Josh Bell (Photo courtesy of Chris Lee)

When Igor Stravinsky's ballet The Rite of Spring premiered at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris in May of 1913, its thorny polyrhythms and pagan-inspired choreography completely unnerved the audience, whose booing and catcalls eventually erupted into a full-blown riot. Even after the police intervened, chaos reigned for the remainder of the performance as bar-room-style brawls broke out in the Parisian aisles, sending the evening into the annals of music history.

There was, however, no noted misconduct at the New York Philharmonic's Wednesday evening concert in Avery Fisher Hall last week (although we did spy several hefty rings that The Observer briefly mistook for brass knuckles). In fact, the most visible action Stravinsky's polytonalities provoked in the audience was a bit of toe-tapping from elderly feet stretched in the aisles.

Wednesday was the first of four performances conducted by the 36-year-old Daniel Harding, who, after getting his start assisting the esteemed British conductor Simon Rattle, frequently trots the globe, leading the world's premier ensembles. Mr. Harding is certainly not one of the most flamboyant of his peers, tending to forgo oversized gestures in favor of succinct, driven movements. The masterful playing of the ensemble conjured visions of the haunting ballet, from the frenetic brass cries in “Dance of the Earth” to the asymmetrically feverish “Sacrificial Dance,” the movement in which the chosen virgin dances to her death. Listening to Stravinsky's piece played by the Phil is like riding an orchestral roller coaster: it’s so visceral one's stomach drops with each forte.

The evening opened with Scottish composer Oliver Knussen's Flourish With Fireworks, a three-minute piece that lived up to its title, sparkling and popping with zeal.

Next up was Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major, which was famously critiqued after its 1881 premiere by Eduard Hanslick in Vienna's Neue freie Presse as “vulgar,” the product of “hideous notation,” particularly the first movement, in which the violin was, as he put it, “pulled, torn, drubbed.” While the solo violin part was deemed practically unplayable by leading violinists of the composer’s day (it requires tremendous endurance), the piece now stands one of the most beautifully lyrical legacies of the famous Russian composer.

Rising to the challenge was violinist Josh Bell, whose immense talent and charming blue-eyed head shots have earned him a loyal following of enamored female fans. He may be—dare we say it?—the Justin Bieber of violin soloists, at least in terms of star power. Mr. Bell's virtuosic mastery of his instrument brought to life Tchaikovsky's work, written while the composer vacationed on the shores of Lake Geneva, recuperating from a bout of depression.

The 44-year-old Mr. Bell first stepped into the spotlight at the age of 14 when he debuted with the Philadelphia Orchestra under the baton of Ricardo Muti. Since then, the Avery Fischer Prize recipient and Musical America 2010 Instrumentalist of the Year has enjoyed immense success and a consistently full house, Wednesday night being no exception. Mr. Bell played the demanding passages in the opening Allegro of Tchaikovsky's relentless concerto with superhuman agility, maintaining an intense look of concentration that quickly vanished as he gracefully wiped his brow during the orchestral interludes.

Mr. Bell managed to weave the three movements together into a comprehensive piece, his emotive legatos in the second movement balancing the challenging dance-like cadenzas in the Allegro vivacissimo. Members of his fan club sprang to their feet abruptly after the first movement, awarding their hero a well-deserved standing ovation. Although this was only Mr. Bell's first performance of the week, we had the feeling that he would continue to play to an exuberant full house, perhaps provoking yet another historical fight, should he decide to dole out a limited amount of autographs.

Susanna Phillips as Musetta (Photo courtesty of the Metropolitan Opera)

It was the evening after Christmas in 1900 when the Metropolitan Opera Company, on tour in Los Angeles, premiered La Bohème. It was years before Giacomo Puccini's opera became widely acknowledged as the masterpiece it is, and, just four years old at the time, it was by no means an immediate success, still requiring the star power of soprano Nellie Melba. Ms. Melba, encouraged by the applause, as well as the box office, would return after the final curtain call to sing the grueling “Mad Scene” from Lucia di Lammermoore. These days, La Bohème remains one of the only operas that doesn't require such gimmicks to keep the house full, as proved by its triumphant return to the Met this fall.

