Ruffling the Met's feathers.

What is black, white, pink, and read all over? What is the hottest, most outrageous, most subversive, and often the most perceptive publication on the performing arts scene today? It's very likely Parterre Box, which bills itself as "the queer opera `zine."

The circulation is "500, with an incredible pass-along rate," boasts James Jorden, the openly gay New York City-based founder, publisher, editor, and chief contributor. But the influence of the do-it-yourself periodical, now in its 28th, roughly bimonthly, installment, is shocking and delighting opera fans and opera professionals of all sexual orientations throughout the country. At last, someone is telling the truth about a form of entertainment that, because of its sheer grandeur, receives a polite wave of the finger from critics who should (and often do) know better when they encounter a disaster. Anything that costs up to $200 a ticket (at least at the Metropolitan Opera) can't be all bad. In the words of the Maria Callas character in Terrence McNally's 1995 play Master Class, "they only did their best." Right?

Uh-uh. "A lot of singers think like investment bankers," Jorden, 43, declares. "I am looking for people who sing what they feel. It's not easy to be that frank in front of 4,000 people; it's a painful, draining experience. Look at the genuine divas today. Look at Deborah Voigt, Aprile Millo, Diana Soviero, Catherine Malfitano, Denyce Graves, Gwyneth Jones. Even if it's not always the greatest singing, it's exciting. You come out of a performance with your teeth chattering."

Jorden's molars weren't dancing back in 1993, when he conceived the idea of Parterre Box. "It was Maria Callas's 70th birthday, and nobody was saying a damn thing about it," he recalls. "I was going stir-crazy and seeing a therapist. He also had a patient who promoted punk bands by putting out `zines. Something clicked. I thought, No one else is doing an opera `zine."

But why opera? In Louisiana-born Jorden's case, he became a fanatic after seeing a performance at the Met of Puccini's Madama Butterfly with Renata Scotto. (The `zine's title refers to the Met's best seats.) The publication brims with frank, knowledgeable comments by Jorden (who writes under the name La Cieca, the blind mother of the heroine in Ponchielli's La Gioconda) and his stable of equally uninhibited correspondents. Most of them lard their commentaries with anecdotes about current or would-be lovers. And there's plenty of opera dish for those with the stomach for it.

Jorden finds the world of opera, which depends on a large gay following, still uncomfortable, if not downright dishonest, about the large percentage of gay singers, conductors, and directors. "If you open to the front of the Met magazine, Opera News," he says, "you'll see all these tenors holding their new babies. When. I wonder, will they ever run a photo of a tenor with his lover?"

Little wonder the Met management looks down on Parterre Box with suspicion, if not hostility. A frequent standee at performances, Jorden recalls the night he was ejected by a Met security guard who, while muttering "faggot" under his breath, accused him of trying to sell Parterre Box on the premises. "The Met thinks it's above the law," sniffs Jorden. The company denies the incident ever happened, but you still can't buy the `zine in the lobby bookstore.

Still, Jorden perseveres, and the cognoscenti of the opera world wait breathlessly for the next edition. A recent issue boasts an important milestone for Jorden--the publication's first paid ad. "Can you believe it?" he asks jokingly. "Parterre Box is going glossy."