Yesterday I had the privilege of singing the tenor role in Mendelssohn's Paulus, op. 36, "An Oratorio, the Words Selected from the Holy Scriptures."
Paulus was written between 1834 (when its composer was 25) and 1836, when it premiered to great acclaim throughout Germany and England, before traveling across Europe to Russia and abroad to the U.S. It was among the most popular works of its time and the most successful of Mendelssohn's works in his lifetime.
The performance yesterday marked both the Mendelssohn Bicentennial (1809-1847) and with Meyerbeer's opera, Les Huguenots (see "Meyerbeer and Mary Stuart" posted Aug 9), framed the upcoming Bard Music Festival, "Wagner and His World." Besides being hugely popular works of their day who have unfortunately been neglected in recent generations, both the opera and the oratorio occupy singular places in the controversial world of Richard Wagner.
Both Paulus and Les Huguenots premiered in 1836, and both works impressed and influenced the young Wagner. The impresario behind the 2 current productions, Leon Botstein, programmed both works in order to open up two windows through which to view angles of Wagner the composer deliberately tried to obfuscate through his writings and self promotion.
If there is an artist in history more manipulative, self-serving, and racist than Wagner, that artist is certainly less central & controversial. And there is no case where the gulf between the quality of the artist's character and the artist's creation is greater than in the life and music of Wagner. This very subject is making arts headlines as I write this. A bruhaha is unfolding in LA over an upcoming Wagner festival, owing to the composer's infamous anti-semitism, and his subsequent notoriety as the favorite composer of the Nazis. Without getting too far afield from my intention to write about Mendelssohn and Paulus, I bow to Daniel Barenboim and James Levine, the greatest living Wagnerian conductors who are also Jewish. It is not for me to say we should not program an artist's work because we despise the artist. We should not ignore the character nor the biography of the artist, but should put both in the context of better understanding the work.
Which in this case, is fascinating. The two composers who have suffered most from Wagner's forcefully argued and revolting essay "Judaism in Music" are Meyerbeer and Mendelssohn. It would seem Wagner, intent on creating his image as revolutionary savior to true German art, the "missing link" after Beethoven, was determined to efface any trace of the Jewish composers' influence on his style. According to Wagner, Jewish composers were not progressive or revolutionary enough, nor "pure" enough to write "noble" music that captured the "essence" of the "German soul."
How ironic then, that throughout Paulus one hears traces of Wagner's early operas. Before "Judaism in Music" Wagner wrote glowingly of Paulus. It "showed us in all perfection a work that is a witness to the highest bloom of art." And it is a brilliantly crafted work. Modeled on Handel oratorio and Bach Passion, it is a dramatically compelling large-scale work by one of the greatest musical prodigies in history.
Indeed, I am not alone in claiming Mendelssohn as THE great prodigy. If one compares the number of masterworks written by composers before they turned, say, 20, Mendelssohn wins. Mozart may have been more prolific, but none of his early works match Mendelssohn's Octet or the String Symphonies he wrote as a teen. This is to take nothing away from Mozart, the bulk of whose masterworks were written in astonishing succession the last 10 years of his life. It is to give credit to another prodigy and genius whose life and work have sat too long in the shadows.
Mendelssohn is as well known to us for the "Bach revival" he initiated via a centennial performance of the St Matthew Passion in 1829 (he was 20). One of the first great conductors, he was famous for leading the venerable Gewandhaus Orchestra in (Bach's home) Leipzig.
The indebtness of Paulus to Bach is obvious. The overture opens with the famous Lutheran chorale, "Wachet auf" (Sleepers Awake). Mendelssohn uses chorale tunes in similar ways to Bach throughout the oratorio, as meditative commentary punctuating the action. (Another parallel with Meyerbeer is found here, as "Ein feste Burg" (A Mighty Fortress) punctuates Les Huguenots).
Mendelssohn synthesizes not only Bach, but Handel, and the Viennese classical style of Mozart and Haydn. Wagner was surely impressed by the dramatic force of the work, which shows Mendelssohn absorbing and assimilating Beethoven and early 19th century romanticism, with Janus-faced vision.
Mendelssohn's handling of the large forces is masterful. Our performance yesterday sought to replicate Mendelssohn's own arrangement. The orchestra was in a cone shape, with the violins framing the cellos and violas, the winds behind the strings, the brass on risers in the back, framing the double-basses. The chorus was divided and framed the orchestra at the front of the stage: sopranos and tenors on stage right, with the soprano and mezzo soloists, and altos and basses on stage left with the male soloists. This formation instantly solved issues of choral and orchestral balance, otherwise a persistent thorn in the side of the conductor leading these large scale oratorios.
The work is in two parts, and the libretto is taken from the Acts of the Apostles. A variety of styles are used to give the work dramatic pace, interest, and color. The soprano and tenor soloists share the role of the narrator (like the Evangelist in a Bach Passion). The bass soloist is the voice of Saul/Paul, and a prototype for Mendelssohn's more famed oratorio, Elijah. The chorus has several notable fugues, the aforementioned chorales, and functions as the crowd in "turba" fashion (again similar to Bach). Two of the choruses, "Siehe, wir preisen selig" (aka: "Happy and Blest") and "Wie lieblich sind die Boten" (aka: "How lovely are the messengers") are often excerpted and have a life of their own as church anthems. They are also notable for their obvious influence on Brahms.
The dramatic centerpiece of the first part (if not the entire work) is Saul's conversion on the road to Damascus. Mendelssohn originally planned to represent the voice of Jesus with another bass solo but opted instead for a four-part chorus. Worried this would result in critical opprobrium from the pietists, he allegedly said "Yes, and the worthy theologians would cut me up nicely for wishing to deny and supplant Him arose from the dead."
The resulting texture of wind accompaniment and 4-part treble voices is an ethereal, other-worldly sound that is dramatically and musically convincing. The scene is followed by one of the rousing choruses that integrates Handelian pomp with Beethovenian drive. "Mache dich auch, werde licht" ("Rise and shine") is followed by a master-stroke chorale setting of "Wachet auf." Inbetween the calm homophonic phrases of the chorus (doubled by the strings and winds) are brilliant fanfares for the brass. Fanfares that would find their way into Tannhauser and Lohengrin, thank you very much.
My favorite moment, and one of the work's highlights, is the Cavatina for tenor and solo cello, "Sei getreu bis in den Tod" (Be thou faithful unto death"). Coming near the work's end, it is a perfectly balanced duet and another example of Mendelssohn absorbing Bach's influence without a trace of parody or slavish imitation.
That indebtedness to Bach may be something that has not worked in Mendelssohn's favor. Wagner's anti-semitic track portrayed Mendelssohn as being out of touch with the times, and used his penchant for assimilation against him. Wagner's argument leads us to another avenue of consideration where Mendelssohn and St Paul are concerned, namely accusations that Mendelssohn himself was anti-semitic.
Mendelssohn's grandfather Moses was one of the great philosophers of the 18th century, and the founder of modern reformed Judaism. The Mendelssohn family were believers in the enlightenment and thus Abraham Mendelssohn (Felix's father) viewed Protestantism as the next step in this progressive process. Leon Botstein has pointed out that Mendelssohn's own conversion from Judaism to Lutheranism was not the result of "cynicism, careerism, or shame." He goes on to say,
"Protestantism was the religion of modernity, progress, and reason, a historical and logical advance over both ancient Judaism and Catholicism. Mendelssohn shared his father's view of Protestantism. His personal adherence...was not considered a betrayal of his Jewish heritage but rather as the inevitable evolutionary consequence of the reformist efforts of his grandfather."
This is an important point, as some post-modern scholars have inserted anti-semitic readings into not only Bach's Passions but into St Paul as well because of the perceived unflattering portraits of the Jews. Mendelssohn believed in a universalist religion that found Protestantism not as a supersessionist supplanting of Judaism but a logical synthesis. So Saul's conversion to Paul is not "an effort on the part of Mendelssohn to display his authentic Christian credentials at the expense of the Jews."