With Puccini's talent for interweaving dream-like lyricism and dramatic storytelling in a way that still manages to tug on our heartstrings over a century later, it's no wonder that La Bohème, along with Madama Butterfly, Turandot and Tosca, remains one of the most popular operas. Since its California debut, La Bohème has been omitted from only six of the Met's 111 seasons, a testament to its long-standing demand. Franco Zeffirelli's production, which has been impressing audiences with its 19^th century Parisian street scenes and snowy landscapes since 1981 was, per usual, well-received during the six-show run conducted by Louis Langrèe. The talented cast most notably featured Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava in her Metropolitan Opera debut as the ailing Mimi, and Dimitri Pittas as an incredibly suave Rodolfo.

Based on the play Scènes de la vie de bohème by the French author Henri Murger, the tale follows two pairs of star-crossed lovers and their impoverished friends who mirthfully attempt to keep food on the table of their shabby atelier in the Latin Quarter of Paris. What was especially striking about this production was the palpable chemistry between cast members, who were not only equipped with excellent voices, but equally gifted in dramatic prowess. Ms. Gerzmava, for example, unleashed her powerful instrument capable of producing everything from saccharine pianos to charming giggles at the end of “Mi chiamano Mimi.”

While effectively portraying heavy emotions amidst ill-fated circumstances, the characters were practically carried off of the stage and into the hearts of the receptive audience, who could be heard uttering many a' “Brava” throughout the evening's performance. While opera is certainly not the most realistic of performance genres, on Friday night there was a sincerity present that allowed audience members to truly connect with the characters on stage. As Musetta's “Quando m'en vo” rang throughout the theater, a woman sitting in front of us nudged her husband excitedly and whispered, “This is one of my favorite songs.”

In this particular production, Rodolfo and Mimi were portrayed as young lovers, quick to give into delirious desires and inflated infatuations, particularly in Act I when Mr. Pittas’ Rodolfo urges Mimi to stay home with him, caressing her shoulders as if they had known each other for more than ten minutes. “Sarebbe così dolce restar qui,” (“Wouldn't it be so nice to stay here?”) he sings sweetly in his expressive legato, the promise of indecency as brazen as Ms. Gerzmava's low cut dress. Shorty afterwards, during the spectacular Parisian street scene in Act II, Musetta (a captivating Susanna Phillips) and Marcello (the formidable Alexey Markov) bicker like true lovers at odds in front of a glowing Cafè Momus. But it was during the third act that we were overwhelmed with emotion when Gerzmava and Pittas' voices blended so perfectly in “Addio dolce svegliare,” the believability of the characters combined with a score deftly negotiated by Mr.Langrèe's orchestra bringing The Observer to near tears.

As an opera that has kept the house seats warm, always an evening of enjoyment to both the opera cognoscenti and ignoranti, we await next year when we’re once again charmed by la vie bohème.

The Vienna Symphony Orchestra (Lukas Beck)

As concertgoers funneled out of Avery Fisher Hall on Monday night, a middle-aged couple kissed passionately on the first-tier balcony, earning hoots of approval from below. Earlier in the evening, a seemingly inebriated mink-wrapped woman sitting next to The Observer spoke to her husband at full-volume before unceremoniously slumping asleep in her plush seat.

Perhaps something had been slipped into the wine served at the preceding gala dinner, or perhaps the audience was simply overstimulated from the evening's orchestral excitement. Whatever the cause, the classical crowd was in strange form, which only served to highlight the magnificence of the Lincoln Center's “Great Performers” concert that took place.

As the members of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra stormed the stage, an older woman in front of us clapped in slow motion, her hands extended over her head, picking up the pace as Met maestro of the moment, Signore Fabio Luisi, made his entrance. Greeting the audience with a smile, the 52-year-old planted himself curtly on the podium, his greying hair neatly combed and his round spectacles perfectly adjusted.

