#masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Best of 2020Best ComedyBest TV ShowsBest BooksBest MoviesBest AlbumsAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyGrammy Awards Postponed as Covid-19 Rages in Los AngelesThe delay comes less than four weeks before the ceremony was to be held, on Jan. 31. The event will now be held on March 14.Beyoncé is the most-nominated artist for the 63rd annual Grammy Awards, which will no longer take place in January.Credit…Robyn Beck/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesBen Sisario and Jan. 5, 2021The 63rd annual Grammy Awards, set to be presented this month, have been delayed over concerns about Covid-19, which has been spreading rapidly in the Los Angeles area.The show will now be held on March 14, according to a statement from Grammy organizers, although few other details were available about where, and how, the event would go on.“The deteriorating Covid situation in Los Angeles, with hospital services being overwhelmed, I.C.U.s having reached capacity, and new guidance from state and local governments have all led us to conclude that postponing our show was the right thing to do,” said the statement, which was signed by executives at the Recording Academy, which presents the Grammys, and CBS, its longtime broadcast partner.“Nothing is more important,” it added, “than the health and safety of those in our music community and the hundreds of people who work tirelessly on producing the show.”The delay comes less than four weeks before the ceremony was to be held, on Jan. 31, and as unions and entertainment industry groups have called to suspend in-person television and film production in Los Angeles, citing the surging virus and overwhelmed hospitals. Several late-night shows have moved back to remote formats.The pandemic has kept this year’s Grammys under a cloud of uncertainty for months. In an interview in November, when nominations were announced, Harvey Mason Jr., the chairman and interim chief executive of the academy, said that an event was planned for a small audience in Los Angeles, but that many other details were still being worked out. Trevor Noah, from “The Daily Show,” was to be the host.Even the news of the postponement on Tuesday left the music industry confused. After Rolling Stone reported that the ceremony had been postponed, neither the academy nor CBS made any official public statement for hours. An email to academy members — and the Grammys’ official website — both said that the new date was March 21. That was quickly rescinded, although the incorrect date continued to bounce around social media and was picked up by some news outlets.Beyoncé has the most nominations for the ceremony, with nine in eight categories. Taylor Swift, Dua Lipa and the rapper Roddy Ricch are among the other major contenders for awards. In classic Grammys fashion, controversy — or at least loud complaints — have swarmed around this year’s nominations, as stars like the Weeknd and the country singer Luke Combs, who had some of the biggest hits of the period, were left off the ballot.Despite offstage griping, the Grammys remain one of the most high-profile moments in the year in pop music, with stars relishing the TV exposure and record executives schmoozing during glittery industry gatherings. Even if muted by the pandemic, the Grammys had been expected to represent a major media moment for the music world.This year was set to mark a new era for the Grammys. Ken Ehrlich, its producer for four decades, stepped down after last year’s ceremony. The new show is to be produced by Ben Winston, who has worked with James Corden. In an interview with Variety last month, Winston said he was “looking to do something quite exciting with independent venues” around this year’s Grammys.The telecast is also a major tent-pole event for CBS, though the show’s ratings have been sagging. Last year 18.7 million people watched the Grammys live on television, a 12-year low.Other major awards shows have attempted a variety of approaches during various stages of the pandemic, with mixed results. The BET Awards, held in June; the MTV Video Music Awards, in August; the Billboard Music Awards, in October; and the Latin Grammys, in November, were televised without audiences, and artists appeared remotely from soundstages to perform and accept awards.The Country Music Association Awards held an in-person ceremony in Nashville in November, with a live audience consisting mostly of the show’s performers, who were socially distanced but largely unmasked. A month after the awards, the singer Charley Pride, 86, died of complications from Covid-19, although where he was exposed remains unknown.In other industries, the pandemic forced the Emmy Awards to stage a largely virtual event in September. The Tony Awards announced in August that the show would go ahead, online, at an unspecified date, after initially postponing its June date.The Oscars were postponed two months from their original Feb. 28 date to April 25, with the format of the ceremony not yet determined. A week after that delay was announced, the Golden Globes then said that it would hold its ceremony, typically scheduled for January, in-person — as usual, at the Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills, Calif. — on Feb. 28 instead.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