Les Huguenots offers our post-modern world an enthralling experience of music theatre AND an opportunity to reflect on issues of difference and the consequences of hate. Paulus is an engaging, affirming work embracing reason and enlightenment with faith in the collective potential of humanity's progress. We are better for having both.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Meyerbeer and Mary Stuart
As Elizabeth I in Peter Oswald's brilliant adaption of Schiller's Mary Stuart, Harriet Walter flatly states "the world thinks through its eyes."
Complex identity is frequently reduced to superficial appearance. And friction between different identities fequently escalates into hostility and violence when appearances must be "kept up" or imposed, and differences judged rather than mediated. This is and has been true in matters of race & ethnicity, sexuality & gender, culture & religion.
I saw Mary Stuart at the Broadhurst theatre in NYC this week inbetween rehearsals for Mendelssohn's Paulus (St Paul) with the American Symphony Orchestra under Leon Botstein. That concert today is a quasi bridge between a too-short run of Meyerbeer's grand opera, Les Huguenots (I saw the last of 4 performances Friday), and the Bard Music Festival 2009: "Wagner and His World," which opens next weekend. I will write about Mendelssohn once Paulus is behind me. Meyerbeer and Mary Stuart are more than enough for this modest review.
For starters, I had not planned on seeing two gargantuan theatre pieces within 72 hours of one another, nor had I any idea how gripping and powerful Mary Stuart and Les Huguenots both would be. Both are epic in scope and based on historical events, the two-act play nearly three hours of intense personal and political drama, and the five-act, 4 1/2 hr opera THE paradigm for 19th century grand opera.
Besides the expense of mounting such a grand opera and then casting a show that includes one of the most demanding lyric tenor roles ever written--in the flawed hero, Raoul--the opera has two show-stopping lyric coloratura sopranos. Marguerite de Valois (Queen Margot in Dumas' novel and the Patrice Chereau film) requires Queen of the Night range and fireworks, and Valentine is a Lucia who is killed before she goes mad (and a prototype for some of Verdi's great heroines--I heard not only hints of Violetta but Elisabetta, and the influence & parallels between the Meyerbeer and Don Carlos & Aida are striking).
The casting challenges continue. There are three well-drawn roles for lower male voices: 2 bass baritones and a lyric baritone, along with a challenging trouser role for a facile lyric mezzo. There are a half-dozen male supporting roles, and another dozen or so "step-out" roles from the huge chorus required to carry this moving drama.
Les Huguenots (The Huguenots were, simply put, French Calvinists) is based on the 1572 St Bartholomew's Day Massacre, which saw fanatic Catholics slaughter thousands of French Protestants. The ostensible impetus was the wedding of the Catholic Queen, Marquerite, to the Protestant King, Henry de Navarre. Intended to stave off civil war and promote unity, the marriage was used as a screen to carry out a purge that would spread from Paris throughout France. In total, nearly 30,000 protestants were killed.
Meyerbeer's opera balances the political and religious tensions with a fictional love story between the protestant leader, Raoul, and the catholic Valentine. The score is a rich tapestry of nearly every available form--arias and cabalettas, small ensembles and large choral scenes, "gypsy" music & ballet, military brass, and an array of solo instrumental colors. A beautiful, baroque influenced viola da gamba solo accompanies the tenor in his first act aria. A recurring cello motto recalls the prelude of a Bach suite and recurs when Raoul's servant, the earnest and sympathetic bass, Marcel, sings. Valentine opens Act IV with a beautiful aria that is actually a trio with solo horn and bassoon. A quasi-klezmer tinged clarinet solo joins the doomed lovers duet at the end of that act. And a solo bass clarinet haunts the final scenes of the opera, in what may be the first such use of that colorful instrument.
These intimate and touching moments are balanced by the arc of the conflict between the clashing sects, represented by the double chorus. Indeed, Les Hugeunots is a tour-de-force of choral writing, and I was both thrilled and proud to hear my colleagues in such fine form at the sold out final performance Friday night.
The work has a cumulative effect, owing to its well-crafted architecture. A sustained and inexorable crescendo of intense stimuli and emotions results in a powerful, moving, engaging, and deeply affecting work of musical theatre. This is especially true of the last two acts, where the love story between Raoul and Valentine and the imminent clash between the religious groups both come to a head. Act IV contains some of the most sensual and beautiful music in all of 19th century opera, and in the lovers' extended scene one hears the French Romantic tradition from Berlioz through Massenet, and the indebtness of both Wagner and Verdi to Meyerbeer. Act V moves swiftly through three scenes to bring the conflict to its peak with devastating force. Valentine converts in order to remain with Rauol, and ends up shot by her own Father and his henchman. And while we feel revulsion at the brutality of the Catholic slaughter, Meyerbeer has drawn a balanced portrait of religious hypocrisy in various guises. In another example of the work's greatness, the ballet music in Act III, instead of being an entertaining diversion, depicts the Protestants' inhuman treatment of a band of gypsies.
In his characteristically insightful and provocative program note, Leon Botstein writes of Meyerbeer's current relevance vis-a-vis the effect of the creative distance this spectacular, non-realistic historical opera creates:
"As we witness a theatrical reenactment of how two religious groups, both of which claimed authority from the same divine source and accepted the divinity of Christ, are overcome with hatred, suspicion, and mutual enmity, do we emerge from the theater thinking that we are better and have progressed from the 16th century?"
In assessing how such a work can impact an audience, then and now, Botstein ultimately asks sobering questions any fundamentalist would do well to consider:
"Do we now tolerate differences in religion and ethnicity? Has our aesthetic refinement run parallel with an ethical advance so that we are no longer capable of the sort of slaughter in the name of religious truth that frames the plot of this grand theatrical experience?"
The same questions could be applied to experiencing Schiller's Mary Stuart. In fact, the New York Times review was quoted on the billboard, echoing the political relevance of the adaption: "(Note to Michelle and Barack Obama: See this immediately)."
Peter Oswald has written an adaptation that maintains historical distance with language of poetic beauty while packing enough wit and verve to give the play a contemporary lift which makes its impact immediate.
That impact is all the more of a whollop thanks to Janet McTeer's Mary. Her Queen of Scots is a force of nature. Were she an opera singer she would be a dramatic soprano with a voice of paint-pealing power. Harriet Walter is a perfectly balanced foil as Elizabeth, measured but barely contained, the strength & energy of her person crackling beneath the elaborate gowns and get-up. Keeping up appearances indeed.
The parallels between these two works are striking. Set just over a decade apart (1572 & 1587), with religious tensions at the center of the plots, both works are also character studies driven by personal narrative. Both epic works are compelling in and of themselves, but with the performances so commanding, the hours seemed to collaps under the force of the action.
And as in the Meyerbeer, Mary Stuart juxtaposes the intertwining arcs of personal and political, resulting in another provocative & cumulatively powerful experience. One is left horrified by the ultimately avoidable execution of Mary, disturbed by the duplicitousness of the players on both sides, and while (in the play) one is tempted to foist blame on Elizabeth, one is left feeling empathy with this solitary ruler. At the play's end, alone with the burden of her decision's consequence, calling out for her absent advisors & intimates, Elisabeth is answered only by the hollow silence.
Complex identity is frequently reduced to superficial appearance. And friction between different identities fequently escalates into hostility and violence when appearances must be "kept up" or imposed, and differences judged rather than mediated. This is and has been true in matters of race & ethnicity, sexuality & gender, culture & religion.
I saw Mary Stuart at the Broadhurst theatre in NYC this week inbetween rehearsals for Mendelssohn's Paulus (St Paul) with the American Symphony Orchestra under Leon Botstein. That concert today is a quasi bridge between a too-short run of Meyerbeer's grand opera, Les Huguenots (I saw the last of 4 performances Friday), and the Bard Music Festival 2009: "Wagner and His World," which opens next weekend. I will write about Mendelssohn once Paulus is behind me. Meyerbeer and Mary Stuart are more than enough for this modest review.