Mr. Luisi, besides looking the part of distinguished conductor (and long lost twin of Roberto Benigni), gave the impression that we, the audience, were in for a flawless performance, a confidence buffeted by his newly-acquired title as principal conductor at the Metropolitan Opera. Strangely omnipresent, he is also the chief conductor of the fine-tuned Vienna Symphony, which he led through a nearly flawless performance of Beethoven's Concerto for violin, cello, and piano in C major, as well as Brahms' joyful Symphony No. 2.

Beethoven's “triple concerto,” as it's often called, places not one, but three instruments in the spotlight, and shining center stage was the Grammy Award-winning Eroica trio, three talented belles reminiscent of Charlie's Angels in their ethereally shimmering gowns. Cellist Sara Sant'Ambrogio connected with the audience immediately, smiling at the crowd as the orchestra behind her played the first bars of the piece.

Wearing her heart on her sleeve, or twinkling white gown, as the case may be, Ms. Sant'Ambrosio showed her virtuosity on the cello, it's wooden frame only slightly smaller than her own. Beginning the second movement, her strokes soared over the crowd, her face expressing each tremolo as if it were the most heartfelt of sentiments.

Violinist Susie Park guided her instrument to sonorous success, particularly during the rondo alla piccola, while pianist Erika Nickrenz's quick runs demonstrated her mastery of the ivories. The trio returned after much applause to offer “a little dessert before intermission” as Ms. Sant'Ambrosio put it, before playing the Piazzola's sensuous Oblivion tango.

After a brief intermission, the orchestra and the bespectacled Mr. Luisi returned to perform Brahms' Second Symphony, rendering it so viscerally sumptuous that one wanted to bite into it–an orchestral Sacher torte.

Mr. Luisi was able to draw a depth of expression out of the orchestra that permeated the hall and hung over the audience like a gentle cloud of sound. The first movement brought to mind a bucolic setting, a sunny pasture, illuminated by a soaring motif that an audience member hummed comfortingly from the row behind us. Mr. Luisi brought the beautiful composition to life, taking the orchestra to almost unimaginable pianos before cuing the entrance of rumbling timpani, much like an approaching thunderstorm in Brahms' musical landscape.

Although we would have been content just to listen, watching Mr. Luisi on stage is a delight. He gets what he wants from the orchestra while saving his energy for the most magnanimous of fortes, leaping across the podium with a smile on his face, drawing incredible strength from the orchestra with a complex sweep of his arms. Such moments, particularly in the final movement, even caused the floorboards underneath our feet to reverberate with sound.

After launching their bows on the final energetic attack, the musician looked out at the fanatically applauding audience. They finished the night with an encore performance of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro Overture, a piece many audience members seemed to recognize. As we exited with the throng of music enthusiasts, we spied Eroica trio violinist Susie Park demurely standing next to the exit. “It was a great experience,” she told us beaming “playing with these musicians has been amazing, really a maelstrom.”

Opera idols take a bow

An announcement rang through the crowded halls of the Lincoln Center. “Diva coming through!” called an enthusiastic attendant as soprano Angela Meade was escorted to her dinner table after Sunday evening's concert, her faced flushed with excitement. “It's all been such a rush” she told The Observer, referring to a performance which had the roomful of donors still chattering excitedly as they took to their seats for the fall-themed meal.

Named after the legendary tenor who performed an impressive 724 times at the Met, the Richard Tucker Music Foundation has long been providing grants to support young opera singers well on their way to fame. Each year's winner is featured at the gala, an event which annually impresses with lineups of opera's greatest, such as Welsh bass-baritone Brynn Terfel, Bavarian tenor Jonas Kaufmann and past Richard Tucker Award-recipient mezzo Stephanie Blythe. Sunday's concert was a veritable hit parade of arias and scenes, which skipped over the lighter repertoire – no Mozart or Handel here, folks – while still providing an opportunity for the stars to let loose in front of a receptive audience. “I think this year was the best year yet,” confided Tucker Foundation President and son of the late tenor, Barry Tucker.