He took up the repertory for the highest male voice at a time when few were performing it. He was particularly known for two roles in Britten operas.James Bowman, a British countertenor who championed repertory for that voice at a time when few singers were attempting it and inspired more composers, including Benjamin Britten, to write for it, died on March 27 at his home in Redhill, south of London. He was 81.Terry Winwood, his civil partner, confirmed the death but said the cause had not yet been determined.When Mr. Bowman started singing professionally in the 1960s, the countertenor — the highest of the male voices, working the same range as female contraltos and mezzo-sopranos — was something of a rarity on opera and concert stages. Alfred Deller, who died in 1979, was the go-to countertenor of the day, but his voice and his acting ability were said to have been limited.“Bowman was a revolutionary talent,” the critic Rupert Christiansen, revisiting one of Mr. Bowman’s 1970s recordings, wrote in The Daily Telegraph of Britain in 2019, adding that “his technique brought a new power to the countertenor repertory.”Mr. Bowman’s breakthrough came in 1967, when he was working as a teacher and was doing most of his singing in choirs. He described the moment to The Santa Fe Reporter in 1987.“A friend came up from London and told me that Benjamin Britten was holding auditions for ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’” Mr. Bowman said, referring to Mr. Britten’s 1960 opera, whose Oberon role had originally been written for Mr. Deller. “This is sort of a fairy story — I’d never done anything onstage in my life, but I wrote to Britten and I said, ‘I think I am eminently suited to the role of Oberon.’”He was invited to audition.“I knew that you could barely hear the people who had sung the part before,” he said. “So I went to Covent Garden and I made a big noise and socked them between the eyeballs — and it worked! The next thing I knew I was on tour.”Oberon became one of his signature roles. Mr. Britten wrote other works for him as well, including the part of Apollo in “Death in Venice,” the 1973 Britten opera.“James Bowman’s ringing Apollo sounded authentically unterrestrial,” Martin Cooper wrote in The Daily Telegraph, reviewing the world premiere of the piece at Snape Maltings in Suffolk, England.Mr. Bowman was heard frequently in concert settings as well, and he had a knack for deploying his musical gifts to striking effect in famed performance spaces. Tim Page, writing in The New York Times about a two-hour concert of works by Handel recorded at Westminster Abbey in 1985, called his voice “unusually versatile and pleasing.” Twenty years later, also in The Times, Bernard Holland, after catching him in a “Messiah” at St. Thomas Church in Manhattan, said that Mr. Bowman “sang the countertenor parts with a voice and a dramatic personality able to command attention in a crowd.”His performances and his dozens of recordings encouraged other singers to explore the countertenor repertory, and Mr. Winwood said he was always generous with advice and support for younger singers.“He would think nothing of hiring a studio and arranging a meeting with young singers who he had never even met,” Mr. Winwood said by email, “and I’m pretty sure he would never charge for his time.”In a tribute on the website of the London-based choir Tenebrae, Nigel Short, the choir’s director, recalled the crucial support Mr. Bowman gave him early in his career. He also shared fond memories of Mr. Bowman’s impish sense of humor.“He was such a brilliant, instinctive singer and musician, a huge character and incredibly kind and generous,” Mr. Short wrote, “but my fondest memories will always be of him giggling and snorting loudly at something totally outrageous he’d just whispered in the ears of anyone standing close by.”Mr. Bowman made for a lively newspaper interview as well. He was always eager to dispel stereotypes about countertenors, especially unflattering ones that branded them as effeminate and made them the target of jokes.“We’re a down-to-earth bunch who just happen to like singing in a high register,” he told The Sunday Telegraph of Britain in 1996. “When I look around at my colleagues, I’m struck by how normal most of them are.”When Mr. Bowman performed Handel’s “Messiah” with the St. Thomas Choir at St. Thomas Church in Manhattan in 2005, one critic wrote that he “sang the countertenor parts with a voice and a dramatic personality able to command attention in a crowd.”Jennifer Taylor for The New York TimesJames Thomas Bowman was born on Nov. 6, 1941, in Oxford, England, to Benjamin and Cecilia (Coote) Bowman. He attended the centuries-old school King’s Ely, beginning in 1951; originally a boy chorister there, he soon became head chorister. According to an obituary published by the school, he gave his first concert as a countertenor in 1959 to a small school group in a chapel at Ely Cathedral. The school now hosts an annual James Bowman Lecture promoting the creative and liberal arts.Mr. Bowman attended New College, Oxford, as an organ scholar and was a member of the New College and Christ Church choirs. In 1965 he met David Munrow, who invited him to join his Early Music Consort of London. He continued performing with that group well into the 1970s, and he was also a member of the early music choral group Pro Cantione Antiqua.Mr. Bowman and Mr. Winwood were together for 48 years. He leaves no other immediate survivors.Producing the countertenor voice, Mr. Bowman told The Sunday Telegraph, involved “using the edge of your vocal cords, and neglecting the central part, which is the bass area.”