For starters, I had not planned on seeing two gargantuan theatre pieces within 72 hours of one another, nor had I any idea how gripping and powerful Mary Stuart and Les Huguenots both would be. Both are epic in scope and based on historical events, the two-act play nearly three hours of intense personal and political drama, and the five-act, 4 1/2 hr opera THE paradigm for 19th century grand opera.
Besides the expense of mounting such a grand opera and then casting a show that includes one of the most demanding lyric tenor roles ever written--in the flawed hero, Raoul--the opera has two show-stopping lyric coloratura sopranos. Marguerite de Valois (Queen Margot in Dumas' novel and the Patrice Chereau film) requires Queen of the Night range and fireworks, and Valentine is a Lucia who is killed before she goes mad (and a prototype for some of Verdi's great heroines--I heard not only hints of Violetta but Elisabetta, and the influence & parallels between the Meyerbeer and Don Carlos & Aida are striking).
The casting challenges continue. There are three well-drawn roles for lower male voices: 2 bass baritones and a lyric baritone, along with a challenging trouser role for a facile lyric mezzo. There are a half-dozen male supporting roles, and another dozen or so "step-out" roles from the huge chorus required to carry this moving drama.
Les Huguenots (The Huguenots were, simply put, French Calvinists) is based on the 1572 St Bartholomew's Day Massacre, which saw fanatic Catholics slaughter thousands of French Protestants. The ostensible impetus was the wedding of the Catholic Queen, Marquerite, to the Protestant King, Henry de Navarre. Intended to stave off civil war and promote unity, the marriage was used as a screen to carry out a purge that would spread from Paris throughout France. In total, nearly 30,000 protestants were killed.
Meyerbeer's opera balances the political and religious tensions with a fictional love story between the protestant leader, Raoul, and the catholic Valentine. The score is a rich tapestry of nearly every available form--arias and cabalettas, small ensembles and large choral scenes, "gypsy" music & ballet, military brass, and an array of solo instrumental colors. A beautiful, baroque influenced viola da gamba solo accompanies the tenor in his first act aria. A recurring cello motto recalls the prelude of a Bach suite and recurs when Raoul's servant, the earnest and sympathetic bass, Marcel, sings. Valentine opens Act IV with a beautiful aria that is actually a trio with solo horn and bassoon. A quasi-klezmer tinged clarinet solo joins the doomed lovers duet at the end of that act. And a solo bass clarinet haunts the final scenes of the opera, in what may be the first such use of that colorful instrument.
These intimate and touching moments are balanced by the arc of the conflict between the clashing sects, represented by the double chorus. Indeed, Les Hugeunots is a tour-de-force of choral writing, and I was both thrilled and proud to hear my colleagues in such fine form at the sold out final performance Friday night.
The work has a cumulative effect, owing to its well-crafted architecture. A sustained and inexorable crescendo of intense stimuli and emotions results in a powerful, moving, engaging, and deeply affecting work of musical theatre. This is especially true of the last two acts, where the love story between Raoul and Valentine and the imminent clash between the religious groups both come to a head. Act IV contains some of the most sensual and beautiful music in all of 19th century opera, and in the lovers' extended scene one hears the French Romantic tradition from Berlioz through Massenet, and the indebtness of both Wagner and Verdi to Meyerbeer. Act V moves swiftly through three scenes to bring the conflict to its peak with devastating force. Valentine converts in order to remain with Rauol, and ends up shot by her own Father and his henchman. And while we feel revulsion at the brutality of the Catholic slaughter, Meyerbeer has drawn a balanced portrait of religious hypocrisy in various guises. In another example of the work's greatness, the ballet music in Act III, instead of being an entertaining diversion, depicts the Protestants' inhuman treatment of a band of gypsies.
In his characteristically insightful and provocative program note, Leon Botstein writes of Meyerbeer's current relevance vis-a-vis the effect of the creative distance this spectacular, non-realistic historical opera creates:
"As we witness a theatrical reenactment of how two religious groups, both of which claimed authority from the same divine source and accepted the divinity of Christ, are overcome with hatred, suspicion, and mutual enmity, do we emerge from the theater thinking that we are better and have progressed from the 16th century?"
In assessing how such a work can impact an audience, then and now, Botstein ultimately asks sobering questions any fundamentalist would do well to consider:
"Do we now tolerate differences in religion and ethnicity? Has our aesthetic refinement run parallel with an ethical advance so that we are no longer capable of the sort of slaughter in the name of religious truth that frames the plot of this grand theatrical experience?"
The same questions could be applied to experiencing Schiller's Mary Stuart. In fact, the New York Times review was quoted on the billboard, echoing the political relevance of the adaption: "(Note to Michelle and Barack Obama: See this immediately)."
Peter Oswald has written an adaptation that maintains historical distance with language of poetic beauty while packing enough wit and verve to give the play a contemporary lift which makes its impact immediate.
That impact is all the more of a whollop thanks to Janet McTeer's Mary. Her Queen of Scots is a force of nature. Were she an opera singer she would be a dramatic soprano with a voice of paint-pealing power. Harriet Walter is a perfectly balanced foil as Elizabeth, measured but barely contained, the strength & energy of her person crackling beneath the elaborate gowns and get-up. Keeping up appearances indeed.
The parallels between these two works are striking. Set just over a decade apart (1572 & 1587), with religious tensions at the center of the plots, both works are also character studies driven by personal narrative. Both epic works are compelling in and of themselves, but with the performances so commanding, the hours seemed to collaps under the force of the action.
And as in the Meyerbeer, Mary Stuart juxtaposes the intertwining arcs of personal and political, resulting in another provocative & cumulatively powerful experience. One is left horrified by the ultimately avoidable execution of Mary, disturbed by the duplicitousness of the players on both sides, and while (in the play) one is tempted to foist blame on Elizabeth, one is left feeling empathy with this solitary ruler. At the play's end, alone with the burden of her decision's consequence, calling out for her absent advisors & intimates, Elisabeth is answered only by the hollow silence.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
In Memoriam: LCW (6/1/01-8/3/09)
My feline baby girl died yesterday. Suddenly. While I was en route to the airport. She had been sick the night before, with what appeared to be a stomach bug, and as such, not a cause for alarm. When we called the Vet's office yesterday morning, they were likewise not alarmed, and told us to bring her in Tuesday morning, if she was not feeling better. Nothing could have prepared us for the outcome of her simply passing away a few hours later. The Vet indicated the cause was most likely a rapidly moving infection of the kidneys or liver, or an undetectable heart disease.
Lucina was named after a cat of Wystan Hugh Auden's and Chester Kallmann's, memorialized in a pithy elegy modeled on an ancient Icelandic form, according to the poet. I learned the poem as one of three Auden songs set by Hans Werner Henze. They were written for Britten's and Pears' Aldeburgh Festival, and as part of Britten's "sphere of influence" were integrated into my dissertation.
In Memoriam, L.K.A; 1950-1952
At peace under this mandarin, sleep, Lucina
Blue-eyed queen of white cats
For you the Ischian wave
Shall weep
When we who now miss you
Are American dust
And steep Epomeo in peace and war
Augustly a grave-watch keep.
(W.H. Auden)
I wrote a series of travel essays the other month chronicling our Mediterranean Opera cruise. One of the most beautiful legs of the cruise was the trip from Naples up to Elba. Along the way we passed the Island of Ischia, a refuge for artists in the middle of the 20th century, where in addition to Auden and Kallmann, the poet Ingeborg Bachmann and the composer William Walton lived. I wasn't sure which peak was Epomeo, nor could I have imagined I'd be revisiting this favorite poem as an elegy for my Luci just a couple of months later.
My first attempt at honoring her memory uses Auden's elegy as a model, while referencing the Christopher Smart poem mentioned below:
Sleep, heather-brown tabby queen,
Sleep.
We will keep watch with our
Servant of the living God,
And writhe our bodies Seven
Times round in your memory.
