在繞着停车场走时，我有点恍惚。我记得自己把车泊在了第二层——那一层是绿色，又名“波希米亚人”——车位号码是414。这个数字用中文读起来就像是“死一死”，对于《波希米亚人》这部歌剧来说，相当贴切，虽然把这个号码放去车库的棕色第一层（“阿依达”）或红色的第三层（“卡门”）也同样应景。
　　离剧院只有一街之隔的底特律歌剧院停车中心（Detroit Opera House Parking Center），每一个楼层除了用颜色标记以外，还配上了经典剧目的名字——大部分都是歌剧，也有一些特意分配给了音乐剧（橙色的第五层就命名为“艾薇塔”，即“贝隆夫人”）与芭蕾舞剧（蓝色的第四层是“堂吉诃德”、黄色的第七层是“吉赛尔”）。我找来找去，发现整栋楼都没有任何与瓦格纳相关的名称。这一“空缺”引人注意，因为这个停车中心去年曾改头换面，当时自上而下随处可见瓦格纳的元素。
　　去年，当反传统导演尤瓦尔·沙伦（Yuval Sharon）——我有点犹豫该如何定义他，称其为“舞台导演”并不合适，因为他执导的制作可能出现在大仓库，甚至在空旷的田野里——接任密歇根歌剧院（Michigan Opera Theatre）艺术总监一职后，他操刀的首个制作，将《众神的黄昏》删减至只有一个小时时长，创意满溢，更把剧名缩短为《黄昏：诸神》（Twilight： Gods）。事实上，这个制作成为密歇根歌剧院——以至美国全国——“后新冠时代”回归现场演出的先例，演出条件与措施都符合防疫要求。重要的是，演出地点就是这个停车中心。
　　我看过评论，里面特意提及了女高音克里斯汀·格尔克（Christine Goerke）饰演的布伦希尔德所骑的飞马是一部福特“野马”（Ford Mustang）。其他的评论褒贬不一，也有人揶揄歌剧院创办了“汽车歌剧”，将院方停车场（那是歌剧院自家物业，当年歌剧院的董事局主席是个地产大亨，他真有远见）改造为新冠疫情时期的拜罗伊特节日歌剧院。我在网上也看过沙伦专门录制的视频，为观众介绍驾车进入停车场欣赏这部歌剧需要注意的事项：戴着绿色口罩的工作人员会指示车辆停泊的位置，并指导他们怎样调整汽车的收音设备至某个FM频道以收听演出。
　　直至我自己身处停车中心，我才明白把车开至另一层楼就可以看下一场演出的概念：通过一层看一场戏的观演体验奔向世界末日。但是，我还是没搞清楚演出的实况及效果。在某种意义上，将停车场与拜罗伊特相提并论的评论很恰当。有没有看过演出都无所谓，能在这个传奇性的停车中心走一走，就觉得自己是在朝圣。我已经心满意足了。
　　***
　　可惜的是，我先要捱到《蓝》（Blue）结束。过去几年，包括我在内的众多乐评人尽管没有看过《蓝》的演出，却发表了不少关于这部作品的论述，这很快成了关注重点。珍妮·特索里（Jeanine Tesori）与塔泽维尔·汤普森（Tazewell Thompson）联手创作的这部歌剧，在2019年夏季的格里莫格拉斯歌剧节（Glimmerglass Festival）备受瞩目。北美音乐评论家协会（Music Critics Association of North America）当年更授予该剧年度最佳美国歌剧大奖。这部歌剧于2020年的巡演计划早已安排就绪，巡演地包括纽约、芝加哥与华盛顿，大家对此十分期待、十分雀跃。

　　然后……一切落空，巡演的每一站都因为新冠疫情而被迫取消。更具讽刺意味的是，剧情说的是围绕种族问题衍生出的警暴悲剧，而这个议题变成了去年第二波“疫情”引发美国多个大城市举行示威游行。可惜的是，这部最切题的歌剧作品与公众却失之交臂。很有可能，《蓝》这部歌剧正因为缺席了舞台而更吸引媒体注意。
　　于是，密歇根歌剧院隆重登场，选取了《蓝》作为2021-2022演出季的第一炮。北美音乐评论家协会每年都会精心挑选重要制作作为会员周年大会的主轴。前一阵，协会宣布将举行自2019年来的首次线下聚会，会员将聚焦《蓝》这部歌剧。会议上还将谈及表演艺术于疫情时期所面对的各种挑战，以及将来剧院重开大门后，现下疫情期间发展出的新形式中有什么值得保留、值得借鉴。