“I can sing bass,” he added. “I use my bass voice to warm up with, before I sing countertenor. But I can’t keep up a bass voice for long — it feels odd.”Although he was a champion of the countertenor and urged composers to write for it, not all of them hit the mark, he told The Independent of Britain in 1990.“People say, ‘I’ve written you an opera,’ and either the range is too wide or they want you to be something bizarre like a singing corpse,” he said. “I’ve spent my life fighting the idea of being a piece of exquisitery on a table — trying just to be a singer, not a countertenor.” More

Osvaldo Golijov’s poetic 2003 work is being presented in a new production at Detroit Opera that will travel to the Met.DETROIT — Spain is “a country of death, a country open to death,” the poet Federico García Lorca wrote.Those words come from his classic lecture on “duende,” the spirit he saw as presiding over Spanish culture — the dark, earthy, imperfect, wild, morbid quality of its greatest art, music and bullfighting. When an ancient woman with barely a wisp of voice left takes the stage of a dimly lit country cabaret, cracks her way through a line of song and still gives you chills, duende is in the room.And duende should be in the room, too, for “Ainadamar,” Osvaldo Golijov’s death-haunted opera about Lorca, which opened at the newly ambitious Detroit Opera on Saturday evening in a production headed for the Metropolitan Opera in the 2024-25 season.A poetic meditation that keeps erupting in sensual, riotous flamenco rhythms, the 80-minute piece — which premiered in 2003 and was substantially revised two years later — crosses time with seductively blurry ease in David Henry Hwang’s libretto, translated by Golijov into Spanish.Part takes place in 1969, when the Catalan actress Margarita Xirgu, near the end of her life, tells a student about collaborating with Lorca decades before on his first successful play, “Mariana Pineda,” about a 19th-century martyr of Spanish liberalism.Flashbacks bring us to the summer of 1936, as Xirgu tries to persuade Lorca to escape with her to Cuba, where they will be safe from the right-wing revolt in Spain. But he refuses, and is soon killed by Nationalist forces — another saint who dies for freedom. (Ainadamar, the “fountain of tears,” is a natural spring in the hills above Granada where he is believed to have been murdered.)There is a ritualistic, dreamlike, sometimes even delirious quality to the work. Its “images” — Golijov and Hwang’s name for their three sections — each begin with a distinctive rendering of the choral ballad from the start of “Mariana Pineda,” repetitions that eventually give the sense of an endless, circular festival of mourning.Daniela Mack, left, as Lorca and Reyes in the Detroit production.Austin Richey/Detroit OperaWhile the storytelling and structure are quite grounded, even straightforward, the text has the heightened, often surreal quality of Lorca’s verse. Xirgu and Lorca’s debate about going to Cuba seems to transport them to the island in a woozy fantasy. A group of statues of Mariana Pineda join the poet in song at one point, and — just in time for Easter — the scene at Ainadamar brings in the “voices of the fountain” in a fevered vision that draws explicit comparison to the crucifixion.Xirgu’s memories and the present-tense action flow together amid the pitch-bending wails of a female choir, the “niñas.” Some of its members remain offstage, but some come on and join a small troupe of flamenco dancers, choreographed by Antonio Najarro in Deborah Colker’s stark staging here in Detroit.Jon Bausor’s set, somberly lit by Paul Keogan, is dominated by a circular playing space rounded by a translucent curtain of floor-length strings — part stylized fountain, part screen for projections, part evocation of the beaded divider you pass through at the back of a dusty small-town store.The pit orchestra is buttressed by flamenco guitars; a guitar and a box-drum cajón are played onstage. Suggestive use is made of the sampled, amplified sounds of horses’ hooves, water dripping and ominous spoken passages from ’30s radio broadcasts.In one arresting sequence, Golijov morphs gunshots into a hallucinatory beat that’s half flamenco, half techno. Ingeniously, Ramón Ruiz Alonso, the right-wing politician who was a leader in Lorca’s arrest and murder, sings his few but crucial phrases in the wailing cante jondo (or “deep song”) style.Isaac Tovar with chorus members and dancers in “Ainadamar,” which has choreography