Opening the 14-piece program was Camille Saint-Saens’ opulent “Bacchanale” from Samson and Delila, played with devilish delight by the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra led by the competent baton of Maestro Emmanual Villaume. Kicking off the vocal program was Angela Meade, an immensely talented lyric soprano who, after having received the prestigious award, will certainly be mentioned in the same breath of her fellow gala performers. Meade's interpretation of “Santo di patria” from Verdi's Atilla brandished her seemingly effortless coloratura and vocal stamina, both of which were received well by an audience that had likely seen Ms. Meade in last month's Anna Bolena just across campus.

World-renowned bass-baritone Bryn Terfel enjoyed taking a break from his recent Wagner repertoire by setting the light-hearted mood for the evening as the inebriated quack Dr. Dulcamara in “Udite, utdite, o rustici” (Listen, country folk!) from Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore. Mr. Terfel attempted to sell his miracle elixir, which was bottled as Brooklyn lager, procured surprisingly from his loose slacks and period coat, before being presented to the “country folk” looking on in Avery Fischer hall. Mr. Terfel played a true buffo by pretending to forget his lines, handing a bierra to an audience member, and even holding maestro Villaume's orchestra on a fermata while triumphantly chugging an entire lager during the last chord, winning over young and old as the audience erupted in applause.

Playing a less-laughable, yet highly applaudable drunk was tenor-of-today Jonas Kaufmann, excelling in a powerful rendition of “Mamma, quel vino e generoso” from Mascagni's Cavalleria rusticana, a piece which flashed his signature ringing high notes and delicate piano. The audience was also generoso to Mr. Kaufmann as he performed in another of the evening's highlights, “Dio, che nell'alma infondere” from Verdi's Don Carlo, a vow of friendship in 3rds and 6ths, perfectly suited to Mr. Terfel and Mr. Kaufman's complimentary timbres.

Mr. Kaufmann's third appearance was the evening's wild card - the final duet of Bizet's Carmen, reenacted seductively with 27-year-old Georgian Mezzo Anita Rachvelishvili, reminiscent of the pair's performance on the Met's stage back in 2009. Although the duet was a nearly perfect rendition of this final dramatic scene, “It was entirely last minute,” Mr. Kaufmann told The Observer with a laugh, referring to a void in the program left by two absentees, Marina Poplavskaya and Marcello Giordani, the latter called back to Sicilia to attend to his ailing mother.

A tempestuous quarrel between two former lovers, “Tu, qui Santuzza?” from Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana featured famed Verdian Mezzo Dolora Zajick as the dishonored Santuzza, and up-and-coming tenor Yonghoon Lee stepping in as the vain Turrido in the stead of Mr. Giordani. The pair brought drama and tension to Avery Fisher, until Ms. Zajick cursed “A te la mala Pasqua!” (“An evil Easter to you!”) while flicking her chin in a sign of Sicilian disgust, a moment which drew a hearty guffaw out of the audience despite Mascagni's dramatic intentions.

After the performance, the audience headed towards the the second floor to partake in their own Bacchanale while other opera divas in attendance, such as Renee Fleming, yet another esteemed Richard Tucker Award winner, graciously greeted friends and admirers. Nearby, Mr. Kaufmann patiently entertained an elderly enthusiast while the rest of the evening's performers tucked into their appetizers and vino.

While breaking character and chugging beer onstage is typically frowned upon in the opera scene, tonight's performance was an evening for the stars to let loose, giving us a sample of unbridled opera entertainment at it's best. Between handshakes and salutations, a beaming Mr. Tucker turned to The Observer and said, “These singers gave more than 100% tonight, and that's exactly what my father would have appreciated.”

