There is no doubt about one thing: the success of the idea. The Music Academy Tosca performed by the National Philharmonic Orchestra produced such a powerful, spontaneous and positive reaction from the audience which only the human voice is capable. When Tosca shouts her final words, this being a concert performance, she does not plunge to the depths anywhere, but as a reply, comes a storm of applause, with leonine roaring, shouting and classic operatic behaviour. (…)
 (…) Observing Zsolt Hamar's baton, the orchestra made the chandeliers rattle with their first chords, but from an orchestra perspective, a listener can feel disappointed on a much higher level. Meaning that for the orchestra, this music is just music, they play what is written down, but often they cannot use it to communicate the situation that it addresses. As a result Pucciniesque film effects (naturally dating from before speaking pictures) where actions are graphically depicted are lost, and the opera's music seems to be of a lower standard than the reality. (…) In such a moment, it is possible to understand what sense there is in a symphony orchestra playing an opera: if the National Philharmonic Orchestra was being directed by a more experienced conductor, then perhaps the ensemble could sense when they must make music with a direct primarily expressive intention, when written notes can be attuned to a concrete movement or spiritual state, and in this fortunate case, can influence the symphonic style of playing, so that they might play Brahms or Mahler with the same persuasive suggestivity with which Verdi or Wagner must be performed. The current situation is precisely reversed, the orchestra conducted by Zsolt Hamar – who must be regarded as unpractised in the genre of opera – performed Tosca with a certain correct symphonism and as a result, in places Puccini's work occasionally became incomprehensible alibi music. Sometimes, principally in the first act, the work was bogged down and the singers were incapable of producing a believable love duet. In spite of this, it would be difficult to complain about the soloists, who were undisputed masters in their field. For me, the two male singers signified the greatest experience. Boiko Zventanov possesses a not exactly pleasant, slightly metallic, concentrated tenor voice with a remarkable carry. His singing made my ear drums resonated, even though I was standing in the last row of the ground floor. It does not bear thinking about how it must have felt for the one into whose ears all this was so lovingly sung. Igor Morozov is a true Scarpia voice, powerful, elegant, hard, there is some intrigue to it as well, all repressed emotion: he did not soften up the whole with baritone magic, nor did he soften, resonate or cloak what he was singing in velvet. Nina Stemme in the title role was the hardest phenomenon to understand. Everything is right with her. She has the voice, perhaps a little breathy, but it is a powerful, beautiful soprano. Her age and appearance is also precisely right, perhaps having just left her youth behind, she now has to fight for the man's love, but can still intoxicate others. She sang correctly, but I still sensed something dry about the interpretation. By the same token, she is not entirely precise, in what she does, there occasionally occurs perceptible uncertainties, but that really is of no account. One clings on in the hope of finding something at least explicable why she didn't please.

Miklós Fáy
(Népszabadság, 28th May 2002.)