by Antonio Najarro.Austin Richey/Detroit OperaAs much as it gestures to the 1930s and ’60s, “Ainadamar” is a throwback to the turn of the 21st century, when Golijov was among the most celebrated figures in classical music.Born in 1960 in Argentina into a family of Eastern European Jewish descent, he also studied in Israel and came to live in the United States, and brought all those strands — old world and new; global north and south — to bear in a musical style of artful yet explosive eclecticism, incorporating tango, flamenco, rumba, klezmer, folk ballads and more.Within the fusty classical music world, his disparate, energetic mélange of influences was swiftly embraced amid the multiculturalism that was fashionable in the 1990s, and Golijov nearly drowned in honors and commissions: Grammys, a MacArthur “genius” grant, a festival devoted to him at Lincoln Center, a concerto for Yo-Yo Ma.His defining success, the irrepressibly percussive Afro-Latin oratorio “La Pasión Según San Marcos,” a bold updating of the tradition of the Bach Passions, premiered in 2000. (It was a good year for sprawling, polyglot recastings of religiously minded choral works: John Adams’s “El Niño,” about the Christmas story, was first heard three months later.)“Ainadamar” was one of the often achingly lovely works that followed “La Pasión” in the handful of years before Golijov ran into a wall of unbearable pressure, missed deadlines and a plagiarism kerfuffle — leading to a decade of, essentially, silence before “Falling Out of a Time,” an intense, intimate song cycle about a grieving father, appeared just before the pandemic.His work never quite went away, and “Ainadamar” is well traveled in a variety of productions. But it and him feel newly relevant in our time — even if the language of the “multiculti” ’90s has shifted to “diversity, equity and inclusion.”Spanish is still a language rarely sung in mainstream opera houses. And amid fresh calls for broader representation at all levels of the arts, Golijov’s work, while generally written for standard forces, often also gives the opportunity for performers from nonclassical traditions to contribute on their own terms. He doesn’t just translate flamenco for a symphony orchestra; he also demands a place in the pit and onstage for flamenco singers, dancers and players.But even with its creativity and beauty, “Ainadamar” has weaknesses. Though Golijov introduces enough intriguing ideas to keep the accessibility of his music from blandness — trembling marimba and warily sliding yawns of strings somehow perfectly conjure martyrdom — there is, as in much of his work, sometimes a sense of vamping when he intends the effect to be incantatory. And though it isn’t long, “Ainadamar” seems ready to end several times before it does.When it does end, though, in this production, it’s memorable, with the curtain falling on the poignant, fantastical sight of lanterns dimming underwater. Colker’s staging has an appealing simplicity that splits the difference between the realistic and more symbolic scenes, though the rotating murder sequence and the final “image” — in which past and present, living and dead, collide — could be clearer. And Tal Rosner’s projections tend to be busy or obvious — hands, droplets of water, close-ups of women crying out — more than elegant or expressive.Reyes and Mack in the production directed by Deborah Colker.Austin Richey/Detroit OperaConducted by Paolo Bortolameolli, the orchestra played with poised sobriety, and the all-important battery of percussion was lively. But the textures should be lusher to get the full hypnotic effect of Golijov’s score, and some passages of frenetic activity were vague rather than urgent.As Xirgu, the soprano Gabriella Reyes was sympathetic, with haunting rises up to ethereal floated high notes late in the piece. Vanessa Vasquez, another soprano, was tender as her student, Nuria. As Lorca, the mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack — Golijov nods to the operatic tradition of the woman-as-man “trouser role” — had mellow charm.They were impressive, but none was harrowing; the overall effect of the opera was muted, bloodless. The same was true of the flamenco singer Alfredo Tejada, who as Ruiz Alonso gets the keening lines of a call to prayer. Tejada’s wails, though, were pretty rather than heart-piercing.There was much to admire about this “Ainadamar.” But it was solid, stable, attractive — not wrenching or raw. Duende, which should have permeated the opera house, was all too hard to come by.AinadamarPerformances continue on April 14 and 16 at the Detroit Opera House; detroitopera.org. More