Philip Glass. (Photo: Patrick McMullan)

The show that BAM sees as having revived French Baroque in its 1989 run in Brooklyn returns to our shores. Atys, the late-1700s adaptation of Ovid, was a favorite of Louis XIV’s, France’s soi-disant Sun King. The show depicts the goddess of Spring and her nymphs—the perfect subject to watch with our September coat-and-scarf schmatte piled on our lap! (Watching an opera about the spring, let alone a Baroque opera in a time of austerity? It’s called escapism.) The opera, which has a gala performance Sept. 18 followed by four night performances, is co-produced with a number of French companies, including Opéra Comique and Opéra National de Bordeaux, and is to be directed by Jean-Marie Villégier, who is known for his work in France. If Roman Polanski can shoot Carnage in Paris and make it look like Brooklyn, Mr. Villégier can surely transport us to the Sun King’s France!

Opening Night of New York Philharmonic
Sept. 21

The New York Philharmonic opens its new season under conductor Alan Gilbert. While Mr. Gilbert is known for being less conservative than his predecessors, the opening night includes crowd-pleasing classics—not least of them the slimmed-down soprano Deborah Voigt, who remains as beloved as the solos she’ll perform. Composers represented at the opening night include Barber (The School for Scandal and Andromache’s Farewell), Wagner (Tannhauser) and Strauss (Salome). A black-tie gala, naturally, is to follow.

“Portals: A Multi-Media Exploration of Longing in the Digital Age,” SymphonySpace
Sept. 24

SymphonySpace plays host to a Philip Glass premiere in the form of Partita for Solo Violin, performed by Tim Fair as part of an evening devoted to “longing.” If you’ve been longing for ballerino-turned-Black Swan beau Benjamin Millipied to resurface (Natalie Portman’s Oscar speech seems so long ago!), you’re in luck: he directed and choreographed one of the films that will buttress the evening’s music. Other music to be played during the evening comes from composers old (Pulitzer honoree William Bolcom) and new (Nico Muhly, the wunderkind of the music world and apple of Mr. Glass’s eye).

Anna Bolena, Metropolitan Opera
Sept. 26

Glamour-puss soprano Anna Netrebko puts on the persona of a mad queen in 1500s England. (“Anna Bolena” is an Italianization of “Anne Boleyn.”) The good King Henry is played by Ildar Abdrazakov, who looks more like the sort whose philandering might actually drive Boleyn mad and less like, well, how the historical record has preserved the game-hen-loving lug. The production is by David McVicar, a Scottish impresario who has worked frequently at Covent Garden—making him the most qualified person in the production, from cast (Ekaterina Gubanova plays Jane Seymour) to composer Gaetano Donizetti to audience, to get involved in a story of great historical import to the Brits. (Then again, Shakespeare wrote The Merchant of Venice, so an Italian digging into British politics seems fair play.)

The Barber of Seville, Metropolitan Opera
Oct. 1

Peter Mattei, the Swedish baritone, returns to the stage as the Barber in Mozart’s masterful comic opera, directed by Bartlett Sher, who’s hopping back to opera from his theatrical endeavors (we miss his South Pacific, still!). The one to watch in this production may well be young mezzo-soprano Isabel Leonard, the onetime Manhattan School of Music Children’s Chorus chorister who debuted at the Met in 2007. This is her debut in the role, one she’s sharing with the more seasoned coloratura Diana Damrau—and if you think we won’t be checking out both stars’ performances on alternating nights to compare after postshow cocktails, you don’t know us, or any of the standing-room crowd.

Mariinsky Orchestra, Opening night of Carnegie Hall
Oct. 5
O.K., one more—late!—opening night, at Carnegie Hall. This year’s “all-Russian program” features Valery Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra, performing Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakov. Yo-Yo Ma will be there too, placing his masterful (if un-Slavic) spin on the Russian evening. The evening’s honorary chairs, in a post-Cold War twist worthy of the Goodwill Games, are U.S. Ambassador to Russia John R. Beyrle and Russian Ambassador to the U.S. Sergey I. Kislyak (though the chairs of the gala are your Weills, Ziffs and Basses—some things never change!).