The Bay-side Sun shall not set
Without such elegant & eccentric ceremony,
Sweet Lucina.
(NYC, 8/3/09)
Luci's older brother, Jeoffrey, is named after the poet Christopher Smart's cat, featured in an oft-excerpted section of his visionary and epic poem, Jubilate Agno. Smart is a "mad-poet" cousin of his fellow romantics John Clare (see "Crazy, crack'd brain fellow" from earlier this year, below) and Friedrich Holderlin. In another connective thread, Britten's most famous choral work, Rejoice in the Lamb, is a setting of excerpts from Smart's poem, and includes a delightful soprano solo about Jeoffry. The following must surely rank as one of the most extravagant (and lengthy) "list" poems while also being one of the most original works written in honor of an animal.
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.
from Jubilate Agno
Christopher Smart (1722-1771)
Lucina was named after a cat of Wystan Hugh Auden's and Chester Kallmann's, memorialized in a pithy elegy modeled on an ancient Icelandic form, according to the poet. I learned the poem as one of three Auden songs set by Hans Werner Henze. They were written for Britten's and Pears' Aldeburgh Festival, and as part of Britten's "sphere of influence" were integrated into my dissertation.
In Memoriam, L.K.A; 1950-1952
At peace under this mandarin, sleep, Lucina
Blue-eyed queen of white cats
For you the Ischian wave
Shall weep
When we who now miss you
Are American dust
And steep Epomeo in peace and war
Augustly a grave-watch keep.
(W.H. Auden)
I wrote a series of travel essays the other month chronicling our Mediterranean Opera cruise. One of the most beautiful legs of the cruise was the trip from Naples up to Elba. Along the way we passed the Island of Ischia, a refuge for artists in the middle of the 20th century, where in addition to Auden and Kallmann, the poet Ingeborg Bachmann and the composer William Walton lived. I wasn't sure which peak was Epomeo, nor could I have imagined I'd be revisiting this favorite poem as an elegy for my Luci just a couple of months later.
My first attempt at honoring her memory uses Auden's elegy as a model, while referencing the Christopher Smart poem mentioned below:
Sleep, heather-brown tabby queen,
Sleep.
We will keep watch with our
Servant of the living God,
And writhe our bodies Seven
Times round in your memory.
The Bay-side Sun shall not set
Without such elegant & eccentric ceremony,
Sweet Lucina.
(NYC, 8/3/09)
Luci's older brother, Jeoffrey, is named after the poet Christopher Smart's cat, featured in an oft-excerpted section of his visionary and epic poem, Jubilate Agno. Smart is a "mad-poet" cousin of his fellow romantics John Clare (see "Crazy, crack'd brain fellow" from earlier this year, below) and Friedrich Holderlin. In another connective thread, Britten's most famous choral work, Rejoice in the Lamb, is a setting of excerpts from Smart's poem, and includes a delightful soprano solo about Jeoffry. The following must surely rank as one of the most extravagant (and lengthy) "list" poems while also being one of the most original works written in honor of an animal.
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.
from Jubilate Agno
Christopher Smart (1722-1771)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Performance Practice, or Falling in Love...
Earlier this week I had the privilege of leading a series of conducting workshops for the Sacred Music Conference at Virginia Wesleyan College. The workshops fell under the heading "Performance Practice: Style and sound from page to presentation" and featured a session each devoted to the periods of Renaissance, Baroque, Romantic and 20th Century music, concluding with a reading session of vibrant 21st century composers like Robert Convery, John Dixon, Adolphus Hailstork, Eleanor Daley and Amy Scurria.
I opened the sessions by quoting Robert Shaw's observation that falling in love requires being in the right place at the right time for a long enough period of time. We need to spend time with Bach and Beethoven to fall in love with them, and if we do not study and perform them, we cannot expect to meet them, much less fall in love.
In the outline below I am making some first stabs at getting at a philosophy or m.o. that attempts to incorporate the tenets of the "performance practice" movement with the concept of a holistic/contextual/integrated/multi-layered approach to music-making (from the conductor's background work to the rehearsal process to the performance). In this context, "performance practice" means integrating every aspect of that process into the rehearsal, engaging the participants on a variety of levels, and approaching the work from a variety of perspectives. As such, the nuts and bolts of notes and rhythms are surface level representations--signs and guideposts indicating the direction where meaning and significance are found.
Performance Practice: Style and sound from page to presentation
3 stages of “homework” (1. Selection, 2. Preparation, 3. Presentation):
1. Selection of rep (Background)=”homework” of research—history, biography, context, style, trends/developments, etc
2. Preparation (Middle-ground)=”homework” of score study (on every level—see above), rehearsal prep, etc
3. Presentation (Foreground)=”nuts & bolts” of rehearsal and ultimately, performance
Our challenge and temptation is always focusing on step 3 at the expense of the time-consuming—and engaging/stimulating/nourishing—preliminary steps of preparation.
I believe authentic “performance practice” occurs when all three phases are in balance, with each step in the process informing the others.
Performance Practice: Overview of a concept
1. In the academy & concert hall, we are referring to “period” performances, using “authentic” historical instruments or an interpretation informed by such.
2. In addition to the above-mentioned concerns for historically informed preparation & presentation, I submit performance practice as a concept that can enliven every aspect of the process, by
*engaging all of the conductor’s faculties, from the background forward…
*presenting a living & organic model via the notion of “recreating” a composition
* challenging singers to engage more fully through this multi-layered approach
Performance Practice: Nuts & Bolts
1. Skipping ahead to the 2nd step in our 3-step outline above (Preparation), the Middle-ground consists of these well-known fundamentals:
tempo, articulation, phrasing, intonation, style & interpretation.
2. An historically “authentic” performance factors in the considerations from the background, making “appropriate” stylistic & interpretive decisions (ie: non vibrato for much 16th century music, speech &/or dance-like articulation for much of the Baroque, molto schmaltzy rubato for 19th c., etc)*
3. Performance practice as an organic concept* for rehearsal engages the singers in interpretation, enlists their participation in discovering and recreating the “authentic” performance, and infuses the process with meaning and significance.
*Each period has distinctive stylistic & interpretive characteristics, thus Bach should not be performed in the same style as Brahms, etc. The concept of performance practice in rehearsal, however, seeks to engage the conductor and singers on these intersecting levels regardless of the style of music.
I opened the sessions by quoting Robert Shaw's observation that falling in love requires being in the right place at the right time for a long enough period of time. We need to spend time with Bach and Beethoven to fall in love with them, and if we do not study and perform them, we cannot expect to meet them, much less fall in love.
In the outline below I am making some first stabs at getting at a philosophy or m.o. that attempts to incorporate the tenets of the "performance practice" movement with the concept of a holistic/contextual/integrated/multi-layered approach to music-making (from the conductor's background work to the rehearsal process to the performance). In this context, "performance practice" means integrating every aspect of that process into the rehearsal, engaging the participants on a variety of levels, and approaching the work from a variety of perspectives. As such, the nuts and bolts of notes and rhythms are surface level representations--signs and guideposts indicating the direction where meaning and significance are found.
Performance Practice: Style and sound from page to presentation
3 stages of “homework” (1. Selection, 2. Preparation, 3. Presentation):
1. Selection of rep (Background)=”homework” of research—history, biography, context, style, trends/developments, etc
2. Preparation (Middle-ground)=”homework” of score study (on every level—see above), rehearsal prep, etc
3. Presentation (Foreground)=”nuts & bolts” of rehearsal and ultimately, performance
Our challenge and temptation is always focusing on step 3 at the expense of the time-consuming—and engaging/stimulating/nourishing—preliminary steps of preparation.
I believe authentic “performance practice” occurs when all three phases are in balance, with each step in the process informing the others.
Performance Practice: Overview of a concept
1. In the academy & concert hall, we are referring to “period” performances, using “authentic” historical instruments or an interpretation informed by such.