“Vanessa” had the kind of pedigree you rarely see in a world premiere at the Metropolitan Opera.Samuel Barber, who was already famous for his Adagio for Strings, composed the score. Gian Carlo Menotti, his partner and an experienced hand at opera, wrote the libretto and directed. Cecil Beaton, mere weeks from winning his first Academy Award, designed the production. Dimitri Mitropoulos, the house’s leading maestro, conducted.On opening night, in January 1958, audience members sounded pleased during the intermission, according to a report. There were 17 curtain calls. The next day, Howard Taubman wrote in The New York Times that “Vanessa” was “the best American opera ever presented” at the Met. It would go on to win the Pulitzer Prize for music.The opera was revived the next season, and again in 1965, when a critic wrote that it “deserves to be kept in the repertory.” Instead, it disappeared from the Met.“Vanessa” has survived, to be sure. The aria “Must the winter come so soon?” is a staple of recitals and competitions. Conservatories and small companies stage productions; a “reimagined” version by Heartbeat Opera is coming to the Williamstown Theater Festival this summer.Why, then, is it impossible to see “Vanessa” at an opera house like the Met? That’s a question with deeper implications: If one of the finest, most enduring American works of the mid-20th century can’t make it to the grandest stage in the country, what hope is there for others from its time?We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

Richard Klein left behind his life as a Hebrew day school teacher in California and became an actor in Mumbai, often playing a “mean British officer.”It’s Never Too Late” is a series that tells the stories of people who decide to pursue their dreams on their own terms.By most accounts, Richard Klein had a pretty good life: a solid job as a teacher at a Hebrew day school in Oakland, Calif.; friends that were like family, and a passion for singing and dancing that ruled his nights and weekends. But one morning, at the age of 45, he woke up and realized that he had yet to embrace his full potential. He wanted to break into Bollywood.“I’ve always loved performing, and I was listening to Indian classical and devotional music a lot,” at the time, Mr. Klein said. The 2001 Bollywood epic “Lagaan” inspired him to try and make his passion his profession. “Things have come full circle,” he said, adding that he appears in the 2022 film “Lal Singh Chaddha” with Aamir Khan, who starred in “Lagaan.”Six months after that fateful morning, Mr. Klein, who is divorced and has no children, moved to Mumbai. At first, he lived in the coastal metropolis part time. He alternated between a gig editing subtitles for English-language television shows in Mumbai and tutoring back in California, where he would make enough money to underwrite another six months of trying to make it in the performing arts world in India.Eventually it paid off. Mr. Klein, now 55, has appeared in dozens of Indian films, television shows and commercials, playing such varied roles as a scientist, doctor, chef, spy, and, owing to his ability to nail a British accent, quite often, a “mean British officer.”Making the change was not without strife. Still, he said he would do it all over again. “I’m in India, you know, the land of reincarnation,” Mr. Klein said, “but as far as I’m concerned, I have this one life that I’m dealing with. I want to make the most of it.” (The following interview has been edited and condensed.)“Being here gives me the opportunity to be the best version of myself. I wasn’t feeling that opportunity in the U.S.”Prarthna Singh for The New York TimesWhat was your life like before you made this change?I had been living in the San Francisco Bay Area for about 20 years. Mostly, I was a teacher: math, science, computer lab. My nights and weekends were spent doing some kind of performing arts. I’ve always had an affinity toward music. I remember being a little kid, walking through the park, singing. A stranger walked by, and I sort of got quiet. My mom said: “Don’t be shy. You sing out loud and don’t worry about anybody else.”What was the watershed moment?I was working as a teacher at a Hebrew day school, and one morning I woke up and thought, “If I don’t do something, I could be here for the next 20 years.” That wouldn’t be a terrible outcome, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.I studied India in graduate school, when I was pursuing a degree in religion. Learning about India inspired me to adopt the nickname Bhakti, which I’ve used since 1991, though I never changed my name legally. In a broad sense, Bhakti means devotion and love. The word is a reminder to lead with my heart instead of my head, so every time I hear my name, I think of that.My first trip to India was in 1995 as a backpacker. I absolutely loved it. I went back a few times after that. So I thought: what if I go there, stay, and see what happens? On one of my first nights in Mumbai, I went out to a jazz club. All the performers were foreigners. We got to talking afterward, and I ended up joining their group as a singer, which was my first foray into the performing arts world here.Richard Klein acts out a role from a potential script in his Bandra apartment.Prarthna Singh for The New York TimesPrarthna Singh for The New York TimesWhat was the biggest challenge that you had to navigate?When I first arrived, I was staying in fairly cheap places. A lot of times, there was no hot water in the shower. A lot of times there wasn’t even a shower — most of my time in India, I’ve taken a bucket bath, which is actually great.Five Movies to Watch This WinterCard 1 of 51. “The Power of the Dog”: More