Sometimes, we need reminding that we are the youngest we will ever be, and that life must be lived, not postponed. Verdi’s La Traviata, the story of a full of life, Parisian courtesan who is doomed to die young, currently at the Royal Ballet and Opera, does exactly that.

This heart-wrenching romantic tragedy is emotion raising and its sheer beauty is guaranteed to move even the most cold-hearted. It was perhaps one of the most enjoyable nights I have had in that awe-inspiring house. Verdi cannot disappoint, but the whole experience was elevated by a phenomenal cast.

The title role of Violetta Valery was sung by the South African soprano Pretty Yende. Yende has a voice to marvel at. If Netrebko’s is akin to velvet—warm and full—Yende’s is satin: smooth, expressive, with exquisite colouring and powerful coloratura. At times, her top register felt heavy, perhaps from her interpretation of a tired and dying woman. Still, nothing took away from her captivating characterisation. In the last act, when all is lost and Violetta is confronted with her end, she delivered an emotional “Addio del passato,” a vocally-demanding and emotionally draining aria. At the end of this demanding piece, Yende, who was laying down at the lip of the stage, reached straight out to us, dying but yearning to live. Regrettably, an overly excited audience member lost their composure at the end of the first half of the aria and led a round of awkward and short-lived applause, ultimately interrupted by the orchestra. When Yende finally finished the passage, the applause was reluctant and muted: not owing to her tremendous performance, I believe.

I last got to witness her formidable performing prowess on stage as Adina in Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore in 2022. I even got to meet her at the stage door, and can only say she is the absolutely sweetest person. Yende is definitely on my must-see list—an artist I’ll go out of my way to catch, anytime, anywhere.

Her devoted and passionate paramour, Alfredo Germont, was played by Charles Castronovo. He has taken on this role at the RBO many times, and perhaps for that very reason he appeared confident in his delivery. To be frank, I found him more charming than his voice. His tone is sweet, but the vocalising was at times breathy, with an unstable vibrato. His rendition of “Parigi, o cara,” a heart-wrenching, hopeful duet in the last act, however, won me over. So perhaps he needed only to warm up.

Giorgio Germont, Alfredo’s stern father, was sung by the superb Mongolian baritone Amartuvshin Enkhbat. A vocal tour de force: warm in tone, impressively ranged, powerfully resonant, and coloured with vivid expressivity. Verdi gives Germont plenty of fine music—yet Enkhbat still leaves you wishing the composer had written him more.

Full disclosure, I had the pleasure of seeing him in the title role of Nabucco—another great Verdian work—at the Arena di Verona in July 2025. My advice: if he’s on a cast list, book your tickets. Phenomenal artist.

If you’re uninitiated in Verdian opera, you should know that this composer’s talent for choruses is perhaps unmatched. Most of them you have heard, even if only in children’s cartoons or advertising campaigns. His popular and tuneful melodies will ring in our ears long after you have left the theatre, and La Traviata has plenty of melodies competing for your attention. But everyone knows “Libiamo,” the famous party toast sung in the first act by Violetta and Alfredo, with chorus. “Noi siamo Zingarelle” and the Matador chorus are perhaps less ubiquitous but undeservedly so.

Have a watch of the Matador chorus staged at ROB here:

As a reader, you might know that I tend to be overly critical of minimalist or dissonant productions—the work of designers and directors who think they can reinvent the wheel but forget regrettably that any staging should be anchored by the subject material of the work being staged. As an opera lover, I am frankly annoyed if I have to devote a disproportionate amount of time trying to decipher the meaning or discern the creative choices of a staging. It takes away from the music, the voices, and every other form of artistic expression on the stage.

So I was only relieved and delighted when the curtain went up for Richard Eyre’s refreshing La Traviata to reveal a beautifully lit ballroom rotunda flanked by a mirroring grand staircase leading to a floor below stage. As the party comes draws to an end, guests are seen waving goodbye and then quickly stream down the stairs on the left and right. This ingenious creative choices taken by the designer Bob Crowley, and lighting designer Jean Kalman were refreshing. As a whole, Eyre’s production adds dynamics and movement to what is commonly a clunky, statically-staged first act. As a whole, it is a coherent production that places us right in 19th century Paris, but was not dated or dull.

