The Vibrant Abandon of Barbara Hannigan

Jane Bua
Bua covers classical music for Goings On.

It is the dream of many a musician to become a big enough star that their name comes to mind with any mention of their art form. But for someone to actually deserve this level of acclaim—within the classical world and beyond—is a rare phenomenon. Barbara Hannigan has earned this distinction, both for conducting and vocal performance.

Barbara Hannigan and Bertrand Chamayou. Photograph by Luciano Romano

Hannigan, who hails from Nova Scotia, began her illustrious career as a singer, spending time at the Banff Centre, in Canada, and the Royal Conservatoire of the Hague, in the Netherlands. After years of creative success, she took a unique turn—unique, at least, for a soprano—to conducting, making her maestro début in 2011, at Théâtre du Châtelet, in Paris, at the age of forty. Nourished by a particular passion for contemporary music, Hannigan leads ensembles with vibrant abandon, her long satin hair swooping with each movement of her arms, which she opts for rather than a baton. At the podium, she has the same vigor and emotional guile that comes through in her solo vocal performances, each art form seamlessly informing and enriching the other. Her energy feels fresh, her vision clear.

On Dec. 12, Hannigan returns to New York, and to her roots, for a night of singing at the Park Avenue Armory. She and the esteemed French pianist Bertrand Chamayou will step into Messiaen’s deeply biographical “Chants de Terre et de Ciel,” Scriabin’s capricious Opus 61 and aqueous Opus 72, and John Zorn’s “Jumalattaret,” a work that Hannigan once described as akin to Simone Biles’s labyrinthine floor routine. Tickets will surely sell out, but don’t be completely discouraged—visit the standby line to claim the spot of whoever is unlucky enough to miss this show.

In “Babe,” Jessica Goldberg’s clunky playlet, Marisa Tomei plays Abby, a long-serving record-company executive wrangling her boss Gus (Arliss Howard), an unreconstructed rock-and-roll boor. Gus just wants to be free to congratulate the new hire, Katherine (Gracie McGraw), on her “nice ass,” and Abby, her brain slushy from both chemotherapy and a certain chemistry with Katherine, can’t, or won’t, stop him. Goldberg’s play, directed by Scott Elliott, for the New Group, is another battle of generations—recent examples include “Job” and “The Ask”—about bratty millennials and their morally compromised elders. As often happens in such stuff, characterization collapses into outline; here, Tomei’s disturbingly unsteady performance, perhaps without meaning to, hints at damage in Abby that goes beyond a sketch’s ability to portray.—Helen Shaw (Pershing Square Signature Center; through Dec. 22.)

Mariah Carey’s whistle register is now a harbinger of the Christmas season. Like clockwork, her infectious megahit “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” which turned thirty in October, climbs the charts once more, part of a newly established Yuletide tradition. Carey is far more than a holiday novelty, of course—one of pop music’s defining figures, her captivating, singular voice is the force behind an undeniable catalogue of hits—but she has embraced her role as the ambassador of all things tinsel, a festive responsibility that fits her extravagant persona and has extended her relevance. This year, she brings “Christmas Time,” an extended version of her recurring show, from Manhattan to Brooklyn, making space for a medley of her own classics along the way.—Sheldon Pearce (Barclays Center; Dec. 17.)

“Swept Away,” at the Longacre Theatre. Photograph by Emilio Madrid

The bluegrass-inflected Avett Brothers return to the subject of their album “Mignonette,” from 2004, in which a nineteenth-century shipwreck turns gruesome, for “Swept Away,” a ninety-minute musical about the salt-grit savagery of the sea. Fascinatingly, the book, by John Logan, focusses not on the story’s virtuous survivors, who sacrifice for one another, but on a demonic, drawling second mate (John Gallagher, Jr.), who tries to lure innocents away from the Lord. The director, Michael Mayer, and the choreographer, David Neumann, institute rollicking hornpipe dances for the ship’s crew, which Gallagher performs with evil sinuosity, but the finest onstage gesture is the way the set designer, Rachel Hauck, upends an entire whaling ship in a storm—itself an impressive example of each designer’s craft.—H.S. (Longacre; open run.)