SONiC Festival, Miller Theater
Oct. 15

SONiC stands for “Sounds of a New Century” (guess that misplaced lowercase “i” is an iPod homage?), and the composers taking part in this nine-day festival at Columbia University’s theater fit the bill. All are under 40 and “emerging,” meaning they have all the ambition of, say, a Philip Glass, without the high profile or the Carnegie Hall price point. The group includes Timothy Andres, a mid-20s Yale grad with a debut album on Nonesuch already under his belt, and Guggenheim Fellow Amy Beth Kirsten. The festival is intended to recall Miller Theater wingdings in the 1940s and 1950s, during which Charles Ives and Aaron Copland unveiled new compositions. See you there, rising stars!

Satyagraha, Metropolitan Opera
Nov. 4

Our season of Glass continues with the revival of the 2007-08 season’s masterwork by old P.G. Once again, Richard Croft plays Gandhi in the opera, which depicts the Indian spiritual leader’s life of passive resistance. (The title, Satyagraha, refers to that same principle, and makes a charming name for a future celebrity baby.) Get ready for an evening of quasi-minimalism (Satyagraha is just a bit more built-out than Mr. Glass’s usual skimpy compositions). Though his music style is minimalist, Mr. Glass’s commitment to the opera, first performed in 1981, is maximal—he even co-wrote the libretto, which is in Sanskrit. (We’ve been meaning to take that Rosetta Stone class ...)

Faust, Metropolitan Opera
Nov. 29

The classic story of selling one’s soul to the devil came to London in a modernized production last season under the direction of Canadian Tony-winner Des McAnuff; it now heads to the Met, where it will be feted with a “New Production Gala.” In Mr. McAnuff’s telling, Faust (played by Jonas Kaufmann, who’s also on deck to appear in next year’s Ring cycle) is an aged nuclear physicist, dealing with guilt after the bombing of Hiroshima. The themes of obtaining too much knowledge and its dangers, we presume, remain utterly the same.

Madama Butterfly, Metropolitan Opera
Dec. 5

More than three years after the director’s untimely death, Anthony Minghella’s staging of Madama Butterfly returns to the Met. The director, better known for films including The Talented Mr. Ripley and The English Patient, brought his refined aestheticism—as well as a film-set-like ability to choose among and delegate to eminently qualified collaborators—to the production, which premiered at the Met in 2006. It includes puppets by Blind Summit Theatre, which yield some of its most striking moments. In Minghella’s absence, another legend will oversee the evening: Plácido Domingo is to conduct.

ddaddario@observer.com

He was joined by the Oregon Symphony, part of the new Spring for Music festival that brought to Carnegie Hall a series of North American orchestras that had won their slots based on the quality of their proposed programs. There was a patronizing edge to some of the richly deserved praise surrounding the festival, of the "I can't believe the Albany Symphony plays so well!" variety. Mr. Sylvan, now 57, had that same perspective when he was young, but now it only amuses him: "This festival--and I grew up here, I can say this--it's like New Yorkers think there's New York and there's nothing else. There is much else."

With his warm, resonant voice and communicative authority, his grasp of early-music style and his tireless advocacy of new work, and his eloquence and generosity as a performer, Mr. Sylvan is one of the most respected artists of his generation. In addition to "The Wound-Dresser," he was also the first Chou En-lai in Mr. Adams's Nixon in China and the first Leon Klinghoffer in the composer's Death of Klinghoffer. He starred in Peter Sellars's landmark, modern-dress Mozart productions in the 1980's. He is a renowned recitalist.

But when you talk about him with people in the New York classical music industry, they often express puzzlement. Sanford Sylvan is wonderful, they say in so many words, but why hasn't he had more of a career?

By which they mean, of course, more of a career in New York. The fact is, Mr. Sylvan has appeared many times in the city. Just a few weeks before the Oregon concert, he was at Carnegie as a noble Moses in Paul Dessau's 1930s oratorio Haggadah shel Pesach, and through the 80's and 90's he was a frequent recitalist here. But recitals hardly ever get real attention, and when he wasn't singing art songs Mr. Sylvan's focus was on early music, which isn't the way to win the hearts of the New York audience.

