Tempo: Allegro con Brio

The Met's music director spends only part of his life conducting in an orchestra pit. Excerpts from Levine's hectic calendar:

Wednesday, 10:15 a.m. At his desk in his small first-floor office, an ever present towel tossed over his left shoulder, Levine scans the mail and then meets with General Manager Anthony Bliss to discuss a choreographer for next season's opening production of Berlioz's Les Troyens; already three have declined. Assistant Manager Joan Ingpen, who is in charge of artistic administration, pops in to have Levine approve a "cover" for a sick tenor and to vet Director Jean-Pierre Ponnelle's request to adjust his rehearsal schedule next season. "Once we counted 40,000 castings arranged over a five-year period," says Levine. "It is a jigsaw puzzle beyond belief." He signs letters and heads into the auditorium for an 11 a.m. rehearsal of Wagner's Tannhaeuser.

12:10 p.m. There is a half-hour break, but Levine never stops moving. "I'm sorry about the mistake," says one singer. "Don't be silly," soothes Levine. Like an expert politician working a crowd, he is able to carry on a conversation without losing any time. He chats with Lighting Designer Gil Wechsler about a recent recital he played and compares notes on pianos. Then a quick lunch of half a turkey sandwich and a diet soft drink. More paperwork awaits: an invitation from Sarah Lawrence College to give a lecture series, replies to fan letters, rehearsal changes.

12:40 p.m. Back in the pit, Levine continues with Tannhaeuser, periodically dashing into the house to check the lighting levels on the television monitor. The performance will be broadcast, and Levine knows that what he watches from the pit is not necessarily what audiences at home will see. By 1:25 p.m. he is once again back at his desk, eating the rest of his lunch (a salad) and looking over a list of apprentice singers to be approved and the provisional plan for the Met's 1986-87 season. He sets a time to meet with Artist David Hockney, designer of Parade.

3:03 p.m. The rehearsal over, Levine meets with Director Franco Zeffirelli to talk about three new productions. Ninety minutes later, he is at home for a preperformance rest. By 6:30 p.m. he is back at the Met. Says City Opera's Beverly Sills: "I think I would slit my throat if I had to put on a long gown at the end of the day and go up onstage and sing. Switching gears is very hard, but Jimmy's handling it very well."

The next day is much the same, with a demanding full-orchestra rehearsal of Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande in the morning. Afterward he joins a "note session," working out fine details of interpretation with a few singers for an upcoming opera. One singer is in tears over the state of her voice. "It's hormonal," she cries. Levine leads her through a few passages and she leaves, fortified. "You see," he says, "this job is part psychiatrist." A prominent tenor wants to cancel two performances; he is informed by letter that the Met expects him to keep his commitment. A German baritone is complaining that he doesn't get enough parts, perhaps because his Italian is weak. "He promises that if he gets an Italian role, he will study in Italy," Ingpen tells Levine, who reserves decision. Levine and Ingpen discuss more casting for the 1986-87 season. A singer under consideration for a leading Wagnerian role is subjected to merciless scrutiny. They jump ahead to 1988-89, and wonder whether Verdi's Don Carlo ought to be scheduled then. Later that afternoon Levine meets with the production committee of the Met board, then spot-checks part of Il Trovatore, which is being conducted by Nello Santi. After another meeting with Zeffirelli, he returns to his apartment. It is midnight. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.