The Angela Gheorghiu Show

Welcome to the Angela Gheorghiu Show! I make three costume changes, one of which leaves precious little to the imagination. To complete the spectacle, I present two radically different hairdos designed to set off my runway model figure and beautiful countenance. And for this special occasion, the entire San Francisco Opera Orchestra accompanies me, conducted by Marco Armiliato. And while I couldn’t fit the entire Gay Men’s Chorus or pom-pom girls onstage at Zellerbach Hall on Saturday evening, my joint San Francisco Opera/Cal Performances presentation includes stage direction by Sandra Bernhard.

Photo by Sasha Gusov

Oh yes. I also sing. Sing she did. Presenting the entire Gheorghiu package, the Romanian soprano gave America’s diva du decade, Renée Fleming, a run for the money. In between four beautifully played orchestral selections, she performed (including the three encores) four grand arias and six classic songs in four languages.

A Grand Beginning

La Gheorghiu did not make things easy for herself. Even in her first song, Giordani’s Caro mio ben (My dear love) — many a vocal student’s first assignment — she eschewed the traditional ending to throw in the first of many, high, “money notes.” While her choice sullied the heartfelt emotion of the song, it gave notice of what was to come. From there, she went directly to the major stuff. First came many a lyrico-spinto’s favorite encore, “Ch’il bel sogno di Doretta” (Doretta’s beautiful dream) from Puccini’s La Rondine, complete with a perfectly placed, glistening, high C. Then, after an orchestral interlude, came two big ones: “Un bel di” (One fine day) from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly, and “Pace, pace, mio Dio!” (Peace, peace, my God) from Verdi’s La forza del destino. Her voice was in prime form. Inherently dramatic, an engrossing mixture of churning darkness and soaring hope, it also lacks the soul-shaking depth of many a great artist’s chest voice, or significant midrange volume. But the notes above the staff are big and gorgeous, and her dramatic understanding is beyond question. What Gheorghiu did not give us, in either of these grandest arias, was unique interpretive insight. The middle section of Butterfly’s desperate statement of faith was rushed, and far too matter-of-fact. Every note was perfectly placed, but the phrasing was perfunctory. The depths remained unplumbed, and the aria ended before it had begun. Although Gheorghiu was not afraid to sing softly in “Pace, pace, mio dio!,” she does not, to these ears, possess the ravishing tone needed to float Verdi’s opening phrase to heaven. Regardless, even if the exquisite highs and emotional involvement of a Rosa Ponselle or Leontyne Price were absent, the ultimate high B-flat was spectacular.

Art of the Grand Gesture

Wound around the singing were lots of gestures. Often, as applause began, one arm was extended in the air in a signal of triumph. The body swayed, hands moved, and, in the second half, hips were added to the equation. Some of this, especially the turning to the orchestra at the start of Doretta’s song and the delayed entrance as the orchestra began the final encore, Augustin Lara’s perennial Granada, was undoubtedly Bernhard’s doing. But at the core was Gheorghiu, not only feeling the music but also discharging nervous energy and insecurities with copious movement. Beneath the glamour and ego lay the real Gheorghiu, a woman who wants to be loved. As she recently told me in an extended phone interview, “I go onstage because I want to be admired. I go onstage because I want you to like me in each detail: in my sound, in my movements in my repertoire — everything… I go onstage because I have a gift. From the gift I received, I studied and worked so much. I like to make people happy around me because I am happy. A lot of time, when I sing by myself, I have emotions with the energy in the audience. But I need the audience. Otherwise I sing in my bathroom, but nobody hears me.” It was wonderful to hear the San Francisco Opera Orchestra onstage. Even in the flat, Meyer-sound-enhanced acoustic of Zellerbach Hall, the musicians shone. Under Armiliato’s poetic hand, the overture to Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro was light, brisk, and joyfully accented. Strings poured forth limpid phrases in the Intermezzo from Puccini’s Manon Lescaut, and almost scampered enough in Rossini’s Overture to La Cenerentola. Especially gratifying was the suspended, translucent string tone at the start of Mascagni’s Intermezzo from Cavalleria rusticana. Too often in recital, orchestral interludes become forgettable fill-ins. Here, they were music.

More Money Notes

In the concert’s second half, Gheorghiu shucked her low-bodiced gold and crème gown and long hair for a major fashion statement, an ultra-revealing, form-fitting black dress with an attention-seizing spider bodice that Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield might have killed for. The pulled-up hairdo was equally spectacular. And once again, Ernesto Di Curtis’ Non ti scordar di me (Don’t forget me) and Leo Delibes’ Les Filles de Cadiz (The girls of cadiz) ended with fabulous high notes. After an orchestral intermezzo, the soprano returned in a gorgeous red dress held together in back by a large rhinestone firefly. Hair was back down, and the metaphorical gloves were off. Then came the most spectacular and abandoned singing of the evening. “I Could Have Danced All Night” from Lerner and Loewe’s My Fair Lady came complete with a charming Romanian Cockney accent and a glorious high C. Theodor Grigoriu’s romantic Muzica (Music is my whole life… Music is my happiness) paved the way for three encores: a beautifully executed “O mio babbino caro” (Oh Daddy dearest) from Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi, Ernesto Lecuona’s irresistibly seductive Siboney, and Lara’s beloved Granada. In the songs, Gheorghiu let go, entertaining us, the orchestra, and herself with all the flair, spirit, and spectacular high notes at her disposal. At last, bringing most of the audience to its feet, she took several curtain calls with the ever-gracious and supportive Armiliato, at one point seeming to tear up, then miraculously recovering. She finally signaled evening’s end by grabbing the arm of surprised concertmaster Kay Stern and ushering her and Armiliato offstage. I don’t know about everyone else, but the husband and I found it impossible to leave without bounding through the streets singing and whistling up a storm. Viva la Gheorghiu! Viva la Diva!