Facelifts at the Met and the Phil 

Like Charlotte's skyline, the Lincoln Center cultural campus has been perpetually pocked with construction sites over the past two years as the facility primped up for its 50th anniversary, currently in a yearlong celebration. When one eyesore gives way to a decorous renovation, another unsightly zit pops up elsewhere. Last summer, the new Alice Tully Hall was ready for its closeup as the Music Critics Association of North America toured the grounds, but work on a bosky outdoor concert site in front of Vivian Beaumont Theatre was barely begun, a new kiosk for advance tickets a block south on Columbus was too hazardous to tour, and the new fountain in the main plaza wasn't quite done.

By winter, when Sue and I revisited, there was substantial progress in the fountain area, and the grounds in front of the Vivian Beaumont were at an advanced stage of landscaping. Efforts now are concentrated on improving car and taxi access in front of the campus at its Columbus Avenue entrance. During the transition, we found it no more difficult to snag a cab than before, but underground access via the subway has been suspended. When the mercury hits 18°F, and the wind slaps the windchill below 0°, you feel the difference. And you don't mosey over to the site of the ticket kiosk to check on progress.

Aging plays a role in the changes that are happening at The Metropolitan Opera and at the New York Philharmonic. Since taking over as the Met's general manager, Peter Gelb has launched a frontal assault on a phenomenon that seems to have afflicted all the performing arts: the aging of their audience. He has launched the pioneering Live in HD broadcasts with an aggressive approach to hosting, camera coverage, and intermission programming. New rep, like The First Emperor and Doctor Atomic, has moved more to the forefront, and Gelb has reinvigorated the kids' rep, which once upon a time began and ended with Hansel and Gretel.

New productions of old rep favorites are on an accelerated assembly line. Sometimes, as with last year's Macbeth and -- even more so -- this year's Tosca, the more contemporary sensibility of the new productions clashes with the luxuriant realism of the old, and with the longtime subscribers who love them. Others, like La Fille du Regiment in 2008, last season's La Rondine, and this season's Carmen, have been more warmly welcomed. As a group, these successes prove that updating repertoire doesn't automatically alienate Met audiences. Instead, they reinforce the notion that if directors and designers aim to shock audiences, then they will be repelled.

Since 1958, when Leonard Bernstein took the reins of the New York Philharmonic, the youngest -- and only -- American to take up the music director's baton had been Lorin Maazel when his tenure began in 2002 at age 72. So at age 42, the new maestro, Alan Gilbert, is a breath of fresh air in numerous respects. With Gilbert. the railing on the podium serves discreetly as protection; Maazel used it as a support to lean on. And unlike more than a couple of his esteemed predecessors, Gilbert doesn't hold it beneath his dignity to informally address his audience in an effort to make new or difficult music palatable.

On the contrary, before Gilbert pointed out what to look for in Webern's Symphony -- and why he likes it - he wrote two notes for the program booklet. First, there's a blurb on the thinking behind programming Webern, Mozart, and Schumann together. Later, he follows up with more extensive reflections on Schumann's Symphony #2. From a populist standpoint, Gilbert is already proving to have strongest educational impulse of any Phil maestro since Bernstein.

As the son of two violinists who played for the Phil, Michael Gilbert and Yoko Takebe, Gilbert certainly isn't a maverick choice to lead the orchestra. His professional pedigree includes stints as the first music director at Santa Fe Opera and as chief conductor with the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic, auguring well for a long sojourn at Lincoln Center. Gilbert isn't conducting Live in HD broadcasts, but the Big New Idea at the New York Phil surely fits hand in glove with Gelb's mass marketing: the Phil's first season under Gilbert is being released piecemeal at iTunes.