2. In addition to the above-mentioned concerns for historically informed preparation & presentation, I submit performance practice as a concept that can enliven every aspect of the process, by
*engaging all of the conductor’s faculties, from the background forward…
*presenting a living & organic model via the notion of “recreating” a composition
* challenging singers to engage more fully through this multi-layered approach
Performance Practice: Nuts & Bolts
1. Skipping ahead to the 2nd step in our 3-step outline above (Preparation), the Middle-ground consists of these well-known fundamentals:
tempo, articulation, phrasing, intonation, style & interpretation.
2. An historically “authentic” performance factors in the considerations from the background, making “appropriate” stylistic & interpretive decisions (ie: non vibrato for much 16th century music, speech &/or dance-like articulation for much of the Baroque, molto schmaltzy rubato for 19th c., etc)*
3. Performance practice as an organic concept* for rehearsal engages the singers in interpretation, enlists their participation in discovering and recreating the “authentic” performance, and infuses the process with meaning and significance.
*Each period has distinctive stylistic & interpretive characteristics, thus Bach should not be performed in the same style as Brahms, etc. The concept of performance practice in rehearsal, however, seeks to engage the conductor and singers on these intersecting levels regardless of the style of music.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
"Is it my fault or the singers? Time will tell."
My title refers to a comment Verdi made about the infamous opening night fiasco of La Traviata at La Fenice in 1853.
As would happen throughout his storied career, time proved Verdi right.
I have been musing about Verdi's letters in conjunction with a week of seminars on the operas at Washington & Lee University. And if some of what follows finds me repeating myself, I hope you'll agree that Verdi's letters bear as many readings as we have time and attention to give.
As I've already mentioned, his letters are a gold mine of insight & wit, and genuine wisdom from one who knew the craft of opera better than anyone. His characters have rightly been described as Shakespearean, and this is as true of the non-Bard characters-- like Rigoletto, Simon Boccanegra, Philippo & Don Carlos--as it is of the Macbeths, Otello and Falstaff. It is worth recalling an oft-cited observation on his thoughts on "Papa" Shakespeare:
"To copy the truth can be a good thing, but to invent the truth is better, much better. It seems there is a contradiction in these three words: invent the truth; but ask Papa [Shakespeare] about it. Maybe he encountered some Falstaff, but he would have had a hard time finding a villain as villainous as Iago, and never, absolutely never, angels like Cordelia, Imogen, Desdemona, and yet they are so true! To copy the truth is a beautiful thing; but it is a photograph, not a painting."
And how grateful are we to have the canvasses of such richly drawn characters. Writing of the tenor who would become the successful creator of Otello, Verdi expressed his misgivings and spelled out exactly how the final scene should be sung AND played. It is not just singers & conductors who do well to plumb these letters, but directors, producers, patrons and amateurs alike:
"In many respects Tamagno would be well suited to the part, but in many others not! There are broad, long legato phrases to be sung mezza voce, which is impossible for him…when he realizes that Desdemona has died guiltless, Otello can no longer breathe; he is exhausted, physically and morally at the end of his tether; he can and may still sing with only a half-extinguished, muffled voice…Of this last quality Tamagno is surely incapable. He must always sing out in full voice, otherwise his tone becomes ugly and the pitch uncertain."
Throughout his near 60-year career in the theatre, Verdi continued to work to raise the bar in every aspect of operatic production. An area of particular attention was the power and clout given to singers and impresarios, often at the expense of the composers & their operas. Even as late as the 1870's, Verdi was railing against singers who re-wrote their parts, omitting difficult passages or inserting alternate arias to suit their whims or cast themselves in a better light. The following excerpt is one such rant from the composer who did more to change this trend and elevate the status of the score to the respected status it deserves:
"Alboni too sang La Gazza Ladra, and I think La Sonnambula, and even the part of Carlo in Ernani! But what of it? All this means is that singers and managements have no scruples about tampering with or allowing others to tamper with an author’s creations."
Intimately involved in casting, Verdi wanted not only singers, but actors. And while music is the driving force in opera--with melody the "prima donna" of Italian opera--Verdi's priority was the authenticity of the dramatic situation, and if it required subordinating the music to the action on stage, so be it. Of the baritone and bass leads for the La Scala premiere of Don Carlo, Verdi wrote to his publisher, Ricordi:
"As far as Squarcia and Colini are concerned, people tell me not very favourable things about them; do you really think they will be able to sing Filippo and Posa? Set aside all your interests, sympathies, your desire (if indeed you have any) to see this opera now, and give me your whole opinion. Tell me about the quality and strength of their voices, intonation, style of singing, pronunciation, and above all, how they act. Be careful, because a stupid Filippo is impossible…"
One could make the same observation about the remaining 4 principal characters, such is the importance of every one of the 6 complex individuals that shape the chiaroscuro drama that make Don Carlo(s) the grandest of Verdi's operas.
As is so often the case, the simplest statement can be the best. I'll end with advice anyone involved in opera or music-making would do well to follow:
"Study the situation and the words scrupulously; the music will then follow entirely of its own accord.”
Amen.
As would happen throughout his storied career, time proved Verdi right.
I have been musing about Verdi's letters in conjunction with a week of seminars on the operas at Washington & Lee University. And if some of what follows finds me repeating myself, I hope you'll agree that Verdi's letters bear as many readings as we have time and attention to give.
As I've already mentioned, his letters are a gold mine of insight & wit, and genuine wisdom from one who knew the craft of opera better than anyone. His characters have rightly been described as Shakespearean, and this is as true of the non-Bard characters-- like Rigoletto, Simon Boccanegra, Philippo & Don Carlos--as it is of the Macbeths, Otello and Falstaff. It is worth recalling an oft-cited observation on his thoughts on "Papa" Shakespeare:
"To copy the truth can be a good thing, but to invent the truth is better, much better. It seems there is a contradiction in these three words: invent the truth; but ask Papa [Shakespeare] about it. Maybe he encountered some Falstaff, but he would have had a hard time finding a villain as villainous as Iago, and never, absolutely never, angels like Cordelia, Imogen, Desdemona, and yet they are so true! To copy the truth is a beautiful thing; but it is a photograph, not a painting."
And how grateful are we to have the canvasses of such richly drawn characters. Writing of the tenor who would become the successful creator of Otello, Verdi expressed his misgivings and spelled out exactly how the final scene should be sung AND played. It is not just singers & conductors who do well to plumb these letters, but directors, producers, patrons and amateurs alike:
"In many respects Tamagno would be well suited to the part, but in many others not! There are broad, long legato phrases to be sung mezza voce, which is impossible for him…when he realizes that Desdemona has died guiltless, Otello can no longer breathe; he is exhausted, physically and morally at the end of his tether; he can and may still sing with only a half-extinguished, muffled voice…Of this last quality Tamagno is surely incapable. He must always sing out in full voice, otherwise his tone becomes ugly and the pitch uncertain."
Throughout his near 60-year career in the theatre, Verdi continued to work to raise the bar in every aspect of operatic production. An area of particular attention was the power and clout given to singers and impresarios, often at the expense of the composers & their operas. Even as late as the 1870's, Verdi was railing against singers who re-wrote their parts, omitting difficult passages or inserting alternate arias to suit their whims or cast themselves in a better light. The following excerpt is one such rant from the composer who did more to change this trend and elevate the status of the score to the respected status it deserves:
"Alboni too sang La Gazza Ladra, and I think La Sonnambula, and even the part of Carlo in Ernani! But what of it? All this means is that singers and managements have no scruples about tampering with or allowing others to tamper with an author’s creations."
