Music: Met's Metamorphosis

(See front cover)

In jewels and white, black & nondescript ties, more than 2,000 members and guests of Manhattan's year-old Opera Guild swept last week into the old Metropolitan Opera House for the second "at home" in its history. Edward Johnson, the "Met's" affable general manager, welcomed them, introduced the company's new artists. Mrs. August Belmont, chairman of the Guild, disclosed that it had gained 500 new members since this time last year, pledged the Opera 25% more support. Rose Bampton sang two Strauss lieder. Radio Announcer Graham McNamee made arch announcements for a burlesque of opera in 2000 A. D. wherein Dancer Paul Draper, as "Gohengrin, the Flying Dutch-man," arrived in an airplane instead of a swan-boat, twinkle-toed around his bride while the Orchestra played Wagner's Wedding March in swingtime. A chorus from New York's schools thundered the Soldiers' Chorus from Faust, climaxing it with a lunge towards the footlights and an unintentional Communist salute. Enthralled by Lucrezia Bori's excerpts from La Boheme and Baritone Tibbett's splendid singing, the huge party released itself in a loud Star-Spangled Banner, pressed backstage to admire a new $5,000 cyclorama.

Though their party was mainly slapstick, the Guild had earned it by more than a year of hard work. In that time they had gone a long way towards restoring the Metropolitan's prestige to what it was in pre-Depression years. The season beginning Dec. 21 may well end without a deficit. Those who celebrated last week* could remember the end of an era in Manhattan opera. To them belonged much of the credit for the beginning of a new.

New Era. The old era closed in April 1935 when Giulio Gatti-Casazza took down his nameplate and stepped forever out of the general manager's office. For 27 years, Gatti had laid down the law to the most famous opera company in the world. He had seen that company once proud & secure. He had cut down his budget on high-priced singers. He had watched the Met struggle through Depression years by shortening its season, humble itself in a desperate tin-cup campaign. Few weeks before Gatti's resignation, the harassed Opera Board signed over its independence to the Juilliard Musical Foundation for $150,000. In return the Board agreed to raise an additional $100,000, to admit Juilliard bigwigs to their council, to increase regular attendance by 10%, to append to the regular season a "popular-priced" one in which U. S. artists might air their talents and perhaps earn winter engagements.

First sign of Juilliard influence was the appointment of Herbert Witherspoon, old-time Metropolitan basso and later a member of the Juilliard teaching staff, as Gatti's successor. General Manager Witherspoon had worn his title for two weeks when he dropped dead of coronary thrombosis. Tenor Edward Johnson, long a popular favorite, stepped immediately into the post. Confronting him were union difficulties, many an important contract, many that had not been signed.