Colón. Car c’est précisément là, dans cette tension entre l’inconnu et le génie naissant, que commença la légende de Maria Callas.

El Teatro Colón de Buenos Aires no era, en 1949, un escenario cualquiera. Era ya una leyenda viva. Por su sala habían pasado las voces más grandes del mundo: cantantes consagrados, artistas formados en décadas de carrera, figuras que habían hecho historia antes de pisar su escenario. El público porteño estaba acostumbrado a la excelencia; más aún, la exigía. En el Colón no bastaba con cantar bien: había que convencer, conmover, imponerse. Allí, el aplauso no se regalaba.

A ese templo de la lírica llegó una joven soprano prácticamente desconocida, de tan solo 26 años, con un apellido aún poco familiar para Buenos Aires: Maria Meneghini Callas. No traía una fama consolidada ni una larga trayectoria que la precediera. Traía, en cambio, una responsabilidad enorme: enfrentarse a un público que había escuchado a los mejores y que no estaba dispuesto a bajar el listón para nadie.

El desafío era colosal. Y, sin embargo, Callas lo asumió sin reservas. Cantó Turandot, Norma y Aida, roles que incluso hoy intimidan a las grandes estrellas. Cada función era una prueba, cada noche una confrontación directa con la memoria sonora del Colón. Pero lo extraordinario ocurrió: no solo estuvo a la altura, sino que superó las expectativas. La joven desconocida comenzó a imponerse como una revelación. El teatro, acostumbrado a juzgar con severidad, empezó a rendirse.

El punto culminante llegó en la velada de gala del 9 de julio, con motivo del aniversario de la independencia argentina. En el palco de honor se encontraban Juan Domingo Perón y Eva Perón, rodeados de diplomáticos, representantes de la alta sociedad, artistas e intelectuales. Aquella noche, Maria Callas ya no era una incógnita: era la protagonista absoluta. La estrella de la velada.

Imaginemos entonces el intervalo. El murmullo del teatro, el brillo de los trajes, el perfume del acontecimiento histórico. En un salón lateral, Eva Perón, figura central de la Argentina de aquel tiempo, se acerca a la joven soprano. Dos mujeres muy distintas, unidas por una presencia magnética y una voluntad fuera de lo común. Eva la felicita con palabras cálidas y directas, reconociendo no solo la belleza del canto, sino la fuerza con la que ha conquistado al público argentino. Callas, aún joven pero ya consciente de su poder artístico, agradece con respeto y emoción.

No sabemos si ese encuentro ocurrió exactamente así. Pero pudo haber ocurrido. Porque aquella noche, Maria Callas no fue solo una cantante extranjera invitada: fue una artista que triunfó ante el público más exigente, en el teatro más emblemático, y bajo la mirada de quienes representaban el poder y la historia del país.

Su paso por el Teatro Colón quedó grabado como un momento irrepetible. No solo porque venció el reto, sino porque lo hizo siendo joven, desconocida y enfrentándose a una tradición monumental. Buenos Aires no fue un simple capítulo en su carrera: fue una consagración temprana. Y el Colón, una vez más, fue testigo del nacimiento de una leyenda.












Saint Petersburg - Giuseppe Verdi - La forza del destino - Mariinsky Theatre - 30th April 2026

On Thursday, April 30th, 2026, Mariinsky Theatre will host an event of truly exceptional artistic and historical importance: a rare performa...