　　会议的核心主题是《蓝》。歌剧院为了这个新制作找来了女导演卡内扎·莎尔（Kaneza Schaal），而演员阵容中，所有的男演员都曾参与过该剧在格里莫格拉斯歌剧节的世界首演，女演员则全都换上新人。歌剧院强调艺术的重要使命是公民责任，选择的演出场地并不是自己的歌剧院（直至今日，因为疫情严峻，任何公众活动都不能在那里举行），而是城中拥有6000座位的艾瑞莎·弗兰克林露天圆形剧场（Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre）。依据防疫措施，每晚演出的观众人数限制在1200名左右。
　　我真的希望我能为这部作品送上一些正面的评语——但我无法客观地衡量演出，因为各种客观条件每时每刻都在阻挠我的观戏体验。一开始，导演莎尔故意为家中举行的、本来温馨的准妈妈派对添上了古希腊悲剧色彩：准妈妈的三个闺蜜就像现代版的命运三女神，她们谈论着黑人男孩的未来，字里行间都显现出不祥的预兆。除此以外，我没有找到其他的暗示点。马克·格雷（Mark Grey）负责音响（这些年来，他是约翰·亚当斯的御用音响设计），但大部分音效听上去就像一团模糊不清的噪音，我无法辨认个别乐器的音色或演员唱出的歌词。尽管布景相当抢眼，但却忽略了投影字幕的制作（投影设计却包括其他文字）。《黄昏：诸神》演出期间有专人负责引导观众（尤其是寻找收听频道），这次却没有人在《蓝》演出前向观众示范手机字幕程序的用法。节目册中有一页提供下载字幕程序的二维码，也包括粗略的应用指南，但我直到中场休息时才找到一本册子。 　　莎尔的导演概念还包括让一群舞者在台上跳底特律快舞（Detroit Jit，是一种改编自非洲舞蹈风格的本地街舞，由鼓乐与吉他伴奏）。可是，那些轻快律动跟特索里的音乐格格不入，也建立不了什么对位效果。舞蹈的演出甚至削弱了感情凝重的唱词的戏剧内涵。更糟糕的是，那些舞者刚好挡住了我的视线，在第一幕足足困扰了我30多分钟。

　　中场休息过后，我终于在手机里找到了相应的字幕，也换去了较好的座位（面对舞台正中间），这和上半场观赏《蓝》的体验，截然不同。虽然音响还是不尽如人意，但比一开场坐在后排忍受回声荡漾的境况要好得多。其中一场激烈的争论中，肯尼斯·凯罗格（Kenneth Kellogg）饰演的父亲与戈登·霍金斯（Gordon Hawkins）饰演的牧师针锋相对，因为父亲拒绝了神职人员的安慰，他当时怒气冲天。到了最后一场，父母两人（母亲一角由克勒斯提·斯瓦尼，Krysty Swann饰演）共餐，死去儿子（由阿伦·克劳奇，Aaron Crouch饰演）的影子在舞台上若隐若现，让观众得以捕捉到丧失儿女的悲情与矛盾。
　　总的说来，当晚的整体演出问题重重，所以到了第二天早上，歌剧院总裁与首席执行官韦恩·布朗（Wayne Brown）在论坛发言时，亲自向乐评人致歉。他更答应第二晚的演出（如果我们愿意在底特律多留一天的话）将有所改善。是的，首演往往都带有冒险性，乐评人见怪不怪。歌剧院需要真正道歉的对象应该是其他1250位观众，尤其那些坐在较差座位，不能正对舞台的人。
　　但有，值得一提的一點是，艾瑞莎·弗兰克林露天圆形剧场凸显了疫情所衍生的，不同机构探索合作模式的个案。疫情对工作条件产生了深刻的影响，但演艺团体却热切地渴望跟新的观众群建立连接。于是，某些合作伙伴关系未必完全妥当，或彼此在分担责任方面又搞不清状况。如果成功，一切升华，令人振奋；但失败却会令整个项目和全体员工丢脸。
　　天知道当晚那些首次接触歌剧的观众有何感想，但我对露天剧场的评价如下：那是一个举办流行音乐演出的上好场地，但要搬演歌剧就连停车场都不如。
　　***
　　北美音乐评论家协会选取《蓝》作为2020年度最佳美国歌剧，除了社会时效性以外，还考虑到它因疫情被取消巡演的多舛命运，以及尤瓦尔·沙伦的艺术精神。沙伦把《蓝》引进底特律，他只不过扮演着“主办方”的角色。《甜蜜的土地》（Sweet Land）是他多年担任艺术总监，位于洛杉矶的“工业艺团”（The Industry）的制作，因此他是“媒人”又是“证婚人”和“接生婆”。

　　创作《甜蜜的土地》的原委，是美国2016年的总统大选引致移民与身份这两个议题变得两极化。沙伦组织了一个团队，一起探索美国建国的神话，团队集合了两位作曲家、两位导演以及两位指挥；他们叙述相同的场景，但用以完全不同的角度。这部作品在2020年2月底首次亮相，上演了四场之后，因为新冠疫情一切叫停。还好，制作团队录制了现场的演出，后来更补拍了不同段落。剪辑好的成品上传在工业艺团的网站上。