The most visually striking moment of the entire opera is the last half of the second act: another party scene full of Paris high society, gambling and living it up. Eyre chose the backdrop of what appears to be the rounded facade of a stylised colosseum modelled in red, with contrasting intricate gilded ceilings above it (as seen in the Matador chorus video above). At the centre of the stage, a gigantic games table. Who doesn’t want to have sit at an eighteen-seat poker table? Absolutely enchanting.

Here is the curtain call:

La Traviata at the Royal Ballet and Opera runs through 17 February 2026. You can book tickets here.

The English National Opera opened its October run with Rossini’s La Cenerentola (Cinderella), presented in English at the London Coliseum—a production that leaned into simplicity and sincerity without losing the opera’s comic bite. Directed by Julia Burbach, with Herbert Murauer’s understated sets and Sussie Juhlin-Wallén’s simple costumes, this was a staging that mirrored Cinderella herself: pure, unpretentious, and deliberately stripped of spectacle.

At ENO, operas are always performed in English, which helped make this a particularly accessible introduction to Rossini for many first-time audience members. I had brought a few such friends along, and they reported that the combination of English lyrics and surtitles made the story far easier to follow. Judging by the number of bewildered children in fluffy gowns and tiaras—some of whom were audibly asking where Cinderella was—the absence of a glittering ballgown may have disappointed the youngest members of the crowd.

Musically, the evening was a mixed bag. As Don Ramiro, Aaron Godfrey-Mayes brought a sweet, pleasant tone to the tenor role, but his voice often lacked power and projection — particularly in the larger ensemble numbers. There were moments when he was simply hard to hear.

Charles Rice’s Dandini, however, was the breakout voice of the night: confident, charismatic, and consistently engaging in his portrayal of the faux prince. He upstaged Aaron entirely, delivering the most authentic, assured performance of the evening and anchoring the comic energy of every scene he was in.

The wicked stepsisters were a comic highlight. Grace Durham’s Tisbe was especially resonant—both vocally and in her relentless bullying of Cinderella—while Isabelle Peters’ Clorinda, though funny, sometimes struggled to project and brought a bit less dynamism to her characterization.

Our Cinderella was Deepa Johnny (Angelina) an elegant and vocally refined performer, with a pure, velvety timbre and agile coloratura. If anything, her lower register occasionally felt muted, particularly in the more introspective passages. Her singing was perhaps devoid of fireworks, but that very much could have been a choice: keeping it humble as Cinderella would have.

Simon Bailey’s Don Magnifico was a delight to watch—his rapid-fire patter delivered with real comedic flair. At times, however, his breath control seemed challenged by some overly physical staging choices that distracted from his otherwise engaging performance.

If there was one recurring issue, it was the acoustics. Singers frequently seemed to be fighting against the space, particularly when performing from the upper level of the set. The Coliseum is not an easy house for projection, but the staging did them few favours in this respect.

It was, I have to say, my first time seeing an ENO production, and I have a few notes for those of you considering trying it. As with any opera performance I’ve attended — good or bad — if you love the music, you will not walk home regretting having gone. Is it the Royal Opera House — all polished and posh? No, it isn’t. Especially on a Cinderella night: plenty of noisy children, bewildered parents who had no idea what they were in for, and the occasional crackle of plastic wrappings and cups. (I swear to God someone brought in a packet of English ham slices from Tesco.)

The audience is, I assume, more accustomed to the West End — and the London Coliseum is a theatre, after all.

Still, there was much to enjoy. The orchestra, under Yi-Chen Lin’s baton, delivered Rossini’s effervescent score with verve, and the energy of the ensembles, always Rossini’s strength, had the audience unconsciously bobbing their heads. The music is pure, and the musicians—singers and orchestra alike—are talented, serious performers giving us their all to honour the art form and the composer. So go. It is the most accessible opera in London, and I am nothing but grateful to have it around.

It is also really worth mentioning the lengths the ENO has gone to attract younger audiences, with their youth ticketing programme. Opera doesn’t have to break your bank. It can be affordable, especially if you are under the age of 35. (Most other opera companies, including RBO and Holland Park only consider you to be young if you are under 30!) So if you’ve ever been curious about opera but put off by the price tag, this is your moment.

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The Royal Ballet and Opera (that’s what they call themselves now) opened the 2025-2026 season with Puccini gold: Tosca, the fan-favourite story of love, jealousy, and political intrigue. The RBO chose to wow us with a new production, directed by Oliver Mears, and a star-studded cast, including the Russian soprano Anna Netrebko for the title role. This choice of cast was a daring one. Ms. Netrebko, who has been accused of being close to the Russian President, has been kept away from some of the most illustrious stages in the world, including The Metropolitan Opera in New York as well as Covent Garden, since the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Indeed, in the lead-up to the performance, she was a target of open letters from activists dissuading RBO’s management from allowing her to perform, and dozens of protestors were seen around Covent Garden the evening of the performance.

The opera opens in a white marble church atrium that has been damaged, with broken and piled up wood benches, and an exasperated sacristan trying to make sense of it all. A painter named Mario Cavaradossi, the tenor role starring Freddie de Tommaso, is finishing a painting of the Madonna and is visited often by his paramour Tosca (Netrebko), an acclaimed singer and the reigning diva of the time (how meta). He is taunted by a sacristan, played by bass Alessandro Corbelli. Mario has the first real music of the night, in the aria “Recondita armonia.” De Tommaso, with his sweet timbre and rich high tones, had the vocal power to match the grandness of a Puccini score. Corbelli too was engaging and dynamic in his delivery of an extremely comical and exasperated sacristan, too impatient to put up with any disorderliness.

A fugitive, Angelotti, played by bass Ossian Huskinson, has escaped from the Castel Sant’Angelo, used as a prison and torture chamber of sorts by the Papal State in the nineteenth century. His sister has been scoping the church’s chapel as a hideaway place for her fugitive brother. He is running from the claws of the chief of police and villain Scarpia, the baritone role filled by Gerald Finley.

Taking pity on Angelotti, Cavaradossi helps him hide—at first in the chapel, but then in his own garden’s empty water well. Hiding in the church would not do, given Tosca’s recurring visits and paranoid suspicions that another woman might be luring her man. When she visits, forcing Angelotti to hide in a rush, Cavaradossi’s whispering and general nervousness set off her suspicious nature. She becomes sure that the woman Mario is painting is confirmation of his betrayal. After professing his love in a passionate rendition, and explaining that the woman is the countess who prays there regularly (Angelotti’s sister), she is assuaged and romantically exits the scene.

It is not unheard of for there to be a short burst of applause and excitement when the Tosca of the evening enters the stage, especially when a big name is on the cast list. But London audiences are notorious for being more muted in their excitement. When Netrebko entered, nothing. Just a giant diva walking across the atrium, in her hot pink dress, veil, high heels, and bouquet in hand. I could sense some tension in the air, as if the entire house was nervous for her in what was her first performance on that stage since before the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic. The protests and noise in the lead up to opening night only heightened the risk that perhaps something would go wrong—booing perhaps, or worse.

She was enchanting from the start. Tosca is usually portrayed as a dignified, graceful, yet terribly jealous diva. This is where Netrebko offered a refreshing take, blending that classic temperament with her much-missed velvety, supple voice. I’ll be honest: at first, her characterisation felt almost cheap—even overly seductive. It’s not uncommon for a few chuckles to ripple through the audience during Act I of Tosca, but jealousy, predation, and revenge are hardly light or comedic motifs, even in its most digestible moments.

Yet Netrebko, far more engaging than the average soprano—and certainly more attuned to the psyche of a diva—brought a rawer, more humorous edge to Tosca’s suspicion and jealousy. She was also undeniably more seductive than what is typically seen in this role.

In a duet with de Tommaso, as he professes his undying and undivided love, he proclaims, “Tosca, you’ve won me over, you temptress.” Judging by the audience’s response to Netrebko’s stage presence and nuanced characterisation, it was clear they, too, had been won over.

In the following scene, Scarpia and his men interrogate the sacristan, suspecting that Angelotti is close. Finley’s portrayal had a menacing, almost godfather-like quality — though at times his voice was frustratingly difficult to hear. The character’s twisted nature did come through, as he taunts Tosca and fuels her paranoid suspicion of Mario’s infidelity, with the aim of following her, discovering the fugitive and claiming the diva for himself.

For me, the chorus at the end of Act I (“Te Deum”) marked the zenith of the evening. Puccini’s music coupled with the use of ingenious lighting and special effects was simply stunning. I mean that quite literally: as the lights rose for the first intermission, I heard more than one audience member around me breathe an audible ‘wow.’ How was this effect achieved? With the most impressive procession of choristers—a mix of Catholic clergy and a flock of believers—erupting into an awesome religious hymn, in what is perhaps the most spine-tingling music of the entire evening. The whole scene is underpinned by Scarpia’s malevolent intent to manipulate Tosca’s jealously, to aid him in achieving both his political aim as well as his carnal one. Though the tempo is steady, there is a crescendo in tension as the chorus’ power swells in a swirl of organ music, harp, woodwinds and stirring use of brass instruments, heightened by bells, bass drum and a cannon. Yes, a cannon: used to mark the beat at the beginning of every new line of Scarpia’s twisted prayer for power.

In the early 1800s—the era in which Tosca unfolds—any ruling aristocrat would have shuddered at the approach of Napoleon’s armies. When Napoleon came to town, monarchs trembled and polities crumbled. Oliver Mears’ production with set designs by Simon Lima Holdsworth, portrayed this dynamic beautifully. To truly capture the sense of how much things were falling apart, as the ‘Te Deum’ got louder and more stirring, special effects were employed timed perfectly to the beat of the cannon, with falling debris from the church’s ceiling! So “wow” is right.

Finley appeared to warm up to the role in the dramatic Act II, delivering a much more powerful and compelling performance. His Scarpia really did turn your stomach: the revolting predatory body language imbuing his every move, right down to the way he ate his meal from a foil container.

Netrebko’s rendition of “Vissi d’arte,” one of opera’s most famous and beautiful arias, was extremely well-received. The London audience—notably with more Russian attendees than usual—had warmed by this point and did not hold back. Her voice was deserving of the ovation: velvety and pure but more than just beautiful. It was soul-filling.

The stage design of the subsequent acts felt increasingly claustrophobic, in a smart transition from marble lobby to prison execution chamber. That said, the executions seen in act III were perhaps too graphic. When the condemned is shot by a police officer, the crack of the revolver tore through the house as blood spurted across the white tiled walls. As he is dragged through the floor, a crimson trail is left in its wake. At this exact juncture, I heard several audience members gasp. Effective stage direction? Undoubtedly, yes. But it raises the question of whether this level of gore is really needed. Puccini’s music already does so much. In my view, blood and guts are expected. But maybe not so literally.

Writing this piece took some time. I knew I would go see Ms. Netrebko’s Tosca more than once and I wanted to perhaps blend my experience over different nights into a single review. Not typical, I know, but why not try something new? This review is a blend of my experiences over opening night on the 11th and the second night on the 15th of September.

In this sense, Netrebko’s performance, as well as Di Tommaso’s, coupled with the impressive and indelible production, required a little time to fully absorb. And if there is anything I would like to leave my dear readers with, it is this: this Tosca has stayed with me since I first saw it.