Intimately involved in casting, Verdi wanted not only singers, but actors. And while music is the driving force in opera--with melody the "prima donna" of Italian opera--Verdi's priority was the authenticity of the dramatic situation, and if it required subordinating the music to the action on stage, so be it. Of the baritone and bass leads for the La Scala premiere of Don Carlo, Verdi wrote to his publisher, Ricordi:
"As far as Squarcia and Colini are concerned, people tell me not very favourable things about them; do you really think they will be able to sing Filippo and Posa? Set aside all your interests, sympathies, your desire (if indeed you have any) to see this opera now, and give me your whole opinion. Tell me about the quality and strength of their voices, intonation, style of singing, pronunciation, and above all, how they act. Be careful, because a stupid Filippo is impossible…"
One could make the same observation about the remaining 4 principal characters, such is the importance of every one of the 6 complex individuals that shape the chiaroscuro drama that make Don Carlo(s) the grandest of Verdi's operas.
As is so often the case, the simplest statement can be the best. I'll end with advice anyone involved in opera or music-making would do well to follow:
"Study the situation and the words scrupulously; the music will then follow entirely of its own accord.”
Amen.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I love art when it is presented in a dignified way...
Since I ended my last entry with a reference to Shakespeare, vis-a-vis the two greatest operatic Bardolators, Berlioz and Verdi, it seems natural to pick up the exploration of Verdi "in his own words" with some of his thoughts on his first Shakespearean masterpiece, Macbeth. The first excerpt offers insight into everything from academic practice to the difference in trumpet timbres in 19th century Europe. The fine points of National schools of musical interpretation are both too broad and too specialized for my aims here; nevertheless, this a classic example of why Verdi's letters are indispensable.
[on the 1865 revision of Macbeth, for Paris] "I beg you, keep my instrumentation exactly as it is…You will laugh when you hear I did a fugue for the battle scene!!! A fugue? I, who hate everything that stinks of school, and it is almost thirty years since I last wrote one!!! But I will tell you that in this case, even that musical form can be just right. The themes & counterthemes that rush after each other, the shock of the dissonances, the racket, etc. etc. can express a battle rather well. Ah, if you only had our trumpets that are so full and brilliant!!! Those piston trumpets of yours [in Paris] are neither fish nor fowl…"
One of Verdi's defining characteristics as a musical dramatist is his knack for adapting the form to suit the content. Macbeth is a classic case in point. If we were to ascribe to primo ottocento norms (1st 1/2 of the 19th c), then we would need to cast a Prima Donna soprano, a Primo Uomo Tenore, etc, etc. If Verdi did not entirely dispense with these norms, again, he expanded, enlarged, and revitalized them. Thus we can marvel, in Verdi scholar Roger Parker's words: "as ever with Verdi, the alterations make the model change before our very ears." Macbeth is one of the first great "Verdi baritone" roles. An operatic hero replete with the Shakespearean "tragic flaw." But wait! is manifestation of said tragic flaw--ie: ambition--really that of Lady MacBeth?
[insert deconstructionalist/Derridaen/feminist/post-modern/new-musicology papers here]. In addition to the great baritone title role, Verdi creates a dramatic soprano role in Lady M that has defied category and stretched the boundaries of leading operatic ladies since its inception. But let's hear what Verdi had to say about his Macbeth:
"Take it as a rule there are three roles in this opera, and there can only be three: Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, the Chorus of Witches…No matter what you do, you will never create anything very important out of the role of Macduff [the Primo Tenore]. On the contrary, the more one emphasizes him, the more obvious one makes his vacuousness. He only becomes a hero when the opera is over. However, he has enough music to make his mark if he has a beautiful voice, but there is no need to give him one extra note."
Interesting to note Verdi settled on Macbeth and tabled (the much less enduring) I Masnadieri when he learned his tenor, Fraschini (see previous entry) was not available. Thus another example of how a creative genius attended to the practical of the everyday, made aesthetic decisions based on prosaic realities, and adapted to his environment without compromising his standards and ideals.
Yet, as is always the case, the standards of taste, popularity, and thus critical approval are subject to compromise and any such change in the proverbial weather. Verdi found himself caught in the shifting currents of the 19th century, as the Bel Canto style receded into obsolescence while the rising tide of Wagner and the new Gesanftkunstwerk spread to all corners of the European musical globe. As Verdi's career progressed, so did he: while never a revolutionary, he continued to work within the tradition of 19th c. Italian opera, constantly expanding and exploding its borders to create an original and enduring body of work.
[on the critic’s dismissal of the “passé” cabalettas]: "It’s merely that it’s now become the fashion to shout that we don’t want to listen to cabalettas. That’s just as much a mistake as when people wanted only cabalettas. They cry out against conventionality only to give up one sort for another. Oh, what utter sheep!"
[on the Don Carlos reviews] "So I am an almost perfect Wagnerite! But if the reviewers had paid a bit of attention, they would have recognized that the same intent was there in the Ernani trio, the sleepwalking scene of Macbeth, and in many other pieces. But the question is not whether Don Carlos belongs to the same system, but whether the music is good or bad. That question is neat, simple, and above all, just."
Yet to the end, he was micromanaging details, vigilant on the practical details and decisions he rarely entrusted to others, and always trenchant and insightful where the creation & production of opera was concerned:
[to Ricordi, on the La Scala premiere of Don Carlo]: "As far as Squarcia and Colini [bass & baritone principals] are concerned, people tell me not very favourable things about them; do you really think they will be able to sing Filippo and Posa? Set aside all your interests, sympathies, your desire (if indeed you have any) to see this opera now, and give me your whole opinion. Tell me about the quality and strength of their voices, intonation, style of singing, pronunciation, and above all, how they act. Be careful, because a stupid Filippo is impossible…Add to this the fact that if Mefistofele [Boito’s opera in rehearsal for an imminent premiere] is so difficult to learn, that means it is badly written for voices (that does not detract in any way from the gifts of the composer: Beethoven wrote extremely poorly for voices…)"
Why not end with a diatribe. To every artist who has been exasperated by producers, directors, audiences, the government, the economy, the Pope, (& so on & so forth), who has wanted to write the pithy "mot juste" and verbally eviscerate the ignoramuses responsible for the ubiquitous frustrations said ambitious artist faces in the midst of realizing the dream (& so on & so forth), why not let Verdi speak for us:
"The time is right?!! Imbeciles! What? Am I made to gloat over other people’s ruin? I am one of those men who walk straight along the road, never looking to the right or to the left, who do as much as they can, when they think they can, who don’t want either the right time or support, or protection, or claques, or publicity, or cliques. I love art when it is presented in a dignified way, not the scandals that have just gone on at La Scala."
[on the 1865 revision of Macbeth, for Paris] "I beg you, keep my instrumentation exactly as it is…You will laugh when you hear I did a fugue for the battle scene!!! A fugue? I, who hate everything that stinks of school, and it is almost thirty years since I last wrote one!!! But I will tell you that in this case, even that musical form can be just right. The themes & counterthemes that rush after each other, the shock of the dissonances, the racket, etc. etc. can express a battle rather well. Ah, if you only had our trumpets that are so full and brilliant!!! Those piston trumpets of yours [in Paris] are neither fish nor fowl…"
One of Verdi's defining characteristics as a musical dramatist is his knack for adapting the form to suit the content. Macbeth is a classic case in point. If we were to ascribe to primo ottocento norms (1st 1/2 of the 19th c), then we would need to cast a Prima Donna soprano, a Primo Uomo Tenore, etc, etc. If Verdi did not entirely dispense with these norms, again, he expanded, enlarged, and revitalized them. Thus we can marvel, in Verdi scholar Roger Parker's words: "as ever with Verdi, the alterations make the model change before our very ears." Macbeth is one of the first great "Verdi baritone" roles. An operatic hero replete with the Shakespearean "tragic flaw." But wait! is manifestation of said tragic flaw--ie: ambition--really that of Lady MacBeth?
[insert deconstructionalist/Derridaen/feminist/post-modern/new-musicology papers here]. In addition to the great baritone title role, Verdi creates a dramatic soprano role in Lady M that has defied category and stretched the boundaries of leading operatic ladies since its inception. But let's hear what Verdi had to say about his Macbeth:
"Take it as a rule there are three roles in this opera, and there can only be three: Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, the Chorus of Witches…No matter what you do, you will never create anything very important out of the role of Macduff [the Primo Tenore]. On the contrary, the more one emphasizes him, the more obvious one makes his vacuousness. He only becomes a hero when the opera is over. However, he has enough music to make his mark if he has a beautiful voice, but there is no need to give him one extra note."