We crammed five trips to Lincoln Center into a schedule of theatergoing during our annual arts pilgrimage to the Big Apple. Here's what we found:

Tales of Hoffman (***1/2 out of 4) -- There's only one question I can level at the Met's newly designed production of Jacques Offenbach's melodic epic, but it's a big one. Why? The previous Hoffman was a technological wonder, with whole sets that either rose into the flylofts or sank down below. Michael Yeargen's new set designs clear away the wow factor without putting a vivid new concept in its place. Where some tech wizardry was needed in Act 2, when Antonia gets fatal counsel from her dead mother via a portrait on the wall, there was none.

Stage director Bartlett Sher does a fine job of clarifying the Muse of Poetry's role as an ally of Hoffman's various nemeses -- all for the sake providing the writer with a store of heartbreaks he can transform into immortal art. But he allows another key element of the evening's framework to go slack, namely Hoffman's obsession with glamorous opera diva Stella and the devilish machinations of the debonair Lindorf to thwart the writer one last time.

Yet even though Rolando Villazon had given up the title role due to illness, and the formidable Rene Pape was no longer playing Lindorf and the other three villains, the performances were wondrous. Joseph Calleja brought an apt nerdiness to the writer and, unlike Ramon Vargas, whom I'd seen as Hoffman in 2004, Calleja seemed to have a working knowledge of what drunkenness is. He sang purely and passionately, exactly the opposite of Alan Held, who was always chilling and melodramatically devilish as Lindorf & Co.

Most of the women were nearly ideal. Kate Lindsay has the right mezzo stuff for both the Muse and the pants role of Hoffman's chum, Nicklausse, and we were happy to see Anna Netrebko in the dual roles of Stella and Antonia. Even the pleasure of seeing Netrebko perishing decorously as Antonia, singing herself to death from heart disease, wasn't enough for me. I was wishing that we could see her as all the heroines, as Offenbach originally intended. That wish became especially keen when Ekaterina Gubanova sang the Venetian courtesan Giulietta, failing to float my gondola with either her voice or her charm. Better to toss away the transposition to the mezzo voice and allow a soprano of Netrebko's caliber to restore Giulietta's allure.

I had no such longings when Rachele Gilmore, subbing at the last minute for Kathleen Kim, sang Olympia in Act 1. Gilmore was the surprise sensation of the evening as the robot Hoffman falls in love with, thanks to optometrist Coppellius' magical glasses. Not only did Gilmore act out the "Doll Song," and all its comical stops for rewinding, with the right mix of robotic rigidity and doll-like limpness, her voice soared up to a counter-soprano stratosphere, hitting high notes far above the staff that left high C at least four full steps below. Jaws were dropping all over the house.

Leif Ove Andsnes with the NY Philharmonic (***1/2) -- Andsnes is one of those favored few pianists who has the ability to unearth new beauties in familiar music. That gift was quickly put to the test in the opening allegro of Mozart's Piano Concerto #23, well-trodden ground. Sure enough, there was a fluidity to Andsnes' first entrance that was distinctively his, dainty filigree alternating with lyrical strength. The whole movement had a dramatic shape, culminating in a cadenza, delivered with a broad range of tempos and dynamics, that expressed unique pathos.

Gilbert and the Phil weren't merely noodling in the background. From the outset, they were active partners with the guest virtuoso. If the woodwinds sounded a little tubby at Avery Fisher Hall, the violins had a nice zip to them, subtly adding character to the orchestral intro with felicitous swells in tempo and dynamics. To the sudden solemnity of Andsnes' eloquent intro in the middle adagio movement, the Phil was sweet and nostalgic in response. Only in the opening bars of the merry closing movement did Andsnes and Gilbert opt for the tried-and-true. Yet the jollity of the Phil proved to be genuine, contrasting effectively with the darker shadings Andsnes wove into his zesty assault on the most intense passages.

In selecting two pieces by Anton Webern, one from the formative stage of his career and another from the midpoint where he was already a 12-tone master, Gilbert was able to preface the abrupt episodes and jagged shifts of the Symphony with the palpable orchestral and melodic gifts manifest in Im Sommerwind. Certainly, there was a kinship with the sound paintings of Debussy and Strauss in this tone poem, a mini concerto for orchestra that showcased the concertmaster, the harpist, two or three percussionists, and most of the principal woodwind players. They're all damn good, and the piece is a likeable entree into Webern.