A visit to the Met Cloisters often offers an escape to quietude, save for the occasional whispers between museum companions. The Fuentidueña Chapel in particular may simply be too hallowed to justify any sound, with its Catalonian fresco depicting the Virgin and Child in Majesty and the Adoration of the Magi providing a backdrop to a hanging twelfth-century wooden crucifix. But the space embraces music on special days, and this December it hosts a holiday program from the Grammy-nominated vocal ensemble Skylark. Featuring selections from the Italian priest Gregorio Allegri and the French composer Pierre Villette, and also Hugo Distler’s Chorale Variations on “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” the ensemble’s MetLiveArts début is sure to fill each medieval crevice with the most welcome noise.—J.B. (The Met Cloisters; Dec. 14.)

“The Hard Nut,” at the Howard Gilman Opera House. Photograph by Richard Termine

While Mark Morris’s “The Hard Nut”—brought to BAM by the Mark Morris Dance Group—resembles other versions of “The Nutcracker” in its E. T. A. Hoffmann story and Tchaikovsky score, it also offers some unusual treats. Set in a cartoonish swinging seventies, it is deliciously tacky and crass, irreverent about traditional gender roles, bourgeois values, and much else. But the wit often transforms into wonder; the snowflakes toss their own snow in handfuls, which is at first amusing, then amazing. The musicality and choreographic construction are seriously delightful, and the whole thing radiates holiday warmth and communal love.—Brian Seibert (Howard Gilman Opera House; Dec. 12-22.)

“September 5” is a vigorous but narrow fictionalization of the real-life efforts of American TV sportscasters at the 1972 Olympics, in Munich, to report on the hostage-taking attack on the Israeli team by Palestinian militants. The movie, directed by Tim Fehlbaum, blends bureaucratic struggles—internal power plays, high-level negotiations over satellite transmissions—with technical difficulties involving filmed reports and audacious maneuvers to sneak footage out of the locked-down area. The cast (headed by John Magaro, Peter Sarsgaard, Ben Chaplin, and Leonie Benesch) energetically evokes the troubled quest for scoops along with facts, but the script detaches the characters and the story from history and politics; hints of German post-Holocaust conflicts and a brief debate over the use of the word “terrorists” suggest a better movie lurking within.—Richard Brody (In limited release.)

Jennifer Wilson visits buzzy book bars.

This time of year, the evening sneaks up on you. When I’m working from a coffee shop, I never know if I should be ordering an espresso or something stronger. Thus, “book bars”—bookstore cafés that turn into book-themed bars by night—are a welcome plot twist.

Illustration by Mary Kirkpatrick

1. At Liz’s Book Bar, a Black-owned bookstore in Carroll Gardens, you’ll find a classic bar counter, but, instead of knocking back pints, locals caffeinate on teas such as Dahl House (peach-flavored) and Chris Van Winkle (a botanical “with a calming energy”). When the clock strikes six, Liz’s magically turns into a wine bar (no laptops allowed). Grab a book—Liz’s has a robust politics table—and let some ideas ferment.

2. Book Club Bar, tucked away on a quiet stretch of Third Street, in the East Village, serves cocktails such as In Cold Bloody Mary and Cider House Mule. A lively calendar of events includes poetry readings, an adult spelling bee, singles’ night, and, yes, book clubs. Scan the QR code above Iris Murdoch’s “The Sea, the Sea” to join the philosophy-focussed How to Be book club.

3. The sleek Bibliotheque, in SoHo, will impress the literary It Girl in your life. Lounge with a juicy read, maybe from the Banned Book section, on plush sofas, or sit with your laptop on the yellow-leather banquette. In Chapter 15 of the wine list, titled “Criticism,” you’ll find “100-point wines, taste ‘perfection.’ ” I pulled “Didion and Babitz” off the shelf, and ordered a glass of red. The bartender offered me a reading light.

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P.S. Good stuff on the Internet:

• Christmas with Tom Hardy
• A space-telescope advent calendar
• The myth of cycle breaking