While he has performed a few times with the New York City Opera, he's never appeared at the Met, which may be the main reason that some doubt his impact. But in "Wound-Dresser" he showed an artistry that remains special and rare: the singing elegant and clear, the emotions utterly honest and never overplayed. The piece premiered at the height of the AIDS epidemic, when Whitman's narrative of his time as a Civil War nurse was painfully vivid.

"It was terrifying and thrilling and impossible to sing it for people who knew every day of their lives what that was," Mr. Sylvan said. "I think the piece now is more about itself. I used to start well into the emotional range, but this time we started in a memory, really distant, so that the heat happens a bit later. I'm old enough now to see the ruminative nature of Whitman in the experience of John's music."

A clip of Leontyne Price singing Aida inspired the young Mr. Sylvan, who didn't grow up much of a music lover, to become a singer. When he was 13, he began studying at Juilliard Prep, the school's precollege program, and went on to the Manhattan School of Music. During summers at Tanglewood, he studied with the great soprano Phyllis Curtin, who taught him the importance of clarity and communication: "What are you saying, what are you saying, what are you saying," he remembers her asking him, over and over, as he sang.

"In those days it was heresy to leave New York City if you wanted a career," he said. "But I went to Boston in 1977 and it was the best thing I ever did. It's hard to describe what Boston was like in the 70's, 80's and 90's. There was a real relationship with the audience. People knew what I was, so we could look at something new together. At Emmanuel Church"_--the home of Craig Smith's celebrated early music ensemble--"we did a cantata every week. When you look at the Figaro video, that's our church choir."

Mr. Sylvan played the title role in that Figaro, whose action Peter Sellars had moved to New York's Trump Tower. For the Cosi, set in a roadside Massachusetts diner, Mr. Sellars reimagined Don Alfonso, who guides the opera's male leads in a test of their girlfriends' fidelity, as a Vietnam veteran. The concept could have been gimmicky, but Mr. Sylvan played the character as haunted and bitter, self-pitying but with a core of warmth in his sure, steady voice.

He took breaks even from this nurturing Boston scene, appearing frequently in Europe and taking regular sabbaticals from singing. At one point, he spent a year and a half at a small farming community in Scotland; more recently, he has explored his practices of Buddhism and Judaism.

This approach to a career sounds absurd in our overscheduled era, the kind of luxury that ambitious young singers might think they can't possibly afford, but Mr. Sylvan says he has always valued the quality of his engagements more than their quantity.

"I just did what I wanted," he said. "I didn't live like a prince. To sing the St. Matthew Passion with a great conductor, that's the bottom line for me. You don't get rich singing the St. Matthew Passion, you just get happy."

He became so closely associated with Boston that the Globe's headline was "Sanford Sylvan Uproots Himself" when the singer moved to Montreal in 2007 to take a teaching position at McGill. Unlike many teachers with prominent solo careers, he has radically curtailed his schedule to concentrate on his students, doing virtually no performances in the fall. "When they're 17 or 18," he said, "you just have to be there, week in and week out."

In March one of Mr. Sylvan's students, the bass-baritone Philippe Sly, was one of the winners of the Met's National Council Auditions. And Mr. Sylvan says that teaching has improved his own singing. His career is by no means over. His voice lies a bit lower now, but is otherwise largely intact; he has no retirement plans. He still wants to get to the few works for baritone that he hasn't yet touched: Lutoslawski's "Les Espaces du Sommeil," for one, and, even more tantalizingly, the title role in Berg's Wozzeck.

That last one would be perfect for City Opera, if it ever manages to right itself financially. Until then, Mr. Sylvan is characteristically good-humored and straightforward about the idea that he's somehow ignored New York, or that New York has ignored him.

"I've sung thousands of concerts," he said simply, "and some of them have been here, and many of them haven't." All we can hope for is more.

editorial@observer.com

Timothy Williams reports: