Susan Graham was born on July 23, 1960, in Roswell, NM, where on July
4, 1947, a Really Big UFO had crashed. I don't have the manual handy to
verify the gestation time for pods, but 13 years sounds like the right
figure.

What else could explain the strange phenomenon in Davies Hall tonight?
Who but an X-File subject would transform herself from a genuine (albeit
show-biz) Romany in Brahms' "Gypsy Songs" to an astonishingly elegant
singer for Debussy's "Proses lyriques," then provide a rock-solid,
authentic Berg "Seven Early Songs," turn into a charming coquette for
Poulenc's Apollinaire poems, side-splittingly hilarious in songs by
Messager and Simons, then - in the encores - return to gossamer Debussy?

There was a welcoming ovation for the 1987 Merola Program graduate
by an audience of 2,000, including James Schwabacher, beaming at this
illustrious recipient of the Schwabacher Award a long time ago; enthusiastic
reception all through the evening, much shouting at the end, trying to
cajole more from Graham.

She deserved it all and more. It was one of those rare flawless musical
events, the mezzo doing everything right, and getting wonderful support
from Malcolm Martineau, whose Edinburgh birthplace must have been the
site of some UFO landings as well.

Graham has always been an exceptional singer - going all the way back
to her Merola days - but I don't remember when she got everything together
like this.

Intonation, colors, phrasing, diction, projection, presentation, contact
with the audience, blending her voice with Martineau's piano accompaniment,
bringing out the text, being herself - by flawless, I mean there was no
blemish, no uncertainty, nothing wrong. That, in itself, would be fine,
but not necessarily the making of a great concert. This one was.

On top of the uniform excellence, there were some wonderful highlights:
technically/musically, the unerring intonation in the difficult Berg
songs was breathtaking; "an old dream that holds you" at the end of "De
Reve" cradled the music; in the Brahms songs, the bright, layered sound
danced; "Nacht," the final word in "Traugekront" was a note held forever,
but not to show off: it was exactly right.

As, indeed, was all. These aliens, what powers they have!

Janos Gereben/SF
www.sfcv.org
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