Interesting to note Verdi settled on Macbeth and tabled (the much less enduring) I Masnadieri when he learned his tenor, Fraschini (see previous entry) was not available. Thus another example of how a creative genius attended to the practical of the everyday, made aesthetic decisions based on prosaic realities, and adapted to his environment without compromising his standards and ideals.
Yet, as is always the case, the standards of taste, popularity, and thus critical approval are subject to compromise and any such change in the proverbial weather. Verdi found himself caught in the shifting currents of the 19th century, as the Bel Canto style receded into obsolescence while the rising tide of Wagner and the new Gesanftkunstwerk spread to all corners of the European musical globe. As Verdi's career progressed, so did he: while never a revolutionary, he continued to work within the tradition of 19th c. Italian opera, constantly expanding and exploding its borders to create an original and enduring body of work.
[on the critic’s dismissal of the “passé” cabalettas]: "It’s merely that it’s now become the fashion to shout that we don’t want to listen to cabalettas. That’s just as much a mistake as when people wanted only cabalettas. They cry out against conventionality only to give up one sort for another. Oh, what utter sheep!"
[on the Don Carlos reviews] "So I am an almost perfect Wagnerite! But if the reviewers had paid a bit of attention, they would have recognized that the same intent was there in the Ernani trio, the sleepwalking scene of Macbeth, and in many other pieces. But the question is not whether Don Carlos belongs to the same system, but whether the music is good or bad. That question is neat, simple, and above all, just."
Yet to the end, he was micromanaging details, vigilant on the practical details and decisions he rarely entrusted to others, and always trenchant and insightful where the creation & production of opera was concerned:
[to Ricordi, on the La Scala premiere of Don Carlo]: "As far as Squarcia and Colini [bass & baritone principals] are concerned, people tell me not very favourable things about them; do you really think they will be able to sing Filippo and Posa? Set aside all your interests, sympathies, your desire (if indeed you have any) to see this opera now, and give me your whole opinion. Tell me about the quality and strength of their voices, intonation, style of singing, pronunciation, and above all, how they act. Be careful, because a stupid Filippo is impossible…Add to this the fact that if Mefistofele [Boito’s opera in rehearsal for an imminent premiere] is so difficult to learn, that means it is badly written for voices (that does not detract in any way from the gifts of the composer: Beethoven wrote extremely poorly for voices…)"
Why not end with a diatribe. To every artist who has been exasperated by producers, directors, audiences, the government, the economy, the Pope, (& so on & so forth), who has wanted to write the pithy "mot juste" and verbally eviscerate the ignoramuses responsible for the ubiquitous frustrations said ambitious artist faces in the midst of realizing the dream (& so on & so forth), why not let Verdi speak for us:
"The time is right?!! Imbeciles! What? Am I made to gloat over other people’s ruin? I am one of those men who walk straight along the road, never looking to the right or to the left, who do as much as they can, when they think they can, who don’t want either the right time or support, or protection, or claques, or publicity, or cliques. I love art when it is presented in a dignified way, not the scandals that have just gone on at La Scala."
Inventing the Truth: Verdi in (mostly) his own words
Amy and I are preparing to spend a week with the Washington and Lee University Alumni College singing and talking about Verdi. I have collected too many excerpts from the letters to possibly share in the five lectures I will give daily next Monday-Friday, so I thought I'd share them here.
My first talk will be on Verdi's "sound and style as revealed in the early operas." My colleague Tim Gaylard, a wonderful pianist and Columbia trained musicologist, will be setting the tenor of each day with an introductory talk.
I mused last month about our trip to Aix-en-Provence and the riveting Picasso-Cézanne exhibit. I find Verdi in a similar symbiotic relationship to the great bel canto composers as Picasso is to Cézanne. And if Verdi was not the revolutionary Picasso was, it is fair to say he not only reshaped & invigorated the tradition he inherited but he refashioned it into the greatest single body of work in Italian opera. His 60-year, 28-opera career contributed more works to the cannon than anyone ever has. Puccini and Wagner have a higher percentage of their works in the repertoire, and Mozart a remarkable record in such a truncated span, but Verdi, the "Attila of the Lungs" is the operatic king.
In addition to Verdi's trademark iron will and biting wit, the letters offer insight into the creative process and every aspect of opera production, and are indispensable references for performers, scholars, and amateur alike.
Advice to any cast of singers:
“study the situation and the words scrupulously; the music will then follow entirely of its own accord”
Verdi worked throughout his career to raise standards, to improve conditions for producing opera, and to elevate the opera score to the near-sacrosanct level the symphony attained from Beethoven forward. His letters are full of scathing attacks on the whims of singers, the indiscretions of conductors, directors, and impresarios. They offer an insider's look at the struggles facing an Italian opera composer in the wake of the Bel Canto period, before Wagner & his successors helped complete the mission to establish opera as the "high art" form it deserved to be.
One can easily infer some of those very issues of interpretation and the inconsistent standards, and thus better locate Verdi within the primo ottocento (first half of the 19th century) in the following excerpts:
[On Ernani] "if you pay attention to the dramatic situation and to the words, you could hardly make a mistake with a tempo. I only point out that I do not like slow tempos; it is better to sin on the side of liveliness than to drag…I ask that you see that the roles are entrusted to singers that the audience likes the most and that the performance be accurate…I beg you not to allow cuts."
[On Rigoletto]: "Good secondary singers, and not taken from the chorus—see that the old Castiglione [Monterone] is a beautiful, strong baritone voice: not a second-rate singer—"
(The premiere of La Traviata was a famous fiasco, largely because of miscast singers).
[On the opening night fiasco of Traviata]: "Is it my fault or the singers? Time will tell."
[On the prima donna Basseggio – in Aroldo] "I hope she won’t ruin any other opera in the future! She has absolutely no voice nor talent nor style of singing! Imagine delicate, heartfelt, sentimental music such as that of Traviata meowed by a voice that is neither sop nor mezzo-soprano nor contralto..."
It was common practice, from the dawn of the "diva" before the Bel Canto period to the twilight of Verdi's career for singers to request changes in their music and be obliged. It was just as common for leads to simply disregard the composer and insert a personal favorite aria where desired. From another of the composer's operas, or from another composer altogether. Verdi would have none of it (though he did write for specific singers, and did tailor to their strengths & needs, if not their whims).
[On a request by the soprano Barbieri to change Leonora’s music]: "…tell her that I believe that the cavatina of Trovatore is good…I cannot and must not change it. It would be suicide!...Why is Barbieri singing that role, if it does not suit her? And, if she wishes to do Trovatore, there is another role, that of the Gypsy. Put tradition aside: they say it is a secondary role: No, truly: it is a leading role—even the very most important role, more beautiful, more dramatic, more original than the other one [Leonora]. If I were a prima donna (fine thing!) I would want to sing the role of the Gypsy in Trovatore"
One needn't read that excerpt to know that Azucena has show-stealing power in Trovatore, a trait that her niece, Eboli, would inherit in Don Carlo. Because we are so familiar with them, it is easy to forget the "Verdi Mezzo" and Verdi Baritone" did not exist before him!
Verdi expanded the dramatic range and musical scope of the baritones & mezzos (nieces of the dramatic lyrc soprano like Abigaille in Nabucco and Bellini's Norma, among others) AND from Nabucco on, wrote fully lyric, "tenore di forza" roles for his heroes. The Rossinian "tenore di grazia" was gradually phased out for the Italian version of the Heldentenor. Rossini was none too pleased with the changing techniques and styles as tenors began to sing the note which would crown Pavarotti as the "king of the high c's." On hearing the first exponent of the "do di petto" (high c in the chest voice), Gilbert Duprez, Rossini complained he sounded like the shriek of a "capon with it's throat slit." Nevertheless, the high c was there to stay for the tenor.