　　从架构上来看，《甜蜜的土地》分为两大部分：“盛宴”（可以说是利用神话方式重构美国感恩节）与“火车”（建设横贯美国大陆铁路的历史）。角色之间的冲突当然有，主要分为原住民与殖民者两帮人。首演的演出场地是洛杉矶州立历史公园（Los Angeles State Historic Park），这个地方过去曾是印第安人的村落，后来被夷平为横贯铁路的车站。
　　六位主创之中有五位在北美音乐评论家协会最后一天的会议中到场领奖并参加论坛，为大家提供了关于工作过程的一些观点。道格拉斯·卡尼（Douglas Kearney，非裔美国人）与阿加埃·库乔斯·邓肯（Aja Couchois Duncan，混血原住民）两人负责剧本，分别撰写了各自独立但相互关联的故事。而作曲家杜韵与拉文·查孔（Raven Chacon）彼此挑选他们感到最有共鸣的段落，但编剧与作曲就不同场次自由配搭。“我不想被困在原住民音乐的框框里。”身为原住民的查孔说；“作为移民，我既不是原住民也不是殖民者。”在中国出生的杜韵说。
　　某些合作伙伴——最令人瞩目的是联合导演、原住民卡努帕·汉斯卡·卢格（Cannupa Hanska Luger）——在歌剧范畴初试啼声。正因没有先入为主的经验主义，他们的参与让整体制作得以扩张而不是束手束脚。音乐元素包括无调性段落，也有扎根于民间音乐的电子音响（还有路过的火车与电车造出的不确定性的噪音）。虽然两位作曲家都保留自己独特的风格，两人处理电子音乐与当代声乐技巧非常出色，让整套音乐听起来无缝衔接，令人惊讶。他们想要清晰地表现出：只用一个叙述方式描述建国历史不但荒谬，简直就是背弃道德。
　　整个周末，挥之不去的问题都抛向沙伦。在一个毫无歉意的实验性环境中（比如工业艺团）取得巨大成功的创意艺术家，接任相对传统的密歇根歌剧院艺术总监，是怎么一回事？答案来自聘请沙伦的歌剧院总裁韦恩·布朗先生。

　　在他对着众乐评家就《蓝》开幕演出道歉之后不久，这位首席执行官告诉大家，当密歇根歌剧院恢复正常运作时，将引进《甜蜜的土地》，会在底特律的一个公众场地演出。但确切的时间和地点还待定，因此，他强调这绝不算是一个公开声明。
　　不用担心，韦恩先生。我们可以保守你的秘密。

　　Walking around the parking garage， I find myself getting distracted. I remember parking on the second level—the green section， labeled “La Boheme”—in space number 414. The Chinese homonym “dieeveryday-die” seemed appropriate enough for Boheme， though it would probably fit equally well on the first-storey brown section （“Aida”） or the redcolored third floor （“Carmen”）.
　　Each level of the Detroit Opera House Parking Center， a block away from the theatre itself， is not only color-coded but also named for piece of classical repertory—mostly opera， with special dispensation for musical theatre （the fifth-level orange “Evita”） and a couple of ballets （the fourth-floor blue “Don Quixote”and the seventh-floor yellow “Giselle”）. Nowhere， though， do I find any references to Wagner， which is a rather conspicuous absence given that nearly a year ago the facility was all Wagner from top to bottom.
