My favorite baritone appears to be morphing into a crooner of the Robert Goulet ilk. Some might think that is an insult, but if you are a Robert Goulet crooner fan like I am. Goulet was described as hormones. Our baritone’s voice is getting there. I love opera, but I can handle the crooning on a 24/7 basis. (Sigh). Let’s be honest about his voice. It has changed this past year and a half. It is deeper. The high notes aren’t as high as they once were, but he makes up for it by the lower register. Something else I’m noticing. Quite often, by the time a baritone hits the age he is, the voice starts degrading. Keenlyside is already having problems. He’s back at the Met this year, after nearly two years taking it easy. The Handsome Baritone is a work-horse. I think one of the things that is going to extend our favorite baritone’s shelf-life is the fact that he has been very careful with his repertoire. Scuttlebutt is the thing that hurt the greatest baritone of them all was too many Scarpias.
A year ago, tonight, the operatic world held its collective breath, waiting for our favorite baritone to take the stage at the Met. Could he?
I don’t know about you, but I was in tears after hearing this. Opera is the most intimate of all blood sports, and it is a blood sport. It is a brutal blood sport, unforgiving, relentless, all consuming. But, it is intimate. A well-mannered and sincere fan has an opportunity of getting to know their favorites. There are times when you almost become a lodestone for them, during certain circumstances. This happened to me, a number of times. For me, opera is about prayer.