Music: Hoffmann & Papa

Jacques Offenbach, they said in Paris, certainly can cancan. But could he write serious music? He died trying to finish his one attempt, an opera with a libretto based on stories by Germany's weird. Poe-etic story spinner, E.T.A. Hoffmann (1776-1822). The Tales of Hoffmann, first produced in 1881, four months after Offenbach's death, was a smash. The French, who wisely distrust overly sweet wines, have always had a weakness for sweet opera, and much of Hoffmann fits into the sucre fashion of Gounod's Faust, Saint-Saens' Samson et Dalila, etc. When it tries to get serious, it often just turns watery. But the score, if well played, always bubbles with its own kind of wit and Gallic lyricism.

Last week, at the opening of Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera, the Hoffmann score was eminently well played under Conductor Pierre Monteux, who at 80 is the most irrepressible prodigy in the music world.

Stage Magic. The Met's General Manager Rudolf Bing spent most of his money and effort on sets and costumes (by Rolf Gerard), and for once the decor onstage was brighter than the intermission melee in Sherry's bar. Highlights: ¶ Living murals in the opening tavern scene, with a pair of bacchantes astride barrels, pouring wine and beer into golden goblets and steins waved by bare, disembodied arms.

¶ An alchemist's laboratory full of bubbling test tubes and retorts to intrigue the audience, and the apparition of a beauteous brunette to tease the hero.

¶ The Grand Canal of Venice, with realistic (if a bit jerky) gondolas passing by, and waiters bearing trays of steaming, rainbow-colored drinks.

The Met's Hoffmann had some serviceable singing by the large cast, with Tenor Richard Tucker in particularly mellow voice and French Baritone Martial Singher singing with enormous power and control. Roberta Peters was the pert doll. The standout was Soprano Lucine Amara. who brought to the stage the kind of dazzling vocal splendor that made the Met famous. The sound of her voice was eggshell-fragile, sunset-colored, and so surprisingly powerful that the audience burst into cheers at the end of her big aria.

But the real star was Pierre Monteux. -who stood like a tree, moving only the tip of his baton, and made Hoffmann sound better than many listeners thought possible. How he did it: he went light on such over-familiar numbers as the Barcarolle, took them perhaps a soupqon faster than usual, and when the drama got heavy, he made it even more dramatic by whipping the percussion section into thunder.

Champagne Diet. Monteux gets his results partly by impeccable musicianship, partly by his remarkable vitality, partly by personal appeal. Says Tenor Tucker: "I love him. I want to hug him the minute I see him."