　　When the iconoclast Yuval Sharon—one hesitates even to call him a “stage” director， since his productions are equally likely to turn up in warehouses and open fields—first came to Michigan Opera Theatre last year as artistic director， his first production was an innovative hourlong cutting from G？tterd？mmerung presented under the appropriately abridged English title Twilight： Gods. The production effectively launched the company’s—indeed， the entire country’s—return to live opera performance， tailored to fit Covid pandemic protocol. And yes， it was staged in their garage.
　　I’d read reviews of soprano Christine Goerke’s performance as Brünnhilde， her flying horse rendered as a Ford Mustang. I’d even read comments， both favorable and sarcastic， about how Michigan Opera Theatre’s“drive-thru” opera turned its parking facility—which it fully owns， thanks to the real-estate insights of a former board chairman—into a Bayreuth Festspielhaus for the Covid era. I even saw the instructional video Sharon released on YouTube explaining how to drive into the garage， where guides wearing green masks would help audience members park and instruct them how to find the audio on their car radio. 　　Not until I was in the space， though， did I get a sense of how it would feel to experience the end of the world scene by scene simply by moving your car from one level to the next. I’m still a bit unclear about the performance itself. In one sense， though， even the detractors were right about comparisons to Bayreuth. I didn’t even need to see the show. Simply walking through the space became something of a pilgrimage. I could’ve already gone home content.
　　***
　　Unfortunately， I first had to sit through Blue. Many critics， myself included， have written about this opera without actually seeing it， which soon become the point. Jeanine Tesori and Tazewell Thompson’s stage work about a black policeman whose son is killed by a white colleague made a big impression at its summer 2019 premiere at Glimmerglass Opera. The Music Critics Association of North America awarded it Best American Opera of the year and subsequent productions for 2020 quickly generated buzz in New York， Chicago and Washington， DC.
　　Then…nothing， as each subsequent appearance fell victim to Covid cancellations. The bitter irony is that as racially motivated police violence became virtually a second pandemic in the US， with public protests erupting in most of the country’s urban centers， the one opera dealing most specifically and powerfully with that subject could not find an audience. It’s likely that Blue got more attention in the press for not being presented that would’ve gotten if it had actually appeared on stage.

　　Now enter Michigan Opera Theatre， where Blue opened the 2021-22 season. The Music Critics Association， always on the lookout for significant events to muster its members， announced its first live conference in two years， with additional discussions concerning the performing arts under pandemic conditions and what from this era， if anything， will remain once the doors fully reopen.
　　At the core of this discussion was Blue， with a new production by Kaneza Schaal reuniting the men from the Glimmerglass cast with a new lineup of women performers. Stressing the point about the arts as a civic duty， the company staged performances not in their own opera house （which still remains closed for public events） but at Detroit’s 6000-seat Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre， with pandemic seating limited to around 1200 per night.
　　I wish I had good things to say about the production—I wish I could’ve assessed anything about it at all—but the performance conditions thwarted me at every turn. Schaal highlighted the domestic intimacy of a baby shower with classical Greek overtones， where three friends of the mother become modern incarnations of the Fates ominously pondering the future of black male baby. Beyond that， I could discern very little. A sound design by Mark Grey （who’s brilliantly amplified nearly every performance I’ve ever seen of John Adams’work） emerged as a solid sonic blob where neither instrumental tone colors nor a single recognizable word of the text came through. Despite its extroverted visual sensibility， no one in the production thought to include surtitles （although the projections incorporated other text）. Where Twilight： Gods had guides on hand to help audience members navigate the production， no one at Blue explained to people how to activate the surtitles on their mobile phones. A page in the program book provided a QR code and vaguely explained the process， but I didn’t find a program book until intermission. 　　Beyond the text， Schaal’s directorial concept integrated a troupe of dancers performing Detroit Jit， a local derivation of African dance styles usually accompanied by drums and guitar. But the rhythmic motions neither fit smoothly nor established proper counterpoint with Tesori’s score and often seemed to trivialize the emotional severity of Tazewell’s text. Worse still， the dancers were placed directly in my line of vision， blocking my view of anything else on stage for about 30 minutes.