Despite his insistence on a very strict tempo, Gilbert was able to get the first part of the Symphony flowing lightly at its prescribed "Calmly striding" pace, with French horn, clarinet, and bass clarinet very much in the mix with harp and strings. The second theme-and-variations part, lurching along like a nervous first-time driver, wasn't as cohesive. All the more satisfying, then, that Gilbert ended with Schumann's Symphony #2, where stringing together the varying musical incidents as a cohesive sequence is the key to unlocking the excitement of the opening movement. Quiet until this point of the evening, the brass probably were excited to be participating, lending some mighty power to the outer movements. In the third of the four movements, an adagio espressivo, the woodwinds showed most beguilingly what Gilbert called the "feminine ideal" of Schumann's confessional, both as a choir and in individual solos from the oboe, clarinet, and flute.

Whether or not you agreed with Gilbert's booklet notes; assigning the role of spiritual ideal to the brass, feminine ideal to the winds, and Schumann himself to the strings; wasn't really important. What impresses me is the depth of Gilbert's convictions -- and the depth of the new musical director's commitment to sharing them. Both bode well for Gilbert's impact and the future of the Phil.

Elektra (***1/4) -- As a spectacle, Elektra is a pale shadow of its notorious predecessor, Salome. Both of these Strauss operas end with their title characters reveling in triumph -- and dying as a result. But Electra really hasn't done anything to deserve her death. Since her stepfather Aegisthus conspired with Queen Clytemnestra to kill her father, King Agamemnon, she has skulked defiantly outside the palace, waiting for her brother Orestes to return and avenge the crime. Now Salome, she ordered John the Baptist's head on a platter and stripping herself naked in the Dance of the Seven Veils to seal the deal. That's one bloodthirsty slut, a spectacular character.

But if this protagonist is relatively humdrum, the music of Elektra, from its ominous "Agamemnon!" onwards, bridges much of the gap. Clytemnestra, played by the venerable Felicity Palmer in the Met production, is a deliciously wicked piece of work, and if Susan Bullock doesn't lift Electra into the realm of vengeful majesty, she certainly plumbs the depths of the castaway princess's degradation and insanity.

Surprisingly, although Evgeny Nikitin brings a countrified savagery to his portrayal of Orestes, his role in Hugo von Hofmannsthal's libretto, adapted from his play, is rather marginalized by the nattering women. The best of these, from a purely vocal standpoint, was Deborah Voigt as Chrysothemis, the obedient daughter who keeps counseling sister Electra to go with the flow.

Jurgen Rose's set design, a stately edifice of marble rubble punctuated by a fallen equestrian statue, adds little color to the static action, but Fabio Luisi, conducting the Met orchestra, makes the score glitter like a dagger. If this Met production becomes a Live in HD production, you may wish to seek out the live radio broadcast that afternoon.

Turandot (***)-- I shudder to think that, instead of an Elektra overhaul, Met GM Peter Gelb might consider replacing this Franco Zefferelli design. For here is splendor that soars nearly to the top arch of the Met's lofty proscenium, with a profusion of costumes by Anna Anni and Dada Saligeri that intoxicate the eye with color. More exciting than the designer's challenge to replace such splendor are the challenges to singers and directors to fill these magnificent symmetries with sound and action -- and bring those luxuriant silks alive!

Stage director Daniel Kneuss lovingly emphasizes the ceremonial aspect of Puccini's last masterwork. Maria Guleghina, if not the very best soprano to sing the role at the Met, benefits greatly from the perfectly timed sweep of her gown as the icy Princess Turandot finishes issuing her ritual challenge to Calaf and turns her back scornfully at him, knowing for a certainty that he will die in his rash attempt to solve her riddles. Gestures of pleading, surprise, dismay, and the final coy yielding that follow, as Calaf confounds her expectations throughout the evening, are similarly ritualized with a distinctively Asian flavor.