I have had the pleasure of seeing Ms. Netrebko in Berlin in May, and in Verona in July. And as a London resident, it is especially exciting to see her return to this most storied of opera houses after so many years away.

Tosca continues its run, with Aleksandra Kurzak stepping into the title role. Tickets are scarce, but it’s worth checking right up to the day of the performance—last-minute returns and resales do happen, and you might get lucky.

P.S. Netrebko will also sing in RBO’s Turandot this December, so if you miss her Tosca, you’ll have another chance to see her shine in Puccini’s world. And yes—I’ll be there.

I attended “Insights: Semele”, highlighting this season’s run of Handel’s oratorio Semele, which premiered at Convent Garden in 1744. The event was on at 7:45PM on Thursday, 12 June 2025.

At the top of the event, we were immediately graced with a performance of “Endless pleasure, endless love,” Semele’s aria in which she expresses her joy and delight in her new relationship with the god Jupiter. Our Semele was none other than Pretty Yende, the South African soprano with a bright and warm voice. I happen to have met Ms Yende at the stage door, and can tell you she is not only talented, but also extremely nice.

Ms. Yende was recovering from a cold, but if we as an audience weren’t privy to that information beforehand, and if it weren’t for her occasional coughing during the chat portion of the vent, we would not have known. Her singing was impeccable and her personality and wit came through during her interview portion of the event.

The same can be said about the extremely talented tenor, Ben Bliss and baritone Brindley Sherratt. Both performances were splendid, though Mr Bliss’s rendition of the famous “Where E'er You Walk” moved me deeply.

I have to say, sitting in that room, only a few meters from the singers, was absolutely fantastic. I felt as though I was of a lucky few who got invited to an exclusive private concert. It was really exiting to hear live singing by a world-class cast sitting so close to the action.

It was obvious that the organisers have really put thought into the structure of the event. In addition, it was extremely clever to include an engaging slideshow of photos of the staged production so the audience can get a sense of the production design.

It was also incredibly engaging to have the ROB’s chief repetiteur, Susanna Stranders, walk us through Handel’s music, and why it’s special. Maybe I’m a nerd (I’m sure no one is surprised, since I am writing about opera as a hobby now). But I do love intricate details about niche subjects. So, I fully appreciated being walked through Handel’s score and being alerted to his idiosyncrasies and style.

In college I took an opera history class and my professor, Sherry Overholt—herself an accomplished soprano and musical artist—let me engage with bel canto without getting in the way. But she did tell me during Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice week, that “opera is so much more than one single style or tradition.” In her own words, and without encroaching on my sensibilities, she was encouraging me to explore other styles, other pieces, other composers.

I must admit I have not explored as much as I should have in the time since. That was in 2011, and I am now a much more knowledgeable, and developed opera listener, even if I stick to bel canto most of the time. But I walked out of the ROB Insights night wanting to listen to more Handel, and most importantly, to understand Baroque music a bit better.

We also rarely hear from conductors, who are instrumental—no pun intended—to the spectacle that is opera. Their vision affects even the smallest colouring of a piece. And I found the inclusion of the conductor in the conversation really interesting.

So, if you want my opinion, here it is: if you are in London (or passing by), get yourself some “Insights” tickets. I will be doing the same going forward.

The event flows really well between the singing and the chatting, with each section building on the one before. I’d also say that not much more than one hour of running time was a perfect duration: long enough to feel like you get substantial exposure but without feeling bored.

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You get incredible singing, by more than one cast member, in what felt like a private, intimate concert. Plus, you get to understand the rationale and creative choices behind the production, as well as the gist of the opera/work you are going to watch without many spoilers. I dare say if you go, you’ll walk out wanting to book tickets for the opera that they’ve highlighted. But even if you don’t go to the main performance, you’ll walk out feeling as though you’re talking a little piece of it with you.

If you’re not in London, or can’t make one of these the ROB streams it on their YouTube channel, so you get an even better close-up of the action. You can watch Insights: Semele here:

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