　　After intermission， finally armed with the text on my phone and relocated to a seat down front and center， Blue became an entirely different experience. Sound was still not optimal， but much improved over the echoey rear of the house where my evening began. The scene where The Father （Kenneth Kellogg） lashes in anger at The Reverend （Gordon Hawkins）， fully rejecting religious pleas for consolation， erupted in untempered fury； the final domestic scene with The Mother （Krysty Swann） and Kellogg’s Father at the dining table with The Son （Aaron Crouch） present yet not present poignantly captured the paradox of parental loss.

　　As a whole， the evening had become so problematic that the company’s president and CEO Wayne Brown came to the next morning’s panel session to apologize to the critics personally， promising that the second performance （if anyone could stay an extra day） would be considerably better. Well， yes， that’s the peril of opening nights； music critics of all people understand that part. The ones who really deserved the apology were the other 1250 in the audience， especially those not seated directly in front of the stage.
　　More successfully， the Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre highlighted all the hazards of pandemic collaborations， when limitations in working conditions meets a burning desire to connect with new audiences， resulting in unlikely partnerships where no one is entirely comfortable or fully in charge. When it works （usually in smaller， more easily controlled environments）， the results can be transcendent； when it fails， everything and everyone involved in the experience is degraded.
　　God only knows what the people that night who were attending their first opera were thinking， but my own feelings were pretty clear. The Amphitheatre may be a fine facility for pop events， but as an opera venue it’s no parking garage. 　　***
　　The only things that the Music Critics Association’s Best New Opera of 2020 shared with Blue， besides its social timeliness， was its Covid cancellation and the general spirit of Yuval Sharon. But in presenting Blue in Detroit， Sharon was merely the host. With Sweet Land， as artistic director of the intrepid Los Angelesbased multidisciplinary company The Industry， he was matchmaker， collaborator and midwife.
　　Largely inspired by the 2016 US presidential election and its polarizing effect on immigration and identity， Sharon set out to create a collaborative rumination on the idea of national myth， where two composers， two librettists， two directors and two conductors would present essentially the same situations from entirely different perspectives. After its premiere in late February 2020， Sweet Land had three more performances before Covid hit； the producers， however， managed to film segments of the production not already captured in archival performance footage. The edited results are currently screening on The Industry’s website.
　　Structurally， Sweet Land divides into two key parts： “Feast” （more or less a mythical retelling of American Thanksgiving）， and “Train” （recounting the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad）. Conflict is embedded not only in the characters， which divide neatly into Natives and Colonizers， but also in the original performance site at Los Angeles State Historic Park， a former Native American village later co-opted as a cross-country train terminus.
　　Accepting their award during the last session of the conference， five of the six creators were there to offer critics a few insights into their working process. Librettists Douglas Kearney （an African American） and Aja Couchois Duncan （a mixed-race Native American） penned separate but interconnected accounts， while composers Du Yun and Raven Chacon set the stories that resonated with them most strongly， with collaborators swapping freely from scene to scene.（“I didn’t want to pigeonholed into writing only the indigenous music，” said Chacon， himself a Native American. “As a recent immigrant to America， I was neither a Native nor a Colonizer，” said the Chineseborn Du Yun.）

　　Some of the collaborators—most notably Sharon’s Native American co-director Cannupa Hanska Luger—were entirely new to opera. And yet， their inexperience wound up augmenting the form rather than limiting it. Music unfolds in a mélange of atonality and folk-rooted vocalism in an electroacoustic soundscape（with occasional aleatoric noise from a passing train or trolley）. Though Du and Chacon retain strongly individual voices， their mutual prowess in electronica and extended vocal techniques render the score surprisingly seamless. The point was blisteringly clear： imposing a single narrative for a nation is not only absurd but fundamentally immoral.
　　The lingering question of the weekend was lobbed at Sharon： How will a creator who has thrived so brilliantly in an unapologetically experimental environment like The Industry ultimately fare in a more traditional house like Michigan Opera Theatre？ The answer came directly from Wayne Brown， who’d hired Sharon in the first place.
　　Shortly after his effusive apology for the opening night of Blue， the company’s CEO let the critics in attendance know that， once Michigan Opera Theatre gets fully back on its feet， Sweet Land will be coming to a public space in Detroit. Exactly when and where are still to be determined， however， so he insisted that in no way was this a pubic announcement.
　　Don’t worry， Wayne. Your secret’s safe with us.