Guleghina's rough voice and wide vibrato suit the cruel, fearsome side of Turandot while the wardrobe injects the aura of beauty. We more readily accept her in the vocal lineage of Joan Sutherland and Birgit Nilsson than we accept Salvatore Licitra filling the shoes of Luciano Pavaroti. There were moments when Licitra's voice rang with enough true tenor heroism to keep the audience anticipating a bravura "Nessun dorma!" to cap the performance.

Unfortunately, the big tune was done badly enough on the night we attended to be called a scandal. No applause when Licitra finished, as conductor Andris Nelsons mercifully sped along, and not a single "Bravo!" when the cast took their bows. On this night, there were bravas for Guleghina and for Maija Kovalevska as Liu, the faithful servant who chooses death instead of allowing Turandot to solve her master Calaf's counter-riddle. Kovalevska sang creditably enough, particularly before her suicide, but I suspect some of the acclaim showered on her by the audience was to spite Licitra.

Hansel and Gretel (**1/2) -- Eurotrash for kids?? Set and costume designer John Macfarlane has taken Engelbert Humperdinck's fairytale classic out of the woods and into an industrial monochrome modernity. The first act takes us from the woodland cottage where we usually find the siblings' home to an urban pre-WW2 apartment. Then we move to the warmest stop in the new Met production, "the woods." Only it looks like an eerie Elks Lodge that reminded me of a Stratford Festival production of No Exit that I saw in2003.

Here we get the kindliest touch from Macfarlane when the Sandman -- actually, a delectably fey Jennifer Johnson -- sings the lost children to sleep. The 14 angels that appear to them in their sleep are 14 identical pastry chefs with oversized heads that make them look faintly like the muffins they bake, in a dreamy, jowly Maurice Sendak way. For Act 3, the witch's fabled gingerbread house has been monstrously debased into a vast mess hall kitchen splayed across the full width of the Met stage, with a huge fridge, corrugated aluminum doors big enough to open on a loading dock, and the obligatory oven.

All this is hardly enough for Macfarlane's deconstruct of the Grimm Brothers, for each scene in Humperdinck's confection is prefaced by a flat or cut-out scrim showing either a plate with food or a wide mouth poised maniacally to take a bite. With such subtlety, the designer connects the poverty of the siblings' family, the childish craving for sweets that draws them inexorably to the gingerbread house, and the cannibalistic witch waiting to devour them.

Stage director J. Knighten Smit and a very fine cast overcome this ghoulish squalor as best they can. Miah Persson has an irresistible goofiness as Gretel, and Angelika Kirchschlager is so butch in the pants role of Hansel that I could almost bite her myself. As for Philip Langridge crossdressing as the Witch (alias Rosina Lickspittle), he enjoys himself even more lavishly than the title characters, ladling on a pile of comical, cackling condiments and slurping them all down with demonic glee.

Seasoned veterans Rosalind Plowright and Dwayne Croft have their own wary charm as the frazzled parents. Both have the disoriented look of singers accustomed to singing these comprimario roles in adorable conventional productions. They were trusting when they signed their Met contracts, but now, by some cruel cosmic accident, they must reprise their mom-and-pop performances in an alternate universe!

Program Note: There is plenty more pageantry, treachery, and diva action to come in the Met's 2009-10 season, with three more of the legendary Saturday matinee radio broadcasts supplemented by Live in HD screenings at two area locations. Plácido Domingo adds a new role to his amazing gallery -- his first as a baritone -- in Verdi's Simon Boccanegra this Saturday. Simon Keenlyside and Natalie Dessay star in Hamlet on March 27, and Renee Fleming has the title role in Rossini's Armida on May 1.

Both the Stonecrest 22 @ Piper Glen and the Concord Mills 24 are also among the roster of theaters where Encore Events are broadcast. So if you missed the February 3 weeknight encore of Carmen, you still have second chances for Boccanegra on February 24, Hamlet on April 14, and Armida on May 19, all at 6:30pm.