Verdi eventually swapped dramatic weight and color for brilliance & the stratosphere, and after his middle period, the tenors rarely venture above b-flat. This is yet another example of how Verdi inherited and then reinvented the tradition.
Gaetano Fraschini was one of the first of these tenors, whose voice was described as "a giant silver platter being struck with a giant silver hammer." Fraschini was one of the composer's early favorites, and the creator of Stiffelio and Riccardo (Ballo). One of the next tenors in this vein was Enrico Tamberlik, who created Alvaro in La Forza del Destino. He was also responsible for the ossia high c’s in “Di quella pira," the most famous appearance of that note in Verdi's operas. Asked whether or not the Maestro approved of his interpolation, Verdi replied to the tenor:
"sing as many of them as you like, as long as they are all good high c’s!"
I will sign off with a quote from one of Verdi's esteemed colleagues, and a fellow devotee of Shakespeare. The title of my essay today refers to Verdi's observation that it is better to invent the truth than copy it. Verdi cites Shakespeare as the "Papa" of this principal, using Iago & Desdemona as characters that could only be invented and yet appear so true. Hector Berlioz' words on the Paris premiere of Les Vêpres Siciliennes in June, 1855, also appear so true, and apply to any number of Verdi's operas:
" …the penetrating intensity of the melodic expression, the sumptuous variety and wisdom of the instrumentation, the vastness, the poetic sonority of the ensemble pieces, the colorful warmth that shines everywhere, and that passionate but deliberate force...the characteristic traits of Verdi’s genius give the entire opera a greatness, a kind of sovereign majesty…"
(most quotations courtesy of the excellent monograph of Mary Jane Phillips-Matz, Verdi: A Biography. Oxford. 1993)
My first talk will be on Verdi's "sound and style as revealed in the early operas." My colleague Tim Gaylard, a wonderful pianist and Columbia trained musicologist, will be setting the tenor of each day with an introductory talk.
I mused last month about our trip to Aix-en-Provence and the riveting Picasso-Cézanne exhibit. I find Verdi in a similar symbiotic relationship to the great bel canto composers as Picasso is to Cézanne. And if Verdi was not the revolutionary Picasso was, it is fair to say he not only reshaped & invigorated the tradition he inherited but he refashioned it into the greatest single body of work in Italian opera. His 60-year, 28-opera career contributed more works to the cannon than anyone ever has. Puccini and Wagner have a higher percentage of their works in the repertoire, and Mozart a remarkable record in such a truncated span, but Verdi, the "Attila of the Lungs" is the operatic king.
In addition to Verdi's trademark iron will and biting wit, the letters offer insight into the creative process and every aspect of opera production, and are indispensable references for performers, scholars, and amateur alike.
Advice to any cast of singers:
“study the situation and the words scrupulously; the music will then follow entirely of its own accord”
Verdi worked throughout his career to raise standards, to improve conditions for producing opera, and to elevate the opera score to the near-sacrosanct level the symphony attained from Beethoven forward. His letters are full of scathing attacks on the whims of singers, the indiscretions of conductors, directors, and impresarios. They offer an insider's look at the struggles facing an Italian opera composer in the wake of the Bel Canto period, before Wagner & his successors helped complete the mission to establish opera as the "high art" form it deserved to be.
One can easily infer some of those very issues of interpretation and the inconsistent standards, and thus better locate Verdi within the primo ottocento (first half of the 19th century) in the following excerpts:
[On Ernani] "if you pay attention to the dramatic situation and to the words, you could hardly make a mistake with a tempo. I only point out that I do not like slow tempos; it is better to sin on the side of liveliness than to drag…I ask that you see that the roles are entrusted to singers that the audience likes the most and that the performance be accurate…I beg you not to allow cuts."
[On Rigoletto]: "Good secondary singers, and not taken from the chorus—see that the old Castiglione [Monterone] is a beautiful, strong baritone voice: not a second-rate singer—"
(The premiere of La Traviata was a famous fiasco, largely because of miscast singers).
[On the opening night fiasco of Traviata]: "Is it my fault or the singers? Time will tell."
[On the prima donna Basseggio – in Aroldo] "I hope she won’t ruin any other opera in the future! She has absolutely no voice nor talent nor style of singing! Imagine delicate, heartfelt, sentimental music such as that of Traviata meowed by a voice that is neither sop nor mezzo-soprano nor contralto..."
It was common practice, from the dawn of the "diva" before the Bel Canto period to the twilight of Verdi's career for singers to request changes in their music and be obliged. It was just as common for leads to simply disregard the composer and insert a personal favorite aria where desired. From another of the composer's operas, or from another composer altogether. Verdi would have none of it (though he did write for specific singers, and did tailor to their strengths & needs, if not their whims).
[On a request by the soprano Barbieri to change Leonora’s music]: "…tell her that I believe that the cavatina of Trovatore is good…I cannot and must not change it. It would be suicide!...Why is Barbieri singing that role, if it does not suit her? And, if she wishes to do Trovatore, there is another role, that of the Gypsy. Put tradition aside: they say it is a secondary role: No, truly: it is a leading role—even the very most important role, more beautiful, more dramatic, more original than the other one [Leonora]. If I were a prima donna (fine thing!) I would want to sing the role of the Gypsy in Trovatore"
One needn't read that excerpt to know that Azucena has show-stealing power in Trovatore, a trait that her niece, Eboli, would inherit in Don Carlo. Because we are so familiar with them, it is easy to forget the "Verdi Mezzo" and Verdi Baritone" did not exist before him!
Verdi expanded the dramatic range and musical scope of the baritones & mezzos (nieces of the dramatic lyrc soprano like Abigaille in Nabucco and Bellini's Norma, among others) AND from Nabucco on, wrote fully lyric, "tenore di forza" roles for his heroes. The Rossinian "tenore di grazia" was gradually phased out for the Italian version of the Heldentenor. Rossini was none too pleased with the changing techniques and styles as tenors began to sing the note which would crown Pavarotti as the "king of the high c's." On hearing the first exponent of the "do di petto" (high c in the chest voice), Gilbert Duprez, Rossini complained he sounded like the shriek of a "capon with it's throat slit." Nevertheless, the high c was there to stay for the tenor.
Verdi eventually swapped dramatic weight and color for brilliance & the stratosphere, and after his middle period, the tenors rarely venture above b-flat. This is yet another example of how Verdi inherited and then reinvented the tradition.
Gaetano Fraschini was one of the first of these tenors, whose voice was described as "a giant silver platter being struck with a giant silver hammer." Fraschini was one of the composer's early favorites, and the creator of Stiffelio and Riccardo (Ballo). One of the next tenors in this vein was Enrico Tamberlik, who created Alvaro in La Forza del Destino. He was also responsible for the ossia high c’s in “Di quella pira," the most famous appearance of that note in Verdi's operas. Asked whether or not the Maestro approved of his interpolation, Verdi replied to the tenor:
"sing as many of them as you like, as long as they are all good high c’s!"
I will sign off with a quote from one of Verdi's esteemed colleagues, and a fellow devotee of Shakespeare. The title of my essay today refers to Verdi's observation that it is better to invent the truth than copy it. Verdi cites Shakespeare as the "Papa" of this principal, using Iago & Desdemona as characters that could only be invented and yet appear so true. Hector Berlioz' words on the Paris premiere of Les Vêpres Siciliennes in June, 1855, also appear so true, and apply to any number of Verdi's operas:
" …the penetrating intensity of the melodic expression, the sumptuous variety and wisdom of the instrumentation, the vastness, the poetic sonority of the ensemble pieces, the colorful warmth that shines everywhere, and that passionate but deliberate force...the characteristic traits of Verdi’s genius give the entire opera a greatness, a kind of sovereign majesty…"
(most quotations courtesy of the excellent monograph of Mary Jane Phillips-Matz, Verdi: A Biography. Oxford. 1993)
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